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Clatter.

Your hairbrush hit the porcelain sink with a sharp, plastic crack. You stared at your own reflection in the mirror, wide-eyed, frozen, the bristles of the brush still vibrating against the white basin. Behind you, leaning against the closed door, Park Sunghoon stood, his face a mask of unnerving calm. His thumb hovered over his phone screen.

The sound that had just torn from the tinny speaker wasn’t just any moan. It was yours. A high, breathy, desperate gasp, followed by a choked, “Ah—fuck, ngh, feels so good—” before he’d paused it.

“Care to explain?” he asked. His voice was low and flat, completely devoid of the teasing lilt or the familiar, exasperated warmth you’d come to know over the last two years.

Your mouth was dry. “What—what is that?”

“You tell me.”

It had started, weirdly enough, with Wonyoung.

Freshman year, you’d won the roommate lottery. Jang Wonyoung was sunshine incarnate: bubbly, kind, and surprisingly tidy. You’d bonded over shared instant noodles and a mutual hatred for your 8 AM biology lecture. Then she’d started dating Park Sunghoon, the quiet, devastatingly handsome guy on the ice hockey team. He’d become a fixture in your tiny dorm, a silent, polite presence who’d nod hello and then spend hours on the floor, his long limbs folded as he helped Wonyoung to study.

When they broke up at the end of that year, the fallout was swift and clean. Wonyoung, tears sparkling but chin held high, packed her things and moved into a single. Sunghoon, seemingly stranded and already having moved into your dorm, had looked at you with an uncharacteristic hint of panic. “I can find somewhere else,” he’d mumbled.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you’d said, surprising yourself. “Nowhere will take you at this time of year.”

So he’d stayed. And slowly, a strange, solid thing had grown between you. It wasn’t the giggling, gossipy friendship you’d had with Wonyoung, but you found yourself enjoying his presence nevertheless. He became the person you went to for no-bullshit advice. “He asked you to split the bill on the first date? He’s cheap and insecure. Block him,” Sunghoon would say over a shared lunch, not looking up from his phone.

You’d laugh. “That’s harsh!”

“It’s true. You can’t settle for someone like that.”

In return, he’d tell you about his dates. They were fewer, but just as disastrous in their own way. You’d sit cross-legged on his bedroom floor as he paced, dissecting their texts with you. “She said ‘k’ after I sent her a paragraph about my day. What does ‘k’ mean in this context? Is it a good ‘k’? A hostile ‘k’?”

“It’s a bored ‘k’,” you’d say. “Abort mission.”

Now, by junior year, you’d become inseparable. You knew his coffee order off by heart (iced mocha with Frappucino chips), he knew your college timetable. You borrowed his hoodies, he ate your leftover kimchi jjigae when you ordered too much (which, to be honest, was every time). You’d curl up on opposite ends of the couch, your feet on his lap, and watch terrible reality TV. It was comfortable. Safe. He was your person.

But there was one thing you were hiding from him.

The camgirl thing hadn’t been some deep-seated fantasy. It was pure, pragmatic economics. Part-time jobs were picky with schedules, and the one you’d landed at a campus cafe paid peanuts. A friend of a friend had mentioned the site—it was discreet, decent payout, and you controlled everything. It started as a hesitant experiment, a way to pay for textbooks. Then it became rent money. You invested in a good webcam, a ring light, a collection of toys that you hid in a locked case under your bed. You crafted a persona: confident, insatiable, a man’s wet dream. It was acting, of course. It had nothing to do with the real you. And, of course, you were meticulous. You only streamed when Sunghoon was definitely gone—at the rink, at the library, at the gym. You used headphones and a VPN. You soundproofed your door with your duvet. It was a separate world, hermetically sealed from your real life.

And now, that world was crystallized in the palm of Park Sunghoon’s hand.

“Explain,” he repeated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space.

“It’s not… it’s just a job, Hoon-ah,” you stammered, finally finding your voice. It sounded pathetic. “It pays the bills. You know how hard it is to afford—”

“I know how hard it is,” he cut you off. He took another step. Now his chest was almost touching your back. You could see the tight line of his jaw in the mirror, the faint pulse in his neck. “I just don’t understand why you never told me. You literally told me about the guy who picked his nose at the movie theater the other day, Y/N,” he frowned. “Why not this?”

“It’s private!”

“Is it?” He lifted the phone again. This time, he didn’t play the video. He just held it up so you could see the thumbnail. It was you, back arched, mouth open in a silent cry, a familiar silicone shape disappearing between your thighs. “Because this looks pretty public to me.”

Shame, hot and acidic, burned through your veins. “Sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You finally turned from the sink to face him directly. The small bathroom felt like a cage. “Where did you even get that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a step forward. The movement was slow, deliberate. He placed his phone on the edge of the sink, screen-down. The silence was worse than the audio.

“A guy on the team,” he began, his tone conversational yet deadly soft. “He sent it to our group chat last night. ‘Hey, doesn’t this look kind of like your roommate?’ He thought it was a joke.” Sunghoon’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your reaction. “I told him it was a shitty deepfake and to delete it. I threatened to break his nose if he ever shared it again.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. He had defended you.

“But then I watched it,” he continued, taking another step. You were backed against the sink now, the cold porcelain pressing into your lower back. “The whole thing. And then I watched another. And another.” His gaze was intense, burning. “I know the birthmark on your left hip. I know the way you sigh when you’re tired. I know the little sound you make when you’re trying not to laugh.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that caressed your skin. “I know you, Y/N.”

“It’s not…” you started, but the lie died in your throat. There was no point.

“Why?” The single word was loaded.

“The money,” you breathed out, looking down. “It’s just for the money. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” His finger came up, hooking under your chin, forcing your eyes back to his. The contact was electric.

There was no teasing now. No roommate-ish camaraderie. You saw it in the darkening of his eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils. You felt it in the heat radiating from his body, so close to yours.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked, his thumb stroking a slow line along your jaw.

“No,” you admitted, the word a mere breath. “It was my secret.”

“And now it’s mine.” His other hand came up, palm flattening against the cabinet door beside your head, caging you in. “What do we do with our secret now, hm?”

You couldn’t think. You could only feel. The rough pad of his thumb on your skin. The clean, scent of his body wash and cologne. The overwhelming want that suddenly drowned out the shame. You’d fantasized about him—of course you had. He was Park Sunghoon, for fuck’s sake. But those fantasies had been vague, safe daydreams. This was so much more visceral, him knowing your deepest secret, having watched you come multiple times on his phone screen.

Your gaze dropped to his mouth. It was a mistake.

He broke.

He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, his hand dropping from your face as if your skin had burned him. Then he took a full step back, turning away to rub both hands roughly over his face, through his dark hair. The sudden distance was a shock, leaving you cold against the sink.

“Fuck,” he muttered into his palms, the word muffled. He straightened, his back to you for a long moment, shoulders tense. When he finally turned around, some of the predatory intensity had been replaced by a bewildered, almost hurt confusion. “Does it… I mean, does it really pay that well?”

The mundane question, after everything, was so jarring you almost laughed. A hysterical bubble rose in your throat. You swallowed it down, your voice still shaky. “I—yeah. I guess. It’s… good.”

He leaned a hip against the bathroom door, crossing his arms. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex equation. “How good? Like, better than the cafe?”

“Obviously better than the cafe,” you said, a sliver of your normal self seeping back in. “It’s… flexible. And the tips can be… significant.”

“Hm.” He chewed on his lower lip, his eyes drifting to the ceiling, avoiding looking directly at you.

You cleared your throat. “I mean, obviously not as well as the couples on the website, but yeah. It’s pretty good.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Couples?”

“Yeah,” you said, a shaky exhale escaping you. You leaned back against the sink for support properly. “The top earners are almost always couples. People like it more, I guess? You can do a lot more with two people, you know. More… interactive. Rather than just one person, like. Masturbating, or whatever.”

“Interactive,” he echoed, his tone flat. He finally looked at you, and you saw the gears turning behind his dark eyes. There was a flush creeping up his neck, staining the tips of his ears a faint, rosy pink. It was such a stark contrast to the man who had cornered you moments ago. It was almost sweet, kind of endearingly awkward. “So, theoretically, if you had a… partner for a stream. The revenue would, what, double? Triple?”

“Something like that,” you whispered, your heart beginning to pound for a completely new reason. You couldn’t possibly be thinking what you thought he was thinking.

He uncrossed his arms, shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He studied the tile floor as if it held the answers. “And you—you’d be in control? Of everything. What happens.”

“Always. I set the rules. I can end it anytime.”

He nodded, once, sharp. He took a deep breath, his ears now fully aflame. When he lifted his head, his expression was a mixture of fierce determination and profound embarrassment. “Okay.”

“Okay… what?”

“Next time you schedule one.” He cleared his throat, his voice dropping. “I’ll… I’ll be your guest. For the—um. Interactive element.”

The world tilted. “What?”

“You need the money, right?” he said, his words coming faster now, a defensive, logical ramble. “I skip the gym anyway sometimes.” A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips and vanished. “And it sounds like a pretty good workout.”

You were speechless. Park Sunghoon, the guy who got flustered when a date used too many emojis, was volunteering to star in your cam show. To have sex with you. On camera. For money.

“You don’t have to—” you started.

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted, his gaze finally steady on yours. The shyness was still there, but beneath it was a layer of steel. “But I want to.” The admission hung in the air, raw and undeniable. “So. Let’s do it.”

A slow, treacherous heat was spreading through your core, melting the last of your shame. This was insane. This was the most insane thing that had ever happened. And you wanted it. You wanted it so badly your knees felt weak.

“Tomorrow night,” you heard yourself say, your voice surprisingly steady. “You go to the gym at seven. Skip it.”

He gave a single, tight nod. “I’ll be there.”

The following evening, even the air in the apartment felt charged. The normalcy of the day had been a fragile illusion. You’d shared a quiet breakfast. He’d asked if you wanted coffee. You’d both pretended to study in the living room, and the hours had dragged, each tick of the clock a pounding heartbeat.

At six-thirty, you retreated to your room. Your usual ritual—putting your VPN on, positioning the ring light, logging into the encrypted site—felt surreal now. You’d retrieved the small, discreet remote-controlled vibrator from its case. It was a sleek, egg-shaped thing. You’d never used it with the remote function live before; it had always been a prop, something you’d pretended was controlled by a faceless, tipping ‘dom’.

Tonight, it would be real.

You dressed in the lingerie you’d chosen after an hour of frantic deliberation: a set of black lace, delicate and sheer, more suggestive than revealing. It felt different against your skin. It wasn’t for an anonymous audience anymore. It was for him.

At five minutes to seven, a soft knock came at your door. Your breath hitched. “Come in.”

Sunghoon entered. He’d changed into sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders. He looked casual, relaxed, almost, but his eyes were dark pools of focused intensity. He took in the scene, the soft lighting, the camera on its tripod, you perched on the edge of your made bed in your lace—but his expression didn’t flicker. He was in work mode.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady.

You nodded, unable to speak. You handed him the small, black remote. His fingers brushed yours, and a spark jolted up your arm. He examined the remote, thumb testing the dial and the single button.

“How does it work?”

“The dial controls the intensity,” you whispered, your mouth dry. “And the button… pulses.”

He nodded, his face a mask of concentration. “And me?”

“Start over there,” you said, pointing to the corner just out of the camera’s main view. “I’ll introduce you.”

He nodded, fingers curling around the remote. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Whatever you want,” you said, your own boldness surprising you. “Just… um,” you laughed. “Don’t make me scream before I’ve said hello.”

He gave you a slightly nervous smile. “No promises.”

He moved to the shadowed corner of your room, leaning against the wall, a silent, watching statue. The remote was loose in his hand. You took a final, deep breath, clicked the Go Live button, and felt the familiar, terrifying drop in your stomach.

The viewer count began to climb almost immediately. 50, 120, 300. Familiar usernames popped into the chat, along with a flood of new ones.

“Hey everyone,” you purred, slipping into your persona. Your voice was lower, smoother than your normal one as you played with your bra strap. A smirk played on your lips. “Miss me?”

The chat exploded with hearts, fire emojis, and greetings. You bantered for a few minutes, teasing, leaning into the camera to give a glimpse of cleavage, running a hand through your hair. You could feel Sunghoon’s gaze on you from the corner, a physical weight. It should have been unnerving, but it was thrilling.

“So, I actually have something special planned for you guys tonight,” you said, your eyes flicking toward the shadows where he stood. “A little… collaboration, if you will. Say hello to my friend.”

You gestured. Sunghoon stepped forward, moving gracefully, but there was a new stiffness to his shoulders. He stopped just at the edge of the light, his face partially in shadow, his body a tall, taut silhouette. He lifted a hand in a slight, awkward wave. The chat went absolutely feral.

injangsdad: HOLY SHIT????

BbyDvl: WHO IS THAT???!

ilovesalsa02: Bro is BUILT holy shit

heehee: why is he so shy?? u deserve a real man like me

“He’s going to be helping me out tonight,” you explained, lying back against your piled-up pillows, spreading your legs just a little. The black lace rucked up your thighs. “He’s got a little controller for this.”

You opened your legs wider, giving the camera a clear view as you took the egg vibrator and slowly, deliberately, pressed it inside yourself. You were already wet, anticipation and sheer nervousness doing their work. A soft sigh escaped you, genuine this time. You caught Sunghoon’s eye. He was staring, his jaw tight, the remote gripped in his hand tight.

“And he’s in charge of the intensity,” you breathed into the mic. “Shall we see if he’s any good?”

You gave a slight nod.

Sunghoon’s thumb pressed a button.

A low, steady buzz erupted inside you. It was a gentle hum, a pleasant warmth. You let your head fall back, a smile touching your lips. “Mmm, starting off easy on me? That’s sweet.”

The chat scrolled.

stickiriki: TELL HIM TO TURN IT UP

injangsdad: He looks so focused lol

seonwoo333: His hands…

Sunghoon’s eyes were fixed on the screen, watching the live feed, watching you. His expression was unreadable. He pressed another button.

The vibration jumped in intensity. It was no longer a hum now, more a persistent, insistent thrum right against your most sensitive spot. Your breath hitched. Your hips gave an involuntary little jerk. “Oh,” you gasped, the sound soft but picked up crisply by the mic. “Okay. There we go.”

He watched your reaction on the screen, his own breathing deepening. He was a quick learner. He adjusted the setting again, this time cycling through a pattern. It started slow, then escalated to a frantic pulse, then dropped back to nothing, leaving you aching and clenched around the empty buzz.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your persona slipping for a second. You were no longer performing for the faceless crowd, you were performing for him. You were trying to read his face, to see what made his breath catch, what made his knuckles whiten on the remote. God, you were so fucking soaked for him, pussy clenching around nothing but air, desperate for his thick fingers or that fat cock to stretch you wide instead of this teasing toy buried deep in your dripping slit.

He finally settled on a rhythm that had your vision blurring little by little: a frantic, buzzing assault like a swarm of eager tongues lashing your swollen clit and inner walls without mercy. A sharp cry ripped from your throat, back snapping off the pillows as electric jolts shot straight to your core. One hand clawed at your heaving tits, fingers twisting your stiff nipples through the sheer lace until every part of you throbbed like a second heartbeat, the other pressing flat against your quivering belly, as if you could trap the sensation inside your spasming cunt.

“Sungh—,” you almost moaned his name, cutting yourself off with a bitten lip. “More.”

He didn’t increase the power. Instead, he started to play.

He’d let the brutal pattern continue until you were writhing, your thighs trembling, until pleas were tumbling from your lips unbidden—“please, god, right there, don’t stop”—and then he’d cut it off entirely. The sudden absence was a torment worse than the vibration. You’d whimper, your body seeking friction against the sheets. He’d just wait, eyes hooded and ravenous on the feed, devouring every twitch of your sweat-slicked skin, every heave of your lace-clad tits, as you crashed down from the edge only for the hunger to claw back fiercer. Then he'd flick it on again, slamming you right back into that torturous bliss, your juices squirting in messy spurts around the buzzing egg.

It was torture. It was exquisite. You were his marionette, strings yanked by his whims,  and he was discovering the joy of pulling on them. Fuck, it made you wetter than ever. The chat was a blur of encouragement and tipping notifications. The sound of digital coins chiming was a constant backdrop.

userace: Shit lmao look at that slut squirm

BbyDvl: dont let up until shes screaming

Lurkr89: Edge her until she breaks

You were close. So, so close. The coil in your belly was wound tight, a spring about to snap. You were mumbling, a stream of consciousness filled with “yes” and “there” and “just like that.” You looked directly into the camera lens. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come. Please, let me come.”

Sunghoon’s thumb hovered over the button. He looked from the screen to your actual body on the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He gave one sharp, definitive nod.

And turned the vibrator to its maximum setting.

The orgasm ripped through you with no warning, a white-hot detonation that seized every muscle. You moaned, high and loud and continuous as the vibrations continued, milking the shockwaves from you, until you were a shuddering, boneless heap, the babydoll soaked with sweat, your inner muscles fluttering weakly around the still-buzzing egg.

Slowly, he turned the remote off.

Silence, save for your ragged panting and the chime of more tips. The viewer count had skyrocketed.

You lay there, spent, floating. You saw Sunghoon place the remote carefully on your desk. He stepped fully into the ring of light. He came to the edge of the bed. He didn’t look at you. He looked directly into the camera lens.

His first words on stream were not to you.

“Was that good for you?” he asked the audience, his voice a low, smooth baritone that sent a fresh jolt through your spent body. He reached down and hooked his fingers in the waistband of your babydoll. In one fluid motion, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside. You were completely naked now, exposed under the bright light and the gaze of thousands, your skin gleaming.

You made a small, vulnerable sound, trying to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists in one large hand, pinning them above your head on the pillow. He held them there effortlessly, finally glancing down at you. His eyes were black with lust.

“She comes pretty easily, doesn’t she?” he said, back to the camera. A patronizing, almost clinical tone. As if you were an object. “One little toy and she falls apart.” He used his free hand to trail a finger from your throat, down between your breasts, over your quivering stomach. “But that was just the warm-up, right? You didn’t pay to just see a toy do the work.”

The chat was moving too fast to read, a waterfall of explicit encouragement and demands.

He released your wrists. “Turn over,” he said, the command quiet but absolute. “On your knees. Face the headboard.”

Trembling, every nerve still alight from your orgasm, you obeyed. You got onto your hands and knees, presenting your pussy to the camera behind you. You heard the rustle of his clothes, the snap of elastic. Then, the hot, heavy weight of his erection rested against your inner thigh.

He didn’t enter you immediately. He ran the head of his thick, hard cock through your soaked folds, gathering your wetness, teasing your entrance. You pushed back against him, a needy little grind, but he held your hip firmly, keeping you still.

“Look at her,” he said to the lens, his voice dripping with condescending admiration. “Desperate for it. She’s dripping all over my cock and I haven’t even put it in yet.” He gave a short, dark chuckle. “Should we make her wait? Let her beg a little more? What do you think, guys?”

You heard the ching of a large tip. He hummed. “A hundred dollars says ‘fuck her now.’ Can’t argue with that.”

Without any further preamble, he gripped your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and drove into you in one deep, merciless thrust.

You shrieked, the massive girth stretching your soaked pussy walls to their limit, filling every inch of your greedy hole in a way no toy ever could. He held still for a torturous second, letting you feel his veiny shaft throbbing inside you, letting the audience watch how his fat cockhead kissed your cervix while your puffy lips clung to his base.

Then he started pounding you raw.

He was relentless, his deep, punishing strokes rocking your body forward, heavy balls slapping wetly against your swollen clit with every filthy plunge. The room filled with obscene sounds: the slick squelch of your arousal coating his pistoning cock, your desperate whimpers turning to drawn-out moans, his ragged grunts as he fucked you like an animal. One hand clamped on your hip, yanking you back to meet his thrusts, the other braced on the headboard, his dark eyes glued to your face.

“See how this dirty little slut takes my cock?” he growled for the viewers, voice gravelly and commanding, treating you like his personal fucktoy. “No shame at all,” he scoffed. “She’d beg for this pounding all night if the tips rolled in, wouldn’t you?” He rammed in extra hard on the last word, grinding his thick shaft against your g-spot until you sobbed, your cunt gushing fresh juices of arousal around him.

valsbn: Fuck yeah, wreck that sloppy pussy

heehee: Pound her harder, I wanna see her squirt all over that dick

bnoo: hot as hell ill tip more for creampie close-up

pjjong: $200 to make her say thank you.

He read it. He leaned down, his chest pressing against your sweaty back, his mouth near your ear, but his words were still for the audience. “They want you to say thank you to me for railing your sloppy cunt. Think you can manage that while I’m fucking you like this?”

You were a babbling mess, reduced to pathetic whines and gasps, your brain fried from the relentless stretch. He yanked your hips back viciously, tilting his angle to batter that sweet spot deep inside, making your vision explode with white-hot pleasure. “T-thank—fuck—ngh! Thank you!” you wailed, the words torn from your throat as your pussy clenched hungrily around his invading girth.

“Good,” he purred, straightening up again, resuming his punishing pace. “But I don’t think she’s learned her lesson yet. Hiding this from me. Putting herself on display for everyone but me.” His thrusts turned feral, each one slamming his thick head against your cervix, your arousal squirting out with every withdrawal, soaking his balls and the sheets. You felt another orgasm building, clit throbbing desperately. “Should we let her come again?” he hummed, as if he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. She seems pretty greedy. Maybe she needs to earn it.”

His hand snaked around your waist, rough fingers zeroing in on your engorged clit, rubbing furious, slippery circles in perfect sync with his pounding rhythm. The onslaught shattered you—his massive cock dragging along your slick walls, hitting every sensitive ridge, while his digits ground against your nub, sending electric jolts straight to your spasming core. You babbled incoherently, a filthy stream of pleas spilling from your drool-slick lips.

“Please—hngh—please, I’ll earn it, I’ll be good—be your good girl, just let me, please—”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he said, his tone mockingly gracious, ramping up the pressure on your clit until it pulsated with need. His thrusts went wild, losing all control—frantic, hip-snapping drives that chased his release while demolishing yours, his thick cock swelling even bigger inside your clenching heat.

The second orgasm was different—a deep, rolling quake that started in your core and radiated outwards, making stars burst under the darkness of your eyelids. Your internal muscles clamped down on him in vicious, rhythmic pulses, milking his cock, and you heard his sharp, guttural groan right next to the microphone.

“Fuck—she’s squeezing me so tight—gonna—” His voice cracked, all narration forgotten. He buried himself balls-deep one final time, body jerking violently, hot ropes of thick cum erupting from his pulsing tip to paint your insides white. He pumped you full, overflow spilling out around his still-twitching girth.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and the final, celebratory chimes from the tip jar on screen. The viewer count was holding steady.

Sunghoon stayed buried inside you, his weight partially on your back, both of you slick with sweat. Them, slowly, he pulled out. The loss was acute, and you collapsed onto your stomach, turning your head to look at him.

He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, his hand came down hard on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap that made you yelp, your spent body jolting. “Turn around,” he ordered, his voice still rough with the aftershocks of his orgasm. “They want to see you.”

You whimpered pathetically, muscles like jelly as you rolled onto your back, legs splitting open, your drenched thighs slick with sweat, arousal, and his leaking cum. Your tits heaved with every ragged breath, nipples hard. Sunghoon’s strong hand seized your jaw, fingers digging into your soft skin as he wrenched your face toward the camera, forcing your swollen lips into a pouty ‘O’ shape. His other hand clamped onto your inner thigh, yanking it high and wide to expose your wrecked cunt to the lens—puffy lips gaping, creamy cum oozing out in thick rivulets, mixing with your gushing juices to form a filthy puddle on the sheets.

Your face was pure pornographic bliss: eyes glazed, lips swollen, hair a tangled mess, and a drowsy, cock-drunk expression that left no doubt about just how thoroughly he’d ruined you. The chat exploded instantly.

userace: bet her pussys still twitching for round two fill her up again

stickiriki: Fuck i need my mouth on those tits

ilovesalsa02: holy shit she looks like a glazed donut lmao

jsxlo: $500 TO KISS HER RN

Sunghoon glanced at the monitor, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned in closer to the camera, his grip tightening on your jaw ever so slightly. “Look at her,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with possessive satisfaction. “So fucking pretty.” More tips chimed like a victory song, and Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he straightened, still holding you in place for the audience to gawk at. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the show,” he said. “That’s all for today.”

With that, he reached out and ended the stream with a decisive click.

The sudden silence was deafening. The bright ring light felt exposing, harsh. You were both panting.

Sunghoon looked down at you, and in his eyes was something complex that you couldn’t quite decipher in your fucked-out state. He opened his mouth to speak just as your phone, connected to the stream dashboard, buzzed violently on the nightstand. The notification preview glowed:

STREAM SUMMARY:

Peak Viewers: 6.8k

Total Tips: $1,547

New Top Tipper: @/pjjong

The first time you heard the giggling, you tried to excuse it.

It was past midnight, and you were hunched over your laptop at the kitchen table, the blue light a lonely island in the dark apartment. Your dissertation draft glowed on the screen, a mess of half-formed arguments and citations you needed to cross-check. The key turned in the lock, the door opened with a soft shush, and then the sound: a bright, airy laugh, followed by a lower, familiar chuckle. Riki’s.

You didn’t look up. You kept typing, the clack of the keys a little louder than necessary. This is fine, you told yourself. He’s a college kid. He’s social. Hana said he would behave.

“Oh, you have a roommate?” the girl’s voice floated into the kitchen, tinged with curiosity.

“My sister’s friend,” Riki’s voice replied, casual, dismissive. “Don’t worry about it.”

My sister’s friend. The phrase needled you. It was true, of course. You were Hana’s friend. You’d met Riki when he was a wobbly toddler trailing after his big sister, his cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt or candy. You’d spent countless afternoons at the Nishimura house, and your memories of Riki were a highlight reel of childhood absurdity: the time you and Hana convinced him that eating a whole lemon would give him superpowers (he cried for an hour), the elaborate tea parties where he, draped in Hana’s old ballet tutus and your sparkly scarves, would serve imaginary cakes with grave seriousness. You remembered his high, squeaky laugh, the way he’d cling to your leg when a dog barked too loud, the nightlight shaped like a rocket ship that had to be on or he wouldn’t sleep.

But that boy was gone.

The one who’d shown up at your door with a single duffel bag and a lazy smile was a stranger to you—a strikingly handsome stranger, which was its own confusing problem. He’d shot up, for one thing. He had to be at least six feet now, all long, lean lines. His face had lost all its baby fat, revealing sharp cheekbones and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass, and his eyes, once wide and innocent, were now a dark, perceptive brown that seemed to take in everything and give nothing back. His hair was a messy, artful tumble of black and bleached-blonde, and he moved with a relaxed, almost languid confidence that felt utterly alien. He’d thanked you for letting him crash, his voice a smooth baritone that held none of the warmth you remembered.

“I’ll be quiet,” he’d promised, his gaze briefly meeting yours before sliding away to appraise the living room. “Won’t get in your way.”

For the first few days, he was true to his word—the perfect roommate. He’d leave early, come back late, wash his single dish, and disappear into his room. You’d see him sometimes in the morning, scrolling through his phone with a faint, unreadable smile while he ate breakfast. You’d mutter a “morning,” and he’d give a slight, noncommittal nod.

But the problem started that first weekend.

It was a Friday. You’d finally collapsed into bed at 1 AM after a brutal day in the library. Just as the fuzzy edges of sleep began to pull you under, you heard it. The murmur of voices from his room, down the hall. Then a giggle. Then a low, masculine rumble you recognized as Riki’s laugh, but different—slower, richer. Your eyes snapped open in the dark.

You told yourself it was a one-off. A Friday night. He was a young, attractive guy in his second year of university. It was normal.

But then it was Saturday. A different voice, higher-pitched. More giggling. Then, around 1:30 AM, a different sound cut through the wall. A soft, breathy moan. Then another. Then the rhythmic, unmistakable thump-thump-thump of a headboard meeting the wall with a steady, cadence.

You lay there, frozen, heat flooding your cheeks. You were angry, you decided. Purely, righteously angry. It was inconsiderate. It was rude. You had a dissertation to write. You needed sleep. You squeezed your eyes shut and shoved a pillow over your head, but it was no use. The sounds were a vivid, unwelcome painting in the dark: the creak of the bed, the girl’s escalating cries, Riki’s voice, a rough whisper you couldn’t make out but whose tone was unmistakably filthy, urging her on. It went on for what felt like an eternity before culminating in a sharp, female cry and then a heavy, satisfied silence.

You got maybe two hours of sleep.

Sunday was quiet. You saw him briefly in the kitchen, making coffee. He looked tired but content, a faint bruise-like mark on the side of his neck. He caught you looking and raised an eyebrow. You looked away first, your face burning.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, his voice bland.

“Just fine,” you lied, your voice tight.

The pattern solidified over the next week. Monday: a blonde. Tuesday: a redhead. Wednesday: quiet. Thursday: a brunette with a particularly loud, theatrical vocal range. It was like living next to a poorly soundproofed brothel. Your sleep fractured into miserable chunks. Dark circles bloomed under your eyes. Your focus, already strained by the mountain of academic work, shattered completely. You’d be reading a dense theoretical text and your brain would supply the sound of last night’s gasps. You’d be trying to formulate an argument and all you could think about was the rhythmic thumping against your shared wall.

The worst part was the confusion that churned in your gut alongside the anger. Because it wasn’t just noise. It was him. The transformation was so absolute it felt like a personal betrayal. That sweet, funny little boy who used to hide behind you during scary movies was now a… a philanderer. A player who cycled through women with a casual, almost bored kind of efficiency. And your body, traitorously, had noticed the details. The way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders when he reached for a glass. The defined muscles of his biceps. The full, surprisingly soft-looking shape of his mouth, which you’d only ever seen quirked in that infuriatingly detached smirk.

It made you feel gross, this flicker of awareness. He was Hana’s little brother. You’d seen Mrs Nishimura potty-training him, for god’s sake. You’d seen him with a bowl-cut and braces. This… this physicality of him now was wrong. But when you saw him reaching for a cereal box one morning and you saw the fabric of his t-shirt pulling tight, outlining the powerful V of his torso, you couldn’t help but look away, your heart doing a stupid little stutter.

Another time, you’d dropped your pen and bent over to pick it up in the hallway. When you straightened, he was leaning against his doorframe, having just emerged from his room. His eyes weren’t on your face—no, they were on your ass, clad in sweatpants, and the look was so blatant, so slow and appraising, it felt like a physical touch. It wasn’t a glance. It was a stare, and he didn’t look away when you caught him, just let his gaze drag slowly back up to meet yours, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly before he pushed off the frame and walked to the bathroom without a word. Your skin had prickled for an hour afterwards.

Then there was the afternoon you came out of the shower, wrapped in just a towel, hair dripping. You’d thought he was in class, but it must have been cancelled, because he was in the living room, lounging on the couch, scrolling on his phone. His eyes lifted, and they didn’t dart away in polite embarrassment—they traveled from your damp hair, down over the towel tucked securely over your breasts, along your bare legs, and back up. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was heavy, hungry. It felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, mentally peeling the towel away. You’d scurried to your room, flushing from the tips of your ears to your toes, that confusing, unwanted heat pooling low in your belly. He’s Hana’s little brother, you’d chanted to yourself. You saw him in footie pajamas.

But that was the thing: you had to accept, eventually, the boy in footie pajamas had ceased to exist, and it became increasingly clear to you by his nightly routines.

You tried subtlety first. You started playing white noise on your phone: rain sounds, ocean waves, the whole lot of it. It drowned out the talking and the giggles, but the thudding of the headboard and the sharper cries pierced through. You took sleeping pills, but they left you groggy and useless the next day, and your dissertation couldn’t afford a groggy brain.

You considered texting Hana, but what would you even say? Your brother is a sex fiend and it’s keeping me awake? It felt pathetic. And a part of you, a stubborn, prideful part, didn’t want to tattle. You were an adult. He was an adult. You should be able to handle this.

So you stewed, and let the anger ferment into a thick, toxic resentment. Every polite, vacant smile he gave you in the hallway felt like an insult. Every time you heard the front door open late at night, your shoulders would tense. You began to catalog the sounds, each one a fresh brand on your patience. The click of the lock. The whispered conversations. The first, tentative moan. The dirty talk would even seep through the walls, much to your dismay. You’d be trying to read, and his voice, low and gritty, would cut through your concentration.

“Does it feel good? Taking all of me?”

A whimper in response.

“Yeah, you do. So fucking tight for me. Tell me.”

“I… I like it, Riki…”

“That’s it. Let the whole building know who’s making you feel this good.”

And she would. She’d cry out, and the headboard would pound faster. Yet another night, yet another different girl.

“Look at you. So greedy. Riding me like you’re trying to milk me dry.”

The wet, slapping sounds of skin on skin.

“Come on, baby. Squeeze me. Make yourself come on my cock.”

And she would, with a shattered scream that made you flinch at your desk. The sounds were graphic, instructional. You’d find yourself imagining the positions, the angles—you couldn’t help it. You’d imagine his hands, those large, long-fingered hands you’d seen holding a game controller or a water bottle, gripping a girl’s hips, digging into her thighs. You’d imagine his mouth, that surprisingly soft-looking mouth, on other parts of a woman’s body. The fantasies would pop into your head unbidden, shocking you with their clarity and their heat. You’d shake your head, trying to dislodge them, but they’d linger, leaving you restless and irritated.

Your work suffered. Your advisor sent a concerned email about your last draft. You snapped at a classmate over a minor disagreement. You were a raw nerve, and the constant, nightly soundtrack from Riki’s room was a cheese grater dragged over it.

The breaking point came on a Tuesday. A Tuesday. Who had loud, raucous sex on a Tuesday night before a midterm week? Nishimura Riki, apparently.

It started at 11 PM. You’d gone to bed early, desperate for just one full night of rest. The giggling started at 11:30. The headboard thumping began at midnight. You lay there, fists clenched in your sheets, counting each impact like a prisoner marking days on a wall. At 1 AM, the girl’s first orgasm echoed down the hall, a long, wailing cry that seemed to vibrate in your own bones. You shoved a second pillow over your face.

They took a break. You heard the faucet run in his room, low murmurs, a soft laugh. Please be over, you prayed. Please let him be done.

They were, in fact, not done.

Round two began. You could hear Riki’s voice now, a low, continuous stream of dirty talk.

“That’s it. Take it deeper. You can do it, I know you can.”

“Riki, please…”

“Please what? Say it.”

“Please—ngh—fuck me harder.”

“Good girl.”

Soon enough, a second, sharper climax came around 2:15 AM. You were sweating under your covers, your heart pounding with a rage so pure it felt like a fever.

And then, at 3 AM, it was still going. A third, shattering orgasm from the girl echoed down the hall, this one raw and sobbing. That was it.

A red haze descended over your vision. You threw off your covers, the cool air hitting your sweat-damp skin. You didn’t think. You just moved: stormed out of your room, feet slapping against the cool hardwood floor. You didn’t bother knocking. You didn’t even pause. You just shoved his door open, the knob rattling against the wall behind it.

The scene was illuminated by the dim, orange-pink glow of his salt lamp, casting long, suggestive shadows. Riki was on his bed, shirtless, the sheets pooled around his waist. A brunette girl—a different one from last week—was straddling him, her back to the door, her head thrown back in abandon. They were moving together in a slow, deep, grinding rhythm, and he had one large hand gripping the curve of her hip, fingers digging into her flesh, the other tangled in her hair, guiding her movements. His eyes, heavy-lidded and glazed with deep, uncomplicated pleasure, snapped to the door the moment it opened.

For a second, there was only the sound: their synchronized heavy breathing, the wet, slick sound of their joining, the soft rustle of sheets. The girl gasped, trying to twist to look, but Riki’s grip on her hip tightened, keeping her firmly in place on him. His gaze locked with yours, and in the dim light, you saw the surprise morph, in a heartbeat, into something else. A slow, infuriating smirk spread across his face—a smirk of pure, unadulterated amusement, the smirk of a guy who knew exactly what he was doing and found your furious intrusion the most entertaining thing that had happened all night.

“Well, hello,” he drawled, his voice hoarse and ragged from use. He didn’t stop moving beneath the girl. If anything, his upward thrusts seemed to become more deliberate, more pronounced, a blatant, theatrical show for his audience of one. The girl whimpered, her body shuddering. “Need something?”

All the angry, rehearsed speeches you’d composed in the dark dried up and turned to dust in your throat. You were face-to-face with a version of Riki you didn’t recognize, a version that was all animal heat and arrogant challenge. The salt lamp light painted his torso in gold and shadow. Sweat gleamed on the defined planes of his toned chest and the hard ridges of his abs. A light sheen coated his skin, highlighting the muscles of his arms and shoulders as he held the girl. His expression was a jarring mix of carnal satisfaction and mocking defiance, and the air in the room was thick, humid, and saturated with the musky smell of sex and sweat. It somehow felt both invasive and disturbingly intimate.

“Are you kidding me?” you finally spat out, your voice trembling with a rage so intense it vibrated in your teeth. “It’s three in the fucking morning on a Tuesday, Riki!”

He chuckled, the sound low and vibrating in his chest, a sound you felt in your own. The girl on top of him let out another soft cry, her back arching. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. His dark eyes raked over you, taking in your old, worn sleep shirt, your disheveled hair, your bare legs. His gaze felt physical, like a slow drag of a fingertip. “We lost track of time.” He paused, his hips giving another slow, deliberate roll that made the girl gasp. “You could always join. Might help you relax. You always look so… tense.”

The audacity. The sheer, unbelievable gall of it. It ignited something white-hot and explosive in your chest, burning away any last shred of awkwardness or misplaced nostalgia. “You insufferable, egotistical child,” you hissed, the words sharp as glass. “This isn’t a frat house! I have a life. I have work! I haven’t slept properly in ages because of your… your nightly activities!”

His smirk faltered for a millisecond, the corners of his mouth tightening. His eyes narrowed slightly, the mockery replaced by a flicker of something else—genuine surprise, maybe. He slowed his movements, his hands coming to rest more gently on the girl’s waist. “Hey, come on. It’s not that big a—”

“It is!” you shouted, the volume startling even you. The girl on top of him flinched violently. “You think this is funny? You think your little playboy act is cool? It’s pathetic and it’s rude! I didn’t agree to live with a walking, talking porno soundtrack!” You took a step further into the room, the smell of them hitting you harder. “I remember when you used to be afraid of the dark and needed a nightlight, Riki. I remember when you cried because you thought the monster in the closet would eat your toes. And now you just keep the whole building up with your disgusting noise!”

The references to his childhood hit their mark like a scalpel: his face shut down completely, the smirk vanishing, replaced by a blank, unreadable mask of stone. All the lazy confidence drained away, leaving something cold and hard in its place. The girl, now thoroughly uncomfortable and exposed, scrambled off him with a yelp, grabbing frantically for her clothes strewn on the floor. “I should, um, go,” she mumbled, her face scarlet, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Riki didn’t move to stop her. He didn’t even look at her. His eyes were still fixed on you, dark and intense. He sat up slightly, the sheets falling lower, and you forced your gaze to remain on his face. The silence she left in her wake was deafening, broken only by the rustle of fabric as she dressed hurriedly. She slipped past you without a word, and a moment later, you heard the front door open and click shut.

Now it was just the two of you, in the aftermath. The bed was a mess. The air still hummed. Riki finally moved, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He was still gloriously, infuriatingly shirtless, and he made no move to cover himself. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, looking at you. The dim light carved the tension in his shoulders, the line of his spine.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice flat, devoid of all its previous teasing warmth.

You stared at him, the adrenaline still coursing through you, making your hands shake. The flatness of his voice, the complete lack of remorse, was somehow more infuriating than the smirk. It was a dismissal. You were just a nuisance he was tolerating.

“No,” you said, your own voice cold and final. “I don’t.”

You turned on your heel and walked out, pulling his door shut with a firm, quiet click that felt more damning than a slam. You half-expected to hear it fly open again, for him to call after you, to offer some half-assed apology just to smooth things over.

Silence.

You stood in the dark hallway, listening to the absolute nothing from his room. No footsteps. No call of your name. Nothing. This brat.

The fury curdled into a sick, hollow feeling in your stomach. You went back to your room, climbed into your cold bed, and lay there staring at the ceiling. The apartment was now profoundly, unnervingly quiet. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator. The distant sound of a car passing. Your own heartbeat, slowing from its frantic pace.

You didn’t sleep. You just waited for dawn, trapped in the buzzing aftermath of your own outburst.

If it had been awkward before, the following week was on a completely different level.

Riki went back to being a ghost, but this time it felt intentional and punitive. He’d leave before you woke up. He’d come home long after you’d gone to bed. On the rare occasions your paths crossed—you coming out of your room to make lunch, him grabbing a protein shake from the fridge—the air would freeze solid. You’d mutter a tense “hey,” and he’d give a silent, barely perceptible nod, his eyes sliding past you as if you barely existed. The easy, if infuriating, nonchalance was gone, replaced by a frosty politeness that was infinitely worse.

The only benefit, you supposed, was the silence. No giggles, no headboards, no chorus of female pleasure echoing down the hall. The peace was absolute, and it should have been everything you wanted. You caught up on sleep. The dark circles under your eyes began to fade. You made actual, solid progress on your dissertation.

But the quiet felt loaded. You’d catch yourself listening for sounds that never came, and the absence felt louder than the noise ever had. A part of you, a part you hated, wondered where he was. Was he taking his “nightly parades” elsewhere? To some girl’s dorm, a hotel room? The thought shouldn’t have bothered you, but it did, a persistent, itchy curiosity in the back of your mind.

You felt guilty sometimes, in weak moments. You’d remember the look on his face right before you left. You’d told Hana’s little brother he was disgusting. You’d shamed him in front of a stranger. But then you’d remember the weeks of sleep deprivation, his arrogant smirk, and the guilt would harden back to anger.

He was being inconsiderate. You were in the right. You repeated it like a mantra.

One evening, about ten days after The Confrontation, you were in the kitchen making a late dinner when you heard him in his room. It was a Thursday. You’d just submitted a draft chapter to your advisor and felt a rare, buoyant sense of accomplishment. You were humming, chopping vegetables, when his door opened.

He emerged, and you instinctively stilled. He was dressed to go out: dark jeans that hugged his long legs, a simple black t-shirt that stretched across the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders, a leather jacket slung over his arm. His hair was artfully messy, and he smelled clean. The sight sent a stupid, unwelcome jolt through your system.

He was heading for the door, not even glancing toward the kitchen.

“Going out?” you heard yourself ask, the words coming out before you could stop them. You aimed for a tone of casual, neutral inquiry.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned his head. His expression was carefully blank. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” You nodded, forcing yourself to resume chopping a bell pepper. “Okay. Well. Have fun.”

“Party,” he offered shortly. “I’ll probably be late.”

A party. Of course. That’s where he’d been exporting his activities. Relief and something else, something sharper, twisted together in your gut. “Right. Well. Don’t… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” It was an old, stupid joke you and Hana used to say.

His eyes met yours for a fraction of a second, a flash of something unreadable in their dark depths. “Alright,” he said, his voice still flat. Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

You stood there, the knife idle in your hand. The apartment was empty. Truly, completely empty. For the first time in weeks, you had the space to yourself, with no threat of interruption, no ambient tension humming through the walls. The sense of freedom was immediate and heady. You finished your dinner, ate it watching an absolutely awful episode of Married At First Sight, and felt the knots in your shoulders begin to unwind.

You were ahead of your deadlines. The silence was a gift. And your body, which had been wound so tight for so long, was thrumming with a restless energy that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the sudden, profound absence of the very thing that had been driving you crazy.

It started as a simple thought. You’re alone. You’re stressed. You deserve to relax.

You took a long, hot shower, washing away the mental grime of the day. You didn’t rush. You luxuriated in the steam, letting your hands slide over your skin. When you got out, you didn’t put on your usual sleep shorts and baggy t-shirt. You pulled on your silky pajamas instead, and climbed into bed, the sheets cool and smooth against your skin. You picked up your phone, scrolled aimlessly for a few minutes, but your mind wouldn’t settle. It kept drifting back to the fact that he was gone. That you could make any noise you wanted, and no one would hear.

A slow, warm pulse began low in your belly. It was an idle throb at first, easily ignored. You shifted to your side, trying to get comfortable, but the movement only pressed the seam of your panties against your clit, sending a tiny, electric spark through you. You let out a soft breath.

Why not?

Your hand slid down your stomach, under the waistband of your pajamas, and over the thin cotton of your panties. You were already damp. The realization made your cheeks heat, but you didn’t stop. You pressed the heel of your hand against yourself, applying a firm, steady pressure. A low sigh escaped your lips. It felt good. So good. To finally touch yourself without the subconscious fear of being overheard, of having to be quiet.

You let your eyes drift shut, focusing on the sensation. The initial tension began to melt, replaced by a spreading warmth. You slipped your hand beneath the your panties, your fingers finding your wetness with a sense of relief. You were slick, already swollen and sensitive. You circled your clit with two fingers, a slow, lazy rhythm, letting the pleasure build in gentle waves.

But your mind, treacherous thing, needed a focus. It drifted from abstract sensation to memory. And the memories that surfaced weren’t from old boyfriends or fantasy scenarios. They were auditory. They were his.

The low, rough whisper from through the wall. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” You could hear it perfectly, the timbre of his voice when it was stripped of its usual casual detachment, thickened with desire. Your fingers moved faster.

Another memory. The brunette from the other week, her breathy, desperate pleading. “Riki, please, I’m gonna—” and his response, a guttural, commanding, “Come for me, baby.” A full-body shudder wracked you. Your hips lifted off the mattress, seeking more pressure. You imagined that voice directed at you.

You were panting now, your free hand coming up to palm your tits through your shirt. You pinched your nipple through the fabric, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger, the pleasure of it making you cry out softly. The images in your head were getting clearer, more invasive. Not just his voice, but the sight of him from that night—shirtless, powerful, in control, sweat gleaming on his skin, his hands gripping those hips, that dark, intense gaze locked on yours even as he moved inside someone else.

“You always look so tense.”

A whimper tore from your throat. You were so wet, your fingers sliding easily, the sounds obscene in the quiet of your room. You added a second finger, dipping inside yourself, curling them, searching. Your back arched. You thought of his hands. Big, with long fingers. Capable hands that could grip a basketball or a girl’s waist with equal ease. You imagined them on you. One tangling in your hair, pulling your head back. The other spreading your thighs apart, his thumb replacing your frantic fingers on your clit, applying a ruthless, perfect pressure.

“That’s it, take it all. Good girl.”

The fantasy spiraled, out of control and all-consuming. It wasn’t the faceless girls anymore. It was you in his bed. You under him. You on top of him, riding him the way that girl had, his hands guiding your hips, his eyes dark and hungry only for you. The rhythm of your fingers matched the imaginary rhythm of his thrusts—deep, slow, then fast and punishing. You could almost feel the stretch, the delicious, filling pressure of him. Your breaths came in ragged gasps. You were moaning openly now, the sounds muffled only by your own pillow. You were so close. The coil in your core was wound impossibly tight, shimmering on the edge of release.

You needed one more thing. One more anchor to tip you over. Your brain, fogged with lust, supplied it.

“Riki,” you moaned into the darkness, the name a broken sigh. It felt forbidden and thrilling on your tongue. “Oh my, hngh, Riki.” You said it again, louder, as you drove your fingers deeper. “Riki…”

The climax was rushing toward you, a tidal wave of sensation. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your entire world narrowed to the frantic movement of your hand and the filthy, perfect fantasy in your head. You were chanting his name now, a soft, desperate litany against the onslaught of your pleasure.

“Riki—ah, oh—Riki… fuck, Riki…”

You were right there. The peak was a white-hot point of light behind your eyelids. Your body tightened, every muscle straining. One more second. One more—

“Y/N?”

This time, the voice was real. It was low, husky, and came from the doorway of your bedroom.

Your eyes flew open.

The light from the hallway silhouetted him, tall and broad-shouldered, filling the frame of your open door. Riki. He was still in his jacket, his hair slightly wind-tossed. He must have come back. He must have been standing there. For how long?

The shock was so absolute, so seismic, that it triggered your orgasm. The wave you’d been teetering on crashed over you with devastating, uncontrollable force. A sharp, punched-out cry ripped from your throat as your back bowed off the bed. Your hips jerked, your inner muscles fluttering wildly around your own fingers. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, electrocuted your system, magnified a thousandfold by the sheer, horrifying shame of being seen. Your vision blurred at the edges. The sensations rolled through you in endless, punishing waves, your body convulsing through the orgasm he had witnessed, that his voice had caused.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. You were trapped in the aftershocks, your hand still buried between your legs, your shirt rucked up, your chest heaving. The air in the room, so charged with your own solitary pleasure a moment ago, was now thick with something else—a stunned humiliation.

Riki didn’t move from the doorway. The shadows hid his expression, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, on your exposed skin, on the visible tremors still wracking your body. The silence stretched, taut and unbearable, broken only by your ragged, slowing breaths.

Finally, he took a single, slow step into the room. The floorboard creaked under his weight. The dim light from the hall caught the sharp line of his jaw, the dark intensity of his eyes as they adjusted to the deeper gloom of your bedroom. He was looking right at you, his gaze dropping to where your hand was still tucked under the covers, to the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

A slow, deep breath escaped him. It wasn’t a laugh. It was something more considering.

“So,” he said, his voice a low, rough rasp that scraped over every nerve ending you had. It was the voice from your fantasy, but it was real, and it was directed at you. “That’s what you do when I’m not here.”

“What are you doing back already?” you stammered, your voice a thin, reedy thing. You jerked your hand from under the covers, tugging the hem of your shirt down and yanking the sheet up to your chin. The movement was frantic, pathetic. “I thought you were going to be out longer.”

Riki didn’t move from where he stood, just inside your door. He shrugged, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. “Was boring,” he said, his tone flat, but his eyes were anything but. They were tracking your every twitch, every rapid breath. “Didn’t wanna waste my time there.”

“Oh.” The syllable was useless. Your brain was scrambling, trying to find solid ground. You forced a weak, brittle laugh. “Um, wow. Didn’t know you could run out of prospects.”

His lips, those infuriatingly perfect lips, quirked in a shadow of his old smirk. It wasn’t amused. It was predatory. “Maybe the one I wanted wasn’t there.”

The implication hung in the air between you, a live wire. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You brushed it off with an awkward, choked sound that was supposed to be a laugh. It came out as a gasp. You cleared your throat, the sound absurdly loud. “So, um.” You couldn’t look at him. You stared at the pattern on your duvet. “How much of that did you hear?” The question was a desperate, hopeful prayer. Please, please say you just walked in at the end. Please say you didn’t hear me moaning your name like a desperate, pathetic—

He took another step forward. The dim light from the hall now fully illuminated his face. His dark eyes were gleaming, intense, fixed on you. That slow, knowing smile spread across his face again.

“Enough,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, rough rasp that made your stomach clench. “Enough to hear you calling for me. My name sounded real pretty coming from your mouth, Y/N. All breathy and fucked-out.” He took another step.

You flinched as if he’d struck you. “That’s not—”

“All that time,” he continued, cutting you off, his voice gaining a hard, possessive edge. He was standing at the foot of your bed now, a tall, dark silhouette of intent. “All that time you were banging on my door, so fucking mad about the noise… you were just mad about not being the one in my bed, huh?”

“No,” you whispered, but it was a lie, and he knew it. The memory of your own fantasy, of his imagined voice and hands, was seared into your mind, undeniable. Your protest died in your throat.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the footboard. The movement made the muscles in his arms flex, defined even under the jacket. Your breath hitched.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in your flushed face, your wide eyes, the rapid pulse beating in your throat. “Your eyelashes are fucking fluttering. You’re breathing like you just ran a mile. For me.”

You were. You couldn’t stop. Every inhale felt like a struggle. He was so close. The energy radiating from him was overwhelming, a magnetic pull that your body was desperate to answer. Your mind was a riot of conflict—shame, desire, a lifetime of seeing him as Hana’s little brother, and the undeniable reality of the man in front of you.

“Riki, this is—we can’t,” you managed to say, your voice trembling. “This is a bad idea. You’re Hana’s baby brother. This is so wrong.”

The words were the wrong ones.

His face darkened instantly. The possessive heat in his eyes hardened into something fierce, almost angry. He pushed off the footboard and in one fluid, startlingly fast motion, he was on the bed, kneeling over you. He didn’t touch you, but his presence caged you in, his knees on either side of your legs under the sheet.

“‘Baby brother’?” he repeated, the words a low, dangerous growl. “Is that what you see? After what you were just doing? Moaning my name while you fucked yourself on your fingers?” He leaned down, his face inches from yours. His breath was warm against your lips. “How much more do I need to do to prove to you that I’m a man now, Y/N? A man.” He looked away momentarily, scoffing and running a hand through his hair. “And this man,” he emphasised, “is going to fuck you so hard the only name you can remember is his. Do you understand me?”

The words shouldn’t have made you clench with a fresh, aching throb of need, but they did. You stared up at him, mesmerized and terrified.

“I…” you began, but no other words came.

“I’ve wanted you,” he said, his voice dropping to a tortured, confessional rasp. His forehead tipped against yours. You could feel the tension thrumming through him. “Since I was old enough to remember. Every time you came over with Hana. Every time you smiled at me. Every fucking time you wore some tiny little outfit and talked to me like I was a kid, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to peel it off you with my teeth. Every boyfriend I saw you with, every single one who made you cry—I wanted to break their faces, Y/N. Hana would hug you, and I’d just sit there, shaking with anger. Because it should have been me. It should have always been me.”

The obsession in his voice stole the air from your lungs. It was terrifying. It was the most thrilling thing you’d ever heard.

His lips brushed yours, the lightest whisper of contact. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your mouth. “No idea what you do to me. Seeing you like this… hearing you…” he breathed out a laugh. “I’m about to lose my fucking mind.”

Then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. His lips were firm, demanding, and you opened for him instantly, a soft whimper escaping you. One of his hands tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss, while the other finally, finally pushed the sheet away.

The cool air hit your skin, but you were burning up. His kiss was consuming, a feedback loop of pent-up desire. You kissed him back with a desperation that matched his own, your hands coming up to grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and the hand in your hair tightened just shy of painful.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, you taste good,” he rasped. His eyes were black with want.

Before you could process what was happening, he was moving. He shoved your shirt up, exposing your breasts, and ducked his head. His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard through the flimsy fabric of your bra. You cried out, arching off the bed. Then he lavished the same attention on the other, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, making you gasp and writhe.

“Riki…” you moaned.

“Yeah,” he muttered against your skin, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum, over your trembling stomach. “That’s it. Say it again. Louder.”

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your pajamas and panties and dragged them both down your legs in one rough, swift motion, the fabric scraping against your thighs before he tossed them aside like they were nothing. You were completely exposed to him now, your bare pussy glistening in the dim light, folds swollen and slick from the earlier fucking, arousal dripping steadily from your entrance. He knelt between your spread legs, his strong hands shoving your thighs wider apart, knees pressing into the mattress to lock you open for his inspection.

“Jesus,” he breathed, the crude confidence momentarily replaced by something like reverence. His eyes locked on yours, dark and predatory, as he stared at your exposed core, taking in every detail—the way your outer lips parted slightly to reveal the pink, wet inner folds, your clit peeking out hard and throbbing, begging for attention. “Look at you. Soaked. All for me.” He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over your heated skin, and you shuddered violently. “Been dreaming about this cunt since I knew what to do with one.”

He reached forward with both hands, thumbs and fingers gripping your outer lips firmly, pulling them apart wide to expose your dripping hole completely. The cool air hit your sensitive inner walls, making you clench involuntarily, a fresh bead of your juices trickling out. Riki’s gaze zeroed in, obsessed, his breath coming faster as he watched it glisten. Then he leaned down close, his face inches from your spread pussy, he pursed his lips and spat directly onto your open entrance—a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit before dripping down slowly, mixing with your arousal and sliding into your folds. You watched it all, mesmerized by the filthy sight of his spit trailing over your most intimate parts, coating everything in a shiny, messy sheen. It was so degrading, so gross, but the heat pooling in your core said otherwise—your pussy fluttered at the sensation, more wetness gushing out to join the slick mess.

Fuck.

You tipped your head back against the pillow, a whimper escaping as you covered your eyes with your hands, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Why did this turn you on so much? It should feel wrong, humiliating, but your body betrayed you, hips twitching toward him desperately.

“Nuh-uh, baby,” Riki growled, his voice low and commanding. He grabbed your wrists in one hand, yanking them away from your face and pinning them above your head with bruising force. “Don’t you dare. Keep those eyes on me, Y/N. You better remember every single second of this.”

The first touch of his tongue was a revelation—hot, wet, and insistent, a long, flat lick from your spit-slick entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit, lapping up the combined mess of your juices and his saliva in one greedy swipe. You jolted, a broken sound tearing from your throat. He didn’t stop, dragging his tongue back down and up again, slower this time, his nose bumping against your mound as he buried his face deeper, and you couldn’t stop your hips from lifting off the mattress, seeking more.

“Hold still,” he ordered, his voice muffled against you. His hands came up to grip your thighs, his fingers digging in, holding you open, holding you down.

He zeroed in on your clit then, swollen and aching for him, circling it with the tip of his tongue in tight, teasing loops that had your hips bucking despite his grip. Then he sucked it into his hot mouth, lips sealing around it as he nursed hard, tongue flicking rapidly against the underside. The suction pulled a mewl from you. He alternated—gentle laps to build the ache, then harsh sucks that bordered on too much, his teeth grazing lightly to send spirals of mixed pain and bliss racing up your spine.

“You’re so goddamn wet, baby,” he breathed out, the vibration against your most sensitive spot making you cry out. Your hands tangled in his hair, clutching desperately, knuckles white as you held on for dear life. He growled in approval, the sound rumbling through your pussy, and slid two thick fingers into your clenching hole without warning. They sank in easily, your walls sucking them deep, and he curled them immediately, hooking against that spongy spot inside you, stroking it with precise, come-hither motions that made your toes curl and your vision spot.

Pumping his fingers in and out, he matched the rhythm to his tongue’s assault—thrust, lick, suck, thrust—building the pressure. Your arousal squirted out around his knuckles with each plunge, soaking his hand, wrist, and the sheets below in a growing puddle. “Fuck, listen to that squelch,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to spit on your clit again, watching it drip down to where his fingers pistoned. “Listen to the sounds your pussy’s making, baby. Creaming all over my hand like you can’t get enough.”

The pleasure coiled tighter in your belly, hotter and more intense than before, every flick, every curl, every filthy word unravelling you further, your thighs quaking uncontrollably around his head.

“I’m—I can’t, Riki, please,” you babbled, voice breaking as the edge hovered, your body a live wire under his touch.

“You can,” he commanded, his voice a dark promise. “Come on my tongue, Y/N. Do it.”

It was his commanding tone that tipped you over the edge. The first orgasm tore through you, your inner muscles fluttering wildly around his fingers, your release coating his hand and chin. He didn’t let up, licking and sucking you through the shattering waves, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until you were a boneless, trembling heap, sensitive and overstimulated.

Only then did he lift his head. His lips were glistening, his chin wet. He looked up at you, his eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction, and slowly licked his lips. The sight was the most obscenely erotic thing you’d ever witnessed.

“Fuck,” you whispered, utterly spent.

He crawled back up your body, his weight settling over you. He kissed you again, deep and slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It was intimate and filthy and it made a new, aching throb of desire pulse deep inside you.

“We’re not done,” he murmured against your lips. He sat back on his heels and shrugged off his leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Then he pulled his black t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

Your breath caught. You’d seen him shirtless that night in his doorway, but this was different. This was up close, for you. The defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the cut of his hips above his jeans, the way his muscles moved under smooth, golden skin. He was beautiful. He was all man. He leaned over you again, kissing you, his bare chest brushing against your sensitive nipples. You could feel the hard length of him straining against his jeans, pressed against your thigh. The evidence of his want, for you, was undeniable.

“Condom,” he muttered, breaking the kiss. “In my back pocket.”

You fumbled for it, your fingers clumsy as you reached around to the back pocket of his dark jeans. You felt the foil packet, pulled it out. He took it from you, his eyes never leaving yours as he ripped it open with his teeth. He shifted back, making quick work of his belt and the button of his jeans. He pushed them and his boxers down just enough to free himself.

You looked. He was thick, length curving slightly, the head already flushed and wet, intensely impressive and kind of intimidating.

Sheathing himself, he moved back over you, settling between your thighs. The head of his cock nudged at your entrance, which was still pulsing and slick from your orgasm and his ministrations. He paused, his body trembling with the effort of holding still.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice rough.

You dragged your gaze from where your bodies were about to join, up to his eyes. They were burning.

“You’re mine now,” he stated, no room for argument. “This pussy is mine. You understand? No one else gets to have it. Ever. And after tonight, you’re never going to look at me like I’m a kid again. You’re going to look at me and remember how deep I can fuck you. How hard I can make you come. You’re mine.”

You nodded, a desperate, eager sound escaping you.

He didn’t wait. He pushed forward, sinking into you in one slow, inexorable thrust.

The stretch was exquisite, a perfect, filling pressure that made your eyes roll back. You were so wet, so ready, he slid in to the hilt without resistance, his hips meeting yours with a soft, final sound.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. His breath came in ragged bursts against your skin, hot and uneven, as he held himself still inside you, letting the sensation of your tight walls gripping his thick cock sink in. Every inch of him throbbed, pulsing deep in your core, and you could feel the way your pussy clenched around him involuntarily, clutching him like it never wanted to let go.

Riki lifted his head slowly, his eyes locking onto yours again, that possessive fire blazing brighter than ever. “Goddamnit, baby, you feel like fucking heaven wrapped around my dick. Waited years for this,” he panted. “Used to jerk off in my room thinking about burying myself balls-deep in this sweet little cunt.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders as the fullness of him stretched you so perfectly it bordered on overwhelming.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, and he pulled back just an inch, the drag of his veined shaft against your sensitive inner walls sending sparks shooting through you. Then he snapped his hips forward again, slower this time, deliberate, making you feel every ridge and bump as he sank back in. The wet slide was obscene, your arousal coating him already, easing the way but making a slick, squelching sound that filled the room. “Listen to that sloppy cunt of yours,” he breathed, his voice husky with awe and filthy pleasure. He pulled out again, almost completely, watching with rapt attention where you were joined. “Fucking dripping for me. Can you hear it?” He thrust back in, a little faster, and the wet, rhythmic schlick echoed in the quiet of your room.

“Riki,” you moaned, the humiliation of the sound mixing with an intense, perverse thrill.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his hips beginning to set a steady, deep rhythm. He wasn’t frantic. He was savoring. Each stroke was a long, slow withdrawal followed by a firm, full re-entry that punched the air from your lungs. “Let me hear it. Let me hear how fucking wet you are for me.”

He leaned down, bracing his weight on his forearms beside your head, his face inches from yours. This close, you could see the sweat beading on his temple, the faint tremor in his jaw as he controlled his pace. His thrusts were deep, each one grinding the base of his cock against your clit in a way that had your toes curling into the sheets.

“Did I tell you to look away?” he asked, his voice strained with effort.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. Sweat was already beading on his brow, dripping down the strong column of his throat. His biceps corded with each push and pull. He was a work of art in motion, all predatory grace and raw power.

“This is what you wanted,” he said, not a question, a fact. He punctuated it with a particularly sharp thrust that made you cry out. “Wasn’t it? You were fucking jealous. Admit it.”

You shook your head, but it was a weak denial, shattered by the pleasure drawing tight in your belly. “N-no…”

He laughed, a dark, breathless sound. “Liar.” He shifted his angle slightly, leaning over you, one hand braced by your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. The new position made him go even deeper, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every punishing stroke. “You heard those other girls screaming my name and you pictured yourself here. Under me, taking every fucking inch. Didn’t you?”

A sob broke from your lips. It was too much. The physical sensation, the psychological dismantling. He was right. He’d seen straight through you from the start. “Y-yeah,” you gasped, the confession torn from you.

“Yeah,” he echoed, a feral triumph in his voice. His thrusts became faster, harder, less controlled. The wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting grew louder, mingling with his ragged grunts and your helpless moans. “Say it again. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you choked out, arching into him. “It’s yours, Riki.”

“Damn right it is.” He drove into you, over and over, the force of it jolting your entire body. The coil inside you was winding to a impossible tightness again, a spring ready to snap. You could feel your second orgasm building.

“I’m gonna come,” you warned, your voice a shattered whisper. “Riki, I’m gonna—”

“Come,” he snarled, his control snapping. His hips pistoned into you, brutal and perfect, and your orgasm washed over you. Every muscle seized in electric waves. Your pussy spasmed wildly around his thrusting cock, inner walls rippling in frantic contractions that squeezed him like a vice, gushing a hot flood of your juices that soaked his balls and thighs, dripping down to puddle on the sheets. Your eyes filled with hot tears, your body shaking uncontrollably. He fucked you through it, relentless, drawing out the pulses until you were sobbing, oversensitive and wrecked, your clit pulsing against him in aftershocks. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He kept moving, his thrusts becoming shorter, more frantic, chasing his own release. You whimpered, overstimulated, trying to shift away, but he held you pinned.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Not done. I’m not even close.” He pulled out of you suddenly, leaving you feeling achingly empty and exposed. The cool air hit your skin, making you shudder.

But before you could process the loss, his hands were on you, pulling you up with a startling ease. He pulled your hips up, forcing you onto your knees.

“Up,” he ordered, his voice gravel. “Sit up. On me.”

Your mind foggy, you let him maneuver you. He sat back against the headboard, his newly sheathed cock standing straight up, glistening. He guided your trembling thighs to straddle him, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his hands strong on your waist. “Now put it back in. Take what’s yours.”

You were shaking, your muscles liquid. You reached between your bodies, your fingers wrapping around his hard, hot length. You guided him to your entrance, which felt swollen, tender, and impossibly wet. You sank down slowly, a low, continuous moan falling from your lips as you sheathed him inside you once more, taking him all the way to the base. The feeling of fullness was breathtaking, different now that you were in control, that you were the one lowering yourself onto him.

“Oh, god,” you breathed, your head falling back.

“Look at you,” he marveled, his hands smoothing up your sides, over your ribs, to cup your tits. His thumbs brushed your nipples. “Riding my cock. Look how well you take it.” His gaze dropped to where your bodies joined. “So fucking pretty.”

He didn’t move his hips. He let you set the pace. You rose up slowly, the drag exquisite and torturous, until just the head of him remained inside you, then sank back down, swallowing him whole with a soft, wet sound. A shiver wracked you.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a dark caress. “Use me. Fuck yourself on my dick. Get yourself off again. You can do it. I know you can. This hungry little pussy can come all night for me.”

His words fueled you. You began to move in earnest, bouncing on his lap. Each time you came down, his pelvis ground against your clit, sending jolts of sharp, oversensitive pleasure-pain through you. Your juices coated his shaft, your thighs, making the slide easier, louder. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping, of wet, sucking noises, of your mutual groans.

“Talk to me,” he gritted out, his hands gripping your hips, helping to guide you. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels… so full,” you gasped, your hands braced on his shoulders. “So deep… you’re so deep, Riki…”

“Yeah? You like being stuffed with my cock? Like having it stretch out that pretty, used-up pussy?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, riding him faster. “I love it. I love it, Riki.”

“Tell me what you love.”

“I love… your cock,” you admitted, the words feeling dangerous and freeing. “I love how big it is… how it feels inside me… I love how wet you make me… how sloppy…”

He groaned, his head thudding back against the headboard. “Fuck. Keep going.”

“I love the sounds,” you babbled, lost in the sensation, in the permission his dirty talk gave you. “The wet sounds… I used to hate… them… but I love them now… because it’s you—it’s us…”

“It’s always been us,” he rasped, his eyes blazing up at you. “Everyone else was fucking nothing. You were made for me. Weren’t you?”

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded frantically, your movements becoming desperate, chasing that peak again. You were so sensitive it was almost painful, every nerve ending screaming, but the need was too great. You were a creature of pure need, reduced to this.

He saw it. He felt your inner walls beginning to flutter. “That’s it. I can feel it. You’re gonna come again, aren’t you? Go on, then, make a fucking mess for me.”

The third orgasm hit like a sloppy, uncontrollable explosion, tearing a ragged, ugly scream from your throat. Your vision tunneled to black spots, head thrashing side to side as your body locked up, then jerked in harsh, erratic spasms. Inside, your cunt clamped down hard on his pistoning dick, walls contracting in messy, uneven squeezes that forced out spurts of your slick, spraying messily over his groin and the sheets below. You were a sweating, shaking wreck, drool slipping from your parted lips as the waves dragged on, your hole twitching greedily, trying to pull him deeper even as you whined from the overstimulation.

“Fuck… I’m gonna… Y/N…” he gasped, your name a prayer and a curse, his voice cracking with the strain. He held you through it, his arm like a steel band around your back, his hips never stopping their relentless, upward drives. He was fucking you through your climax again, extending it, pushing you into a place of near unbearable sensitivity where pleasure and pain blurred into one blinding, brilliant sensation.

Your tits bounced wildly with the force of his thrusts, the peaks tight and pebbled. Through the haze of your own release, you saw his eyes drop, his gaze locked on the frantic, jiggling motion. A low, animal groan rumbled from him.

Before you could even come down, before the last tremors had fully subsided, his grip shifted. The hand in your hair tightened, pulling your head forward again, while the arm around your back urged you down, closer. “Come here,” he rasped, his voice thick with imminent release. “I want them—need to—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He guided your upper body down until your breasts were level with his face. Your nipples brushed his lips, and he didn’t hesitate. He took one into his mouth, hot and wet and hungry.

You cried out, a sharp, shocked sound, as his tongue lashed the sensitive peak, his lips sucking hard, teeth scraping occasionally.The direct, intimate stimulation on your already screaming nerves was too much, and yet not enough. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same fierce, devoted attention, sucking and nipping with just the right edge of teeth. Your tits were bouncing right against his face with the continued, desperate rhythm of his hips, and he leaned into it, nuzzling, kissing, worshipping you with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

The visual, the feeling—his hot mouth on you, his hard cock buried to the hilt inside you, the obscene wet sounds of your joining, the sweat-slick slide of your skin against his—it was all too much. You could feel him swelling even more inside you, feel the frantic, telltale pulse of his shaft against your inner walls.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut. His beautiful face was a mask of agonized pleasure, his jaw clenched, a vein throbbing in his temple. His thrusts became shallow, frantic jerks, losing all rhythm.

“Y/N—” he gasped. His eyes flew open, locking onto yours. “Come with me,” he begged, his voice breaking. “One more time. Come with me, baby. Please.”

You didn’t think you could. You were spent, hollowed out, a trembling shell. But the sight of him, Nishimura Riki, brought to his knees—literally beneath you—by the feel of your body, by you… it ignited one last, faint ember. You focused on the feel of him, on the thick, urgent pulse of him inside you, on the possessive grip of his hands on your body. You bore down, clenching around him with every last bit of strength you had,  feeling the latex barrier of the condom as his shaft swelled impossibly thicker.

It was enough.

A broken shout tore from his lips, a raw, ragged sound of pure release that vibrated through his chest. His entire body went rigid beneath you, then shuddered violently, hips bucking up in sharp, erratic jerks. You felt the hot, thick pulse of his come inside the condom, a rhythmic flooding that ballooned the tip with his load, the barrier filling with spurt after heavy spurt until it leaked a bit at the base from the pressure. His grip turned bruising, grinding you onto him as he emptied himself, grunting like an animal, sweat pouring down his temples.

The feeling of him coming undone made a weak, breathy moan escape you as a tiny, fluttering orgasm rippled through you, your inner muscles giving feeble, lazy twitches around his still-throbbing cock, a last trickle of your arousal seeping out to mix with the sweat and mess between you.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged, gasping breaths, the frantic hammering of your hearts. But slowly, the tension bled from his body. His grip on you loosened, his arms falling to his sides, boneless. His head lolled back, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in deep, heaving breaths. A sheen of sweat covered him from head to toe, gleaming in the dim light.

You were still straddling him, still impaled. You felt too heavy to move, your muscles utterly useless. You simply slumped forward, your forehead coming to rest against his sweaty shoulder.

Then, a low, breathless chuckle vibrated through his chest. You felt it against your cheek.

You lifted your head, just enough to look at him. His eyes were still closed, but a slow, utterly spent, and genuine smile was spreading across his face. It wasn’t the smirk from the doorway. It wasn’t the feral grin from when he’d first entered you. This was softer. Younger, somehow. Tired and happy.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, the words barely audible.

You couldn’t help it. A weak, shaky laugh bubbled out of you too. It sounded slightly hysterical. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming.

He opened his eyes then, and looked up at you, his gaze traveling over your flushed face, your messy hair, your body still draped over his. His smile widened.

“You,” he said, his voice rough but tender, “are fucking incredible.”

Your chest felt tight at the words.

He seemed to read the hesitation in your eyes. His smile softened further. He lifted a heavy hand, his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. The touch was startlingly gentle. “C’mere,” he murmured, his arms coming up to wrap around you properly, pulling you fully against his chest.

You went willingly, your body melting into his. The position was awkward with him still inside you, but neither of you made a move to separate. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, your nose pressed against his skin. His heartbeat was a steady, strong drum against your ear, slowly returning to normal.

You lay like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other.

But eventually, the practicalities began to intrude. You were starting to feel sore in places you hadn’t known could be sore. He shifted slightly beneath you, a wince crossing his features.

“Okay,” he sighed, his voice sleepy. “We gotta… deal with this.” He patted your back gently. “Up you get. Careful.”

You nodded, bracing your hands on his shoulders. With a soft, wet sound, you lifted yourself off him, his softening cock slipping free. A wave of sensitivity, and a sudden, strange feeling of emptiness, washed over you. You collapsed onto the mattress beside him, onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

You heard him move, the rustle of him dealing with the condom, the soft thump as it presumably landed in the trash can by his bed. Then the bed dipped as he lay down beside you, on his side, propped up on an elbow. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

You turned your head to meet his gaze. “What?”

He shook his head slowly, a faint, wondering smile on his lips. “Just looking.” His eyes traced over your face, down your neck, over your bare, heaving chest. “You’re real. This was real.”

“Yep,” you said, your voice still a whisper. “All real.”

He chuckled. “Understatement of the century.” He reached out, his fingers tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. “You okay?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m… yeah. I’m okay. Sore. Wrecked. But okay.” You paused. “You?”

“Best I’ve ever been,” he said without a hint of irony. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “Seriously. That was… I have no words.”

You believed him. The awe in his voice was real.

Silence fell again, but it was comfortable now. The tension that had crackled between you for weeks, all the anger, the jealousy, the unspoken desire, was all gone, dissipated. And the aftermath of it felt peaceful, if a little complicated.

“Hana’s gonna kill me,” you blurted out suddenly.

Riki’s laughter was a warm, rich sound that filled the room. He rolled onto his back, one arm flung “Oh, don’t you worry, she’s gonna murder me first. Slowly and painfully.” He peeked out from under his arm at you. “Worth it, though.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Worth it,” you echoed back softly.

Her voice was almost too calm, the way people spoke when they had rehearsed a sentence many times before actually saying it aloud. You remember how her hands never stopped moving as she spoke, smoothing fabric and fixing wrinkles that weren’t there.

You asked what she meant and she hesitated for a second, long enough for you to notice though.

"He does not use words," she said. "Not with anyone."

That was all, no explanation or story ever followed, not even reassurance from your parents. You waited for more, for why, for since when, for will he ever but nothing came. The women around you kept working, pretending not to listen, pretending this wasn't the most important thing you'd heard about the man you were meant to spend your life with.

Later, one of your ladies whispered to you that it had been his choice, another murmured something about an accident years ago. Someone else crossed herself and said he'd been different since childhood. None of what you heard felt solid, just fragments and rumors, maybe even soft warnings disguised as concern.

That night, while you were all alone in your room you tried to imagine what a silent husband would be like. You realized, embarrassingly, that you had never considered a marriage without conversation. You wondered what arguments would look like, what comfort would sound like, whether silence would feel like peace...or punishment.

By the time the engagement ball arrived, you were already exhausted from thinking. The ballroom was overwhelming with light and music and voices crashing into one another, but you noticed him immediately anyway.

Prince Sunghoon stood apart from the noise, near the throne where his father sat, dressed impeccably, his expression composed to the point of stillness. He looked carved rather than dressed, like someone had shaped him for duty and forgotten to soften the edges.

He didn't speak when nobles greeted him, he didn't even laugh when jokes were offered, he did acknowledge people with small, precise movements though—a nod or a shift of attention.

And yet people watched him more than anyone else in the room.

When you were presented to him, your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You curtsied and he bowed, the silence between you stretched a little awkwardly.

"My betrothed," you called to him, only then did he look at you properly, his eyes flicked to your mouth, as if registering the sound you'd made, then back to your eyes. There was no irritation or impatience there but there was something so guarded.

He didn't respond with words, instead he extended his hand. You remember how careful he was when you took it, how he didn't rush and his grip adjusted minutely, like he was making sure you were comfortable before himself. During the dance, he never once stepped on your foot. He guided you without force, without hesitation, as though he had already learned the rhythm of you.

When the music ended, you murmured a thank you out of instinct, unsure if it mattered. He paused, then placed a hand briefly over his chest and inclined his head, it was so restrained and deliberate, it felt more intimate than any polite phrase.

That was when you understood something important, something no one had thought to explain to you. It wasn’t that you were marrying a man without a voice, you were marrying a man who had learned to speak in other ways and you were just going to have to learn how to listen.

Marriage did not change him all at once but it did changed him unmistakably. The softening began so quietly, in ways so small you almost missed them at first.

On your first morning as his wife, after you had spent the night in his chamber because the council insisted, you woke before he did and lay there watching him breathe, convinced you were intruding on something sacred. When he eventually stirred and found you awake, there was a brief moment where his shoulders tensed, bracing for expectation.

Then you smiled at him, shy and uncertain, and the tension eased, he reached for your hand without looking, his thumb brushing once over your knuckles. You later learned that this was how he said good morning.

You learned many things like that. He never spoke, but he listened with an attentiveness that bordered on devotion. In the evenings, when the palace finally quieted and the weight of the day loosened its grip on both of you, you would sit together close enough that your knees brushed and you would tell him everything about your day.

You told him about the ladies who gossiped too loudly in the halls, about the steward who always forgot your tea exactly how you liked it, about the way the gardens smelled after rain, and how it reminded you of home.

At first, you worried you were boring him. He rarely reacted outwardly, but then you noticed the way his eyes followed you, steady and focused. The way he leaned in ever so slightly when you spoke and the way his hand would shift closer to yours as if drawn there without conscious thought.

Sometimes, when something amused him, the corner of his mouth would twitch before he caught himself. Other times, he didn't even bother hiding it at all. His smiles were rare, but devastating, small things that felt like secrets meant only for you. The first time you made him smile fully, you stopped mid sentence because you were stunned.

He tilted his head, confused by your sudden silence, and when you laughed, a little disbelieving, his smile lingered longer than it should have.

Dinner became sacred, no matter how long his councils ran, no matter how heavy the day, he always made time to eat with you. The servants learned quickly not to interrupt unless it was absolutely urgent. It was during these meals that you saw the man beneath the crown most clearly.

He had habits. He always poured your water before his own, he pushed the dishes you liked closer to you without comment. When you forgot to eat while talking, he would tap lightly against the table to draw your attention back, then gesture pointedly at your plate until you laughed and obeyed.

When you asked him about his day, he answered very differently than you did. He would reach for a small piece of paper sometimes, writing a few careful words before pushing it toward you, other times, he simply showed you, with his hands moving slowly, shaping meaning in the air between you. You learned the signs quickly. How he described frustration or expressed pride. How he spoke of exhaustion without ever making it seem like complaint.

At night, when the palace grew still, he watches you at the mirror as you brushed your hair, watching the motion with a softness that made your chest ache. Sometimes he reached out to help, fingers gentle, reverent, as if afraid of doing something wrong. When you thanked him, he shook his head slightly, a familiar gesture that meant you don't need to.

The tenderness did last, but not as long as you had hoped it would. You were sitting in the morning room when you heard it, your cup warm between your palms, steam curling lazily toward the tall windows, the palace was still waking up in that gentle hour before the day truly began.

You hadn't meant to listen, truly. It started out as background noise, the soft shuffle of footsteps, the murmur of servants passing through the corridor just beyond the open doors.

Then you heard his name and you stilled, their voices dropped instinctively, the way people spoke when they knew they shouldn't. You knew then, that you should clear your throat and make your presence known, remind them sharply that discussing the prince was not their place.

But you didn't, you held your breath instead. They spoke of him in fragments at first, of rumors and things the older servants whispered to the younger ones late at night. That your husband was not truly mute. That he could speak, if he wished to, that the silence was a choice.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

Then one of them spoke fully. He had been four years old when he was kidnapped in the dead of night, taken as leverage in a failed attempt to overthrow his father. They said he cried for hours, terrified, calling for a mother who never came, a father who could not reach him. His captors, frantic and cruel and desperate to keep him quiet, had hurt him in a way no child should ever be hurt.

The details were not lingered on, but you felt them anyway, suffocating. The servants spoke of damaged vocal cords, of maesters summoned too late, of a small boy found bloodied and alive against all odds. They said the healers had saved his voice technically, the sound still existed, fractured, but it was never right again.

They said he had tried to speak once after, only once. That the sound startled everyone in the room, including himself and after that he simply never spoke again.

Silence fell in the hallway and you realized your tea had gone untouched, your hands trembling so badly the liquid rippled in the cup. Your throat ached inexplicably, as if your body were mourning something your mind had only just learned.

The servants moved on eventually, their whispers fading down the corridor. You sat there long after they were gone and thought of his careful gestures, of the way he hesitated before expressing himself and how controlled and gentle he was.

You thought of the boy he must have been, so small and frightened. Hurt so deeply that silence became safer than sound.

Suddenly, so many things made sense that it hurt. That evening, when he joined you for dinner, you watched him more closely than ever before. You finally realized you had never seen him without a piece of clothing covering his neck, maybe it was hiding the scar.

At one point, he noticed your gaze lingering and tilted his head, questioning. You smiled back, quickly, reassuringly but you didn’t say a word.

When you reached across the table and covered his hand with yours, squeezing just once, you felt him still beneath your touch before his fingers curled around yours in return, he set his cutlery down with deliberate care and looked at you fully, brows knitting just slightly. He lifted one hand, palm up, fingers moving in a question you knew well. Tell me.

You froze, the truth pressing at your chest but you couldn’t bring yourself to lay it at his feet, not like this, not yet. You didn’t want him to wonder if you looked at him differently now or be the reason old wounds stirred.

So you panicked. "My lord," you blurted, the title slipping out when nerves got the better of you, "would you…would you want to have children?"

For a heartbeat, he stilled before his head tilted to the side, slow and thoughtful, eyes narrowing just a touch as comprehension dawned. And then that small, knowing smile appeared, the one that crept up when he thought he understood something important.

His shoulders relaxed and his expression softened into something amused, fond. Almost teasing even.

Oh, his smile seemed to say. That’s what this is about.

Heat rushed to your face.

"No—no, not like that," you rushed out, hands lifting instinctively as if to physically push the idea away. "I mean—yes, eventually, maybe, but that’s not— I wasn’t—" You stumbled over yourself, mortified. "I didn’t mean it like…that."

He watched you unravel with open affection, a quiet sound left his chest, not a word, but not quite a laugh either, it was something warm and breathy. He reached across the table then, brushing his thumb against your wrist in that grounding way he had.

You swallowed and forced yourself to slow. "I just…I was thinking about the future," you said more carefully. "About what you want. About what kind of life you imagine."

His teasing quickly faded after that as he studied you for a long moment, eyes searching you, and then he brought your hand fully into his and squeezed once, firm and certain. His other hand lifted, moving with intention now, his index finger pointing between you and him before nodding, as if to say with you, yes.

You felt your chest loosen as he smiled again, even gentler this time, and tapped his temple, then his heart—his way of telling you that he thought deeply about these things, that they mattered to him, you mattered to him.

The worry didn't leave his eyes completely, he reached up, brushing his thumb along your knuckles again, a silent question lingering there. You smiled back, steadying yourself. "I'm okay," you said softly. "I promise."

The heaviness doesn't leave you though, it settles into your chest in quiet moments, like when your ladies are helping you get dressed, when you sip tea that's gone way too cold, when you listen for his footsteps in the hall and realize you've been holding your breath without even noticing. Sunghoon is the same as always, still gentle and attentive and so careful with you, it actually somehow makes it all worse by making the unasked questions louder in your head.

One afternoon you go looking for him, only to find his study door slightly ajar, light spilling across the carpet, the room smelling faintly of ink and old paper. You step inside, expecting to find him bent over his desk, sleeves rolled with his expression focused. Instead, the room is completely empty, the chair pushed back with papers neatly stacked on the table.

You turn to leave but your eye catches the sight of a small leather bound book on the desk, it’s worn at the edges, its spine creased in a way that speaks of frequent use. You recognize it immediately, though you've never seen it up close, it’s your husband’s diary, the one he always keeps locked away.

Your feet stop moving even though you will them too, you will yourself to leave cause you know better, but your heart is pounding so hard and your thoughts are too tangled, and before you can stop yourself, you’re at his desk, lifting your hand towards the book.

Just a glance, you think. Just to know him better.

You open it and the page is filled with his script, all neat and deeply personal. You barely have time to register the first line before you hear the door slam shut.

The sound makes you jump as your breath stutters painfully in your throat. Sunghoon stands right in front of you, his jaw tight in a way you've never seen before. His eyes lock onto the book in your hands, and something dark flashes across his face, it’s shock followed by raw and unguarded fury.

He crosses the room in long strides and you can speak or even fully turn the book toward him, his hand comes down hard, slamming it shut against the desk.

His hands tremble and when your eyes finally meet, his are burning—hurt layered beneath anger so intense it makes your stomach drop. You've never seen him like this, never seen him look at you as though you've shattered something fragile and irreplaceable.

"I—I'm sorry," you choke out, tears spilling before you can stop them. "I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to—please, I'm so sorry—"

Your words tangle and fall apart, useless against the weight of his silence. He doesn't even touch you or gesture anything for you to understand. He just stares at you with his chest rising too fast, as if he's struggling to rein himself in.

That hurts most of all. You feel the shame crashing over you so hot and suffocating, you can't bear the look in his eyes, the distance that suddenly feels cavernous.

So you run.

You run past him and flee the room, skirts gathered in your shaking hands, sobs breaking free as you rush down the corridor. You don't look back or hear him follow you and you feel your heart break even more.

Behind you, in the study, the diary remains on the desk while Sunghoon stands frozen in place, staring at the door you disappeared through, fury giving way to something that feels a lot like regret.

When night finally comes, you don’t bother pretending you might sleep, you stay seated at your desk with your shoulders curled inward, staring down at the ink blurred from your tears on the page in front of you. You hadn't written a single word like you had intended, your hands rest uselessly in your lap, fingers twisting together again and again as if you can wring the feeling out of your chest. The image of his face when he caught you, the sharp anger, so unlike the man you knew, keeps replaying until your throat aches.

A knock at your door startles you and before you can answer, it opens just enough for your lady in waiting to peer inside.

"My lady," she says quietly, "His Highness is here."

Sunghoon steps in behind her, tall and unmistakable even in the low candlelight. He lifts his hand in a small, practiced gesture and all the servants bow, slipping out at once, the door closing with a muted click that sounds far too final.

You stay seated cause your body is heavy, rooted to the chair, hands clenched in your skirts. When you look up at him, your eyes already burning with fresh tears. He stands there for a moment, watching you with a worry so naked it almost hurt to see, so you rush to fill the silence.

"My lord, I'm so sorry," you say quickly, voice trembling. "I shouldn't have touched it, I know it was wrong, I just—" He crosses the room before you can finish.

Instead of stopping in front of you or gesturing for you to stand before him like you expect, he sinks down slowly until he’s kneeling between your knees. The movement knocks the breath from your lungs, as he leans forward and lowers his head into your lap, resting the side of his head against you. His hands slid to either side of your hips, palms flat against them. You feel his breath through the fabric of your gown very uneven.

The apology comes without a single sound, his shoulders bow inward, the tension in them finally breaking. He stays there, unmoving, trusting you not to push him away. Trusting you with something that he’s never offered anyone else.

Your hands hover uselessly for a second, unsure and afraid to do the wrong thing again. Then you touch him, your fingers threading gently through his hair, careful at first, then softer and cradling. You feel his breath stutter and a tear slips down your cheek, landing somewhere in his hair, and you don’t bother wiping it away.

"Oh," you whisper, the word barely surviving the lump in your throat. "Sunghoon..."

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes red and stripped bare of all princely composure, there was no anger left there, only fear and regret tangled together, the quiet terror of someone who thought he might have lost the one place he felt safe.

You’re already crying openly now. "I shouldn't have looked," you say softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just...I heard things. And I didn't know how to ask."

He raises one hand slowly, hesitantly even, as if afraid you might pull away. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching a tear with aching care, before leaning in again to rest his temple against your stomach this time.

You let your hand settle on his shoulder, in that stillness, with candlelight flickering over the walls and the world kept firmly outside your door, the silence between you felt different, kind of like understanding and you even feel your chest loosen enough for you to breathe.

You feel yourself lean down before you can overthink it. It’s barely a kiss, in all honesty, it’s more breath than pressure. Your lips brush his like you’re testing something fragile and the moment lingers for half a heartbeat before reality crashes in and you pull back sharply.

"I— I’m sorry," you whisper, flustered and embarrassed. "I forgot myself."

You don’t get the chance to finish because he moved and kisses you himself this time, without hesitation. His mouth claims yours with a quiet urgency that immediately steals the air from your lungs. It’s deeper and firmer than yours was, his kiss leaves no room for doubt.

He rises to his feet without breaking the kiss and lifts you with him in the same motion. Your feet barely find the floor before you’re pressed close, your body fitting against his as if it has always known where it belongs.

His hand comes up to the back of your head in a possessive hold, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts your face exactly where he wants it. The sensation makes you whimper softly, the sound surprising even you. He pulls back just enough for you to see his face.

The look in his eyes makes your knees go weak, it’s all want and it makes your stomach curl as you tremble with anticipation.

You can feel him growing needier when he leans down to kiss you again, in a way that feels almost instinctive, like he’s been holding this inside his body for the months you’ve been married and now that it’s been unlocked, he doesn’t know how to stop.

His hand comes up, firm and warm, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your dress, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you, his lips press there, along your jaw, just beneath your ear, and the sensation makes your knees wobble. You cling to his sleeves, fingers tightening as you gasp.

"My lord—" you stutter, voice trembling. "Please…slow down."

And he does, immediately even, he stills as if struck, pulling back to look at you. He lifts both hands to your face, cradling your cheeks cause to him you’re something so precious, something fragile. His thumbs brush beneath your eyes, wiping away the tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

Then his mouth opens and you freeze, at first nothing comes out. His throat works, jaw tight, his breath uneven. When sound finally does emerge, it’s broken and cracked. It hurts to hear and yet it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever known.

"I—"

The word fractures halfway through and his voice catches painfully. He swallows but his eyes never leave yours, refusing to look away or retreat.

He tries again.

"Y—Y—ou’re…s—s—o b—beautiful."

The words come out uneven, carved straight from his chest, you can proudly say. You gasp, your hands flying to his wrists, your whole body going still in shock. Your eyes burn, vision blurring as the weight of it crashes into you and it’s not just the words, but the effort it costs him to say them.

He doesn’t stop, he’s not done. His thumbs press more firmly into your cheeks, his voice shakes and cracks again, but there is no hesitation now, just undeniable determination.

"I…I love you," he says, broken and raw. "So…much."

It sounds like a vow, like a confession torn out of years of silence.

You sob quietly, forehead falling against his chest as he pulls you in, holding you like he’s afraid the world might take you away if he makes the mistake of letting go. His chin rests on top of your head, he huffs out a breath, as if saying those words has finally let him breathe properly for the first time in his life.

He doesn’t need to speak again.

He’s already said everything.

nene’s note ── thank you to my love @ikeukiss for titling this one for me, guys i was too lazy to make a banner im sorry, i hope you enjoy! i love feedback💋

taglist i ── @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @rawwwre @gabrielinhaa @cherrieikeu @niyzu @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @bussolares @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @rosepetals09 @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon @yazmike @see-c @ravenslocked @enhxlvr @mangoescrazy @hees-h0e @stayalittlelonger143

“How many days has it been since you’ve eaten properly?”

You didn’t bother lifting your head from the giant encyclopedia to see who stood before you. You’d have recognised that voice from a mile away, the same low tone that had always scolded you with soft words.

“Enough to not die.” You responded, tracing over a lengthy paragraph, “This is the last one, I promise.” You looked up to flash him a winsome smile, only for it to falter as you met his soft gaze.

Truly, the most dangerous knight in all the kingdom was soft as chocolate pudding for the princess he pledged his fealty to.

Nicholas Wang.

What had you done to deserve Nicholas Wang?

“Don’t look at me like that,” You mumbled, ducking behind your book. He sighed and stepped closer, the scent of paper clinging to him from hauling half the archives of the library to your desk. He was dressed casually today, a white shirt and black trousers. The golden hilt of his sword caught the chandelier’s light, matching his hair.

“Your Highness,” Nicholas said, a chiding tone to his voice, “you’ve been here since dawn. It's nearly dusk now.” He closed the encyclopedia and slid it away, “Nothing good will come from torturing yourself.” 

“I’m not–” You stopped short at the sight of his furrowed brow. Maybe you were taking this way too seriously. 

But how could you not? At long last, your father had promised to let you take part in Court if you could memorise the entire genealogy, history and culture of the four key kingdoms which bordered yours, all in a month. 

From Nicholas’ point of view, this was no difficult task for you. If you were the same princess he had seen engaged in debate at banquets with nobles, kings and queens twice your age and experience, then you could have accomplished this with ease. A royal daughter was meant only for marriage and as an advisory to her kingly husband, and you were brought up on wars, territorial conquests, treaties and the usual. You were brought up to be the one sitting on the throne.

“Hot chocolate?” Nicholas asked, “I’ll ask Marcille to make you some if you have supper. And no.” He raised a brow as you opened your mouth, “Cheese and crackers do not count as a meal.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms with a faint pout dancing on your lips. Adorable, Nicholas thought.

“Well,” You sighed dramatically, “I cannot disobey the great knight Nicholas can I?” Your lips morphed into a cheeky smile, "Strongest in all the realm, youngest blood to ever grace the ranks of Phileon, the lone wolf of—” 

“Alright alright.” Nicholas crooned, ears red as ever, “Shall we, Your Highness?” He extended a hand forward. 

“Since when do you call me ‘Your Highness’?” You chuckled, taking his hand and standing up. His palms were rougher than yours, scarred all over, as was expected of any good knight who had been through the terrors of war, no matter how young he was. You always told him his scars looked like lightning bolts, something that made blood rush to his cheeks. 

“Since I realised I am your personal knight and not your friend?” His words sounded hurtful, but you knew he only jested. Nicholas was the greatest friend you had that was your age, and you always believed your friendship transcended the knight-princess relationship. 

“Ha ha.” You deadpanned. Draping your shawl over your shoulders, you cast a look at the towering bookshelves of the grand library, sick of it now that you had spent a month camped in its corners. 

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back here ever again.” You walked out of the library, with Nicholas trailing behind you, “The very smell makes me want to throw up.”

“I believe that’s the hunger speaking.” Nicholas commented, walking painfully slow to keep his position behind you.

That’s where he’d always remain, a fleeting thought came again. Behind you. Not beside you, not your equal, not worthy enough for you. If only, Nicholas often thought, if only lady luck had favoured him, he would have been up in that dais of princes all competing for your hand, competing for the throne. He didn’t give a damn about the throne. All he wanted was you. 

“Nichoooo.” You stopped in front of him in the empty hallway to the dining room, “Earth to Nicho.” You snapped your fingers in his face, “What’s gotten you in a spiral all of a sudden?” 

Nicholas stared at you, your features illuminated by the soft light of the candle. The moon was as good as full tonight, its sheen filtering through the grand windows and making you look angelic. 

Perhaps in another universe, he could have crawled into your arms and wrapped himself in the warmth like ivy, catching your laughter in the air and bottling it for himself. Perhaps in another universe, he was yours and you were his, ordinary people doing ordinary things. But in this one, he was your war torn knight, and you were his liege to serve and to protect. 

“It’s nothing. Just dreaming about my bed again.” You rolled your eyes and punched his arm playfully.

“You got me all worried, you idiot.” You laughed, leaning against the wall, “May I ask you something?” He nodded gently, leaning next to you, “Do you–” You took a breath, “do you think I’d make a good ruler?” There was silence, and you laughed crudely at yourself, “Forget I asked, it’s a stupid quest–”

“I think–” Nicholas’ voice was as tranquil as the air, “–you would make a great ruler.” You turned your head to face him, those familiar eyes of perpetual calm, never once had you ever seen them falter.

 “You know I would never jest with you.” He said, faded scars on his cheek glimmering in the light, “Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Phileon.” He placed his hand on his chest and bowed deep, much to your surprise. You stayed silent. What could you even say? 

Queen of Phileon, how melodic those words sounded to your ears. 

How often had you gazed at the ruby crested throne in the main hall, with absolute adoration in your eyes? The throne meant power, and you were starved of power. You weren’t about to give it up to your dimwit of a younger brother, on the mere fact that he was a son and you were not.

“Sometimes,” You put your hand on his shoulder, making him stand back upright, “I think you’d make a fine accomplice to usurp the throne with.” Your hand slid down to brush his sword hilt, "First Knight of the Realm, Nicholas….” You looked up at him, “Has a nice ring to it doesn't it?” You retracted your hand as soon as you met his gaze, “I’d give you the title if I ever became Queen.”

Though he knew you were kidding, Nicholas didn't really mind encouraging the idea of overthrowing your younger brother, the crown prince.

He still remembered the day you asked the King for permission to participate in Court proceedings. The King’s cold laugh, his brief remark on women not befitting politics, the look of defeat on your face—Nicholas would have ran his blade through the highest man in the land for you right there and then.

And then the King had asked him for his opinion. “What say you, Nicholas?” The King leaned back in his throne, “Shall we let our princess meddle in the affairs of men?”

‘Let her meddle.’ Nicholas remembered thinking, ‘Let her meddle and you will have an empire far greater than any other to have existed in history.’  

And so the challenge had been set—one month and a thousand rituals to memorise, all because of Nicholas’ sweet words landing perfectly in the King’s ears. Which is how he had ended up here, looking into the eyes that always steadied the ground beneath his feet. 

“So you’ll play favourites when you are Queen.” He said, closing his eyes in faux disappointment, “How un-diplomatic of you, Your Highness.”

“Oh come now.” You scoffed, walking towards the dining hall, “As if you would like to lead armies and attain great glory.” He laughed, “They didn’t call you the lone wolf for nothing.” 

“A pitiful moniker, is it not sister?” 

Nicholas’ smile disappeared as fast as lighting at the sight of the man leaning against the doorframe of the dining room, all cocky tongue and no mind to prove it (at least in Nicholas’ high opinion). How such a man shared blood with you, he could never understand.

“Wow.” His voice was lazy and prosaic like a cat’s, “Haven’t seen me all month and not so much as a hello? Some step-sister you are.” 

“Haruto.” You nodded, forcing a polite smile, “I trust your expedition to Eldanith was successful.” 

“Oh it was more than successful.” Haruto scoffed, “They were practically begging to trade with us by the time I was done with them.” 

Yes, with the plans I designed, you asshole. You forced your thoughts down, “As expected of our crown prince.” 

“You flatter me.” Haruto smiled, “And Nicholas!” A smirk adorned Haruto’s youthful face, “How have you been, our lone wolf?” 

My lone wolf, you thought, not ours. You shook it off though, it wasn't like Nicholas belonged to you or anything.

“Fine, Your Highness.” Nicholas held not a hint of emotion in his voice. 

“Don’t be so cold now, old boy.” Haruto laughed, “We are friends, are we not?” 

“I do not know, Your Highness.” Nicholas responded, “To me, you are merely the brother of the liege I serve.” He bowed his head in feigned servility.

“Is that so?” Your brother grimaced, his eyes flicking to you, “My my sister, you’ve acquired a golden guard dog for yourself.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and stood up straight, as if to intimidate you with his towering frame, “How lucky you are.” 

“It is all due to the graciousness of His Majesty, the King.” You said, “Now you must excuse me brother, I am famish–”

“Your test for a seat in Court is tomorrow, is it not?” Haruto bent down to your eye level, a particularly irritating thing he used to do before his belittling began, “I wish you good luck and if ever you need any counselling—” He stood back straight, “—I am always available.” He had held out the red flag like a matador, “Good night, dearest sister.” 

You were not one to be easily baited into a storm of fury, but by God did your brother come close. Nothing would have pleased you more than to unsheath a dagger and let it dance across his neck. You wanted his power. You wanted his blood. 

“My lady?” Nicholas said gently, as you stared off in the direction Haruto had headed off in, “Are you alright?”

Silence followed for a minute before a shaky sigh broke it. “I have to be, don’t I?” Your laugh came hollow, “I swear, one day–” Your voice dropped to a whisper lest the walls listen in, “–I will tear that bastard’s heart out from his chest.” 

You turned to him, and Nicholas would have burned the world down for you at that moment. His hand moved as if it had a mind of its own, to brush away the stray tear on your cheek. For the world, you had to be the regal first princess, as constant and unmoving as the Northern Star. He was the one that you could soften your defenses around, lower the drawbridge and let the legions in.

“You will.” Nicholas squeezed your hand, “One day, you will do all that and more.” His warm smile made your chest feel lighter, “For now, how about hot chocolate?” 

You smiled, wiping your face, your ears turning hot from the sudden emotional outbreak. Nicholas’ hand was warm around yours, yet you tugged it away as if it were red hot. Nicholas withdrew as well. 

He was your knight, as you were his liege. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

_______________________

Nicholas caressed your cheek with his slender, scarred fingers, his thighs rubbing against yours as he laid you back on the bed. You sunk back into the mattress, his body over yours, a hand cupping your cheek while the other rested on your waist, stroking the skin there, exposed from your ridden up robe. 

He paused for a second, nose brushing yours, breathless, looking down at your smile—a smile that was so beautiful that it rendered him speechless. 

“Nichooo,” Your whines were music to his ears as his gaze trailed slowly down, across your face, neck, collarbone, further and further until he was taking all of you in. He began to stroke the underside of your breast with his thumb, watching the way your body tensed under his feather-like touch. 

“Nicho—need you so bad.” You groaned, hands palming his biceps, “My knight.” Nicholas felt your hand palm his length, your thumb lazily dragged on the tip of his cock, “Is this making you feel good?" You asked him, your voice seductive as a siren’s as you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

Nicholas kept a hand on your hip, using it as leverage as he slowly entered into you. He maintained a desperate pace, revelling in the way your walls hugged his cock so perfectly. 

“Nicho Nicho Nicho!” You gasped, arching into him, the air caught in his throat as his tongue found your nipple, “Love you so much Nicho, God I love you..”

“Princess I–”

Moonlight filtered in through the window, bathing everything in a soft filter as Nicholas sat up in his bed, chest moving up and down as he tried to calm his heart. Throwing his blanket off his body, his face burned as he saw the damp patch on his nightpants. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips as he got up and walked over to the washbasin.

Nicholas splashed his face with water a tad too aggressively, slapping himself awake. It must have been around 2 in the morning. He could hear owls singing their mysterious songs outside and the chirping of crickets. He stared at himself in the mirror, and then closed his eyes.

What the fuck had he dreamt about?

Locks of luscious hair sprawled against a pillow, thighs that he wanted round his neck, a face that brought him down to his knees as if to pray. You.

He shook his head, and breathed slowly, looking at himself in the mirror again.

“Idiot.” He scolded himself, “Absolute fucking idiot.” He dragged himself back to bed, collapsing into the mattress. Throwing an arm over his head, Nicholas sunk into his sheets, staring into the distance, hesitant to go back to sleep. Would he see you again? You in all your glory, resting on his bed like a deer asking to be hunted, he felt like a wolf on the loose.

“Ahh princess.” He chuckled, “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” 

The moonlight bathed his room in soft filters. 

Nicholas dreamt of chocolate covered lips and an angel he could never have.

_____________________

Lone wolf, one of the many monikers Nicholas had earned before he began serving as your personal knight. Rumor claimed he had started fighting in Phileon’s army at fourteen, a scandalously young age. Nicholas neither confirmed nor denied the stories, preferring to leave you disappointed, pouting every time you pressed him for the truth. Fiction or not, he rose through the ranks quickly, gaining recognition for his solitary fighting style and rebellious nature.

You remembered the day your father introduced you to him, deciding at last that the First Princess of Phileon deserved more than the scraps left behind once her brother had finished with them. It was the eve of your seventeenth birthday and 17 year old Nicholas stood before you, all scars and clumsy courtesies. It had been almost six years now, you were 23 and he was still there by your side—for every single tea party, banquet and debate.

Nicholas had fought his battles with his sword and shield, but it was in the blinding light of the palace’s ballroom that he found a different kind of warrior.

He saw that warrior now as you walked the grand corridors, head held high. Your weapons were everything you had forced into your mind over the past month, and you hoped they would be enough for the war ahead.

“Your Highness.” Nicholas whispered behind you, as you both stood in front of the Great Hall’s doors, “You can do this.”

You glanced back at him with a small smile, before sucking in a breath and nodding at the soldiers to open the doors. You placed your hands over your dress and rolled back your shoulders. This was your future, you were going to grab it by its neck and take it for yourself.

“Her Royal Highness, the First Princess of Phileon!” The court herald’s voice boomed, as he bowed to you. You could hear Nicholas’ armour clank as he stopped at the foot of the door, leaving you alone to walk into the battlefield.

The grand hall stretched before you like a river of stone and gold, sunlight spilled through towering stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor. Each step you took echoed too loud, your heart was threatening to burst from its cage with how hard it was beating.

Ministers sat in rigid rows along the path. You recognized them all—some open and familiar, others closed and cold. The latter were loyal to your brother, no doubt scandalized by the very idea of allowing you to walk into this hall.

You kept your gaze forward; at the dais sat your father, draped in gold, a ruby-crested crown upon his head—the crown you coveted. Beside him lounged your brother, posture infuriatingly careless. To his right sat his mother, your father’s favored concubine, crowned by the son she bore him. He was no mourner at your mother’s funeral with her at his side.

“Your Majesty.” You reached the foot of the throne and bowed deep, "I greet the Sun of Phileon and thank him for the kindness he has bestowed upon me.”

“My daughter,” he said, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “I had hoped time might teach you restraint, yet here you stand." He gestured to the smaller throne beside him, your late mother’s seat. “Tell me—do you truly believe your intention alone can make you worthy of this throne?

Before you could speak, a minister to your left scoffed, “Your Majesty,” His lips curled, “perhaps we ask too much. After all, sentiment and softness are virtues of women, not of governance.” You turned your head slowly toward him, all you could see at that moment was red.

“Come now, Minister Halvern,” An earthly calmness laced your voice, “how often do men confuse cruelty with strength?” You smiled, “You sit there as head of defense, armored in titles and age, yet you fear the thought of a mere woman standing here?”

Nicholas swallowed a laugh at the Minister’s flushed face. Haruto watched on, not one quip came from him; you knew he was waiting for the moment you would slip.

“Do you claim sentimentality to be a kingly virtue then, daughter?” Your father’s laughter was a lion’s roar, “Then we shall fight the next war with tea cloths and puddings.”

“If emotion were weakness, Father, this kingdom would have fallen long ago.” You kept your gaze to your father’s, refusing to flinch away, “Or shall we all pretend that it was reason and logic alone that held these walls upright? Reason that never bled and never grieved to the point of invention?” Your nerves hummed beneath your skin, as the court held its breath to listen.

“Is it not compassion that gives policies their purpose? Does this court not debate everyday to protect the warmth of the people that make this kingdom thrive? If compassion is truly a woman’s flaw,” You glanced at the turnip coloured minister, “then His Majesty must apologise for having used it to bring glory to our kingdom.”

You returned your gaze to your father, who seemed to be studying you intently. He exhaled softly, the sound almost a laugh, though there was no mockery in it. He leaned back against the throne, fingers steepled, regarding you with a curious expression.

“Well said.” He proclaimed, “You’ve made your case quite clearly.” He rose, just slightly, resting his weight forward. “So we proceed as agreed gentlemen.” He swept his gaze over the ministers, “Go ahead and test the princess. Censure her in your wisdom and may your judgement be unclouded.”

You felt a quiet swell of pride settle within you, pulse thrumming from the exchange. Your eyes drifted almost unconsciously to the throne.

You could see yourself upon it, crown upon your head and you would hold it high no matter how heavy it was. Power was all you saw and it was all you lusted after.

Your vision shifted to the side, Haruto’s posture was rigid, the praise in the hall had not been meant for him, and he felt its absence keenly. You noticed the tightness of his jaw, the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his side. Internally, you were punching the air in victory.

From where he stood, Nicholas felt his heart betray him, no longer the steady, disciplined thing forged by years of war, but something restless and aching. It pressed hard against his ribs as he watched you, as though it sought you out instinctively, answering a call it had learned long ago and never forgotten. How he wished to shout it out, that it was his princess up there, adorned in radiance and wisdom.

Nicholas watched as you laughed politely, answering each and every question thrown to you as if it were normal conversation. You could have pressed the blade of a dagger to his chest and Nicholas wouldn't have minded; he would bring himself closer, lest you were feeling cold.

Love, honor, pain—were they not kin to a knight? Nicholas had pledged his fealty, never knowing love would be the vow denied to him.

___________________________

“Oh how I’ve missed you.” You exclaimed as you collapsed face-front onto your soft mattress, “My beloved partner.” 

“You do realise you are insane?” Nicholas shut the door after him, clearing his throat theatrically, “Have you consummated the wedding yet?” He barely managed to dodge the pillow that flew at his face. 

"At least my bed gives me some comfort.” You scrunched your nose at him before squishing your face between your pillows. Nicholas leaned against your bedroom wall, crossing his arms, his gaze drifting over you.

Locks of luscious hair sprawled against a pillow, thighs that he wanted round his–

“Sir Nicholas, I am talking to you!” The pillow hit him in the face this time, “Did something happen?” You sat up against the headboard, “You kept staring into space earlier too.” Your knight shook his head gently, diverting his eyes to the ground, “I’ve known you for six years now Nicho, tell me what happened.”

“Just–” He began, you're what happened princess, “—didnt get much sleep last night, my lady.” 

You studied him for a moment, and the excuse rang hollow. You tilted your head, unconvinced, but you did not press him any further. Instead you tapped the place next to you on the bed, “Lay down for a while.” 

Nicholas was someone who had been in more near-death events than anyone could ever imagine. However this would be what finally wiped him out.

“I would like to stay un-executed thank you very much my lady.”

“Oh sit down.” You repeated, firmer this time, “It’s not like you’re my husband or anything.”

Yep, this would be his swan song.

He hesitated for a moment, before pushing himself off the wall and crawling into bed, his movements slower than a turtle. It creaked a little too loudly as he sat, careful to keep his hands folded, his posture respectful, as though still on duty. You snorted.

“You look like a frightened deer.” You laid down next to him on your side, running your gaze over his figure. The room seemed to soften around the silence that fell, the distant hush of the palace, the muted glow of the lamps and the faint sounds of the kingdom's evening.

Nicholas eventually gave in to the comfort of the soft mattress, laying his head down on the pillow. You two often shared this familiar quiet after long days and finished duties. It was the silence of companionship, of knowing one did not have to perform or explain.

For your knight, it was a rare mercy. His shoulders eased, his breathing slowing as the calm wrapped around him, easing the strain he carried so often without complaint. What Nicholas would give to stay like this forever, in your presence, a knight and his princess laying on a bed under the same moonlight all the knights and princesses before them had admired.

“Nicho?”

“Hmm?” 

“Do you ever think about the future?” 

“Not really.” Nicholas stared at the ceiling, “Do you?”

“Only recently.” You said in a morose tone, “My friends from the East–” A breathy chuckle escapes you, “—their mothers keep going on about marriage and they keep sending me letters about it.” You sighed, “Say, when I get married, would you still be allowed to be my personal knight? Or is that something my future husband is supposed to do?”

Nicholas was quiet for a moment, the question settling between you like a stone dropped into still water. He shifted slightly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

“I suppose that would depend,” he said carefully, “On what kind of husband he is. And what kind of court he keeps.”

He finally turned his head to look at you, expression gentle, almost shy. “If the question is whether I would want to remain by your side,” he continued, “the answer doesn’t change with the prospect of marriage. My fealty lies with you, my lady, no matter storm, ocean or desert,,” he chuckled, “or vows.” The candlelight softened the sharp lines of his face, catching along his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose.

“If,” Nicholas started again, “if you get married…..then I imagine things would change. But only if you wish them to.” He glanced away again as if to give you room to breathe, “But you’d make your own rules anyway, wouldn't you, princess?”

There was warmth in his eyes as he finally met your gaze, the way his mouth curved when he smiled made something deep in your chest flutter. Your knight looked so beautiful like this, soft as chocolate pudding.

“If indeed.” you echoed, tasting the word. After a beat, you let out a soft laugh. “I don’t know why everyone speaks of it as though it’s inevitable.” You looked away first, faintly flustered, unaware that you had already set his heart racing all over again.

“Did you see the throne today Nicholas?” Your gaze drifted upward, and Nicholas saw that familiar gleam in your eyes, “It caught the light so perfectly from where I was standing...”

“One day, Your Majesty,” His voice came like the rumble of the earth, “you will sit on that throne, and bathe in all its glory.” You found his eyes beautiful in a way that felt almost ache-like.

“You will stand with me, won't you?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself, “No matter how much blood must be shed?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “As I said,” He turned to rest on his side, “my fealty lies with you.” He pressed a hand to his sword, “This blade will obey your command without a second thought.” He leaned forward, as if telling you something forbidden, “Only yours.”

Your gaze lingered longer than you intended, tracing his details. The small scar at the corner of his lip, thin and easy to miss unless you’re close; now it caught the light faintly when his mouth curved, giving his expression an edge that contrasted with the patience in his eyes. 

Your attention shifted briefly to his arms: the way the sleeves were pulled just enough to hint at the muscle beneath. And then back to those eyes. They had always been the same, black as kohl, the sky as a canvas for lightning.

You had been younger then, smaller, overwhelmed by a space that expected too much too quickly. He had stood before you in bashed armor, standing straighter than expected of his years and those same dark eyes lifted to meet yours. Time had changed many things but his eyes remained untouched, always looking at you in a way that made your chest feel heavy.

“It’s late.” Nicholas commented, looking at the grand clock, “You should rest, my lady.”

You followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “Will you stay a little while?” You asked, almost absentmindedly. “Just until I fall asleep.” He nodded at once, settling back onto the bed.

“You remember your 20th birthday?” You said, “The night was so cold, and we ate ice cream like it was the most appropriate thing to do.” You smiled, “You were a sufficient fireplace for me.” You stretched your arms out, “Come on.”

Color rose faintly to Nicholas’ cheeks. For a moment, he looked as though he might protest—duty, propriety, a dozen unspoken rules flickering behind his eyes. Then he sighed and put on a defeated smile, already settling under the sheets.

You turned onto your side instinctively, facing him, and he adjusted so the space between you closed naturally. His arm slid around your body, resting across your upper back, just firm enough. You tucked yourself closer, your forehead near his collarbone, one hand resting lightly against his chest against the fabric of his tunic.

“You know, normal knights don't do this right?” 

“I know.” You hummed, feeling sleep dance into your bones, “But you're my knight, so it's alright."

His body heat seeped through the layers between you, steady and comforting; your legs brushed his, then settled, fitting easily as though this was not new at all. He shifted again, just enough to support you better, his other hand resting at your side to keep you from slipping away as you slept. 

Nicholas could feel how warm you were, how your weight settled against him, the rise and fall of your breathing slowed, syncing gradually with his own. The room felt warmer too, as if all the world was contained right here, under the silken sheets.

His grip tightened just slightly, a protective instinct, before settling again. The heat between you lingered, even and constant, until the tension in your body faded and sleep took hold.

He was your war torn knight, and you were his liege to serve and to protect. But at the moment, you were two ordinary people, doing an ordinary thing, on an ordinary night.

___________________________

A month later

The soft rays of the dawn filtered through the curtains. You could hear the hurried footsteps of the servants outside, rushing around to get everything ready before the sun took its throne in the sky. You turned onto your back and sighed, shutting your eyes.

An image of a certain golden haired knight came into your mind. An….alluring golden haired knight. Your hands drifted to your legs, caressing your inner thighs, the slit in your night gown giving you easy access. 

It was a scandalous thing for a princess to be doing—pleasuring herself. A woman’s pleasure was only meant for her husband after all. Husband be fucked, you thought, as your finger pads grazed over your clit, making your hips jerk up. 

You had spent so many days locked up in the library again, working on the territorial re-arrangement plans your father had given to you as an assignment. Territorial re-arrangements, bullshit, they were practically war plans. All that frustration had settled deep into your body, and this was the only way you knew how to release it. 

Your skin ran hot as a not so distant memory from two weeks ago came into your mind. 

Nicholas’ lips press into a thin line; his gaze is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through the cool facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, as you rake your eyes up and down his shirtless body. You never thought you’d see your knight like this—after all, what kind of person is still undressed by 10 in the morning?

Your sopping cunt clutched at your fingers, wet and needy, all that tension bleeding out of you as your mind kept giving you images of him. You bucked your hips up into your hand, as your fingers slid through the folds.

“Can I help you, my lady?” He smirks, the words hang between you, sharp and saccharine. Your gaze travelled from his broad shoulders to his chest, scarred skin and firm muscle. Your hands practically itched to reach out and touch those carved abs.

“Nicho….” A soft whimper tumbles from your lips, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, the rest of the sound dying in your throat. Your hips stuttered as your free hand dug into the sheets to ground yourself.

“N-No.” You managed to say, “You’re late.” Nicholas pulls his tunic over his body, broad shoulders filling out the fabric, arms thick with muscle shaped by years of training. The fabric pulls slightly when he moves, outlining the solid curve of his upper arms and the defined lines along his forearms. Something swells within your chest.

You rubbed slowly over your cunt, fingers dragging through your slick, pressing just enough. You throw your head back onto the cushions as your thumb drags over your clit. Your mind drifted to him, imagining your fingers to be his—large, broad palms with thick fingers, the kind that could leave any woman breathless, veins roping across the backs of them, like prominent rivers. Scars alike as well—some faded, some still pink, some curved—you knew each and every single one. 

“Forgive me, my lady.” Nicholas drawls out in his morning voice, deep and rich, “Now would you let me get dressed properly?” 

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your thighs trembling around your hand. Your fingers curled just right, dragging against that spot that made your eyes roll back.

“Or would you prefer watching, my lady?” 

"Nicho—Nicholas oh fuck…“ You gasped, voice breaking, eyes rolling back and cunt clenching tight around your fingers as the knot in your stomach broke at the thought of him stuffing his fingers into you. You could feel your pussy pulsing through your orgasm, fingers moving fast, trying desperately to cling onto that fading image in your mind

For a moment, you lay still, staring at the ceiling, your heart beating a little faster than usual. His presence lingered in your mind, the sound of his voice saying ‘my lady’ so gently. You exhaled and pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to gather yourself, as sun rays bathed your room in light.

He is your knight, you reminded yourself, nothing more, nothing less.

You sat up slowly, shaking away whatever you had done five minutes ago, and reaching for your robe. Your lady-in-waiting would be here soon, you had a meeting with your father that day to discuss your plans.

The curve of his bicep, that look in his eyes.

The rays of the sun bathed your room in light.

A golden haired knight corrupted your thoughts.

______________________________

The tension in the room was sharp enough to be cut with a knife; its four walls threatened to shrink and suffocate you, as you stared fixedly at the ground, your hands politely folded in your lap. Across the long table from you sat your father, kingly eyes sifting through inked parchment. He glanced up every now and then, as if to mock you for your use of words.

You felt the gazes of the ministers on you, waiting for the King to declare that a woman’s plans could never overcome their own. The war they were planning had been in the works for six months now—what could a princess who’d known about it for a month say? 

The silence stretched, broken only by the soft scrape of parchment as your father set the documents aside. He studied you for a long moment. The war against the kingdom of Sakuryn was not going to be easy—their ruler, Asakura Jo, was rumoured to be a skilled warrior.

“These plans…” He said slowly, tapping the table once with his finger, “You put emphasis on supply lines?” His gaze lifted to meet yours. You nodded.

“The neighbouring villages should be more than happy to provide resources for a subsidized cost.” You answered, “Thus enabling us to go through with more ambushes.” A murmur rippled through the room before your father silenced it with a raised hand.

“Good.” He hummed, “I will not dismiss six months of counsel,” your father continued, “but neither will I ignore these plans.” He leaned back in his chair, “You took inspiration from the Great Battle of Thymeron?” You nodded again and the king smiled, “You have done well. These proposals will be presented to our allies tomorrow evening, at the ball.” His eyes remained on you as he finished, a glint of something unreadable passing through them.  

Your fingers curled tighter in your lap from the effort it took to keep your smile measured and proper. Inside, your thoughts were racing ahead of you, already at tomorrow night, already standing beneath chandeliers and champagne and kings.

“Did you see that?” You practically shouted, spinning on your heel, hands flying as if the moment might escape you otherwise. “Did you see their faces? I swear, Minister Halvern looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. I’m going to scream.”

Nicholas chuckled, walking calmly behind your frolicking figure, hands clasped behind his back. “Probably best you don’t do that,” he said, "Wouldn't want the kingdom to know their princess has finally tasted victory.”

You shot him a grin over your shoulder, “Oh trust me, my victory will come tomorrow.” You slowed then, stepping from the garden path onto the grass.  

You wandered past the gardens of the vast palace grounds till you reached the old oak on the little hill—your safe place. You dropped into the grass beneath its shade, skirt fanning out, your tension slipping out from your bones.

Nicholas followed you, lowering himself beside you. He laid back, hands folded over his chest. Above you, the leaves shifted softly, sunlight breaking through in slow, uneven patterns; the earth was cool beneath your back. Nicholas turned his head just enough to glance at you, the corner of his mouth lifting as if your joy were something he could feel through the ground itself.

“So…” You broke the silence first.

“So?” 

“Tomorrow’s ball.” You giggled, shifting to lay down on the grass, “Please don’t glare at all the nobles I dance with again.” Nicholas grinned and laid down next to you on his side, “It's unparliamentary Nicho!” 

“Unparliamentary?” He laughed with all his chest, resting his head on his arm, his laughter eventually dying down at the sight of your pout, “Alright, princess. I’ll keep it down.” 

“I just need tomorrow to be perfect.” You sighed, staring up at the canopy, “This one chance,” Your eyes were bright and uncontained, “and the throne may be mine.” 

“The throne will be yours, my lady.” Nicholas reached a hand out to brush a stray hair behind your ear, and the world held its breath, “I know you’ll do wonders tomorrow.” 

“Thank you Nicho.” You smiled, your knight looked beatific in fragmented sunlight, “I really couldn't have done this without you, you know.” You threw an arm over his chest, and snuggled in, “Thank you for keeping me alive all these days.” Nicholas’ hold was warm as warmth could be, his arm resting at your waist and sending butterflies through your stomach, as you both melted into the earth.

“My pleasure, princess.” He murmured, closing his eyes as the zephyr blew gently, bringing you both a sense of comfort that you could only feel with each other. The sound of Nicholas’ heart beat grounded you; you adjusted slightly, cheek settling more comfortably against him, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath your fingers. Nicholas drew his arm a fraction closer.

As the breeze stirred away, you let your eyes drift shut. Nicholas stayed awake longer than you did, listening to your slow breathing, feeling the way your weight relaxed against him. 

Yet again, you were two ordinary people, in an ordinary world, doing ordinary things.

_____________________________

“Another year huh?” The tall man dressed in burgundy took a long sip from his glass of champagne, “And you still haven't found a husband.” 

“Another year and I still haven't managed to kill you.” You hissed at him. 

“Unfortunately that would be considered treason,” Yudai smiled at you cheekily, “and you would be hung, drawn and quartered.” 

“I’m surprised though.” You smirked, “Not even a year of ballroom dancing and you’re already the favourite of the five kingdoms.” You clinked your glass with his, “I’m proud of you.” 

Yudai laughed, the sound bright and unguarded as he tipped his glass toward you. “High praise from the woman who convinced me to take the job.”

“As I should.” you replied sweetly, taking a sip. “You would have burnt out if you took the throne.” 

“Good thing I gave it to Euijoo then huh?” He chuckled, glancing past you at the dais where the young king was awkwardly laughing with a bunch of noblewomen,  “He looks like he’s negotiating peace treaties just to escape."

You followed his gaze and laughed. “He’ll survive.”

“As we all have to yeah?” Yudai sighed, downing the last drops of champagne, “In this dangerous world?” 

The grand ballroom glittered in full splendor—giant chandeliers blazing overhead, their crystal arms scattering light across the silk-draped walls. Magnificent dresses swept across the floor as royal guests danced away to the orchestra. The court had outdone itself this time, even the most dour nobles seemed momentarily softened by the music.

Yudai leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Speaking of danger, have you noticed your knight?”

“What about him?” 

“Well,” Yudai chuckled, eyes glinting, “every time someone speaks to you for longer than a breath, Nicholas looks like he’s calculating where to hide the body.” He took a sip, “Your knight is still as terrifying as the day I first met him.”

Before there was peace, Yudai’s kingdom Iriandel had been at war with yours for nearly six years. Yudai, being the eldest prince of his kingdom, had encountered your knight’s blade in battle far too many times to forget. Perhaps one of the few reasons he decided to abdicate his throne to someone who actually wanted it, in order to pursue his heart’s desires.

“He’s just diligent.” You hummed.

“Of course,” Yudai said solemnly. “Terrifyingly diligent.” He lifted his glass, “To another year of survival for both of us. And to Sir Nicholas, guardian of the realm,” He chuckled, “and apparently, of your personal space.”

You clinked your glass to his, laughter warm in your chest as the music carried on around you. Your gaze drifted up to Nicholas, who was standing calmly in the corner of the room.

 He stood apart from the crowd in his ceremonial uniform, the kingdom’s colors complimenting his features strikingly: black polished to a near glow, green trimmed along his shoulders and a red sash. The cut of the coat sharpened his frame and the metal accents caught the chandelier light each time he moved. He looked a bit like the heroes the poets sang of—composed, handsome, yours.

You glanced down then, at the fall of your own dress, black silk washed with green embroidery, with a low cut neck. And then a ludicrous thought came into your mind.

Matching.

Heat crept up your neck and you turned your head quickly, pretending great interest in the swirl of dancers, hoping no one—especially him—had noticed. It was foolish, you told yourself. They were the kingdom’s colors. Of course you would both be wearing them.

When you risked another look, Nicholas caught your eye for the briefest moment and your heart gave an unnecessary, traitorous little jump. The curve of his bicep, that look in his eyes. You downed your champagne. 

“And here comes the cavalry.” Yudai raised his glass to his king, dressed in burgundy leather with a rather dramatic golden sash, “How fare the peace treaties, Euijoo?” 

“I think I’ve broken the hearts of married mothers.”  Euijoo twirled a crystal glass in his hand, lazy smile playing at his lips, “Is this what you go through everyday?” He dipped his head to you.

“Trust me it's worse.” You sighed, “Should I even ask what happened at the treaty meeting? You’ve been avoiding Haruto all evening.” 

“Don’t even ask.” Euijoo groaned, rolling his shoulders back, “Your brother was about to destroy everything we’ve built over months in a matter of ten minutes. Yuma was on the verge of throwing his sword across the room.”

“Step brother.” Yudai corrected, "Seriously Your Highness, how is he even related to you?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.” You laughed wearily, “Were my plans alright, Euijoo?” You addressed him casually, “I hoped the open trade routes would free up space for the merchants.”

“If not for you, my kingdom would still think yours negotiates exclusively through threats.” Euijoo set his glass down, “On that note, may I steal you for a dance, my lady?” 

“Careful,” You said, tilting your head, “my knight might take issue with that.” Euijoo’s gaze flicked—not subtly at all—to where Nicholas stood across the hall, whose eyes were already fixed in your direction like he’d sensed the disturbance in the air. 

“Ah yes, Nicholas.” He took a sip and lowered his voice. “I had wondered if approaching you would get me stabbed, poisoned or simply stared into an early grave.” Yudai barked a laugh. Nicholas wasn’t frowning, but there was a focus to him, sharp enough to be felt from across the room.

“I think he’s deciding where to hide the body.” Yudai added helpfully.

You smiled into your champagne. “He wouldn’t kill you.” You said to Euijoo.

Euijoo raised a brow. “Probably wouldn’t kill me.” He offered his hand with a grin, “Before your knight follows through on his thoughts, shall we?”

Before any of you could move, the booming sound of trumpets cut through the hum of conversation. The music stilled as laughter faded into murmurs and glasses paused mid-air. At the far end of the hall, the musicians lowered their bows as the herald stepped forward.

“Next time then.” Euijoo released your hand at once, “Maybe when Nicholas is locked in his room.”

Yudai straightened beside you, his teasing expression softening. “Looks like this is your moment.” Of course, you had spoiled the surprise for him, unable to keep your little victory to yourself anymore. The weight of the hall’s attention turned to your father mounting the dais.

“Citizens of Phileon, noble guests, ladies and gentlemen,” Your father was always one for show, “Today is a day of celebration. A day of light. A day to drink to!” A roar ripped through the crowd as everybody raised their glasses. Get on with it already, you thought, impatient for your spotlight moment.

But the Fates had woven a different destiny for you.

_________________

“My lady.” Nicholas tapped against the closet door, “Please come out.” 

He was met with a soft sniffle, and a barely audible ‘no’. He sighed and sat down on the floor in front of the grand wooden closet. He was still in his black suit, but he had ripped his red sash off, the moment he ran behind you from the ballroom.

“I’ll wait here until you do then.” He said simply. “I have nowhere better to be anyway.” 

On the other side of the door, you curled in on yourself, knees drawn close, arms wrapped tight around yourself. The closet still smelled of old wood and dried flowers, something faintly familiar that made your chest ache. This had been your hiding place once, yours and your mother’s. Somewhere small, somewhere warm, somewhere where the world couldn't reach you. 

“He didn't even look at me.” You whispered, voice trembling. “He didn’t even spare me a fucking glance.” The moment replayed itself behind your eyes—the trumpets and the fanfare and your father’s smooth voice twisting the truth into something unrecognizable.

Your plans, your weeks of work, dropped like a stag’s antlers into Haruto’s hands. Your jaw clenched as you recalled the thunderous applause that followed your brother as he stepped proudly onto the dais, accepting charge of the royal army. 

A heavy silence pressed in, broken occasionally by the faint hitch of your breathing. Nicholas toyed with his sword.  Your face—how all the light had drained from it before you turned and walked away, despite Yudai and Euijoo’s efforts to keep you there in all diplomatic (and friendly) politeness.

“I’m nothing to them, am I?” Your voice sounded small, “They just took it from me like I was nothing, like I wasn't even there.”

“You’re not nothin–”

“Oh admit it.” A bitter laugh slipped out of you, “If I really was not nothing, then why was it so easy? Why did they believe him? Why did they look at me like I was just standing in the way?” Your voice wavered. “I am nothing but a fool.”

Nicholas’ jaw tightened. He leaned his head back against the bedframe, eyes closing.

“No.” 

“Nicho–”

“No.” He repeated, “My lady,” Nicholas’ hand lifted and rested flat against the door, “You are capable, you are intelligent and worth far more than anybody standing in that ballroom." His voice dropped, roughened, “You know full well your brother did not deserve any of that praise.”

A shaky laugh broke from you, sharp and wet. “Do I?” Your breath hitched, “I trusted the king.” you murmured. “Everybody knows trust is only meant for jibbering fools.”

“Do you not trust me then?” Nicholas smiled softly, even though he knew you wouldn't see it. He was met with a shaky breath.

 “I know you want to beat yourself up about it, but trust me, you won't be any more courageous if you do.” He added, softer still, “You were robbed and it is as simple as that. My lady, do you really believe His Majesty Euijoo wanted Haruto up there? Or His Highness Yuma? Or Yudai?” You pressed your forehead into your knees, shoulders shaking as you listened,

“That isn’t how worth works, my lady.” He said. “The only thing they counted on was the nobility not believing in a Queen and we both know how stupid that is.” His voice roughened. “You don’t have to be strong right now, princess, you know that right?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress. “I feel so stupid,” You murmured. “for believing.”

“Then we’ll be stupid together.” He replied in a jolt. “Because I’ve believed in you from the start and I still do.”

“I’m tired Nicho.” You said at last. “I’m so goddamn tired of trying to be enough.”

“You are enough.” Nicholas answered as if it were the most obvious fact in the world, “And nobody in the world gets to make you feel like you aren't." His hand pressed more firmly against the wood, as if anchoring himself there, “Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Phileon?”

The closet door opened at last. You stepped out as though leaving a shrine, eyes red, lashes wet and shoulders drawn inward. Nicholas rose immediately, offering his scarred hands, palms open and unarmed. You placed yours there without looking, trusting him to hold what the night had broken.

He led you to the bed slowly and sat beside you on the edge, close enough that the warmth of him reached you. For a while, neither of you spoke, silence thick with all that had been lost and gained that evening. Outside, the moon hung in all her radiance.

You stared at the patterned rug, you had only now noticed how fine its details were, woven from golden and red threads. If one were to bleed out on the floor of your bedroom, it would have looked beautiful. 

“They’ll march in a month.” You said at last, voice distant. “When the war is declared officially.” You looked at him, feeling your sight blur with tears again, “Will you have to go too?”

Nicholas inclined his head and breathed. Then he nodded slowly. “They will need your lone wolf won't they?” He laughed crudely, “Phileon cannot win a war without her princess.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips and it struck Nicholas then how small you looked at that moment, completely worn out. The crownlight gowns and ballroom fire had fallen away, leaving only the girl who sat beneath oak trees, slept in libraries and refused to budge till her work was complete, with the cheekiest smile on her face.

Nicholas watched the way your fingers twisted together, how your spine held stubbornly straight even while your heart caved inward. You had always worn your dignity as your armour, even when it suffocated you.

“Phileon’s princess huh?” You wiped your tears away and Nicholas caught a brief glimpse of that familiar flame, “I want it back Nicho.” You breathed deeply and looked him straight in the eye, “I want it all back.” 

Nicholas felt something old and violent stir beneath his ribs. He had known your face since it was softer with youth, before the weight of the world sharpened it. Tonight, grief had made you gentle, made your eyes vast and dark, as though they carried the whole kingdom’s sorrow.

Nicholas rose and then sank to one knee before you, fist on his chest as you watched on, dazed. “Nicholas wha—”

“Please, my lady,” He said, “let me speak.”

The oil lamps caught his face gently, softening the scars that traced his cheek and jaw. Dark strands of hair fell forward in a way that made him look younger—closer to the boy who had stood before you years ago in dented armor. 

You had seen him in every state a man could probably be seen—bloodied, exhausted, victorious, unguarded. Yet now, kneeling at the edge of the bed, he looked almost unbearably noble.

“I was sworn to this kingdom once years ago.” He began, “To Phileon, her lands and her people.” His gaze was unwavering, “To protecting the crown till death do us part.” 

“Tonight my lady, I swear myself to you.” He continued, “Only to you.” He smiled softly, “The heavens may punish me all they want for it, but my fealty will forever lie with you and only you.” You reached for him then without realizing it, fingers brushing against his sleeve. He paused as he took his sword out and presented it before you, its sharp edge gleaming in the light.

“I swear this sword to your name, my lady.” His fingers pressed into the sword, “My breath to your defense, my life to your future, no matter what it may be. And if blood must be spilled for you to grab that future—” A faint glimmer came to his eyes, “—then I will bring you Haruto’s head, or I will fall before him.”

“Nicho don’t.” You whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t swear that.”

“Then let me swear this instead.” His voice softened. He put the sword down and took your hands, pressing them to his chest.

“That I will never leave you behind in this world, even if the Gods themselves command me to.”

Your tears spilled freely now as you leaned into him, forehead against his shoulder, and for the first time that night, allowed yourself to be held. Nicholas’ arms closed around you with careful strength, as if you were something precious.

You stayed like that for a while, knight and princess in an ordinary world full of not so ordinary things. 

Fireworks bloomed beyond the palace walls then, sudden and bright, painting the night in violent color. You lifted your head from Nicholas’ shoulder at the first crack, and laughed.

“Are they always this loud?” The fireworks caught along the planes of his face, the familiar scar at his lip flashing pale.

“They are.” He said, “They’ll be even louder at your coronation, my lady.”

“Heard from every corner of the kingdom I suppose.” You hiccuped, smiling tiredly at him. Nicholas tilted his head curiously, rubbing circles onto your waist, still kneeling on the floor. 

“What’s that pretty head of yours thinking about?” He asked.

“Nothing much.” You hummed, your eyes wavering over his lips for a second, “Strategy?”

It was no longer an ordinary world—yours and Nicholas’ and for a moment, you thought about how it probably never was. Probably never will be. What sort of a princess thinks about her knight before she goes to sleep? And what sort of a knight does the same?

But it would be a lie to say that your knight didn't make this insane world seem a bit more normal.

A bit more full of moonlight.

___________________

The plan began as all plans do. Ink, letters, bribed soldiers at the borders and your messenger hawk. Who would ever suspect a princess sending letters to her friends after all? All they did was talk about lace and ribbons anyway.

You sat at your desk long after midnight, sleeves rolled, hair loosely tied back, the map of the realm spread before you. 

Euijoo was the first to accept your hand in secret alliance, writing a long letter to you about how he’d rather give up tangerines than have Haruto on the throne after the war blew over. Yuma, of the neighbouring island kingdom was quick to accept too, even going so far as to send you a floral arrangement, which your father thankfully mistook for a marriage proposal.

By day, you met with nobles, many of whom had seen you grow up on treaties and war plans, many of whom indulged the idea of a woman on the throne. You let them complain about empty treasuries, restless towns, sons they could not afford to lose and you threw in your card at the end. 

By night, you wrote. Letters left your chambers under false seals, carried by trusted hands to courts beyond your borders to rulers who had watched Phileon from afar and wondered how long it could endure a king who ruled like a relic and a crown prince worth nothing.

But of course, you were not going to stop there. 

The enemy of an enemy was a friend after all.

Asakura Jo’s reply came faster than you expected. His handwriting was freakishly neat (Nicholas suspected witchcraft), as he accepted your offer for mineral trading rights in exchange for support once the king’s blood was on your hands. There was something quite attractive in the way he did not even question your stance as a mere First princess (Nicholas definitely suspected witchcraft) and it was an end to a war neither of you wanted. A war of old lions and foolish cubs neither of you had any interest in.

“Is his handwriting really that attractive to you?” Across the room, Nicholas leaned against the stone pillar, arms crossed, watching you smile at the letter in your hand, “I knew your standards were low, but not that low.” 

“Jo just offered to come over for my future coronation.” You sighed dreamily, “He’d make a fine husband, wouldn't he?”

“You’ve seen one painting of the man.” Nicholas jut his bottom lip out just a tad, your knight was like a jealous kitten. 

“And one painting is all I need to know he’s the perfect man—” You chuckled, “—to support me in my endeavours.”

“Oh?” Nicholas sat down across from you, “And what about me?” You paused, a cheeky smile tugging at your lips as you folded Jo’s letter and set it aside.

“What about you?” You echoed, finally looking up at him.

The candlelight caught along the sharp lines of his face, the familiar scar at his lip. My lone wolf, you thought.

“I seem to recall,” He began in a childish tone, “that I have supported every one of your endeavours thus far. Including the ones that could get us both beheaded.”

“Indeed you have good sir.” You laughed softly, “And your queen shall reward you for it generously.” His brow lifted, almost imperceptibly.

“I will not ask for much, oh merciful queen.” He said, “I only want three mansions and an apple orchard.”

“I suppose that can be arranged.” You laughed, meeting his eyes. Silence took over for a moment before you sighed. “We are really doing this tomorrow huh?”

Something shifted in his expression then, something like acceptance settling into place. He exhaled through his nose, and looked away for half a second.

“You will have the throne tomorrow my lady.” He beamed, “It feels like only yesterday we were both 17.” He chuckled, “Young, dumb and stupid.” He rose to his feet, “And now look at us, planning a conquest.” He bowed his head, “I am proud to serve you, my lady.” 

Outside, the palace slept, unaware that its foundations were being redrawn by a woman with ink-stained fingers and a knight who would follow her into hell without question. 

“Thank you Nicho.” You said, eyes lingering on his arms before you broke away, “Go get some sleep now, we have a big day tomorrow.” 

Nicholas straightened, hand drifting, without thought, to the hilt of his sword, as he bowed and swiftly left the room. He smiled to himself. You'd be up there on the throne tomorrow. 

And he was going to bring you the crown prince’s head.

___________________

When you were a young girl, your mother would tell you the tale of a hunter, whose target was kings. She’d tell you about the way the hunter would always paralyse the kings first, slipping in foxglove in their tobacco. And then the hunter would slowly run their dagger through the chest, ripping out the heart to consume it, the coronary muscles, the aorta, the soul that was caged within.

“So,” You said softly, “this is how it all ends, father.” The king sat slumped against the back of the throne, crown still upon his head, fingers locked uselessly around the armrests, “With your daughter on the throne and Phileon under her brow.” His eyes were furious, trapped in a body that had turned traitor to him. The poison had done its work quietly, as you intended, “Are you proud, father?”

Rage twisted his face, words spilling out in broken, venomous fragments about your ingratitude, your audacity and your place. Even now, even like this, he still clung to his pathetic beliefs.

“I hated being your daughter.” You continued, voice calm, “I was raised on your wars, your ledgers and your laws and never once did you see me as somebody fit for the throne.”  Your gaze flicked to the crown. “Are you really surprised I've done this?” You took a step closer, then another.

“Let us call it fate for now, Your Majesty.” The dagger felt light in your hand, “Fate, that has decided my place on this throne.”

You climbed the steps slowly, deliberately, until you stood before him—before the man who had dismissed you, belittled you, and handed your future to others as if it were his to give away.

“For what it’s worth,” You added, “I will be a better ruler than you ever were.”

A hunter of kings, your mother had told you—one who feasted upon their greedy souls. She never told you how good it would feel.

You took your place upon the throne—your throne—fingers curling around the carved armrests as if to anchor yourself to the moment. The weight of it pressed into your spine, as you looked down at your bloody hands and the corpse of the king at your feet.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen of Phileon.” You whispered to yourself. 

The kingdom was yours.

The great doors of the throne room burst open, thunderous echo rolling through the hall as your soldiers flooded in, banners lifted high, steel catching the light perfectly. Amongst them stood men of the other kingdoms as well, you could see Euijoo, Yudai and Yuma in their generals’ attire, leading the faction of nobles.  

Euijoo shot you a quick grin before going back to his solemn expression. Somewhere in the back, you could see a tall, hooded figure as well. Over the months, you had found out Asakura Jo wasn't one for flair, clearly evident as he inclined his head to you, and leaned back against a pillar, crossing his arms and admiring the grand hall.

“My lady.” Euijoo stood at the foot of the dais, “You’ve done it.” He smiled gently and bowed his head, turning back to the crowd once, “All hail the First Princess!” A roar erupted through the hall, swords ringing against shields, excited voices crying out for their beloved princess. Euijoo climbed the steps to you, as you rose off the throne to take his hand. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” You said, “I look forward to the friendship between our kingdoms.” You glanced at the nobles standing by the side, giving them a polite smile before turning back to the king, “And what of the battle?”

“The battle?” He inclined his head. “It was brief.” He turned slightly, “Your brother’s legions were large, but poorly held together. Once the first line broke, the rest followed.” He held a twinkle in his eyes, “Many laid down their arms the moment your banners were raised.”

“Haruto?” You asked.

Euijoo laughed. “Fled like a wounded dog. Took a sword and fled for the hills.” 

The hall still rang with celebration, but the noise felt distant now, as though you stood at the center of a quiet eye while the storm roared around you. You hesitated, then asked the question that had been pressing against your ribs since the doors first opened.

“And Nicholas?”

Euijoo’s expression shifted—subtle, almost amused.

“Ahh, your knight.” He glanced toward the doors, then back to you. “He said there was business he needed to finish. Said it concerned his honour.” A faint smile curved his mouth. “But we all know who his honour is, don't we?” 

Haruto’s head. You shook off the thought.

“We best get to the crowni–”

That was when the doors opened again, the sound cutting clean through the air. All eyes were fixed on the knight, crossing the length of the hall.

Nicholas.

Your Nicholas.

 His armor was darkened with the marks of battle, the hall narrowing around him, the space between you shrinking with every step. He held something tightly in one hand, the other holding a blood stained sword. Gasps rang through the hall, as it became evidently clear what he had just done. 

I will bring you Haruto’s head, or I will fall before him.

That faithful night came back in your mind as you stood alone on the dais, meeting your knight’s gaze. There was something in those eyes again, like a war of fealty and love.

Nicholas dropped to one knee in front of the dais, holding out his hand and dropping his trophy—a grotesque expression plastered on the severed head.

“Phileon is yours.” His voice rang through the hall, “Phileon is yours, my lady.” 

Your chest tightened as you slowly descended the steps until you stood before him, close enough to see the devotion etched into every line of his face.

“Give me your sword, Sir Nicholas.” You said.

 For a moment, the hall fell away as your gaze met his. There was only him in this world now, your war torn knight, your lone wolf, your Nicholas.

Nicholas placed the bloodied sword in your outstretched hands, movements reverent, as though each step had been rehearsed in his bones long before this day arrived. The hall was silent now, even the banners seemed to still.

You reached for the hilt, the metal cold beneath your fingers, as you traced your thumb over his carved name on the edge. You raised the sword, then rested the flat of the blade against his shoulder.

“You have stood with me all these years.” You said, voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “Even in times when both of us would have been beheaded.” Nicholas chuckled under his breath. The murmurs around you swelled, kings and soldiers watching closely. 

“I thank you for that with all my life.” You said, “Today, I—in the name of Phileon—name you First Knight of the Realm.” You rested the sword on his left shoulder, “Thank you, for pledging your fealty to me.”

A sharp intake of breath passed through the hall. Nicholas looked up then, eyes bright. His jaw tightened as though he feared his eyes might fail him. You lowered the sword and offered him your hand, pulling him up to stand. 

“Not so much of a lone wolf now, are you, my knight?” You whispered, squeezing his hand, worship written into the way his fingers closed around yours. Ordinary world be damned, you thought, he was certainly no ordinary man. 

Yuma approached the dais then, alone, carrying a velvet cushion upon which rested the crown of Phileon—ruby-crested, gold catching fire in the torchlight. Nicholas let go of your hand and moved away swiftly, as Euijoo and Jo stepped forward, their symbols gleaming in the light. Euijoo took the crown in his hands.

This was it, huh?

“Your Royal Highness, the First Princess of Phileon.” He began, “By the law of war and first decree, you are fit to claim the throne of the kingdom of Phileon.” He extended the crown forward, “Do you accept?”

You breathed out and looked at the crowd—kings, soldiers, allies and your knight. You turned back to Euijoo.

“I, the First Princess of Phileon,” A smile broke through, “accept the throne.”

“Then, by accord of the alliance of kingdoms, and by law,” Euijoo raised the crown, “I hereby crown you Queen of Phileon.”

The crown pressed warm at your temples, the ruby crest catching the firelight until it seemed to glow from within, as though it had been waiting for you to claim it.

“All hail Her Majesty, the Queen of Phileon!” Euijoo declared, as he bowed. The hall followed suit, bowing down before you.

An unsteady breath left you. This—this—was what every late night, every month in the library and every step had amounted to. For a moment, the hall was suspended between heartbeats.

“Well?” Yudai called out, lifting a hand toward the waiting servants. “Pop open the wine bottles before someone starts crying!” 

Laughter rippled through the crowd, relief and joy spilling over at once. The hall bloomed into sound, cheers, applause, the ringing of steel against shields in celebration. You let yourself smile fully now. Your gaze moved through the faces—kings, nobles and soldiers.

 And then, your eyes found him.

“They call you lone wolf, do they not?” Your eyes raked over the knight on one knee before you, “And you are to protect me?”

“Yes my lady.” He said simply, not raising his head.

“I am no one of importance.” You laughed, “I am sorry that this kingdom’s best warrior is stuck with me.” You sighed, “Please…raise your head, good knight.”

He did, and you met his gaze. He was probably itching to get out there again. But here he was, stuck guarding a princess no one cared abou—

“I don't think I am stuck, my lady.” He said sheepishly, “And I do not think you are unimportant.” A faint red appeared on his cheeks. 

“Well, you’ll learn soon enough.” You chuckled, getting to your feet. He awkwardly shuffled up as well, keeping his gaze to the floor. “Your name is Nicholas, is it not?” He nodded, “I’ll warn you, I am always stuck in the library. This job might get boring.” 

“I prefer boring.” He hummed, finally catching your gaze again. You sent him a gentle smile, which he returned.

He was now your war torn knight, and you were his princess.

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you locked eyes with him. It had been six years now since you two exchanged awkward courtesies. And there he was, those same beautiful eyes still gazing at you as if you had hung up the moon.  

You would have given him the entire universe if he asked.

_________________

“So..”

“So?”

“So.” 

The word lingered uselessly between you, dissolving into the quiet as you sat side by side on the edge of the bed, close enough that your sleeves brushed one another. 

It was almost midnight by the time the celebrations and official duties were over and it was safe to say you were dead. The prospect of getting to talk to your knight after it all, late at night like two children sharing secrets, was the only thing that powered you through it. 

“We always somehow end up back here.” Nicholas said, sighing, “At the edge of this bed I mean.” 

“Is that a good thing?” You asked, becoming aware of everything at once. The steady rise and fall of Nicholas’ chest, the way his muscles pressed against his white shirt, a new scar on his cheek. You could feel his attention too, he wasn’t staring, but every time you glanced sideways, you caught him already looking at your hands, your mouth, your neck.

You cleared your throat, smiling just to break the spell. “I think,” You said lightly, “I’d like to hold your sword again.” You laughed, “Day one of being a ruler and the power is already getting to my head.” 

“As it should, princess.” Nicholas smiled, already unbuckling his sword from his side, “You deserve it.” He  held it out to you hilt-first, and didn't stop there.

He rose from the bed with a soft groan and sank to one knee before you, looking up to shoot you a mischievous grin before sinking his head back down. “Go on my lady, knight me again.” He hummed. Oh the trouble he would have been in if you could have heard his thoughts during the coronation earlier. The way your arms curved, the way you called him your knight. Nicholas was a gone man.

But this time, you leaned forward and placed the tip of the blade gently under his chin, lifting your wrist to lift his face up. His neck curved beautifully as you did, his eyes full of something you couldn't quite decipher. The room felt warmer.

“Oh no.” You purred. “How very clumsy I am.” You tilted the blade up further, making him show you his whole neck. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily; but you could easily see the smirk tugging at his lips.

There was something frustratingly attractive about this, about him. The very fact that he could pick you up and snap your spine in half, and yet here he was, kneeling in front of you, letting you play with his neck with his sword—it made heat rush between your thighs.

“How very clumsy you are.” Nicholas crooned, grabbing hold of the middle of the blade, “You cannot hold it like that if you want to kill somebody, my lady.”

“How do I hold it then?” You asked, crossing one leg over the other, “Teach me.” Your action caused your night gown to slip, revealing the entirety of your right leg. Nicholas’ brain haywired. 

He sighed, holding the blade with two hands now as he inched forward on his knees, till the blade was the only thing separating you both.

“Isnt that….how do you say it again?” He ran his tongue over his lips, "Unparliamentary?" He chuckled, tossing the sword away and resting his hands on either side of you on the bed, caging you in, “For a knight to teach his princess?” 

“Careful.” You hummed, “I am your queen now.” Your eyes darted from his eyes to his wet lips. 

“You’ll always be my princess though.” Nicholas’ hands wandered to your waist, “Won’t you, princess?” 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. This close, you could see the faint scar near his lip, the way his eyes hooded and the way his composure was on the verge of breaking. 

Silence fell between you both for a moment, neither of you breaking away from the heavy eye contact. His hands mapped your clothed waist, slender fingertips tracing circles on the silk. You bit your lip, eyes tracing over his muscles. 

Was this the love the poets spoke of?

“Nicholas…” 

“My lady?” 

“Kiss me.” You wrapped your arms round his neck, pulling him even closer, “Please kiss me.” 

If there existed a God in this world, you’d have to apologise to them. For nothing felt more holy, than the feeling of Nicholas’ soft lips on yours. 

He cupped your face gently with one hand, thumb brushing against your cheek and he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss. 

Nicholas poured his heart and soul into the embrace, worshipping your mouth with a fervor that set your entire body aflame. His lips moved against yours with a skillful precision, as your arms roamed all over his arms, feeling his firm biceps. 

“You like them princess?” Nicholas broke away for a second, smirking, “You’re not very slick when you stare you know?”

And then he was aalll over you again, deepening the kiss this time, you felt yourself becoming lost in the sensation, your world narrowing to the point of contact between your lips.

Nicholas's tongue danced with yours in a sensual tango, his passion igniting a fire within you that consumed you entirely. You clung to him as if he was your lifeline, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer till your chest pressed against his, desperate to feel every inch of his body.

“Fuck me..” Nicholas moaned into the kiss, “You’re so beautiful, princess.”

With a sudden surge of strength, Nicholas lifted you effortlessly, placing you down gently on the centre on the bed. He cradled you in his arms, his eyes locked on yours as he gazed down at you with a mixture of reverence and desire.

Your mind, on the other hand, raced with memories of…..scandalous knowledge. You had often poured over study tomes, deciphering the cryptic illustrations and the mysteries of love and desire. But physical experience always trumped literary knowledge right?

“Nicho…..”

“Yes princess?” He said, “Tell me what you want.” 

“Can you…..I mean, can we….” Your words faded into the tortuous air of awkwardness as heat rushed to your neck. How hard was it to say ‘can we have sex’?

“Can I what, my lady?” Nicholas smirked. Of course, he knew what you were asking about. But some wild beast in him needed to hear you say it out loud. 

“You know what I mean.” You mumbled sheepishly, turning your head to the side to look away, not knowing the curve of your neck only made the pressure between his legs increase.

“I do.” He hummed, “But I’m afraid a knight cannot do anything without proper orders, my lady." 

Oh this man, you thought, I love this man. You had thought of this moment for so long, yet now that it was here, you found yourself tongue-tied and hesitant.

"Nicholas," You murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I–I want you to make love to me."

The words hung heavy in the air, you could feel the heat of Nicholas's gaze, his eyes smoldering with a fire that matched the intensity of your own arousal.

"As you wish, my princess," He replied, his voice low.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Nicholas traced his fingers along the curve of your neck. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the sensitive flesh, and was rewarded with a soft gasp from his beloved. As Nicholas continued his exploration, his hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of you with reverence and desire. 

You found yourself losing yourself in the sensation, your body responding eagerly to Nicholas's skilled ministrations. As he slipped his hand beneath the fabric of your gown, you arched into his touch, craving more of the delicious torment he was inflicting upon you.

"Nichooo," You whined, voice heavy with need. "Please....."

In response, Nicholas merely smiled, a glint in his eye. "Patience, my love," He whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to savor every moment of this."

His tongue slipped against yours as he pulled you in for another passionate kiss, his right hand hovering near your inner thigh. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, urging him on. A low moan vibrated from his throat into the kiss, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. 

“May I?” He murmured against your lips. You hummed a note of consent, and his hands worked quickly to pull your night gown off. Your hands too drifted up to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing his scarred chest to you. My my, was your knight beautiful.

You shivered in anticipation, as you were left naked on the bed. Nicholas paused for a moment, to drink in the sight before him. His princess, laid out like a feast for his consumption, your body quivering with desire for him alone. His dick strained painfully against his pants. Patience Nicholas, he thought to himself, it’s her first time.

"You’re so perfect," He breathed, his eyes roaming hungrily over you, "Perfect..."

Nicholas groaned softly at the sight of your wet cunt, already sopped with your arousal, his touch feather-light as he parted your folds with his thick finger, feeling the slick heat of you. You gasped, your hips bucking instinctively, and he added a second finger, stretching you with careful thrusts, his thumb circling your clit in firm, rhythmic motions. 

“Oh Nicho….” You moaned, “Nicho–feels so good, oh!”

"Fuck…..so beautiful, so needy for me." His voice was thick with affection.

Slowly, Nicholas pressed one finger deep inside, your walls clenching around the intrusion as he curled it gently, stroking that sensitive spot deep within. He watched your face, his free hand caressing your thigh, ensuring every movement brought you pleasure. The wetness coated his fingers as Nicholas pumped them deeper, building the tension in your core, his loving gaze never leaving yours.

“Nicho!” You cried out, as his finger brushed past a particular spot, “Nicho right there—oh fuckkkk…” 

Nicholas groaned, his own dick twitching at how your pretty pussy squeezed his finger—he's dying to bury himself in you, to feel you break around him. He was so turned on by the way his perfect princess was falling apart for him, falling apart merely for his fingers.

He added a third finger, thrusting deeper, scissoring to open you up. Your clit pulsed under his thumb as he rubbed it hard, making your hips jerk. You felt the heat coiling low in your belly, waves of pleasure making you wetter, your breath coming fast.

He watched you, eyes dark with lust and care, his free hand squeezing your thigh as he fingered your cunt faster, wanting to make you cum before he took you fully.

“Nicho—I’m close…..” You groaned, arching into his touch. You started to grind your hips against his digits, feeling a peculiar knot tighten inside you. You’ve had orgasms before, but there was no way your pathetic little fingers could ever feel as good as Nicholas’s thick, thick fingers. 

“Relax, princess.” Nicholas whispered, as you held onto his shoulders for support, “Let go for me—that’s a good girl.”

Your hips rocked harder now, as if they had a mind of their own, chasing that delicious pressure the heat building fast and reckless within you. 

“Nicholas!” You moaned his name as your thighs trembled, head falling forward. Your body unravelled, every nerve focused on the friction, that aching pressure curling tight as tight could be. 

With a sob of pure ecstasy, you came undone, your body shaking with the force of your release. Nicholas held you close, his touch gentling as he guided you through the aftershocks.

"Good girl," He whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well, princess."

As you floated in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, Nicholas' hands continued to caress your skin, his touch now soft and soothing. He trailed his fingers along your spine, eliciting a contented sigh from you.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked you, “Was I too rough with you?” You shook your head a frantic no which made him chuckle, “Not rough enough?”

You bit your lip, eyes darting downwards to where Nicholas' length strained against his pants. You had only ever seen a man’s……thing in particularly explicit paintings before and the sight of your knight’s thick, hard cock sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through your veins.

You trailed your left hand down to his crotch, slowly rubbing it up and down. Nicholas shut his eyes and sighed. Was this really his innocent princess?

"Off." You whispered, voice as steady as it was earlier that day. "Want to see you, Nicho please."

Nicholas's eyes darkened with desire at your request. "Whatever my princess wants." He replied, his voice a low growl.

With a fluid motion, he sat up, tearing his shirt off to reveal his chiseled physique, his muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moved. His pants came off in one motion too and you audibly gasped.

How on earth was all that supposed to fit inside you?

“It’s so big…” You said, slapping a hand over your mouth when you realised what you just blurted out. Nicholas chuckled, gently removing your hand from your mouth and cupping his cheek with it.

“Don’t worry, my love.” He crooned, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

You gulped, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension, as he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips. You reached down again, fingers grazing his pre-cum soaked head.

“Thaaat’s it.” He encouraged you, his hand covering yours, guiding you to stroke him once, twice, the slickness from his tip coating your palm. A soft whimper escaped him, but he pulled your hands away gently, positioning himself between your slick legs. 

“You sure princess?” He asked one last time, his senses catching fire as you shyly nodded.

The leaking tip of his cock nudged your entrance, and you were already arching your back and crying out. The heat of him there sent a shiver through you, your throbbing pussy clenching around nothing. Nicholas leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sweeping in possessively as he lined up.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart.” He whispered against your mouth, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your hip to hold you steady.

 Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he pushed forward. The broad head breached you, stretching your tight walls inch by exquisite inch. It burned—a sharp, splitting pain as your pussy yielded to his girth, forcing you open wider than you've ever been. You gasped into his kiss, nails digging into his shoulders, body tensing as the intrusion bordered on too much.

“Nicho–ohhh god oh god!” A moan ripped from your chest, “feel so full, Nicho…” You whimpered pathetically. 

“Fuck, you're so—hah—tight.” He hissed through gritted teeth, pausing with just the tip inside, letting you adjust.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles straining with restraint. But there was a glint in his eyes, a cocky edge as he watched your face contort—brows furrowed, lips parted in a silent cry. How it amused him so much, watching you struggle to take his length.

“Taking my cock like a good girl, aren't you? My princess, struggling so prettily on it.” His words stung with arrogance, but the way he stroked your cheek softened it, thumb tracing your jaw as he inched even deeper. The pain flared again, your inner muscles clamping down, trying to push him out.

“Nicho…it hurts.” You breathed. 

Tears pricked your eyes, the fullness overwhelming, like he was carving a space inside you that wasn't there before. But you refused to pull away—your hips tilted up slightly, inviting more despite the ache. 

“Shh my love.” Nicholas kissed away the stray tear, “Just a little more yeah? You’re doing so good for me.” He rocked forward another inch, the veined shaft draaagging against your sensitive walls, sending sparks of mingled pain and pleasure shooting through you. Your clit throbbed with each tiny thrust, the friction building a confusing heat.

“God, just loook at that.” He chuckled, glancing down where your bodies joined, his thick length disappearing into your pink, stretched folds, “So pretty all of me.” The sight made him harder, but he reined it in, peppering your neck with soft kisses, murmuring praises. “So brave, taking all of me like this.”

You bit your lips, as he pressed on, slower still, until with a final, careful push, he bottomed out. His balls rested heavy against you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit, and you're utterly full, stuffed to the brim. 

“Oh fuck me.” Nicholas groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, both of you breathing hard.

“Nicho—m-move please please pleasee..” You whined, wanting to feel something, anything other than this feeling of absolute fullness.

After a long moment, he started to move—gentle at first, pulling out just a fraction before sliding back in, the motion smooth and controlled. Each shallow thrust eased the pain further, your pussy growing accustomed, the drag of his thickness igniting nerves you didn't know existed

Pleasure bloomed low in your belly, warm and insistent as you moaned his name, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. His hands roamed your body, thumbs circling your nipples as he rocked into you steadily.

“Fuck you’re gonna kill me, princess.” He groaned, watching your face, drinking in every gasp and flutter of your lashes, “Squeezin me so good–oh oh!”

But the gentleness wasn’t enough; the coil in your core tightened, demanding more. You whined, high and needy, fingers clawing at his back. 

“Nicho…….faster, please. I need you to fuck me harder.” Your voice broke on the plea, submissive and raw, body arching up to meet his. He paused mid-thrust, eyes locking on yours, a spark of hunger flashing. 

‘Don’t want to hurt you my love.” But you shook your head, desperation flooding you. 

“Please Nicho?” You fluttered your lashes, “want to feel all of you in me.”

And that was it.

A growl rumbled from his chest, and he shifted, hooking your legs over his elbows to open you wider. He pulled out almost to the tip, then slammed back in—harder, deeper, the force jolting you up the bed. 

You cried out, the sudden fullness bordering on pain again, but it's laced with ecstasy, your pussy clenching greedily around him. He set a punishing pace now, hips snapping forward, cock pistoning in and out with wet, obscene sounds. 

“You like that princess?” He panted, sweat dripping from his brow onto your skin, his control shattering as he fucks you to bits, “My dirty girl likes feeling me inside her pretty pussy?”

The bed creaked under the onslaught, silk sheets bunching as you writhed beneath him. Pleasure crashed over you in waves—his thick dick stretching you relentlessly, rubbing that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. 

Nicholas leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue fucking in time with his hips, all love and passion poured into the act.

“My princess.” He murmured between thrusts, voice strained, “I love so—oh god—love you so much.” His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing firm circles that made you scream into his mouth. The dual assault—his relentless pounding and the pressure on your nub—pushed you toward the edge, your walls fluttering wildly around him.

“Nicho Nicho Nicho!” You all but screamed his name like a sinful prayer, “Oh Nicho—love you love you love you!”

You shattered with a wail, pussy spasming in violent contractions that milked his shaft. Ecstasy ripped through you, body convulsing, nails raking red lines down his back. He didn’t stop, fucking you through it, drawing out every tremor until you were whimpering from the intensity. 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, cocky grin flashing even as his own release built. His thrusts grew erratic, chasing his peak with single-minded focus.

With a worshipping moan, he buried himself to the hilt one last time, cock swelling as he came. Hot spurts flooded your pussy, painting your walls white, the sensation of his seed filling you whole. He grinded against you, prolonging it, groaning your name like a hymn.

 “Take it all, my love.” You felt every pulse, the warmth spreading deep, a profound intimacy in the way he claimed you completely, “My beautiful princess.”

Nicholas lingered inside you for a moment, his cock softening gradually within your tender, cum-filled pussy, the warmth of his release still seeping into your walls. He shifted his weight carefully and began to pull out very gently, his thick shaft dragging along your sensitive folds one last time.

A soft whimper escaped your lips at the emptiness that followed, his cum trickling out slowly, warm and sticky, coating your inner thighs. 

 “Easy, princess.” He said, voice laced with tenderness, “I’ve got you.”

He rolled onto your side, bed dipping under his weight, reaching for you immediately, strong arms encircling your waist, drawing you into his chest. You nestled against him without hesitation, your head tucking under his chin, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you as your own pulse slowed. 

The room fell quiet, save for the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and your synchronized breaths. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the rumpled bed, illuminating the flush on your cheeks and the satisfied curve of his lips. 

“So…”

“Hmm?” 

“That was..” You sucked in a breath, “Wow.”

Nicholas chuckled gently, tracing circles on your hip, “You’ve just been fucked and that’s the first thing you say?”

“Careful, my knight.” You giggled, “I am still your queen you know.” 

“Of course, my liege.” He hummed. 

You tilted your head up, lips brushing the underside of his jaw. He tightened his hold, his hand pausing in its tracing to cup your hip more firmly, pulling you impossibly closer.

“I love you.” You said, “I love you, Nicholas.” 

“And I love you.” Nicholas replied, gazing into your eyes, “More than anything in this world, princess.” He claimed your lips in a slow, languid kiss—something deep and loving, just as the poets described it.

The world wrapped around you like a soft blanket, as sleep drifted into you both, sending you off to the land of hopeful dreams. Nicholas mumbled something incoherent, perhaps another declaration of love, before dozing off, a knight finally at rest.

And it all came back to this again

An ordinary world, with ordinary people.

A knight and his princess.

Two stars glowing in the moonlit sky.

Fin.

smut warnings. dom sunghoon, strength kink, manhandling, submission, oral, rimming, slick, phone sex, masturbation, use of ‘oppa’, multiple orgasms/overstimulation, squirting, praising, sex in public, exhibitionism, anal, subspace, unprotected rut sex, breeding, knotting, etc… whew..

a/n. ended up only editing half of this…

How many times am I going to have to lose my keys inside of this bag before I learn? 

Grunting out of irritation, groceries slip from between your strained fingers; numbed from the short walk from the parking lot that seems much longer as blood drains from your digits. A lick of hot sweat gathers down from your nape, the languid droplets turning cold upon entering the air conditioned lobby rolling chills across each ridge of your spine. 

“God..” Sighing, you shift to squat down and split open your purse in search of your keys; mentally cursing yourself out for constantly ending up like this.

The coat you wish you’d removed now feels heavy, boiling your skin up despite making it indoors. A thin layer of sweat that’s formed over your flesh only makes the cool air swarming you feel suffocating the more you shove through your purse in a frenzy; nose itching as you pick up on a waft of unfamiliar scent.

“Here, let me help you.” A voice echoes throughout the lobby. Trailing footsteps follow, coming to a stop at your side. The heavy aroma of Alpha preceding, punching through your lungs like an iron fist.

“No no!” Initial panic subsides in favor of scurrying away from the new presence, ripping your attention away from your purse to push away. Your neck arches upward in slow motion to take in every inch of the Alpha before you, built legs in snug fitted jeans bulging over firm thighs flex before your confused gaze, breath hitching as you stare straight ahead bewildered in a lost daze. A pronounced lump sitting between the Alphas thighs registering faster than your the vulnerable position you’ve landed yourself im. The clear shape cutting through the fabric keeping him tucked away(for the safety of society, clearly). “It’s…”

He squats down, gathering the fallen groceries, bright eyes gawking back at you below well-groomed thick eyebrows raised up to his hairline in surprise. His mouth moves, cheeks bursting up into a child-like giddy smile, arms opening up as if he wants to engulf you.

“No!” You shout out alarmed, scooting yourself away finally and scrambling back onto your feet to stand. Purse left open on the floor in favor of holding out your hands in a submissive manner; as any omega fearing their well-being would.

“It’s me!!” The Alpha hesitates, slowly moving in closer, raising up his own hands to signify that you have nothing to fear. “Sunghoon!”

The name meets your ears muffled, sparking memories of a much younger, lanky, innocently sweet and shy boy. A boy who blushed whenever you would so much as glance at him. A boy with arms at least twice the size smaller than the ones flexing with every shake of his hands.

“S-Sunghoon??” You gawk, swallowing down a dry gust of air. Slowly everything comes into sight, the duffle bag set behind him; the same soft eyes that once watched you full of adoration. Mingyu always teased his little brother whenever you’d leave the room about his ‘crush’. The one you pretended to never acknowledge existed for the sake of not embarrassing the younger.

The rise and fall of his chest calms the longer you stare and take in every new inch of height, span of large muscles. Defined pectorals that peak through the thin cotton material of his shirt, the fabric worn and torn judging by the threads that have come undone around his biceps. The shirt really much too small for the Alpha. 

Shutting your mouth after you swear a fly just flew in and back out, the realization of how long you’ve been checking him out hits you; internally ringing alarms to compose yourself. Instinctively squeezing your thighs together— just in case..

“Yes! Sunghoon! It’s me!!” He smiles softly, blinking in relief. Long straight eyelashes fan the tops of his high cheekbones only adding more charm to the innocent act. The tip of his nose glows under the fluorescent lobby lights, shining streaks dancing over his smooth skin; enhancing his still delicate pretty features despite the years of growth. Sunghoon sighs between the smile rounding out his cheeks, top lip pouting out as he lowers his tone. “You really didn’t recognize me?”

“No!” You speak up abruptly, mouth twisting as you cringe. “It’s—I didn’t know right away. Your scent is so..”

Sunghoon’s lips round out in ‘O’, unanswered questions falling together. “Mingyu didn’t tell you I presented?”

“..no.” You finish, bending down to grab your purse. Sunghoon lingers, bending at the waist to retrieve the rest of your groceries.

“Is.. is that okay?” He asks, making no move to step closer despite the urge to scoop you into a bone crushing hug. His Alpha croons, having to shake off the desperate need to get an up close whiff of your scent. The whole reason he came to find you as his feet carried him through the hallway, mindlessly drawn to the hint of beachy aroma that throttled his memory back to the most wonderous years of his life.

Dreams often took him back to sand crushed between his toes, heavy air full of salty water and ocean waves; sun burnt skin covered in coconut creamy lotions steaming under summer heat. each and every time, it all brought him back to you. 

A freshly presented omega running down the beach, screaming as his older brother circled around your waist, lifting you up in his larger arms. Sandy soles waved through the air, an ache passing through his chest as he watched on and craved more than anything to trade places with his brother. The cool masculine Alpha he could only wish to be someday.

Maybe then you would have noticed him, seen him as more than some runt kid. How could you when he had to beg his mom to not ask you to babysit him, or when Mingyu kept you distracted by flexing his arms in front of you, setting off an embarrassing coil throughout your gut. The shy way you’d look off and smile only drove Sunghoon crazier each time, pocketing those memories for years to come; imagining himself on the receiving end of one of your demure smiles that only he would be able to cause.

“Oh, of course!“ You nod too eagerly, heels scuffing across the marbled lobby floor toward the elevators nervously. “It’s only a few days.”

Sunghoon throws his duffle bag over his shoulder following after you, gnawing at his bottom lip as he enters the elevator alone with you. The doors dinging shut ominously, instantly stiffening your figure at his side.

“I thought you knew..” Sunghoon whispers, almost too low for you to catch. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I should be the one who’s sorry..” you stammer, gazing in despair at the blinking numbers above the doors. Hand instinctively gripping the strap of your purse for some type of purchase, a pathetic plea to calm yourself. Lowering your eyes, you notice the scuff marks on the points of your toes, heels worn down after work and a trip to the store. “You probably think I’m so rude. Your scent just really caught me off guard..”

Sunghoon shifts foot to foot at your side, subtly brushing the tip of his nose on his shoulder, curious to see if he can smell himself. Maybe his scent was unpleasant? Worry passes through his mind more than he’d prefer to let on by your reaction to his presence.

“Is it..is it—like really bad?” He squeaks, the doors dinging open like a breath of fresh air. Nearly hurdling yourself out into the wide hallway to get out, your breath hitches caught in your throat as you fan for air. 

Stupid coat, that’s why you’re sweating like a pig. Nothing to do with the Alpha hovering around you like some type of grim reaper.. 

“It’s totally okay Hoon!” You sigh, relieved to create some distance with the Alpha. Striding forward at a fastened pace, and biting your lower lip viscously to not let out an uncontrollable moan; completely mortified that just two minutes near the Alpha already had your hole gushing slick. The true curse of being an unclaimed omega.

With speed you jerk open the front door to your apartment. The sound of your keys slapping the ground once you kick it open in a rush. Sunghoon follows after you, only growing further concerned.

“If it’s not okay…” he begins, entering inside behind you, suddenly taken over by an overwhelming wave of calm. His shoulders instantly relax, the tired ache in his muscles disappearing as if he just finished a full body massage. Your scent is everywhere, pulling up memories of rolling around in your bed whenever you’d gone to use the restroom. Shutting his eyes for a few seconds, he licks at the roof of his mouth, savoring the notes traced through your scent that he swears he’d forgotten; mentally reminding himself to act cool. Gone were the days of acting like some horny teenage boy lusting after his brother’s best friend.. 

“It’s fine!” Stepping out of your heels, your feet practically howl in rejoice, hissing silently to yourself as your fingers twitch to rub your numbed soles. Ignoring the need, you take the groceries from him, keeping your gaze lowered in hopes of not losing your train of thought; having to make an extra mental effort to not stare at the Alpha like some sex-starved Omega. “Thanks so much for bringing these up. I’ll start cooking up some dinner for us.”

Hobbling away, you direct Sunghoon to the couch as you pass through the living room. “Set your bag down! Hope you don’t mind the small space. The couch is pretty comfortable! I promise.”

Sunghoon laughs, chiming like holiday bells ringing at your ears, heart clenching instantaneously in reaction as you nearly halt in your tracks with the need to watch his teeth on full display. Dropping the groceries down, you make a quick movement to hide behind the kitchen wall, thumping your forehead gently upon the plaster. The dried paint somehow still sticky against your damp skin. Muttering a hushed ‘get it together!’ You take a minute to inhale a deep breath, sternly shouting at yourself to calm down.

“Phew..” reaching for a pot to boil water for pasta, you grab one of the grocery bags in search of ingredients . “Hoonie loves pasta..” You say, nodding at the memory of the adorable little boy’s cheeks covered in red sauce.

He takes the chance to walk around the small living room, dizzying thoughts grounded as he admires the photos you’ve framed. Most of them with Mingyu, but the one that catches his attention the most is from your last summer back home. You seemed too excited to finally escape to Seoul and begin ‘adulthood’. He really did try his best the last few years to move on after your departure..

After presenting as an Alpha, Omegas were no challenge for Sunghoon, but that never stopped him from thinking of you whenever his rut hit. Buried deep inside whichever Omega had begged to spend it with him, his Alpha took full control over him too often at times, even going as far as screaming your name whenever he released. The Omegas under him couldn’t even complain after getting the dick down of their life. They could never compare to the one and only Omega constantly running through his mind, your existence alone taunting him daily, ready to fall to his knees and beg for a taste at the mere mention of your name.

“Ah, you found my photo gallery huh?” Your voice breaks his thoughts. Sunghoon nods, setting the photo frame back into place and softly grazing his younger self in the corner of the photo staring longingly after you.

Sighing, he heads to the couch and lands with bounce to test out the cushions. As if it mattered, his brother offered him no more than the floor whenever he’d visit, he’d take a hard couch over that any day.

“Yea, those were good times… you okay?” Sunghoon inquires, noticing the way you limp across the living room. Nestling into the corner of the couch, you breathe out a long sigh, back aching and cracking as you get comfortable.

“Tired.” You laugh lazily. “Sorry I’m not much entertainment. Work was so busy today.” Rolling your face to the side against the couch, you quickly give him a once over before dropping your gaze to the floor. Still in too much awe to begin comprehending how much he’s grown.

“Your feet hurt?” Sunghoon smiles mischievously, reaching toward your knees before you can manage to pull away, thumb smoothing over the bone sticking out. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m kind of known for giving the greatest foot massages.”

“Oh no…you can’t! I haven’t even showered yet.” You murmur nervously, self-conscious and weary, subtly attempting to inhale some of your scent. You should have rushed to the shower, but sitting down for a bit was too tempting.

“Ah don’t be silly. You smell great..” Sunghoon’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, large hands encasing your knees and sweeping down behind them to your calves. He tugs your legs up effortlessly even with the resistance you apply, laying your legs across his lap and pinching your stockings between two fingers. “You should take these off.”

“Uh..” you falter, concentrating on his palms skimming up the length of your leg. Fingertips languidly drag up, smoothing up between your thighs. He stops, breathing in and out slowly, peering down focused on the way your muscle jumps under his touch; the body heat between your legs warming his hands up like a furnace.

“Thigh highs..” Sunghoon mumbles, gaze trailing up to find yours. It’s a mere graze of skin on skin, barely touching your inner thigh, but it’s enough. Reacting faster than you can think to stop yourself, a stream of slick pushes past your hole, opening up to make a huge mess of your underwear. Sunghoon’s neck visibly bobs up and down, no doubt hit in the face with the pungent smell of Omegan desire. “Can I?”

Even if he’s affected he doesn’t show it. Smooth and calm, he tugs on the lace at the top of your thigh. Thinking you nod in response, you bend at the knee further, allowing him to strip the material off.

“Once I’m done with you, you’re going to be begging me to move in..” Sunghoon smiles, throwing in an added wiggle of his strong eyebrows. Heated palms squeeze up your thigh, strong, so strong. Exuding power and strength in each delicate touch, he rubs and kneads at your tensed muscles. The tips of his fingers digging in, rolling your tendons in fluid motions, effortlessly looseing the tension cramping through the backs of your legs.

“Fu—“ you start to mumble, pursing your lips shut and sinking deeper into the cushion behind you as if that will help to hide your obvious arousal.

“Feels good? You’re so tight.” Sunghoon breathes out each word. His biceps seemingly growing larger in size as he shimmies down your leg. The muscles flexing up his arms are just too big.. big enough to lock around your chest while he fucks you into a groveling pitiful silly mess…

“Am I doing a good job? You’re not saying anything..” Sunghoon’s eyes lift, face lowered only fueling the maniacal lust driving a force down the middle of your chest. Gasping, your thighs open to allow him further entrance. The fresh scent of slick tickling at your nose, without a doubt slamming into Sunghoon’s..

“Ye-..”

The familiar sound of splash sizzling as it meets fire erupts, similar to a rope wrapped around your neck hurling you back to reality. You shoot up in panic, kicking your calves away from his working hands. “Oh shit! The noodles!” Screeching and bodily twisting away, you manage to escape his hold. Hobbling your way back to the kitchen with a face hidden to your chest covered in humiliation; knees pinched together to contain another gush of slick from streaking down your inner thighs. 

How will you ever survive these next two days?

“Sunghoon?..” stumbling into the living room half-awake, you comb back your messy pillow static head of hair as you approach the couch. The blankets and pillows left stacked neatly together at the corner, sadly missing the Alpha who you’d left sleeping there the night before. 

Taking a quick survey around and listening for the shower, no signs of Sunghoon shows. Cautiously and against your better judgment, you sit down where he’d slept through the night. A waft of alluring Alpha scent springs off the cushions; circling around your head just like a drug, inducing weakness through your limbs and the desire to succumb. 

The desire to feel every part of him flow through your veins, fill you so full of cum that it’d even spurt from your nose, as ridiculous as that sounds..

The disgusting thought snaps your eyes open. Gripping at the cushion around your hips to stop yourself from grinding down to have a mere sliver of the Alpha stuck to your skin.

The front door unlocks, sending your neck jerking back too fast, grimacing as you reach for the muscle; jaw dropping at the vision stepping into your apartment. 

Sunghoon saunters in, shirtless, soaked. Sweat intensely pouring down his chest at an obscene speed. Drenched hair matts and clings to his forehead, haphazardly shoved in different directions giving peaks of his post-workout heated skin.

He stands there rubbing a towel over the back of his neck, cheeks ruddy and puffy as if he’d exerted all of his energy. The pink hue of his lips matched up to the tone blushed across his nose for once.

A thin trail of hair leading below his sweats demands your attention. The gray cotton material concealing his lower-half absolutely soaked, appearing darker as your eyes travel lower. The evidence of an excruciating workout, evidently exhausting his body of hydration. His tongue laps out, slowly licking across his upper lip, swallowing at the lack of saliva coating his mouth. Moving inside without noticing you yet, he kicks the door shut behind him.

“Oh!” Sunghoon spots you, finally. A smile that could go to war with the sun expanding over his face.

“Wow..” you swallow, near the brink of tears. Having to shut your eyes and curse under your breath.

“You just wake up?” Sunghoon jogs over, laughing as he leans down to plant a moist kiss on your forehead. “Sorry, I probably stink..”

“You smell amazing.” You practically shout, the sudden urge to permanently zip your mouth shut filling your brain, body scorching under his intrigued gaze.

“You too..” Sunghoon grins, his sharp canines lingering where they dig into his lower lip. Grimacing, he frowns and backs away, tasting the stale dryness around the inside of his mouth- “I should..rinse my mouth and brush my teeth.”

Sunghoon mumbles quickly and slides past you to the bathroom. Stuck on his tantalizing aroma, you follow after him like a lost pet helplessly seeking an owner. You lean against the door frame, admiring each tiny dip in his stomach. Taut muscles hardened as he turns on the sink, bending down to splash water on his face. An Alpha down to the size of his broad shoulders and pronounced chest.

“There’s mouthwash in the medicine cabinet.” You inform, sounding far off and distracted. Itching to scratch down the mountains of brawn moving along his backside, back wings stuck out beautifully, giving him a near angelic appearance.

“Oh, thanks.” Sunghoon’s face lights up, water driblets cascading down his long neck. Adam’s apple bouncing in the center, glistened like a treat just begging to be eaten. Every scenario of possibilities plays in your mind much too fast to process, nearly missing the sensation of hot slick melting out of your core to ruin another pair of underwear.

“Do you take these?” Sunghoon inquires, pulling out a packet of white pills from the cabinet. A frown drags down his lively features, etching lines between his eyebrows.

“Oh God.” Snatching the pills from him, you disguise the hint of shame taking over your face quickly, tucking away the incriminating evidence behind your robe.

“It’s just—heat suppressants are so bad for Omegas!” Sunghoon panics, hands flailing out to emphasize how serious this matter is. “They cause weak fertility! Depression! Loss of appetite! Suppressing your heat goes against our natur-..”

“Sunghoon! Enough alright?!” You snap, exiting the bathroom to not further escalate a possible argument. As if you hadn’t heard each and every damn warning already.

Sunghoon follows after you, mouth gaping open and shut like a fish out of water, fingertips itching at his hips to reach after you.

“I know, okay?!” You turn abruptly, face colliding with the center of his dampened chest, nearly hurdled back if not for his quick reflexes swooping a hold around your waist. Sunghoon keeps you steady, the powerful aura surrounding him enough to do the job.

“Why do you take them then?..” his handsome features scrunch together, concerned eyes going wide as they bounce over your face. Warm comforting palms slide down your arms ending at your elbows to stroke over the inner crook, intentionally soft, soothing and harmless; as if he can read the annoyance beginning to build up through your limbs. The sour scent radiating off of you helping to convince him, of course.

“I need to—I don’t always..” you start, chin tipped in to stare at anything else besides the devastatingly attractive Alpha. Life had been too hectic and busy to stay on track with your suppressants as of late. It’d been weeks since you last kept on schedule with taking them really.

“You have no one to spend it with?” Sunghoon questions, the corner of his mouth twitching to the side in confusion. An omega like you? Alone during heat? That’s—damn near blasphemous.

“It’s not a big deal.” You explain, easing your arms away from his hold. Your Omega more than satisfied at such close proximity to a delicious smelling Alpha. It’s upsetting really, how fast your instincts are ready to drop any and all morals. Screaming at you to fall to your knees and present yourself, raging on that our Alpha needs us, wants us.

“Of course it is.” Sunghoon scoffs, cooly maneuvering his palms to cup your hips. Thumbs continuing to rub gentle circles over your pelvic bone. “I can’t believe you don’t just ask Mingyu for help.”

“Ew! Sick. I would never.” You chide, hating the way your feet stick to the ground like you’ve walked into quicksand. Stuck, willingly, under the Alphas hands.

“…oh..” Sunghoon blinks rapidly, putting two and two together. Fingers bury deeper into your hips, stepping toe to toe with you. “You could always.. call me up. I—I would love—I mean..” clearing his throat, the Alpha straightens. “I would love to help you.”

“What?!” You squak, moving back another foot. Hands collapsing at his sides as you pull away, fearing he’s misread the vibe. Sunghoon’s brows lift up out of fearful surprise, head shaking quickly.

“What?”

“What!”

“Uh..” glancing around awkwardly, he folds bulged biceps across his chest. Shrugging as he averts his attention to the digital clock ticking away too loud amongst the stiff tension between you. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna be late. Uhm, see you later? I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Yeah yeah…uh, good luck or, I mean, have fun!” You wince, not even sure what he’s off to do as you duck your flushed face and wave him off before he runs off to the bathroom to shower.

One more day.

You sigh.

One more day.

Sunghoon stumbles in, loud, making a ruckus as he slams into the wall. The front door shutting impactfully as he crashes back into it, breaking into a round of giggles. Jumping awake from your sleep, you sit up from the couch and rub your eyes, blearily squinting at his stumbling figure; having drifted off at some point in the last hour after growing tired of waiting for him to show up. You groan, beginning to mumble about how dinner has long gone cold by now.

“Hoon, are you okay?” Getting up from the couch, you approach him, his eyes shooting open at the sight of you in nothing but your bathrobe. Too lazy and hot after your shower to make yourself lotion up and put on a fresh pair of pajamas. He moves down the hall toward you, drawing you close to his torso with arms belted around your waist.

“Did you wait up for me?” He asks, sounding hopeful.

“Jesus..” your head jerks back, hit with a wave of alcohol coating breath. “You’re real drunk, aren’t you.” Groaning, you take a step back and wrap your fingers around his biceps, eyes fluttering shut exhausted. Exhausted from just being around the Alpha at this point. Even smelling straight out of a vodka bottle his enticing scent hook line and sinks you; hazing your perception of reality and taking every bit of willpower you have left to not maul him like a crazed feral beast.

“Drunk on you..” Sunghoon wiggles his eyebrows, bending his knees slightly to tap his forehead on yours. “You smell so good for me.”

“Hoon...” rubbing at the backs of his arms, firm triceps flex out only to mock you, unable to fight the incessant urge to squeeze and feel him up. Reasoning with yourself how you’d later regret it if not..

“Shh shh..” he presses on, the tip of his nose meeting yours. Lips close enough to brush along your Cupid's bow as he drawls on. “Alpha. Call me Alpha. Please.”

“Sungho-…” his lips work fast to trace yours, testing out the waters with a quick lick down the center of your upper lip. Finding no resistance his mouth plants down, capturing the moan escaping past your tongue, clinging onto his arms like a vine as he props you against the hallway wall. The taste of alcohol hits the back of your throat returning you to reality, eyes flying open to find his shoulders and give him the saddest excuse of a shove.

“No, we—” Sunghoon’s thumb caresses your lower lip, interrupting you. Drunken gaze flickering across your lust filled expression, his other hand finding your wrist, lifting your slacked arm up easily. Pinning it above your head, he leaves you with no option other than to press to the wall, hips pressing to yours without a struggle.

“No what?” Sunghoon whispers, hot puffs of breath dancing like fire flames over your cheeks. His thumb lazily dips down on your tongue, concentrating on the way you lick around the tip. Mind going straight to images of you laid out sucking down his length, taking the entirety of his knot down your throat, pleading for endless amounts of cum like the good Omega he knows you’ll be for him.

Shutting your eyes to regain your composure, your eyebrows squeeze together in hopes of forming some type of coherent thought, waves of heat crashing them all away and muddling any rationalization to get you out of this situation.

‘He’s your best friend’s little brother.’

‘He can’t control himself. Your pheromones are too strong, this isn’t what he really wants.’

‘He’s a young, attractive, and single Alpha. He’ll ruin you.’

It’s as if Sunghoon can hear everything you’re thinking, rolling his hips forward to break you out of your stupor. His thick chubbed up cock digs into your hip, drawing out a strangled moan as the warmth pulsing against your body lures you closer to giving up. Trembling desperately and aching all the more as he exposes his neck to you, long throat arched back to proudly show off his scent gland. The strongest whiff of aroused Alpha tickles at your senses without even needing to drag your nostrils across his pristine throat.

“Stop fighting it, Omega.” Sunghoon leans in, half-lidded heavy gaze staring into yours. His wet thumb swipes down your chin to the middle of your neck to push down, gasping for air faster as he grinds against you.

“We shouldn’t.” You pant out breathlessly. The air around you hard to swallow, full of heated arousal, powerful Alpha scent triggering puddles of slick to drip down your inner thighs. Sunghoon smirks, sliding his thumb lower, robe parting open down the center of your chest under his ministrations. Breasts rise and fall rapidly with each taunting graze of skin, skidding over the loosely tied knot at your waist only to bypass it and finally come to a stop where your thighs spread open.

“What is this then?” Sunghoon licks the backs of his teeth, biting down on the tip of his tongue, cleaning off a glossy layer of slick with the same thumb that’d just been in your mouth. The lower half of his weight keeps you held back, unable to move away beneath his stronger physique.

“Hoon, please..” your eyes itch, blinking away the rapid moisture filling up your sockets. Lifting his hand, he turns his thumb side to side slowly, gazing in admiration. Even through your blurred sight and escalating humiliation you can’t stop the wetness from oozing out of your core; the thick trickle only solidifying how badly you not only want this but need this.

“Never imagined you to be such a beggar..” Sunghoon’s eyebrows quirk. Nodding down and returning his thumb to your parted lips. “Always thought you’d make me beg.”

Whimpering, you weakly try to blink away the tears flowing from the corners of your eyes, tongue lapping off the incriminating slick from his digit. Sunghoon bends closer, forehead shoved to yours.

“You taste that? That’s how much you want me.” He teases, thumb thrusting in deeper past your lips to push down on your tongue until you gag. “You’ll be a good omega for me, yeah? Let Alpha do whatever he wants with you?”

Your knees buckle at his words, widened terrified gaze staring up in awe as you suck his thumb off with skill needing to impress. A dreadful need to satisfy and please begins to consume you whole, giving a pitiful yet eager nod as your lips slide off with a pop.

“No no no.” Sunghoon tuts, prodding his way back in. “Get on your knees, and don’t stop sucking until Alpha tells you to.”

Dropping down on command, your knees meet the floor as if you’re meant to be there. His broadened frame only seems even larger at the new angle, the heady scent of Alpha cum so strong from this level, filling up his balls the second your eyes draw up to him.

Your pretty wanton face below infuses his chest up with a sense of power. A need to fuck, claim, destroy. Leave you absolutely obliterated, completely shattered in small little pieces that only he can put back together. It’s intoxicating, addicting, everything he’s ever dreamed of.

“Keep sucking.” Sunghoon urges you, thumb pressing down on the backs of your teeth. Stumbling backward, he leaves you no choice but to follow him as you crawl; lips wrapped around his thumb sucking like a baby. Knees burn against the hallway carpet as you try to keep up with his pace, never once losing eye contact as he leads you through the path down the hall to your bedroom. Breathing out harshly through your nose, the salty taste of outside air stuck on his skin coats your tongue and mixes with your saliva, sucking faster and harder until the only thing left to taste on the Alphas skin is yourself.

“Fuck..” Sunghoon’s shoulder meets your door frame, knees giving in as he comes down to meet you face to face. His thumb pops free, gleaming in the dim light with your spit. It all smears around your chin, spilling freely out of the corners of your mouth as he takes extra time to hold your bottom lip open. Heat taking over his mind and painting the most beautiful obscene image he’s ever seen. “Need to taste you.”

Sunghoon cups your face, hauling you closer to his mouth, lips connect to yours, hot mouths intertwining. Licking around without missing an inch, a hunger to try every little piece of you overcomes him. 

He’s so overpowering, shoving you back with his weight, your legs limply cupped over the crook of his elbow. Pushing down, he slithers lower, leaving burning pecks of his lips everywhere. Your flesh throbbing under each taunting collision of his mouth, skin lifted up as if actual marks have been left behind.

It’s nearly disgusting the way his nose dips between your folds, more drunk off your pure feral induced wetness than any alcohol could get him. A string of curses squeeze from between his teeth, biting back the urgent need to ravage you. Wanting to take his time to open you up and let you feel every lick and suck, he tenderly drags up and down your core. A mess of slick coats his chin and lips, skin cooling from the soil of your potent desire for him.

“You’re perfect, such a perfect omega.” Sunghoon cries out, his eyes wrinkle shut, forehead creasing down the center from how hard he’s trying to control the incessant rage to fuck you hard enough to break a hole into the ground.

“Sunghoon…ah, please.” You whine, rolling your hips up. Slick slapping against his chin with a lewd slap, the noisy wetness turning you both on all the more.

“Alpha.” Sunghoon hits the side of your thigh roughly. His eyes rolling up leaving nothing but white behind, possessed as he laps at your clit akin to a hungry dog. Tongue rolling your bundles of nerves just right, jaw hinged open to fully engulf the entirety of your cunt. Teasing at your entrance, he takes time to circle around the pulse of your heat, testing the contracting give with experimental dips. The tip of his tongue tortures your hole, making you squeeze around him and chase after for more.

His tongue travels everywhere, reaching each stop successfully. Earning a shocked gasp from you when he dips in your rim and lavvs across the wrinkled muscle as if it’s his last meal.

“Alpha. Alpha.” You mutter, the hallway walls around you spinning, twisting your mind upside down. He pulls off, face dripping much like this morning. Slick painted across his striking features instead of sweat.

“I know, baby.” Sunghoon nods reassuringly, the loving term instantly melting you. He tugs you closer, robe sliding from your shoulders as he cradles you to his chest, staggering for a moment to stand and pick you up all at once to enter your bedroom and lay you out on the bed.

The Alpha bounces your weight in his hold, taking a few short steps before releasing you to lay flat with your legs dangling off the side. He shimmies between your knees, hips pushing you open side to side to accommodate himself. With your hedonistic gaze darting across his broad frame, he grins and hooks his thumbs under the hem of his shirt.

It’s similar to a cheesy scene out of an 80s romcom movie. Sunghoon playing the role of the heart throb that everyone writes about in their diaries at night, crying out fantasies they can only wish on shooting stars to come true. 

His bodies flawless, built to perfection. Stomach twitching in with each deep breath, scattered with beauty marks that look good enough to trace together and create new constellations make the tips of your fingers itch. Bending forward at your waist to scratch down the sides of his abdomen, you sigh, the hard planes of muscle still soft and smooth despite their appearance. It’s maddening to finally feel him, pinching together the flesh covering his hips, shoving at the jeans keeping you from what you really want.

The smell of his thick girth hits you first, button nearly flying off as you ferociously tug at his jeans. Rapid movements free what you want quickly, his thick hardened length completely shown off. Too heavy to stand on its own as it dangles before your lips half way up to his stomach. Inching forward eagerly, you lick around the tip to savor the pre-cum already leaking from his slit. 

Sunghoon stops you, running fingers through your scalp to softly push you back down on your back. “Later later.. Let me see you.” He insists.

The Alpha stands straight, parting your legs open around his hips with more space to get a good look at your core. Hissing through his teeth, he reaches down to drag the tip of his thumb down your swollen cunt, hole gripping helplessly at nothing. As if you weren’t intent on fucking him until you both pass out. 

Sunghoon groans, swiping his thumb to collect the wad of slick collected at your hole, cleaning it from his fingers as he strokes his length to full hardness. The tip of his size prods your entrance, losing his breath as he runs his hands through his hair and rips at tufts between his fingers. The frustration only further prolonged as you sit up and wrap around his shoulders.

“Please, Alpha. Let me just…” you plea, lifting your ass off the bed to grind up and down the stiff girth. Wet puffed out folds squeeze around his length, the moans emitted between you echoing out around your bedroom. Wet lewd sounds growing louder and louder as you continue, using the power of his muscles to lift yourself up and down with weak hands clamped onto his shoulders.

Slick puddles under your bottom, forming a nasty mess, ass landing repeatedly upon the pool of wetness with each roll of your hips clapping out an obscene sound. Sunghoon’s large palms clutch your waist, gritting his teeth as he takes control and lines up to your hole.

“Oh fuck!” He howls, neck tossed back on full display. The dim light from your window pours down the veins pumping full of blood lined up his throat. His stomach sinks in, chest rising and falling rampantly as his cock thrums maddeningly against the heat of your velvety walls.

“Alpha!” You shout, falling back limply. Sunghoon scoops around you, hips falling into a natural rapid speed, fucking you in earnest. Feeding your cunt every inch of length, the clap of his balls slapping shoots out another gush of slick with each pounding thrust, the mess dripping down his thighs.

“Baby, fuck f-fuck..” Sunghoon moans out, lips hung open above yours. Passing exerted breaths into each other's throats as you fail to capture a kiss under the aggressive cant of his hips. 

“Alpha—ahh, a-ahh” too overwhelmed by his scent and body heat blanketed around you, tears break out between your moans. Too many pleasure filled sensations erupting at once.

“I’m—I’m cumming.” You croon out weakly, clenched down on his length tightly making it harder for his cock to glide through. Sunghoon grunts, throwing the mass of his body into each thrust the more you resist. 

“Fuck!” Shouting past your gritted teeth through your first orgasm only spurs him to fuck you until you know that you only belong to him. 

The Alpha licks at sweat layered on his upper lip, pulling out with another row of slaps to your thigh as he effortlessly throws you down. Lifting you by your waist only to display the power he has over you, he turns you around, thrown back down onto your stomach as if you weigh nothing. Showing no sign of struggle, he mounts the backs of your thighs. Shooting stinging pain up your spine with a fierce strike to your ass.

His cock slips back in, growling raspily as he bites out mumbled words about how tight you still are. With his chest pressed to your back, he steals the last bits of air from your lungs leaving you wide-eyed and gasping, scrambling to reach for the edge of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sunghoon slurs, hands splayed by the sides of your head as he drops to leave you without room to move an inch. Panting for air, your face turns to take a deep breath, caught in your throat as the flex in his forearms and strain in his biceps radiates before you. Plummeting his hips down, he fucks back in, length filling you deep and full to be nothing but a stupid fuck hole. 

“Ahh! Fuck!”” Whimpering, you aimlessly try to lick up and down his right arm. The Alphas eyes grow large gazing ahead, drawn away from the loud smack of your ass on his hips. He lowers again to press you down completely, arms sinking around your neck to place you in a chokehold.

“Is this what you want?” Sunghoon tightens his biceps. Fucking you harder, left with no choice but to suck in struggled breaths the faster he rams into you; choking coughs behind his rippling bicep hitting your chin as he squeezes your neck tighter. Your ass bruises under every impactful hit of his hips, cock pistoning inside at a near inhumane speed, hitting just right where you need. Croaking pathetically, you cry and kick your feet. Fucked by the force of a feral Alpha leaving you with no choice but to submit. “Bite me! Do it!”

His demanding tone has your teeth drilling down, chewing at the meaty muscle in front of you. Growling worse than a wild rouge Omega thats never encountered Alphas. The taut skin under your mouth blooms in pinks and reds, quickly turning shades deeper as blood rises to the surface. The hiss and growl behind you eggs you on to maul at his bicep more, lapping at the risen skin until the marks satisfy your hunger. 

Sunghoon circles his hips roughly, struck by your unrelenting mouth chewing on his bicep as if you may actually eat him alive. His hips snap into action, returning to squeeze around your neck until you tap at his forearms and scream from the pleasure. 

Sunghoon’s consistent growls boom throughout your room, headboard rocked hard enough to bang against the wall and chip at the paint. 

“Alpha! Knot me! Knot me knot me knot me!!” You chant, crazed and cock drunk. Screaming for cum to rip your insides apart. The crave for Sunghoon’s hot climax suffocates you, eyes rolling to meet the back of your skull at the first expansion of his knot.

The Alphas brutal pace breaks, stretching you open enough for your ass to spread open as his size squishes between your thighs and the Alphas load spills. Satiated you beyond relief for a moment, your hands weakly flop down. Leaving behind raw marks of nails and bites all over his built meaty arms, something to look forward to later when he walks around shirtless. Modeled like a true Alpha, proud to be marked up by an Omega.

“You like that?” Sunghoon gasps, sucking up the sweat draping your nape. Warm words breathed against your skin muddle your thoughts deeper into a lost abyss. “Like how I fuck you full baby?”

With another jolt of his hips, his arms loosen around your throat, reaching down around your waist to lay your bodies onto your sides. Knot lodged in place as endless shoots of cum fill up your womb.

His knot stretches you open for what feels like hours, pussy lips swollen and hugged around him as he softens. Sunghoon stays as still as possible to not cause you any discomfort, a pained hiss fleeing his lips as your cunt sucks around him begging for more.

Cuddling up to your back, he smooths a large palm down past the dip of your waist; ending at your hip to trace soft circular motions. A deep humm sounds from his chest, vibrating down your spine. 

You squirm, smushing your bottom down on against his hips; persistent that he fuck you again, and again. 

“Shh shhh, stay like this for a little baby. You’re so tight, have to get you used to what a real Alpha feels like.” Sunghoon cooes, kissing up your shoulder to your ear finishing in a heated whisper. His tongue dips inside, licking between each crevice. Soft cock beating akin to a heart inside of your wet core, he thrusts up only once, size twitching as he expands. Hips circling, stirring your guts with the tip of his cock nestled against your cervix.

“Mmm Alpha…big..” you mewl, too strung out to form anything more coherent. Rubbing your cheek on your bedding carrying Sunghoon’s most primal scent.

“I’ll have you formed to take my cock soon. Leave you fucked so full of cum every day, take care of you through every heat baby. Leave you hung off my knot until it’s all you know.” Sunghoon goes on, grumbling nonsensically.

“..every heat?” You ask, tightening around his length, chubbing back up as he grows and stretches your walls apart. Each vein lining his thrumming girth pulses inside of you faster as excitement builds.

“Every. Single. One.” Sunghoon nibbles down the expanse of your throat, sharp teeth sinking in your shoulder, pulling out to just the tip. He thrusts in one full go leaving you choking for air. “You’re my omega now.”

“It’s only been a few weeks Hoonie, you can’t miss me that much.”

“Don’t you ever miss it out here though?” Sunghoon’s voice blends with the waves crashing mere feet before him, his teeth taking up more than half of your phone screen as he waves an arm toward the ocean. Large toothy smile full of happiness.

That type of care-free ‘life is weightless in this moment’ happy. One of those rare joys only present under warm sun, spending his last days back home stuck at the beach before university takes up his days to come.

He lets out a laugh, rumbling deeply through your phone's speaker, jogging away as the tide catches up to him and falling to his knees on a dry patch of sand. He leans in closer displaying the high pink glow simmering across his round cheeks.

“Burying your toes in the sand..” Sunghoon sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a minute to enjoy the thick salt water breeze. Damp dark locks frame around his forehead, blowing softly with the breeze. He sucks air between his teeth, tasting the last days of summer on his tongue. “Coming out here late at night, counting all the constellations. Pretending to act scared whenever we swore we spotted flying saucers..”

“I never liked the water much honestly.” You groan, adjusting onto an elbow to admire the Alphas brightly lit features closer. The three weeks since you’d last seen each other felt like months now. From late night texts that quickly escalated to heavy exerted breaths through the line; passing secrets of lust and desires that would be hard to reveal face to face.

“You don’t like water?!” He clutches at his chest dramatically, letting out a broken hearted sigh. “Why are you trying to ruin all of my memories of you walking out of the ocean in slow motion? You have no idea how many ruts those have helped me through.”

“Alpha, I had no clue you were this much of a pervert.” Your eyes roll playfully, easing deeper into your bed under the tune of Sunghoon’s vocals, interrupted with occasional laughter. Quietly listening with your face half buried in a pillow as his banter grows into an argument he’d had with Mingyu earlier. 

“I told him! That’s MY razor! He’s so stubborn! Hasn’t even lived at home for years yet still manages to find ways to annoy me.” He sneers, causing you to hide away from his view to calm your traitorous heart.

Even his whining is cute.

Clearly he’d done quite the number on you.

Sunghoon pipes up again, continuing on in an even whinier tone about how you keep disappearing from the camera.

“Hey..can I call you later?” The Alpha asks with a hint of shyness, chin tucked in.

“Of course you can, little baby.” You snicker, amused. “So polite.”

“I don’t know, what if you’re sick of me already.” Now his eyes roll, putting forward a nonchalant act, a mildly defensive one. “I’ve been calling you everyday, you know.”

Flush spills down your cheeks, filling your chest with warmth. “I’ll never get sick of you.”

Sunghoon calls right as you climb into bed ready to relax, mentally preparing scenarios of rapturous dreams to peel away the day's exhaustion.

Thick eyebrows and a wrinkled forehead take over your phone screen, knitted together with confusion.

“Can you turn your light on?” He asks, desperately, slowly extending out his arm to unveil the bare planes of his defined chest muscles. “Was kind of hoping we could..”

The camera lowers enough to catch a glimpse of hip indentations, tight stomach muscles and a patch of hair leading to heavenly bliss.

“Ah, Alpha, is that why you called me so late?” Stifling back a yawn, you peak at the time as you reach for your bedside lamp. 11:45pm, a real nightcap.

“We haven’t tried this over video yet.” Sunghoon’s eyebrows bounce suggestively.

“Did you just take a shower?” You note the water droplets clinging to the ends of his hair, cascading down his chest as they fall.

He angles the camera lower, propping it against some container to capture all of his torso, built arms, broad shoulders and long neck.

“I did..” his voice lowers, reaching off camera just below his navel. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Alpha, are you?…”

“Last time, when you were biting me..” Sunghoon smirks, his eyes shadowed and nearly cut off from your view. Lips twitching at the corners as his bicep begins to jerk, beginning to stroke his length out of view. “That's all I can think about now.”

“W-when do you think about it?” You flush, dipping inside of your underwear. A rush of slick trickles through your fingers, passing back and forth to smear it around. Sunghoon’s muscles flex delectably, biting back a groan.

“All the time..let me—let me see.” He pleads, stepping back far enough to catch a glimpse of the base of his shaft. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

Acting fast, you shove up on the bed, setting your phone against a pillow with one hand. A row of curses echo, Sunghoon pulling at his length to hit his stomach with a loud slap, palm flattened as he rubs. Precum spreads around the center of his abs creating a line of gloss down the middle of his abdominal, biting down a groan.

“I think about biting you too..” He mutters, keeping his moans as quiet as possible in his bedroom back home. “Mark you up, leave a piece of me all over you. Bite you hard enough to scar, remind you who you belong to.”

His breath catches, wrapping around his size as he gains speed. Clutching onto whatever his phone sits on with his free hand, his stomach caves in, jerkily twisting up to meet his working strokes.

“Alpha..” you arch forward, matching up to his movements with your digits. Rubbing your clit in circles, fixated on the way his chest tightens and protrudes out with deep inhales.

“I’m close.” His throat bobs, bending in closer. Hunched over in half as he rapidly pulls at his cock. Throaty grunts charge through your core, writhing up imagining him on top of you easily like this.

“Ughhh Hoon..” you whimper, eyebrows bunched together painfully. As quiet as he tries to be, the growl behind each stifled moan is enough to stir your gut into a frenzy.

Choked gasp of air fills the room, both of you climaxing seconds apart. Chasing the relief of release from days of pining through text messages and calls.

“I haven’t—that—ever..” you let out a laugh between exhausted sighs. Orgasm crashing through the end of your spine like a car wreck, head still spinning watching Sunghoon’s glistening cum-coated abdomen twitch. He’s chewing over his bottom lip, continuously dribbling cum, shooting weakly and haphazardly between the etched lines across his stomach.

“Me either..fuck..” he’s says breathlessly, dragging fingers through his re-dampened sweaty locks. “Can’t wait to see you.”

“You make my brain hurt, Alpha.” You giggle, dropping your face to the side holding back a yawn.

“I can make more than that hurt.”

It’s reminiscent of the first time you reunited with Sunghoon all over again, your heart pounds erratically. Nervous pangs pierce through your gut, shoes scuffing against the sidewalk the more rapid your pacing grows.

His dazzling smile feels like a punch through your ribcage, lodging a row of breaths in your lungs as he walks over to you.

He's as handsome as ever, black hair quaffed away from his face. A beaming smile pushing his cheeks up that radiates even more in person. A baby Alpha in all of his glory, flourishing under rays of sunlight, as if the sky was made only for him.

“Hey” his voice breaks your haze, the sound of Sunghoon’s heavy bag landing on the pavement barely registers. Built arms encase your waist, swiftly swooping you from the ground.

A round of careless laughter swirls around. The Alphas nose searches for easy access to your neck as deep inhales tickle along your scent gland, close enough for Sunghoon’s eyelashes to flutter against your jaw.

“Sunghoon!” You shriek, dropping your forehead to his shoulder sheepishly. Thick palms slip down tightly gripping over your backside. The Alphas chest rumbling as he squeezes and lets go repeatedly.

“I missed you so much.” He whispers, delivering a light slap to your bottom. Setting you back on your feet to get a good look at your face. “Three weeks is much too long.”

“You’re toooo much.” It’s hard to not whine under the Alphas trained gaze, his affect more powerful than you were willing to accept.

“But you like it.” Sunghoon’s grin expands, twirling your figure around gleefully. “It’s not like I finally grabbed your attention by being too little.”

The added flex of his biceps is meant to be nothing but impromper. Tugging your face into the warmth of his chest, lips brush along your earlobe.

“If I remember correctly, you enjoyed how much I am. Over and over again, until your eyes fell into the back of your head.” He goes on, murmuring softly. “Has anyone ever fucked you like that? Made you die and come back to life?”

You’re tempted to fan yourself as you pull away. Palms lingering on his defined pecs longer than you should.

“College did a real number on you.” Your eyes roll. No need to further stress yourself over how much experience he’d gained the past few years. The smooth attitude and natural confidence was enough. Far from the young boy who threw a tantrum the one time you were asked to babysit him.

This Sunghoon, he knew what he was doing. He knew how to finesse for what he wanted. Masked intent of a vulture hidden behind that perfect smile.

“Now, before you toss me down to the floor and eat me alive in front of all these innocent bystanders—let’s get going.” You motion along to your car. Failing to not notice the flex and contorts in Sunghoon’s bared arms. The way his forearms twitch as he hauls up his bag setting off alarms.

“Would that be so bad? If I took you right here.” He answers lacking sarcasm. Trailing close behind you. He nods to a nearby bench. “I like the idea.. of getting caught.”

Unlocking your car, you open the passenger door for him. A need to knock him off his high horse for just a second.

“That’s a bit much don’t you think?” You snicker, ignoring how flustered he already has you. “Your chariot awaits, Madam.”

Sunghoon’s blinding smile returns. Slowly analyzing your face, noting the way your gaze darts around him. Avoiding direct eye contact. His throat clears, leaning in closer.

“I’m into whatever you’re into, baby. None of that toxic masculinity Alpha bullshit.”

“You’re really so..” you bristle, shaking your head. Resisting an incessant urge to smile back.

“I’m really soooo..” he sighs, throwing his bag inside. Chin coming to rest on the opened car door. Blinking too fast reminds you of old times. Your best friend's little brother staring at you over the couch. Pouting until you’d invite him to sit by your side during movie nights.

“Yea. You are.” You end it there. Tapping the car door, directing him to climb in. With a smirk and a lifted brow, Sunghoon settles inside the car.

Never one to waste time, he compliments your dress. Thankful that a push of a button reved your engine to life. An image of fumbling your keys with sweaty fingers passes by dreadfully.

“Is it possible you’ve gotten even more beautiful since the last time I saw you?” Sunghoon lets out a sappy sigh. Reaching out for your hand closest to him, tracing the tips of your knuckles. He’s relentless.

“Ah.. stop..” you wave his touch off. Ignoring how much warmer everything felt with the Alpha near. The spectacle he made back at the train station was enough to leave you embarrassed and thirsty. “I’m driving now, behave yourself.”

“I could drive..” Sunghoon makes no effort to hide his stare. Scanning your exposed thighs up to your tapered waist. A cute dress bringing all of your curves to light. You had to know he was going to scoop you up by your ass after three weeks of masturbating over the phone. “You could do something else.”

You scoff turning into a neighborhood. GPS navigating through the speakers to avoid heavy traffic this way. Sunghoon peeps through the windshield noting an empty street, advancing with his chance to make a move. A large palm splays over your thigh, inching his fingertips between where you’re squished together.

“Alpha..” you gasp in surprise. Gripping the wheel tighter, stretching skin across your knuckles painfully. “What are you doing?”

“Pull over.” Sunghoon lowers his voice. Pinching the delicate warmed skin between your legs.

“You need to wait..” you start, subtly glancing around the street for an area to park.

“I can’t wait. It’s been weeks. I’m serious. You’re lucky I didn’t take you back there at the station.” Sunghoon bites down on his lip. Firm grasp growing more aggressive, kneading over your inner thigh like doe. “I can smell you leaking for me already.“

“Sunghoonnnn…” you drag out his name just to taunt him. Already reversing into a spot, car jerking thanks to the Alpha shifting into park before you’ve straightened out. “Sunghoon!”

The next thing you know a clicking sound echoes. Seat belt whipping off his shoulder, freeing himself to crawl over the divide. Sunghoon prowling like a starved Alpha, discovering his meal for the day.

“Come here.” His voice turns gruff, muffled. Adjusting your weight off the seat enough to squeeze himself underneath.

“You’re a nuisance!” You squeal. Burying into his chest uncomfortably. Legs stretched out onto the neighboring seat. Sunghoon circles under your thigh, pulling you apart. Throwing your calf over the steering wheel leaving your center exposed.

“Fuck, and you’re dripping wet.” The grin in his tone breaks free. Gathering your dress up with his other hand, burying his chin into your shoulder watching your thighs tremble. “Who’s that for? That for Alpha, baby?”

“Someone could see!” You attempt to pry from his hold. Knee bending over the wheel, clothed core facing the windshield. Anyone walking by would see everything.

“That’s the point.” Sunghoon growls. Nibbling his way up your jaw, sucking on your earlobe. Two fingers dip between your slit pushing the drenched down cotton in. Panties soaking up slick shamefully fast, cunt pushing out around the fabric the harder he seeps inside. “I asked you a question. Who are you this wet for?”

“Hoon..” you whine, twitching against him. Watching through squinted eyes as your core becomes exposed. Underwear completely wedged up inside of you, nestled dangerously deep. Pressing friction on your clit with each swipe of his digits. Slick glosses over his hand, pouring out ferociously.

Sunghoon’s flattened palm smacks down on your mound. Biting roughly at your earlobe with a sound of disappointment. “Do you want this to hurt? I won’t be nice.”

He gathers your weakened underwear, tugging it up roughly. Sending your hips flying up chasing after the painful sting. Engorged clit throbbing painfully the more he tugs at the fabric. Playing with you like a puppet master, left limp, moving at his will.

“Alpha…Alpha..” your neck drops releasing the saddest sob. Sunghoon huffs on your cheek, breath catching from the helpless need emitting.

“My Omega.” He sighs. Pinching your folds over the cotton. Rubbing your aching core back and forth torturously. “Get this wet for me, for your Alpha.”

“Yes yes, it’s for you. It’s for you.” You start to blabber. Rolling your hips up in hopes of something more. “Alpha, it’s for you. Please, please let me.”

“You wanna cum?” Sunghoon mouths your cheek. Squishing into your face, watching the way your eyes roll back up close. Feathery eyelashes fluttering, skin folding between your brows. All of it awakening primal hunger inside. Biting back a growl on your jaw as he fingers your clit. Underwear ruined, see through from the slick dripping down to mid-thigh.

“Alpha..make me—“ your eyes clench shut, teeth gritted. The sound of a car engine revving up stiffening your jerking motions. “Sunghoon!”

“Not so shy anymore are you baby?” He grins, sucking over where your jaw meets your neck. Plunging his digits inside your heat with an aggressive shake. Fingers buried deep throttling your climax forward. Fucking down into the sweet sensation, finally hitting your insides.

“A-Alpha…Alpha!” You scream, arching up hard. Loose leg shaking out, fucked into rough and deep. Orgasm breaking, shooting slick through the air across to the passenger seat. Flowing out around Sunghoon’s hand cupped around your cunt. “Oh fuck!”

Sunghoon’s ragged breaths fill your ears. Eyes blown out in awe watching the way you pour out like a fountain. Squirting far enough to hit the window.

“All that for Alpha?” He questions only to mock you. Dragging his fingers free and landing a smack over your sopping panties. “Where am I supposed to sit now?”

“I—sorry…Alpha.” You spew. Face turning side to side not even registering anything he’s saying anymore. Sunghoon tsks, sitting you both up straight, rubbing circles on your sore inner thighs.

“Alpha has to do everything for you.” Sunghoon laps up your cheek. Enjoying the taste of tears, his tears. Fallen from your sockets for him. He works over the column of your throat, sucking on tender skin roughly. Sinking his teeth in with a desire for more.

“We..” you mewl, flailing your arms out in search of the wheel. “We need to go.”

With a vexed sigh, he nods. Returning you to your seat with no issue, he makes way back to the other side. His knees meet the floor first, giving you an overly confident look. Dark pools stay fixated on you as the Alphas neck cranes lower. Tongue hung out slurping up the puddle of your slick coating the passenger seat.

“Oh my God.”

Sunghoon looks crazed, sadistic. Rubbing his lips together savoring every hint hidden in your essence. With a vulgar drag of his lips he slurps aggressively. Popping his mouth off with a pleased sound. He winks, sitting down, licking any residue left behind on his chin.

Your bottom jumps up, startled at the sound of your ringtone. Tongue-tied, steadfastly losing any type of coherence after the show Sunghoon had just put on.

“Shit. It’s your brother.” You nibble on your bottom lip with quick panic. Shooting the Alpha a glance at your side, silently saying ‘be quiet’ before answering Mingyu’s call. “Oppa, why are you always calling me at the worst times? I’m driving.”

Sunghoon’s stare traces over your features. Dragging his tongue slowly around the roof of his mouth to quell annoyance. Tickled with a familiar tinge of jealousy. One he’s carried for years. Endless days watching you flirt with Mingyu, the both of you denying any rumors you were ever more than friends. Rumors that only increased once you’d presented.

He bites down on the tip of his tongue. Moving on it’s own the more you carry on conversation. Thrumming his fingertips along the door for some calm. He wards off the clear memories of all the times you’d tease Mingyu. Pouting and widening your eyes as you’d whine in the cutest voice. ‘Oppa? Buy it for me pleaseee.’

“Yes yes. Your brother made it in one piece.” You huff. Mingyu going on about how his baby brother could be a handful, but had a good heart despite it.

“He’s still immature. Has some growing up to do. I think time in Seoul on his own will help him gain independence. Don’t baby him too much though alright?” Mingyu rambles. Making you squirm in your seat with the constant reminder that Sunghoon’s younger. Immature.. has a lot to learn.

“I think he’s more mature than you’re letting on.” You say. Maybe it’s a sense of maturity Mingyu wouldn’t understand.. one that you had only come to understand recently yourself.

“Ah, he’s a charmer right?” Mingyu snickers. Scoffing under his breath. “Don’t let that perfect smile fool you! He’s an imbecile, I’m serious. Surprised he even got into Seoul University. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all proud. Surprised though.”

“You’re an imbecile.” You jest, laughing at the sound of offense playing through your phone. “It takes one to know one, ya know? We have to get back on the road. Traffic is finally dying down.”

You and Mingyu begin your goodbyes. Was he always this impossible to get off the phone? An imbecile, truly.

“Alright alright.” Mingyu chuckles. “Thank you again for helping Hoon out like this, yea? Really owe you one. I’ll have to visit soon, take you out for dinner.”

“Yea yea yea. I’ll believe it when I see you picking up the check before I can even steal a look.” Your eyes roll. Ready to remind Mingyu he still owes you $10. “Anyway. Talk soon okay? Take care of yourself.”

Hanging up, you toss your phone down. Pulling your seatbelt back on with a shimmy back into your seat. Better to have not strung along conversation further. Mingyu could really talk your ear off if you’d let him.

“Oppa?” Sunghoon startles you with the raised question.

“Huh?” You blink your attention back to him with confusion.

“You called Mingyu.. Oppa…” Sunghoon shrugs. “Haven’t heard that in awhile s’all.”

“I did? Oh, ahh. Old habits die hard I guess.” You send him back a shrug. Refocusing on the GPS to get you home. Currently rerouting to find the best way around traffic.

“It’s interesting that you ever called him that to begin with.” Sunghoon continues. His tone carrying no real emotion despite whatever was going on in his head. “You’re only a few months younger than him, right?”

“Well, yea.” You reply uninterested. Watching yourself back-up through the rearview mirror. Speeding off faster than you should through a residential neighborhood. Your fingers drum over the steering wheel, pursing your lips in thought. “Mingyu used to ask me to. Something about how it made him feel ‘cool’ when other people heard it.”

Sunghoon hums, reaching across the gap between your seats. Thumb falling into caressing strokes over your knee. Gaining a surprised small jolt from you in reaction. His brow quirks, turning to face you.

“What if I asked you?” Sunghoon says. Still casual. Casual enough to pass as a silly joke. Even fooling around, Sunghoon’s demeanor never changed very much.

Gaging it as taunting you respond with a bored laugh. Rolling your eyes to the side quick enough for him to catch.

“Very funny. Sunghoonie Oppa? Is that what you want to hear?” You emphasize his name. Vocals growing in pitch, popping your lips as the honorific passes. Sunghoon’s fingers stroking your knee come to a halt. He digs in abruptly, jaw tightening. Setting a fierce lowered gaze on you. Hard enough to have you distracted at a stop sign. Annoying the driver across from you, waving angrily as they pull ahead.

“Sunghoon Oppa.” He says, more stern. Skirting up the expanse of your thigh with a squeeze.

You snort, continuing to drive around the streets. Nervously pressing on the gas harder with each sweep of fingertips along your inner thigh.

“Yea right. I’m not calling you that.”

“Say it.” Sunghoon pinches at your tender flesh with the command. Nudging his chin forward, expressing for you to go on. “Come on, indulge me a little.”

You guffaw, slapping ridiculously on the tattered leather cover protecting your wheel. He was joking, had to be joking. Sunghoon pinches again, harder this time. Thumbnail digging deep enough to leave a crescent shape behind.

“Ow!” You jump up a little, slapping his hand away quickly. “God, what’s wrong with you? That hurt.”

Sunghoon doesn’t budge. Brown irises turning cold as he wraps around your upper thigh. Landing heavily, sending a slapping sound of skin on skin throughout the car.

“Say it.” Sunghoon bites out. Groping over your leg firmly. Your back stiffens, suppressing the moan wishing to embarrass you. With a swallow you step on the brake pedal at a red light. Lowering your stare to the hand splayed over your thigh.

“Sunghoon..Oppa.”

Breath sucks through his teeth loudly. Adam’s apple bouncing with a swallow. Giving you a nod in approval as you return to driving.

Your cheeks heat up, embarrassed of yourself, or aroused. The two muddling together too often these days thanks to the Alpha.

“I like how that sounds.” Sunghoon leans back. Never releasing his hold on your leg. Gazing outside of the window at passing by buildings. Repeating the soft defeated way you’d said his name. Mouthing ‘Oppa’ to his reflection pleased.

“You have me for the next week, you know?” Sunghoon looks pleased, slumped at the corner of your couch. Calves strung over his lap as he insisted. Complaining about how your feet hurt on the way up only led to a playful argument until you caved and allowed him to run his knuckles into your soles. Massaging away any of the weeks tiresome memories.

“That I do..” you smile to hold back a wanton whimper the harder his knuckles dig circles into the bottom of your foot. “Anything you wanna do?”

“Can we check out that park down the street? I wanna get a little exercise in. I feel all tight after that long train ride.” Sunghoon suggests. Offering even to drive so you can relax a bit.

You’d expected the Alpha to spark an idea to shower, try the rooftop jacuzzi, anything to get you in less clothes. Surprised he would rather do something active that didn’t require much touching.

The park wasn’t very busy when you arrived. Late enough for younger kids to already have headed home, but early enough for teens to still hang around at tables. Recalling the days that it was you and Mingyu. Sneaking out until sunrise just to feel free, away from any parental rules.

Sunghoon passes by you like a gust of hot air. He was always warm, maybe too warm in comparison to how you felt. Noting the chill summer wind, strong enough to make every hair on your arm stand.

“Wanna try playing me?” He grins, spinning a ball between his hands expertly. You huff a laugh.

“I’m really bad at basketball, you know that right?” You express wearily. Eyeing the way Sunghoon’s shirt clings to his back muscles. Sweat drenching down the center bringing the light defined shoulder blades. Why was he already so sweaty?

“I’ll go easy on you.” He winks, bending down in search for one of the waters you’d packed. Throat parched since the route up to Seoul. Sunghoon asking you to throw in some extras because he’d been extra thirsty.

You probably should have paid better attention. Gaze stuck on his shorts riding up, thighs squishing as he squats. Planning on how to pants him when he shoots as you eye over how perky and round his butt looks.

He turns standing up fast interrupting your thoughts. Full brows knitted together appearing frustrated.

“You’re still using suppressants?” Sunghoon’s scowl deepens. The foiled packet of pills wrinkles between his fingers. Veins trailing his inner wrist pulsate at rapid speed.

“Sunghoon, don’t start.” You try to snatch them away. His palm slaps over your forearm pausing your attempt. Fingers burning where they land. His skin feels bubbling hot against yours. The wave of fire sparking from his grip powerful enough to turn you into a pile of ashes. “You’re..you’re burning up..”

His eyes drag up, deep brown hidden by an electric red. Your throat hitches, breathing out a silent gasp in panic. Sunghoon’s rut finally snapped.

“Alpha, you.. your rut. You didn’t tell me!”

He hauls your weight forward, colliding into his chest. Ignoring your accusation. Snarling and throwing the pills aside. “I told you to stop using those.”

“Alpha, I have to. You’re not always here..” you struggle a bit. Rapidly turning uncomfortably hot.

“I’m here now.” He snaps. Hands suddenly all over your waist, trailing to your ass. Back up to your arms. Urgently needing to latch his scent all over you. “I’m never leaving your side again.”

“Hoon..Sunghoon..Oppa.” You start to stutter, lowering your tone. Weakened by every burning graze of skin.

The Alphas eyes flicker bright red excitedly. Circling your waist until you’re flushed flat together.

“We can’t Alpha. Not here.” You’re already far gone. Sunghoon’s scent intensifying under the claim of rut. Slamming your chest to dive in, split open at the seams, penetrated by every inch of the Alpha.

“Shh shhh.” Sunghoon pinches your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. Training your hazed gaze on him. The sweat dripping down planes of his face catch your focus. Licking your lips in hopes of a taste.

He makes you walk backward until the backs of your thighs meet cool metal. Warming up as soon as your flesh rests there.

“Now now, would Oppa ever do anything to make you uncomfortable?” Sunghoon tuts, nudging the tip of his nose to your forehead.

“Mmm..” you let out more of a whine than you wanted to. Clear consciousness long gone, letting him nod your head in agreement. Sunghoon gives the small park a quick once over, it’s relatively empty, spare a few teens probably hiding in the bushes up to no good.

“No one will see us. Listen to Oppa, and everything will be okay. Can you do that?” He’s whispering, slowly enunciating everything with a cuter tone. Opposite to the grip digging into your ass. A smack follows, nudging his chin up. “Better we hide. Get up there baby, I’ll take care of you.”

Hesitating for less than a second, you climb up the few bars intended for children to use. Sunghoon’s palms encourage you to move faster, pushing your ass up until you land on the metal playground. With a look around you note how dark it is now. Nightfall leaves the park emptied, nothing much but sound of light breeze surrounding you.

“See? I told you, always trust Oppa.” Sunghoon places you on his lap. Hauling your hips to straddle him. Licking at the seam of your lips for an entrance. He cripples you with needy kisses. Nipping at your lower lip when you trap his tongue with a suck.

“Let’s play another game. One I know you’re better at.” His grins laced with deviant intent. Flattened palm on your chest pushing you down until your back lays flat on the metal flooring. Sunghoon tugs the straps of your tank top down, pleased to find no bra in the way. Swirling his tongue around your nipple with a fixated gaze.

“Every part of you tastes so good.” He sucks on your hardened bud. Biting your areola hard enough to leave marks. Payback.

The breeze traveling by aiding in the goosebumps unraveling on your chest. Waist sinking forward to catch more of his sucking lips.

“Alpha..” you whimper. Cheeks heated up enough to melt tears from your eyes. Twisting your brows together frustrated. Sunghoon cups your mound over your shorts. Thumb pressing between your folds.

“Say it.” He repeats, exactly as he had earlier.

“..Oppa” you start nervously, writhing into his palm. “Want you inside please please.”

“Where do you want Oppa? Tell me where. Tell Oppa exactly where you want him.” He retorts dumbly. Sucking your nipple with a rough pull until you croon.

“Want Oppa…in my pussy, please?” You wail, ending in tears. So embarrassed and turned on you can’t differentiate the two any longer.

Sunghoon’s smirk widens. Landing a slap between your thighs before moving back enough to strip your bottoms off. Tossing them away, ending up at the top of a slide. He reaches for his sweats pushing them just above his knees. Wrapping a fist around his cock with a smooth stroke. Tip thick and shiny with precum. Cunt burning at the visual, stretching legs apart further to entice him in.

Sunghoon’s Alpha takes over, fucking into you with one quick thrust. Moans hitching in your throats from the sudden sensation. Girthy cock pulsing between your sleek coated walls. “You’re so fucking wet already, oh my God.”

Sunghoon’s mouth hangs open in ‘O’. Digging fingers into your hips, he starts off rough, fucking hard right off. He’s big, too big, ripping open your walls with each wet dip of his length.

“Wet for you, want you s-so much. Alpha, fuck me! Fuck me until I pass out, please.” Your voice cracks in plea. Tears welling up and spilling freely. Having to blink away the blur that Sunghoon’s frame has become the more rapidly he moves.

His throat tightens, forcing past your clenched heat. Your requests hitting his ear drums like a strike of lightning. Ramming deeper to ensure giving you what you want.

You look debauched, eyes and lips swollen. Cheeks puffy with heat, stained by agonizing pleasured tears. Voice cracking from moaned screams, dry breaths you can’t find between the Alphas jackhammering lower half.

Sunghoon’s hips jerk to a stop, catching a light sound of keys jangling. Doe eyes squinting as he tries to pick up footsteps. Noisy leaves and grass crunching closer and closer. His palm traps the moans singing from your lips. Flattening over the bottom half of your face.

He leans in, shoving a finger over his lips to press against the back of his hand. “You have to be quiet, we’ll get caught. Be quiet for me? For Oppa?” He whispers. Swiveling his hips slowly, cock snagging on a sweet spot deep inside you.

Your cries end muffled, tears streaking down to your sweat drenched hair. Loose neck dropping your head back to hit the metal playground. Sunghoon cursing, shushing you again. Driving you mad with slow thrusts, hollowing out a space for his cock.

Sunghoon’s teeth tug in his lips, fighting back growls. Ravishing in the drool forming under his palm. The way your eyes expand, blinking away tears clumping your eyelashes together. Desperately clawing at his ribs for some purchase. Grinding between your folds maddeningly until he hears nothing. Nothing but crickets and birds flying by. Nothing but your anguished trapped squirming pleasured moans.

He smears your spit over your cheeks upon releasing you. Too busy gasping for air to fill your chest to care. Coughing and shaking as thrusts return to a demanding pace.

“Good Omega, fuck baby, you’re so good listening to me like that.” He utters, quickly rewarding you with loving pecks. Sweet and caring, doting like a good Alpha ready to go to war for his mate. Thinking about it erupts tremors up your back. Shivering until your lips tremble between each kiss.

“Whose my baby? Hmm?“ Sunghoon asks with a pointed thrust. Fucking hard, pulling a whimper from your gut with a particularly sharp jabbing roll of his hips.

“M-me.” You cough, smiling through the endless fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Sunghoon knocking you breathless pumping deep inside. Full, too full and cock drunk to process much anymore.

“Know how much you love my cock baby. The way you gawked when I got on camera.” Sunghoon breathily rants, mostly to himself. Drilling into your sopping pussy impossibly fast. Fucking hard enough to jerk your body up the metal structure little by little. Having to dig your nails into the dip of his waist for some control. “So fucking desperate for me. Desperate to get fucked. Like a good little Omega slut.”

“Alpha!” You shout, pleasure building faster, hitting a new high. Bruises bloom on your pelvis with every colliding press. Sunghoon reaches for your shoulders, somehow tugging you closer. Cock hitting at an insane new angle that makes your toes curl in.

“Yea, cum around my cock baby. Cum for me sweet angel. My pretty fucking baby.” He stammers. Cock throbbing, feeling each inch bury in and out. Stretching your walls painfully full. “Fuck my knot into you?” He’s asking, not expecting much of a response. The way your head bounces, hung loose like a lifeless doll indication enough.

The first push at your hole has you squirming back. Hissing, blinking urgently, pulling him closer as best you can despite your bodies initial protest.

“Al-Alpha!” You gurgle, coughing more. Sunghoon hiking your calves onto his shoulders. Bending you in half to find a perfect angle. Knot expanding your hole open with faster with never ending thrusts.

Sunghoon’s sweating heavily, dripping from his chin to your face mixing in with your tears. Panting and huffing like a beast setting your face aflame. Cock punching through your insides with every jostle.

“I’m..Oppa, ah! I’m..” you’re cut off, breaking into a whiny sob. Arching under Sunghoon’s pressing weight, convulsing painfully around the Alphas knot as you cum. Shooting slick between your bodies. Sunghoon grabs his shirt, pulling it away to watch the wetness pool in your belly button. Groaning with a gut stirring roll of his hips.

“You’re so fucking full.” Brown eyes flicker deep red watching the way the tip of his cock protrudes under your navel. Gleaming puddle of slick trembling like the beginning of some horror movie after each thrust.

“Fucking incredible.” He gasps, hips stuttering. Balls emptied, knot lodging him in place to slow down. Cock pulsing in the aftermath, spent enough to cool his heightened arousal.

“So perfect for me.” Sunghoon repeats this often. Knowing your Omega needs reassurance of doing a good job satisfying your Alpha. Lowering your legs with a soothing rub to your hips until you’re moaning.

He sits up, cock nudging inside making you hiss. Softly cleaning off your face, stroking hair away from your eyes and cheeks. He blows over your slowly drying tears. “So pretty and good for Oppa. The best Omega, all I ever need.”

You’re elated from the caresses, airy kisses faintly painting your cheeks and jaw. Sunghoon’s praises continue until your sobs quell. Transitioning to light sniffles and huffs of breath.

“I’m cold Oppa.” You shiver, hiding deeper inside Sunghoon’s larger frame. Meaty arms encase you protectively, rubbing up and down until you warm up.

Sunghoon helps you into his t-shirt. Risking the night chill to your car to ensure you’re comfortable. “My poor baby, let's go home.”

The Alpha calms enough to drive the few blocks back to your place. Carrying you to your bedroom fast. Practically forgetting to lock your front door in a rush to get you impaled on his length again.

“Alpha..”

“You’ve been so good for me baby. So lucky, finally having a taste of you.” Sunghoon lays you down. Ripping his t-shirt from your frame in a record speed as he kicks off his sweats.

He’s on you in seconds. Draping your thighs on his shoulders until your spine rounds, ass lifted up. Kissing against your core like he knows it hurts. Fucked until you bruised and ached for him, swollen to a painful point.

“Prettiest pussy.” Sunghoon mumbles, soothing your thighs with caresses. “Best I’ve ever had.”

His tongue rolls around your clit, stopping to suck softly. Flicking the tip light enough to burn, making you hiss from the overstimulation.

He’s tender, licking between your folds meticulously. Nothing too rough, savoring the way slick audibly drops from your hole. Gliding lower, his chin grazes your entrance, catching on the way. Lips purse together sucking remnants of his cum from your hole.

He swallows it down, tongue breaching through to pick up anything left behind. Intent to fuck you full of cum until it spills from every hole. Covering every inch of skin in nothing but the Alphas seed until you’re sticky and crying, begging him to stop.

His tongue begins to thrust, groaning vibrations as you squeeze around him. Cunt convulsing needily despite the stinging burn. With a slap to your thigh, Sunghoon sinks in faster. Jaw hinging and cracking from the pressure.

Drawing free he gasps for air, taking in your fucked out mindless appearance hungrily. Slick dripping off his chin landing over his chest like a waterfall.

“Still so wet for me.” He babbles, kisses up from your entrance to your clit. Slurping up slick with his pouting abused lips. “Tight little pussy, all mine. Just for me.”

“Uh-huh..” you try to respond. Voice broken, throat itching between syllables. Sunghoon swooping lower nibbling at your rim has you arching, releasing a gust of air in shock.

“Make you cum again.” He laps and kisses your rim, teasing with just the tip of his tongue. Shaking your thighs in his grip until they clap around his face. “Love every part of you so much.”

He dives back in, slipping the wet muscle inside your ass with ease. Wiggling through past resistance, he groans, eyes rolling up. It’s mind numbing, a heat of humiliation surging through your gut. Diverted away quickly by a thumb pressing down on your clit.

Sunghoon grunts, rubbing your folds side to side messily. Tongue straining inside your ass fighting for dominance until you relax. He keeps a consistent pressure on your clit, relieving you only to smack your pussy. Thrusting in your ass faster, deeper. Nose snagging on your entrance with each dip forward.

“Fuck! Al-Alpha fuck fuck!” You cry, grinding on his tongue. Ass riding the face bouncing between your thighs. “I’m—I—I’m cu-..”

A shout rips out, tossing your head back, slick spouting aggressively from your core. Sunghoon quick to hold you open against your urge to curl in. His face turns side to side with a hung open mouth. Squirt puddling on his tongue, trickling down his throat through your intense climax.

Everything feels good, too good. Nerves electric under each of his calculated movements. Figuring out how to make you shake into a pile of aroused despair.

Sunghoon lowers your legs, hard cock so hot as it glides over your mound. Making you sob and recoil, telling him you can’t with a shake of your head.

“I know, baby.” He grits between teeth. Cock swiping up and down coating in thick amounts of slick. Sunghoon reaches lower, circling fingertips over your puckered rim. Prodding a way in, finding no challenge after eating you out. “Pretty pussy can only take so much.”

You quietly hum, gasping as slick covered bulbous cockhead taps your rim.

“Give your Alpha everything..” his neck bends back, penetrating the suffocatingly tight muscle. Slick gathers around, pushed off his length inch by inch. Guttural groans fall from Sunghoon’s mouth. The veins on his neck burst as he pauses half-way inside.

“Ah fuck, you’re so fucking tight. Too tight for me.”

It’s filthy, animalistic. Sunghoon fucking an obscene sound of wetness gliding into the hilt. Slick bubbling out around his size. Hips roll down, stirring his cock inside, relishing in the death grip milking him.

“F-fuck.” He stutters. Finally cracking despite insatiable need to fuck for hours. Momentarily pacified by the new sensation wrapping around him. “So good taking all of me like this. Such a good Omega. Like how it feels deep in that ass baby? Tell me, tell Oppa how good it feels.”

He’s messy at first, almost slipping out as his hips lift back. Over eagerly thrusting back in making you bounce into him with powerful thrusts. Harder and faster, deeper and deeper.

“Unnngghhh..ye..yes-th” your head reels. Lost to the sound of the Alphas lewd words blending with the noisy sound of skin on skin. Balls clapping loudly with each land.

Your rim tightens up, too boneless to react much beyond a throat ripping shout as another orgasm rises. Sunghoon bends in closer, bracketing your head allowing him to thrust even deeper. Hips angled devilishly, filling your hole up maniacally.

“Want my cum in your ass baby?” He pants into your mouth. Thrusts building, fucking into you even smoother. Sleek coated cock sliding between your ass cheeks with no defiance. Slick squishes out of your core, dripping down past his full sack. Clapping against your lower back faster with rapid chase for release.

You nod, mouthing a ‘yes’, you think. Blanking out too much to fathom any type of response.

Sunghoon pulls your legs around his back, your ankles knocking together under the force behind each thrust. Hole splitting open around his throbbing mass mercilessly fucking in and out. In and out until you’re reaching euphoric high.

“There! Right there! Alpha!!” You scream, arching against his weight. Hips dig into your ass ferociously. Sunghoon’s carnal need fucking you at an inhumane pace. Every one of his muscles fatigued, stiffly flexed and dripping with sweat.

“Yea? Love how I claim all your holes.” He mumbles. Breath unsteady, pressing your sweating bodies together fiercely. “Fuck you like you’re only mine. Until all you think about is your Alphas cock keeping you full.”

His cock never falters, ramming in full of power. Your mouth open and shutting, imagining words to reply with. All muddled and lost to the Alpha fucking you inside out.

Sunghoon cups your cheeks, shaking you enough until you look at him. Veins bulge from the sides of his forehead. Thrusts growing sloppy, his lips pull back in a painful stretch. Gritting out how good you feel, how much he loves everything about you. Lips smash into yours, stealing your breath. Capturing the scream threatening to escape.

Jerking wildly the Alphas hips jolt to a stop. Chest caving, blacking out as the toughest orgasm rushes through him spine to balls. Spilling copious amounts of seed, enough to find a way out. Dribbling around his softening length down to your lower back. A mess of cum all over the bed combining with sweat and slick.

The entire room reeks of sex, love, humid like a 110 degree summer day. Scent seeping into your walls for weeks to come.

His forehead knocks into yours. Damp skin rubbing together roughly. Making you both wrinkle your eyes shut attempting to inhale some air. Sunghoon adjusting his weight off to the side on a propped forearm. Cock jostling but staying locked inside of you. Waiting until you fully relax to avoid whining and hurting your feelings with the thought that your Alpha would wish to be anywhere else.

“Can’t c-can’t move Alpha.” You whimper, trying to grasp at your bed sheets. Fingertips numb to the touch. Sunghoon coos, kissing and licking your face clean like a pup in love.

“Don’t move baby, Oppa will take care of you.” He mumbles between gentle pecks, nuzzling the tip of your nose with the lightest brush of his. “Rest a bit. I’ll get you fed and run you a bath. Anything for my perfect Omega.”

Your eyes flutter open some hours later to the sound of knocking paired with your doorbell ringing. Throat attempting to clear away some of the dryness from overuse. Sunghoon holds your shoulder down before you can move.

“I ordered food.” He sounds groggy. Doe eyes swollen from the nap. He yawns, pecking up your cheek with a smile. “I’ll get it. You grab the plates?”

“Mmm, food.” Your stomach rumbles at the thought, nodding and hissing as you try to sit up. Soreness radiates throughout your limbs. More tender than usual with Sunghoon massaging your hips and thighs while you slept.

“Take your time.” He winks, hobbling into a pair of boxers on his way out.

Limping out of your room after him, Sunghoon’s broad back looks too enticing. Coming to wrap around behind him as he opens the front door. Your chin finds rest on his shoulder, sounding warmed and pleased. The mundane sweet moment shattered by a deep awestruck pitch.

“Sunghoon?!”

“Hyung?!”

“Mingyu!” Your pleased expression drops. Blood draining from your face meeting your best friends shocked bulging eyes.

There are two things you are certain of in this life. Sim Jaemin, Jamie to those who know her best, will always be your dearest friend, and she is relentless in getting what she wants.

Jamie pushed herself to learn tennis all on her own at nine, simply because she found Serena Williams incredibly attractive wielding a racket like a sword. She decided in middle school to make you her best friend, even as she was an opinionated, bouncy thirteen-year-old that made you, a girl who still hid behind her lunchbox, feel intimidated to no end. She convinced her parents to take in the neighbor's dog at sixteen when the old couple decided to leave the beautiful pup behind. "Layla is too cute to just go to anyone!" The pout she threw, perfectly curved with the cupid's bow of an angel, made every single person in the family cave without another word. Jake needed little persuasion; her little brother was always fond of animals. Still is.

Then, she got older, and more reasonable demands came to the forefront.

"I don't want you ruining our friendship by liking my brother." When she said this on the verge of your first year of university, it was the furthest thing from your mind. Tuition paperwork, scholarship applications, and the freshman fifteen was all you could focus on back then. Even as you watched Jake, on the tail-end of junior year, swim a few laps in the family's pool.

"One, he's too young for me. Two, you're worth more than a crush, as if I had one." Your arguments convinced her because it was true. You did not like Sim Jaeyun. You would barely look his way if he didn't have familial ties he shared with your best friend, although he was always friendly and funny to you. Yet, that was the intention: a younger brother, annoying, yet well-behaved.

He crosses your mind now and then, some photos he shares with Jamie popping up on your feed when she goes to her parents for visits without you, leaving you behind in your shared dorm room to doomscroll and avoid the problems awaiting at home. She's beautiful, bright, magnanimous in personality.

It's no coincidence her brother shares the same level of allure.

Now, he lingers on your mind as your hands clench the steering wheel. You and Jamie always went home for spring break, tradition the strongest facet of the Sim family. As Jake is also on his way home for his first spring break since starting college, his soccer scholarship keeping him plenty busy, you wonder how the dynamic between all of you—three full-fledged adults—will change. You're not much older than each other. Two years separate you girls from the only boy in the Sim household, but Jamie has always been smaller than her brother; the youngest sprouted like a tree when he reached high school. You, you're just short because of the universe's sarcastic design.

"Are you even listening? I'm baring my soul here about Chungha and you're too busy lost in thought!" Jamie cries, throwing an arm over her eyes for a dramatic flare.

You chuckle. "I'm actually too busy driving the car, asshole," you note with a quirked eyebrow. "Anyway, I thought your broken heart was because of Seungcheol."

"That was two months ago! This is now! She was supposed to Facetime me last night about her plans for the break, but never did. She hates me now, it's official."

Just because Jamie is headstrong doesn't mean she's prone to being realistic.

You sigh. "Her phone probably died. And we left pretty early this morning. I bet she'll text you as soon as she gets up today."

She nods, whining but agreeing. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I'd have lost my head by now."

Laughing, you make another turn. The street the Sim family house resides on comes into clear view, birch trees and tulip bushes welcoming you like an old friend coming back from a long trip off to faraway lands. You breathe easy, already feeling more at home here than anywhere else, including your parent's place twenty minutes away.

You always tell them you're too busy to visit, even during the occasional weekend off from exams and term papers. It's too hard to watch them bicker and pick you apart like they've done since you were small. At Jamie's, with her parents and Jake, you don't feel like an outsider intruding with every eggshell you stumble upon. You're safe, content, fearless.

When you see her parents at the front door, ready to welcome you both with warm hugs, you're reminded of the peace they provide. There's no need to act formal, not anymore. Not when they've seen you through all of your formative years with more kindness than your own family has ever provided.

"There they are!" Jamie's dad, Yongjin, exclaims. He pulls Jamie into a bear hug as Jihyun, her mother, wraps her arms around you.

You drop your bags on the doorstep, embracing Jihyun fully. She smells like rosemary and plum, with hints of book pages. No other scent can replicate it. "Let me look at you," she says as she plants both hands on either side of your face. "Have you been eating? You look pale."

You nod, grinning. "Just wanted to wait until we got here to dig in. Besides, I know there's braised pork waiting for us on the counter."

Her face scrunches up as she smiles and pats your cheek. "Nothing gets past you, huh, ladybug? Let's go inside then! I know you girls are hungry."

Your old nickname used to drive you crazy. But you'll always hold a special place for it, especially when Jihyun says it with every ounce of love she possesses.

"Where's Jake, dad? Still on his way?" Jamie asks as she drops her bag in the hallway.

"He's in the pool. He actually got in last night. Practice was canceled last minute, so he came straight here." Yongjin coughs as he picks up both of your bags, heading upstairs to drop them off in your respective rooms. "Bring the rascal in for lunch, won't you?"

"Not before your daughter helps with setting out the plates!" Jihyun turns to Jamie with a smirk. Your best friend rolls her eyes but runs to the kitchen without a word of protest. Jamie may get what she wants, but she knows to follow a parental order like holy scripture.

Jihyun turns her smile on you. "Ladybug, go bring in Jake, please?"

You nod, walking toward the glass doors leading to the backyard area. You open one slowly, taking in the surrounding sunshine that bathes the pool in an ethereal glow. The spirit of the Sim house extends to every corner, including the water you've swum in a thousand times.

Before you can even call out to him, Jake's moving out of the pool and leaning down to grab his towel from the beach lounger. Once he sees you, his expression changes from intense focus to his usual softness. His shoulders slack like any pressure he was carrying disintegrates, his face contorting in the same way with a cheery grin and raised eyebrows. His wet hair swipes across his face like a mop, but you could recognize him anywhere. 

A pregnant pause sits between you both, and you’re unsure why. Maybe it’s because Jake looks different from the last time you saw him that week in August, before he left with the wrecked nerves of an incoming freshman. He was scrawny, not a muscle on him except for the ones he gained from soccer—which weren't that many because of his stature—with braces that carried him through his teenage years like a backpack. Now, he’s all white teeth and chiseled abs, body confidently glistening under the rays of sunlight. 

You’ve been the same appearance-wise for years, but Jake looks at you like you’ve gone through a metamorphosis only he can see. It makes your cheeks bloom a shade deeper than you're used to, but you try to brush the feeling off. It means nothing, can mean nothing.

“You’re early,” he says finally.

"Wanted to miss all the traffic," you reply, hands splayed out on your thighs. "I'd hug you, but…you know."

Jake takes that suggestion as a dare, lips pursing in a suggestive pout. He runs before you can take the hint, grabbing you between his biceps and immediately squeezing you against his wet skin as you squeal. "When has that ever stopped me, ladybug?"

Despite his soaked form and the small distance he puts between you both when he's satisfied he's greeted you properly, he's still radiating a warmth that cuts through the decorum you thought was still necessary to use with him more than anyone else in the family. It might be the reason he's so eager to thaw it out immediately. He can recognize in that instant your nerves from being away for so long are the cause.

But there's no reason to be formal. You're still the same girl who cried trying to save the insect you're lovingly nicknamed after during a thunderstorm. You've detested the bleak weather ever since, and sometimes the term of endearment too, and he knows that.

He knows so many things about you, more than you want to admit.

"C'mon kiddos, the food's getting cold!" Jake's dad calls from inside the house, and Jake immediately takes the cue to jog inside, leaving you standing there, slightly damp and confused.

He turns back at the archway of the glass doors, a smile framing his face. You turn just as he asks, "You coming?"

This break may be harder than you expected it to be.

You throw stones from the garden floor and across the lush field in front of you, tears streaming down your face as the sun blares above. It's too bright today for how terrible your heartbreak feels.

Almost 500 miles between two universities was enough for Taeyong to call it quits. As if a year of dating didn't matter in that instant when your ex had to come face to face with the unknown. You were willing to brave it, to see if your love could survive long-distance, but he obviously wasn't. "Be realistic," he said a few hours ago, feigning false pain.

You couldn't bear to stay in your own house, your parents' judgemental eyes staring you down in a way that made you keep all your anguish inside. A trip over the fence to the Sim house wasn't a tough feat when everything else felt insurmountable.

And there you are, sitting near Jamie's mother's prize roses and hating everything they represent. Love, passion, desire. It's all for show; none of it is true when the harsh realities come around the corner. Taeyong and your parents proved that.

Out of the blue, Jaeyun appears in soccer attire not meant for JV players. You hide your face from him in that second, trying to avoid the mirage of questions he'll throw at you if he sees your red-rimmed eyes. "Climbed over again, huh?" he asks, a joke you can't take interjected in his voice.

You nod, shoulders steeled and windpipe tight. "Didn't feel like staying home right now. Gonna tell me to go back?"

Jake raises his arms in defense. "No, I mean—I don't mind. Would've seen you later, anyway." He moves to sit next to you, crossing his legs in the dirt and splaying his arms behind his back.

"You're home late," you realize. The sunset brews under the clouds, seven o'clock a few minutes away.

Jake chuckles again, the sound light and unbelieving. "I was actually trying out for varsity," he confesses. "I got it."

You wipe your subsequent tears away, focusing on your friend and his achievement. He's always wanted to play with the bigger guys at school, and you won't let such success go understated. "That's amazing! Does Jamie know yet?"

He shakes his head, blushing suddenly. "You're the first person I've told."

"Wow," you say. "Sim Jaeyun, soccer prodigy, letting me be the first to know? I'm honored."

He knocks your shoulder with his own, saying nothing verbally. His smile says enough. "Gonna tell me what's bothering you now?"

You sigh, the sadness bubbling back up. "Taeyong dumped me. Said going to schools so far away from each other is too much to handle." You throw another rock, anger suddenly replacing the misery you walked into the garden with. "Fuck him."

"Yeah. He doesn't know a good thing when he has it." Jake says it like he's afraid it'll mean more than what it does on the surface, his voice low and tentative. Is it out of his depth to say something like that to you, his older sister's best friend? He doesn't know, but it felt right to say.

You laugh sadly and run your fingers through the grass. "I just gotta move forward. Spend the summer focused on me, you know?"

Jake nods and knocks his shoulder into yours once again. "Come on, let's take a dip in the pool. It always makes you feel better." He motions to the house behind him. "Go borrow one of Jamie's swimsuits, yeah?"

You grin at his suggestion. He always makes the worst times better somehow, a ray of sunshine that isn't blinding to the eye. It's welcoming and soothing, a salve on a day you thought was hopeless. "Sure."

As you head upstairs, Jake's mom smiling at you both as you run past the kitchen, you think about the way you can float with all of them rather than sink.

The memory washes over you as you stare at the same patch of grass from that day, reminiscent with a smile on your face, thankful nobody can see it under the cover of night.

"Earth to my best friend! There's tequila that's going to waste over here," Jamie says as she hands you another shot. She's careful to avoid dropping it into the pool thanks to the mirage of garden lights around your spot. The both of you sit on the edge with your toes in the water, teasing the idea of slipping in with the two boys already wading around in the water. "Chungha ghosted me and I need your unwavering support right now."

"It'll never go to waste on you, JJ," Heeseung, Jake's best friend, flirts with Jamie as he floats past you both. "And whoever that girl is is clearly a dipshit."

Lee Heeseung stayed local for his college experience, but he's always remained close to Jake and the Sim family in the same way you have, except he and Jake grew up together from primary school and on. And as far as Jamie goes, he'll be damned if he stops trying to get her to take a chance on him one day, despite every rejection she's delivered with a loving middle finger in his face.

Jamie kicks some water at him before downing another few ounces of liquor. "Thank you but if that's another covert shooting of your shot, no thanks, pal."

Heeseung scoffs playfully as you giggle. "Anyway, since we have an appropriate beverage for it…" he says just in time for Jake to swim over from his usual corner near the hot tub. "Let's play Never Have I Ever, shall we?"

You all roll your eyes, but you don't object. Anything to ramp up the chill session by the pool; your spring break is already too lackadaisical at this point.

"Never have I ever stolen candy from Jungwon's parents' convenience store."

All of you take the shots with ease. The poor kid always knew when you and Jamie were bagging an extra candy bar in your purse or pockets, but batting your eyelashes in his direction was enough for him to look the other way. "Boys," Jamie said once, "are too predictable."

Jake begins his turn with, "Never have I ever used my parent's car without them knowing," as he pours drinks for everyone, only for Jamie to sip hers in that instant.

She raises a hand to speak her mind, and you giggle into your shot, downing it in time before the liquid can trickle down your chin. "In my defense, Mom decided to change her mind at the last second. I just stuck to the original promise she made." She turns to you. "When did you hijack yours?"

"One time when I wanted to go to Taeyong's house. I was back the next morning before they could realize it was gone."

"Asshole," Jamie and Jake mutter simultaneously, to which Jamie poses the question to her brother, "What would you know about him besides his stats, dipshit? And you're the one who played on the same team as him, like a traitor."

"Not at the same time!" Jake yells, offended. "Besides, even if we did, I would've never passed the ball to that douchebag."

Heeseung chuckles. The sound holds some type of knowledge neither you nor Jamie are privy to, but Jake looks at his friend with a death stare. You want to dissect the interaction further, but you guys pass over questions and drinks quickly after that. The tequila blurs your inhibitions as you fall into more teasing banter and laughter. Finally, your trip is getting fun.

"Alright, my turn again," Heeseung says. He pours another set of shots before he declares, "Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this circle."

The posed statement sinks into your gut like a stone; any chance of excitement for the night is gone. Your buzz disappears as soon as the last word falls from Heeseung's lips.

He immediately gulps down his drink, smiling the whole time. "Oh shoot," he says with his devious smirk pointed in Jamie's direction. "Sorry, love."

"Still never gonna happen, pipsqueak," Jamie responds with a slur, the edges of her statement warbled by the alcohol.

What you don't expect is for Jake to take his shot at the same time you do. You both stare at each other over the rims of the tiny glasses. Your faces turn crimson, a mutual understanding passing by in a flash.

Never in your dreams did you expect Jake would also harbor a crush on you. It's been years for you, so long ago you forgot the shape of it until you were in his presence again. But the revelation he also held those emotions at some point makes the stone in your chest strengthen in size, the new information befuddling you.

When did it start? Was it around the same time as you? Does he still feel that way? You ruminate on the quick questions for only a second, knowing none of the answers matter. Jamie would've never allowed it anyway, and still wouldn't. And she's more important.

A pregnant pause lies between you and Jake, even as Heeseung sputters out a shocked laugh and Jamie drinks another shot just for fun.

"Oh damn," he says, "guess we're learning a lot about each other tonight, huh?"

"Shut up, Hee," Jake mutters. He slams the empty glass down near your thigh, and the sudden brush of his hand as he pulls back makes you tingle.

It's from the tequila, you tell yourself with bated breath. Nothing else, nothing at all.

"Yeah, shut up! 's a stupid game anyway," Jamie explains as she stands up. Her body buckles with the equilibrium change, and Jake immediately jumps from the pool to help her regain her balance. "I'm fine, Ikeu!"

That's the tell. She never uses her childhood nickname for Jake unless she's drunk. You smile to yourself and stand up as well, using the sobriety Jamie doesn't have now to help her brother.

Heeseung remains in the pool as you and Jake take Jamie upstairs to sleep it off, wading around again like a baby who hasn't upended all of their bathwater. Your best friend insists she's fine on the trek upstairs, but the way she leans into you both says otherwise.

Jake tucks the bedsheets to her chin, handling her as she thrashes around with a sequence of grumbles spilling from her lips. "Ikeu, let me go to sleep," Jamie mumbles. You laugh to yourself at the state of your best friend as she babbles nonsense. She'll be mopey and hungover tomorrow, but you'll handle that when it comes.

You close the door to her room behind you, shaking your head. "She's gonna act like a kicked puppy in the morning, I know it."

Jake laughs. "And yet she still insists she's not a lightweight. Or, at the very least, a mid-weight with how much of that bottle she drank."

You agree, nodding with a smile. Silence rushes in, the uncertainty of what to say next sitting between you both like a piece of glass you're terrified to break. Do you mention what happened just a few minutes ago in the pool, or let it go? And, more importantly, what does Jake want to do?

Jake coughs quietly, his cheeks flushed. "I should get back to Heeseung. Make sure his drunk ass doesn't drown."

You nod again, bashful. "Yeah. I gotta wash off all this chlorine, anyway."

As you both go to walk in separate directions, you heading to your room and Jake going back downstairs, your fingertips brush. It's the smallest movement, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but the spark that was ignited when he touched your thigh comes back, as all-consuming as it was then.

"See you tomorrow," Jake says over his shoulder, not turning back as he walks down the first few steps, but you can tell he's smiling. Somehow, you always know. You reply with your own acknowledgement, heart hammering as you open and close your door.

That night, you dream of his hand in yours, the liquid courage giving you the right amount of boldness to tell him you want to keep holding it for as long as you can.

"You think you'll make it out of the storm in one piece?" you ask into your phone, walking around the guest room as you listen to Jamie's frustration over the quick food run now halted by the terrible weather. The supermarket bustle muffles Jamie's voice, her words practically passing through a tin can.

"Pretty sure, but the damn car is parked too far. My parents want to wait until it settles down rather than walk into a tsunami, as if I still don't have a headache kicking my ass." You picture her rubbing her temples while she talks, exasperated but with nobody to blame but herself for last night's escapades. "Be glad you don't have to experience their terrible fruit and vegetable puns right now."

You chuckle, flicking at the dust on the windowpane. "You act as if I don't know them all by heart."

Jamie laughs too, probably nodding in the middle of the store aisle like you're right by her side. She sighs when her mother calls her away. "Mom's looking at the funny birthday cards, probably wants to show me one to give Dad next month. I gotta go."

"Alright, see you soon!"

Minutes or hours pass by in a blur, the house quiet save for the rain that patters on the rooftop above. In the instant you throw your phone on the bed after another session of endless scrolling, Jake comes into view, lingering by the doorframe. His down-turned eyes point at his feet while a pout covers the lower half of his face. When he's like this, his disposition is akin to a kid caught with cookie crumbs at the edge of his mouth. "Was that Jamie earlier?"

Was he listening? How long had he been waiting to talk to you?

"Yep," you confirm. "Still stuck in the storm. Hopefully it passes quickly." You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly chilly. The cold of the rain seeps into your skin like it knows you hate the frigid and unrelenting downpour. It plucks all your nerves to their highest frequencies. You think so, anyway.

It can't have anything to do with last night, or this moment being the first time you and Jake have talked since then. It's not like his admission changes anything between you, and your past emotions have no bearing on the present. Being awkward about it, despite your best intentions not to, solves nothing. Yet, you feel the prickle of your anxiety all the same.

Jake's eyes pinch at the corners. "Still freaked out by the weather?"

You shrug, hands clenching to your skin. "Yes and no."

Going back in your memory, you can barely recall the first time you experienced a thunderstorm as a kid outside of how it made you feel. Small, fragile, open to all the elements. It was bad enough life in your parent's home made you feel that way daily, but storms only amplified the insecurities.

That first time you experienced one in the Sim house, a ladybug glued to the glass doors downstairs as the outside world thrashed and rumbled, reminded you even the tiniest beings endure harsh conditions. And you did everything in your power that day to help ensure the creature's survival.

Maybe the nickname stuck because it fit you too well, and it hasn't gone away since for good reason.

Jake walks over, his face now tilted in your direction, and shucks his zip-up hoodie off to wrap around your shoulders. You start to speak, "You don't have to—"

"I want to," he replies, a scoff teetering on the edge in his voice. "Got a million more."

You nod, giving him a soft smile of gratitude. Stuffing your arms through the sleeves, you smell his scent on the fabric. It lingers like all the words you've stamped down. Bergamot and tangerine, with the faintest trace of sea salt.

"You're safe, ladybug." His words are so soft that the clap of thunder accompanying them almost drowns them out. But you think you could hear him even if the lightning came down right next to his face.

"I know," you say, knowing it's never been more true than right now. Yet, you feel something else resting underneath his words, an iceberg you can see past the top of. The sentence eases your mind, yet ramps up a different emotion entirely, one you haven't felt in a long time for him.

"Last night, I—"

"It's fine, Jaeyun," you insist. You shake off whatever he's about to say with a forced giggle. "We've changed. Sure, we both had little crushes on each other back then. It doesn't mean anything now."

"It doesn't?"

"I mean…why does it need to? It would be crazy, anyway. Like it could work now when it didn't then."

Jake's jaw ticks as he smiles, the action as artificial as your previous laugh. "Right. It would be crazy, wouldn't it? To think about you in that way still."

"Yeah, crazy." You don't realize he's stepped forward a few inches until you notice his body in sharper clarity. The long-sleeve Manchester United shirt with a tattered logo on the center, one of his favorites, and how it rises with every inhale and exhale. The shell necklace touching his collarbone, the one you made for him the summer before he started high school.

"So if I said I still feel the same way I did at sixteen—that it's hard not to every time I look at you—would that be crazy, too?"

Your brain becomes hollow, coherent thought and reasoning out of your reach.

The storm continues battering the house, but its strength compares little to the forces stirring in your heart. The desire to hold him close churns in your stomach like the strongest tornado known to man.

It's irrevocably wrong, so why does he still pull you in?

Jake reaches for you, hand pressing to the skin between your lower jaw and neck, and it feels too warm. It makes your body shiver, but he doesn't pull back. He just inches closer, so close his breath ghosts over your face.

His eyes speak with the pleas his mouth can't verbalize. Let me know if I should let you go now before I can't. Tell me to stop thinking about you, once and for all.

You don't stop him. Not when you take the last step to his lips, not when both of your eyes flutter closed, and not when you finally feel his mouth press to yours.

Jake tastes like cherry lip balm with traces of chlorine, a mixture that could not feel more perfect on your tongue. You want to drink it forever now that you've gotten a sip, both the act and sensation long overdue.

You move in sync. His hands find purchase on your hips as you wrap your hands around his neck, deepening the kiss. He grunts against your lips when your tongue presses to the seam of his mouth, and he lets you in eagerly. You've kissed many boys—and a handful of girls—in your life, but nothing compares to this, to Sim Jaeyun.

You're utterly fucked, the implications of your choice clear, but you don't care. It's too right to think of all the reasons it shouldn't be.

You both hear the front door below slam, the sound knocking you both away from each other like a bomb. Jake's eyes open, the irises lust-blown with a fire that mirrors the raging one in your stomach. You don't know what to say in time. The chance flickers by as the rest of the family makes it known they're back.

"Kiddos, we're home!" Jihyun calls from below. Jamie yells something about the traffic being a bitch, and both of her parents chide the profanity so loudly you and Jake chuckle discreetly.

His humor morphs back into raw vulnerability, and he kisses the spot between your eyebrows before whispering, "Meet me back here tonight, yeah? Wanna finish what we started."

You nod with a bitten lip, eager to know what he means as he exits the guest room and walks downstairs. Your heart is lurching, your palms are sweating, but you've never felt more giddy than this moment.

They should terrify you, all the consequences of your next moves that lay at your feet, but you're not scared at all. Not an ounce.

You tiptoe past Jamie's door, a smidge of regret glazing over your excitement about being alone with Jake again. Seven hours after he left you in the guest room, your need consumed you. It was all you thought about in that time flipping through magazines with Jamie and sitting next to her at dinnertime.

Your eyes couldn't help but pass over Jake's at the table when you caught him staring first. His parents were talking about cute memories of all of you, your middle school years specifically, yet your insides were on fire. You were a blaze of obscene proportions as he gazed at your figure.

Now, you're eager to see him, to have a repeat of the scene in the guest room, to know if there's more to the story that's currently unwritten.

Jake opens the door the second you raise your fist to knock on it. Your hand sits in mid-air as he stands there, a quiet smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you'd never show up."

He brings you in with a hand at your waist, and soon enough, he locks the door behind him to have both palms all over you. He tugs your lips between his teeth and kisses you like a starved man, the only salvation being your mouth and body.

Jake's an excellent kisser, holding the right amount of pressure with a level of tenderness in each touch that weakens your knees. He still smells like his lip balm, but there are traces of mouthwash this time, spearmint hitting your tongue as his muscle touches the roof of your mouth.

"I love how you taste," Jake says in between you like a confession. "I can't wait to have more of you."

You moan and squeeze his biceps between your fingers. "Nothing's stopping you, Jaeyun."

Jake tugs at your cotton shorts, wanting them off so much that he makes that want a reality. Your cotton underwear sticks to your legs, arousal drenching the insides of your thighs like another person hasn't turned you on this much solely from kissing. Maybe no one ever has, not like this. Maybe he's that good at this already, transforming you into a puddle for him alone.

Moving you to the edge of his bed, Jake makes the back of your knees knock into his comforter as he undoes his drawstring sweats and yanks his sweater up and over his head. You help him discard what you can, but you're too eager to reattach your lips to his. He can't blame you; he's caused the chasm that is your need, and he has to see it filled.

"You're beautiful, you know that right?" The question tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it, and Jake just runs his hand across your face lovingly and smiles.

"Let's not talk about who's the beautiful one here, yeah?"

He crawls atop of you, the only clothes left on both of you being his underwear and your undergarments, and it's anyone's guess if he'll take them off of you soon or will tease you to the very end. Jake sees the wet ruins of your panties and a cheshire-like grin spreads on his face. "I think I could make you come just like this with the way you're drenching my sheets, baby."

You quirk an eyebrow and rut your hips into his, your underwear brushing the outline of his pulsing cock. You can almost feel the spot that's damp on his own briefs through the fabric of your panties, positive he is also ready to be relieved of his own pent-up desires. "I could say the same to you, Jakey."

Jake grunts at the nickname, one only few people have ever used, and captures your mouth with his again. He rubs his core into yours with hard, languid strokes. Your wetness melds with the hardness of his bulge with each meeting of your hips. You run your nails down his back to prove how good it feels, even if it's just the two of you rutting against each other's clothes. It's carnal how hard and fast you both grind against each other. The two of you want nothing more than to come apart at each other's hands.

There's still the uncertainty there if it's too soon to take it to the last hurdle, with sex and your relationship, whatever that is, but that doesn't matter now. The need to have each other in any way you can drowns out the sound of your doubts and what tomorrow will bring. You can only focus on right now, the end of desire right on the horizon.

"I'm not gonna last much longer, sweetheart." Jake rubs his hands along your ribcage, fingers splayed under your breast. You grip him harder as he says the words, and he smirks as he pants. "Would you like that? Knowing you made me come untouched?"

"More than anything," you admit, his cock hitting your clit in just the right way that has you frothing at the mouth.

His tongue delves deeper into your mouth as he continues to thrust against you, precum smearing down the fabric of his underwear and making it his briefs as soaked as your panties. You're so close, the ridges of him rubbing the velvet walls of you through the materials of your underwear to make you see stars.

"That's it," he growls. "Come for me, baby. It's gonna feel so good."

Those words undo you in that second; the magic of them can't go understated. Your body shudders as you reach the peak and fall off of it in the same second. It's white hot and searing, and you let it take you down as you feel the orgasm seep into your toes.

"Come with me, Jaeyun, please?" you whisper when you have a hint of coherent thought left in you, yearning to see him unravel.

Just like his words crumbled you, yours break him. He whimpers a broken moan as he comes in his underwear, meeting his end with his massive load soaking through and dribbling down across his thighs. Your bodies' essences mix as you keep riding your highs out, and it feels too good to stop until you're too sensitive to continue.

You both sit there in a mess of sweat and cum, unsure how to address that you've both just done that together. It can't go back to the way things were before, the two of you always on a fault-line of teasing each other and living in half-measures around your emotions. How could you?

When he cleans up and lays down next to you, both of you clothed once again, you run your fingertips over the veins of his arm until you're at his shoulder blade. He watches you as your venture higher, and your face heats, suddenly bashful.

"I meant what I said earlier. You're so beautiful, it's incredibly distracting." You run your hand through the ends of Jake's sweaty hair.

"Is your form of pillow talk just compliments?" he jokes partially. "Because I could give you a dozen of those at any time."

"What's yours?" you ask, beaming at his admission.

"Besides doing that again?" You giggle at the reference until he cages you in his arms, his warmth bathing you in gold. "For starters, this."

You whisper about everything and nothing, Jake stopping occasionally to run his lips over the space of your forehead and the crown of your hair. You fall asleep that way in no time, pleased to be on the cusp of something beautiful beginning.

You don't expect to wake up to the sight of Jamie peering down at you, wide-eyed and lips in a firm line. During the night, Jake must have gone to use the bathroom and forgot to lock the door again, and you hadn't noticed.

The sight of her in front of you almost makes you forget you're still entangled with Jake like two vines, legs intertwined and your head nestled on his chest.

Jamie points to Jake's door with a trembling finger, deadly silent, before walking back out of his room.

"What the fuck?" are the first words out of Jamie's mouth. Her face grows darker in that instant, anger overtaking her. "What the actual fuck is the reason I found you up against him like that?"

"Jamie, you gotta relax, please."

"Oh, so I should relax after catching my best friend and little brother practically tonguing each other down?"

The way she emphasizes "little" could make you vomit. She acts like she witnessed you pressed up against the teenage version of him and not the adult he is now. You know she's overdramatic, but she can take it overboard too often; it's one of her fatal flaws to boot.

"Jamie, I swear it was nothing," you lie immediately. "We were just watching a movie after you passed out because we couldn't sleep, and then we must've fallen asleep together. That's all, okay?"

"You didn't do anything?" She looks over the clothes you walked into Jake's room wearing last night, not seeing anything she can speculate over, but still on edge from the scene she's just witnessed. "You swear?"

You nod without realizing. "I swear to God." Good thing you're not a religious person, or a higher power would most likely strike you down on the spot. But you'd do it again to spare Jamie of the fact you did more than your fair share of things with Jake last night.

She huffs, relieved but still agitated. "Okay. Well, just never let that happen again, please. I almost ran out of here ready to pluck my eyes from their sockets and bleach them."

You rub your arms protectively. "Would it be so bad if Jake and I did happen to like each other? See where—"

She puts a finger in between you, making a face like she will in fact vomit. "I was so ready to have Mom's hump-day pancakes and now I can't even think of drinking a glass of orange juice right now after hearing you even suggest that idea to me."

"Jamie, come on," you chide her.

"You come on! It would never work, Y/N. Be realistic!"

That's rich, you jest at her in your mind. "Why? Because he's related to you and I'm not?"

"That's the biggest reason, for sure, but you both are going to school hours away from each other and Jake is drowning in intramurals and labs half the time." She swats away her own words with manic hands. "Why are we even talking about this? It's not gonna happen ever!"

Your heart sinks, the stone that you held in your gut days ago back with a vengeance.

"Tell me you'll stop thinking about this, please."

You sigh and nod, keeping your arms crossed to guard yourself from the promise you've just made Jamie. Your best friend has clipped the beating wings of a promising future with Jake so unceremoniously, you're unsure what to do with that info now, or how you'll present the topic to Jake when he wakes up.

"You coming?" Jamie asks over her shoulder as she descends the staircase, and you're transported back to that first day you arrived at the house for the trip, Jake's mirrored words holding more hope than you realized back then. You follow behind as the seams of your heart rip the muscle in two, sadness seeping into your every pore with each step.

After you all clear your breakfasts from the table, Jamie's parents retreat to their room and Jamie takes her usual midday R&R nap. Jake steps behind you in the kitchen, the coast clear from prying eyes. Nobody's around to witness him cage you in by the sink, eager as he runs his hands up your sides. "You were gone this morning. Where'd you run off to?" he whispers into your ear, and you shiver from his proximity. You're both terrified and tantalized by what Jake does to your body by doing nothing substantial. Just the subtlest act unwinds you.

He makes it difficult to resist him, but you replay your discussion with Jamie from a few brief hours ago in your head. The act helps you solidify your promise in your heart like iron, no matter how much you want to melt into Jake's embrace and forget it all.

"We can't do this, Jaeyun."

"We're not doing anything…not yet."

The second Jake's lips brush your neck, you skitter away and drop your plate in the sink. If he keeps touching you, you'll crumble without another thought, so keeping him at an arm's length is the only option. "I mean it. Last night can't happen again."

"So what? It just meant nothing?" Jake laughs in disbelief, almost like he's waiting for the punchline of the joke you're making just to get a rise out of him.

You frown and bite the inside of your cheek. "I never said that."

"Then what are you saying right now?"

"I'm saying it won't work," you parrot Jamie's words to him, trying to find some objectivity there to stop feeling like you're chewing glass. "Where do you think we will go after this? Long-distance dating back and forth between two colleges? And that's if Jamie doesn't kill us before we get to that point."

"Is that what this is about?" Jake tries to step closer, but you back away in time. "Y/N, I'm not Taeyong. And you're more than just Jamie's best friend to me. I thought I proved that to you yesterday."

He did, in so many little ways that you barely see him like he's Jamie's little brother now. He's just Jake, solid and sweet and so within your reach right now. Yet you can't have him, the fallout from such a choice too catastrophic to verbalize.

"Jaeyun, we have to be realistic." The words feel like toxic waste on your tongue, the pain present under your skin but well-hidden behind your willpower. You can only pray he believes everything you've said up to this point, but a small part hopes he doesn't. That he'll see through it and brave the storm for the both of you.

Unfortunately, the former occurs as Jake's eyes go cold, his jaw sets into sharp lines and his hands go limp at his sides. "Realistic?"

"Yes."

He doesn't fight back or spew insults he's well within his rights to say to you. All he does is walk out of the kitchen with hard stomps. The silence is worse than any profane exclamation he could've thrown out, and that's when you know you've broken your own heart by breaking his.

Jake isn't yours, so why is it so torturous to watch him mingle with another girl, especially one he knows as well as he knows you?

Aria Song, a local veterinary technician and Jake's high school ex-girlfriend, haunts you like a phantom as she wades in the pool like she's always belonged there.

"Jaeyun, stop it!" You hear her squeal, and you want to dunk her head so deep in the water you forget she exists.

Layla tucks her head in your lap as you watch Jake and Aria through the glass doors. He's swimming around his ex-girlfriend's pool lounger like he has no cares in the world. She kicks water at him with her toned legs and a wide grin on her face.

She may be nice enough for Jake to have remained friendly with her since their high school days, but you've not liked her one bit since they broke up and neither has Jamie. But Aria's solid proof to Jamie that you're not chasing after her brother, and therefore she's content to relax by the pool outside and suffer through the younger folks giggling and splashing each other like they're teenagers again.

You couldn't, not without your heart cracking even more than it already has. You thought feigning a stomach bug and deciding to rot on the couch was the best second option, but it only meant you had a semi-adequate front-row seat to Jake's little show that's been going on all afternoon.

He glances at you now and then beyond the panes of glass like he knows you're judging. Like he wants you to be envious of Aria's position.

The worst part is that you are; you're sick with jealousy to the point it's creating bile in the back of your throat. The green monster inside of you rears its head with gnashing teeth and cruel thoughts, and you don't stop it from growing in size.

She's younger, prettier, not intricately tied to his older sister the way you are. It's so much easier for him to not bother with you, to pick a safer option that isn't riddled with roadblocks. And he's clear he's chosen from the way he fawns over his guest with intense eyes.

Layla nuzzles your side as you grimace, stopping you from attempting to burn a hole in the pool attendees' heads with your stare. "I'm being ridiculous aren't I, girly girl?"

You take the tilt of Layla's head as confirmation you're acting crazy. You're about to take your blanket and pillow back up to the guest room when Jake walks into the house, body sopping wet and creating tiny puddles on the tile.

"You're gonna have to mop up the floor," you say to break the ice, despite being irritated with him for consorting with a perceived enemy.

Jake only nods and moves to the kitchen without another look in your direction, grabbing two water bottles from the fridge and then slamming it shut.

Before he leaves, he walks over and presses one of the plastic bottles in your palm, fingertips brushing yours. "Hydration will help with the stomachache."

With that, he leaves out the back door. Now, you're more confused than annoyed. What does it mean, one minute unable to speak to you and then caring for your wellbeing the next? It's a cacophony of whiplash, for sure.

You hear a cough behind you that takes you out of your ruminations, and you see Jihyun smiling at you before entering the living room, rubbing behind Layla's ears. "Ladybug, you two are something else."

You shake your head and pop open the water to gulp down. When you've taken a hefty sip, you say, "We're nothing Mrs. Sim. We made that clear already."

"Please don't call me that, honey. Mrs. Sim is my mother-in-law and you know that."

You chuckle. "Like I said, it's nothing to worry about."

Jihyun raises her hands and shakes her head. "I didn't say you were anything…" She walks closer and sets a hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "But if you were, this family would be more than better off with you in it. Whether or not some of us see that right now, it's true."

Before you can ask her what she means, she saunters back towards her bedroom with Layla following in tow; your brain imprints her knowing grin to memory.

The Sims can be incredibly cryptic when they want to be.

Aria spends dinner with all of you, and Jake even invites Heeseung over to liven up the mood that you and Jamie sour by remaining quiet. You can't help it; Aria is too bold, too bright, too everything you can't give Jake right now.

You spend that night with the family stoic and deadpan, only conversing with everyone in small sentences. You barely say goodbye to Aria and Heeseung when they take their leave, nodding at her once and not again as she walks out. Jamie notices the tension in your body, but you don't want to talk. You don't give her the time to ask. You just walk into the guest room without another word and hide away, hoping to finish the rest of the trip with no more issues. Your best friend might call you a buzzkill, but it's better than going against her wishes.

Another hour rolls by, and when you're on the verge of sleeping, Jake barrels into your room without closing the door.

"Do you care at all?" Jake huffs out, chest rising and falling fast. He tries to remain quiet out of your fear he'll wake Jamie in the next room, but you can tell from the tone in his voice that he's breaking his own resolve.

You rise from your bed and quickly shut the door, confusion overtaking you. "What are—"

"I spent all of this morning ready to burn under the sun without SPF trying to prove a point because you wanted me to be realistic, and you said nothing. All day and since the second Aria came by, you've had this terrible pout on your face. What do you want from me?"

You know exactly what you want. Maybe it's better to let it out now and give Jake some clarity, even if it'll kill him on the inside like it's doing to you.

"I want you to be happy," you say, "but I realized pretty quickly I want that happiness to be with me." You raise your arms weakly, tears threatening to spill over. "But I can't. Jamie is too important, and she's made it perfectly clear she thinks this would be too weird for her."

"What do you think?" Jake steps forward, hair tickling your face from how close he is to your body. That charge between you reignites; the current that's kept you inextricably linked hums like a live wire once again. "What do you want?"

You sigh, taking a deep breath, unable to swallow another unspoken word. "I want you. Of course I want you."

Jake smirks softly and captures his hand in yours, fingers intertwining. "Then have me. Have me in whatever way you want, as long as I get to have you back."

The time between Jake's last words and now, the two of you in a tangle of clothes, feels like a lifetime. The previous time you were intimate like this is nothing compared to right now. Where that was frantic and fast-paced with undergarments stuck to sweaty, sexually charged skin, this is slow and reverent. Jake undresses you like he's afraid you'll take back what you said and did just an hour ago. As if you could ever.

There's no way you can change your mind now; his charms have unknotted all of your left brain's logic.

He kisses your neck and collarbones with tenderness. He leans down to kiss the tops of both of your naked breasts, and it's like he's striking the match that will burn you alive.

You want to savor the moment like he clearly is, but it's too much and not enough, two sides of the same coin. You arch into him on his bed, your legs intertwining with his. "Jaeyun, if you don't do something right now, I will combust."

Jake chuckles and sucks one of your nipples in his mouth the second after you command him, biting and teasing the bud with his teeth, and your body bows even harder off of his sheets. The pleasure builds like a wave, and he's barely done anything.

Hedonistically, he slides his fingers down to your aching clit. Essence gathers between his fingers as he runs his hand across your folds eagerly. "You're dripping," he mumbles, his lips resting a breath from yours. "So warm and wet."

You moan and ride his fingers, his figure-eights on your swollen bud building you up further.

"I want to make you come, more than anything," Jake starts before kissing your lips between every other word. "But I want to feel you around me when you do it."

His naked body slots against yours when he moves in closer. His biceps, thighs, cock, and fingertips cling to you like it's your own skin, but it's only a fraction of how close you want him to be.

You've spent so long hiding in the shadows and denying your feelings for him, and now that you have him, you need to cherish every millisecond of time before you're forced back into that corner of the world he didn't occupy.

You clench around nothing, your walls fluttering from the way Jake's tip slides against your clit agonizingly slow. He watches it all, how you writhe and beg with your body, and he adores it.

"So beautiful." The resounding breathless chuckle on his tongue could be as loud as a gunshot with the way it rings in your ears. "If I knew how pretty you'd look like this," he starts, "I'd have made you mine a long time ago."

You gasp as his thumb replaces the head of his cock on your clit, rubbing small but intentional circles there. "Do you want me to be?" you ask, dazed.

In that second between your question and his response, he slides the entirety of his cock into you until he bottoms out, pelvic bones meeting like hands in prayer. "What do you think?"

You want to pinch yourself in this moment, ensure yourself it's real as he moves. He holds the back of your neck with one hand as he leans down to press his lips to yours. His hips give a sharp thrust that has you moaning into his mouth. You find purchase on his naked skin, running your palms along the lines of his shoulder blades down to the smooth planes of his hips.

This can't be another dream, can it?

"You're perfect," you gasp as he thrusts again. "How are you real?"

Jake smiles down at you, mystified by the question being asked by you and not him. He takes one of your hands in his to press to his chest. You hear the frantic tempo of his heartbeat, the sound a messy drumbeat that makes your own heart clench. "Is that real enough?"

It was never supposed to be like this, you and him. But it's too beautiful for the most extravagant words, thoughts, or feelings to describe.

"More than enough," you say with a breathless giggle. You pull him down for another kiss, tangling your fingers in the ends of his hair.

It's holy how much he cherishes you and the experience of having you. He doesn't press too hard or take too much, giving as well as he gets it. When you bite down on his neck, leaving a mark that for sure will bruise soon, he runs his fingers along your burning clit, running lovingly tight circles there to prove he enjoys your possessive acts. When you tell him how good it feels, he moves faster and deeper, returning your praise with more pleasure.

"It feels so good, baby. You're like heaven around me," he swears. "Tell me how it is for you."

No coherent words come to mind, but you settle on, "So fucking good, Yunnie. More than that even." The words sound jumbled off of your tongue, and he smirks from how fucked you already are on his cock. But the smile isn't condescending or smug, just teasing in the most loving way.

He's safe and open and yours, and you can't fathom how you've become so lucky to receive the chance to be his in return.

You suck him in eagerly as you near your release, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the screams you can't release into the air. Not unless you want to wake up the entire house.

"I know you're close," Jake grunts. His hand comes up to the headboard for leverage as he slams into you harder, his other hand stroking your clit with more pressure. "Come around me, baby. Show me what it's like when you let go."

You show him with all your might when you shatter into the millions of pieces he's created of you with his passion. Your eyes scrunch shut as your mouth falls open, jaw slacking from the pleasure that overloads your entire being. Body limp and face buried in Jake's pecs, you think about all the times you've spent in secret, wanting and wishing for him, whether or not you knew it.

Now, you know too well the way he envelops your soul, and you never want to stop knowing him like this.

Jake comes undone soon after, warmth flooding your body with his release as he moans in your ear about how beautiful you are alongside a barrage of curses. "Holy shit, I'm still coming," he swears, another minute spent with his body thrusting up into yours to release what's left of his cum into you. You could spend forever here, you think, wrapped up in each other and this man who is now yours lost in ecstasy.

Jake finally pulls out when he's exhausted all of his energy, and beads of pearly white cum drip out of you from the separation. You don't clean it up, and neither does he. You're both too spent and satiated to care.

"Hi," you croak, head resting on Jake's shoulder when he gets comfortable in his bed and pulls the covers over you. You're tucked up to your chin, protected but still vulnerable in the aftermath of your orgasm.

Jake grins and tucks a stray sweaty hair from your face. "Hi to you too, beautiful."

When he continues to stroke your hair like it's the most precious thing he's ever touched, you think all the consequences in the world are worth this. You believe, without a doubt, that every price you'll pay for his affection is worthwhile.

"You and Jake."

Jamie says the three words like they don't belong in the same sentence. She sits on the dining chair across from you and Jake, both your hands interlocked in front of her like you're her parents sitting down to reprimand her. But it's the other way around, clearly.

Today, she probably expected to find you both making breakfast again, like it was a normal day through and through. Even when you told her you both needed to speak to her, she trotted over to the dining table like nothing was wrong. And nothing was wrong in your eyes, but you knew Jamie's opinion would change the second you told her the truth.

"Yes."

"Dating?"

"Yes." It feels so good to say. You bite back the smile that threatens to tug your lips up. You should feel guilty for betraying Jamie the way you have, going against her word so shamefully, but you can't. It's not a sin you've committed, or a traitorous act that can't be forgiven.

Jamie slaps her hands against her knees, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "So, the talk we had meant nothing, clearly."

"It did, J. I just—"

"Wait, what talk?" Jake squeezes your palm once, showing his concern that you didn't tell him about whatever Jamie is referencing.

"That day before breakfast. She found me the morning after she went grocery shopping with your parents…and I said I'd stay away from you because she asked me to."

"You never told me that," Jake responds sadly. The blush creeping up his neck shows how embarrassed he must be by his actions afterward. You don't blame him for a second of it, though. It all worked out, anyway.

Your best friend huffs, prepared to vomit. "Don't talk to her like you know her."

"I do, Jamie." His tone drops, the soothing aura he had for you replaced with irritated admonishment of his older sister. You can tell he's exasperated from her judgement already. You squeeze his palm back to ask him silently to loosen up, and he unclenches his jaw to prove he's listening to you. He always seems to know what to do to make sure he is.

It's not love yet, but you're so close, it hurts.

"Please stop acting like you're the only one who does," Jake says finally.

"Really? Did you hold her hand the first time she got her period? Or when her and that douche boyfriend in sophomore year broke up with her right before Valentine's Day? Oh, let's not forget how she stole me a pack of Plan B during our senior trip to Spain."

"Jamie!" you shout, face turning red. "What the fuck?"

Jake just laughs sadly. "You may think you have a leg up on me, and that could be true. I don't have the history you both do. But I've cared about her for so long, longer than you may think." He sighs and turns to look at you, a small smile shared between you both as he strokes your skin with his thumb. "If you have to hate me or us for the way we feel, so be it."

"Stop acting like you're the mature one here!" Jamie shrieks. "Do you not understand how fucked this is?"

"You're the only one who thinks that way," you cut in. "You're making it more of a big deal than it has to be when we're all grown adults."

The scrape of her chair and stomp of her feet towards the backyard's glass door signifies your betrayal in her eyes. And the slam of the door against its metal lining exemplifies her burning rage. She would've yelled if not for her parents sleeping soundly upstairs, you know it.

You follow quickly behind, letting go of Jake's hand to run out to the backyard and follow her, passing Layla on the way to the door. Jake knows not to follow, and you appreciate him all the more for it. The end of the conversation lies between you and Jamie now.

You find her sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, overlooking the backyard fence and facing away from the pool. You cautiously sit down next to her, and she doesn't bristle or immediately scoot away. She's just quiet, unsure, and somehow that feels worse than her exploding at you right now.

"You know I love you, right?" you begin with that question because it feels the most apt. If she truly knew what you were risking, she wouldn't take your feelings or her brother's in this way, like it's a game both of you are playing with blind eyes.

She nods, silent and staring down at the surrounding grass.

"I really like him, Jamie." Your voice, as well as your eyes, flood with tears. It cracks on the sounds her name creates, and that makes her own eyes well up too.

"I never said you didn't."

"But you act like it's some fling. It kills me to see you hurt, but I can't put how I feel on hold anymore and neither can he." The words are both a relief to your own pain and an ache in your chest. Jamie's never been unable to feel the way she does, and you've never stopped her from doing so. But it's never been about her.

"I just don't want to lose you if it ends badly," Jamie confesses. She finally turns her gaze on you, irises glassy and the white of her eyes becoming red. "I can't."

You laugh sadly and pull her in close, shocked she could think such a thing. It gives way to understanding the fears Jamie has that're hidden beneath all the bluster. "That's never gonna happen, J, I promise. And I wouldn't be doing this if I thought your brother wasn't worth it."

Those two words—your brother—cause her to fake a gag. "Did it really have to be him, though? He doesn't brush his teeth until after breakfast, you know this."

You both share a chuckle, heads knocking into each other's and knees touching like nothing has changed. 

In a way, it doesn’t have to. With the silence, you feel her anger ebb away, replaced with a resigned acceptance that she can't change this; it's too late, and she'll have to go with it even if she's against it.

But some things will never change. You're still best friends, and you’ll always have each other, despite being Jake’s significant other now and her being his sister. They’re not mutually exclusive, and that’s okay. Above all else, you’ll be the one person she can turn to forever, and vice versa. That's how it's always supposed to be and will be.

"Josh finally wised up, thank God. He'll be coming to the house in a few days to meet my folks, so you and my brother better be on your best behavior!" Jamie waggles a finger in your direction as she drives further down the road to the university. She doesn't look at you directly, but the instruction is clear, for you and your boyfriend to be nice to her new flavor of the week, and it makes it that much more hilarious.

"Aren't we always?" You wiggle your eyebrows despite her not seeing, and her finger becomes a full-fledged hand in your face. You giggle, taking that hand in yours. "How much longer?"

"Ten minutes, you freak. You act like the last time you saw him was a thousand years ago."

It's been a month and two days since you've been in the same space as Jake, but who's counting? You fell asleep on the phone together last night, so it wasn't as though you went without him for too long, but physical cohabitation was another thing entirely.

Happy didn't explain the emotion you felt when Jamie recommended picking Jake up from school on the way to her parent's, even if it added an hour and a half to the drive. She knew as well as you did how much you missed him. That didn't stop her from teasing you about it incessantly, though.

You shrug and put her hand back in her lap, not denying her exaggeration. Your heart thrums harder with every minute that counts down to your arrival.

Jake's dorm hall appears through the thicket of trees. Small pockets of students walk out of the building holding beach bags and other luggage to take to their cars. Finally, emerging from the sea of people, Jake appears. His mess of floppy hair you'd recognize anywhere, the locks almost falling to his shoulders. He dons a long-sleeved shirt that hides every beautiful line of the body you know so well by now, and you think he hasn't changed at all. Still beautiful, still yours.

You barely wait for the car to stop before you get out. Your feet carry you with the speed of a thousand strikes of lightning. Unbothered by the way your ankles and thighs burn as you run faster, all that matters is the smile that widens on your boyfriend's face when he sees you.

Jake catches you in his arms after you leap into them. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and squeeze his lower half. The Sim house used to be one of the few places you found solace, but it's just not true anymore. Now, it's in Jake too, his love the greatest peace you've ever known.

Jake plants kisses all over the crown of your head before meeting your lips, the taste of spearmint gum coating your tongue. You giggle mid-liplock, and Jake smiles brightly down at you. "Hi."

"Hi," you respond before pressing your mouth to his again.

"Okay, horndogs! We need to leave soon before all that braised pork goes to waste!" You both separate and turn to see Jamie with her arms crossed and a close-lipped smile on her face. She's not angry or put off by the sight before her, her best friend and little brother entangled like vines. If anything, the spark in her eyes is all for show, her happiness hidden under the surface, even with the added snarky commentary.

You used to think that there were two certainties in the world. But now, they're accompanied by another truth.

No matter how many trials and tribulations you go through, Jamie will always be your best friend. Your best friend often gets what she wants—although she couldn't stop you from falling for her brother. And you are head over heels for Sim Jaeyun, forever and always.

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@lovetaroandtaemin @filmnings @innocygnet @jaylaxies @xylatox @xomakara @gyubookeries @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @hannieoftheyear @frenchkisstheabyss @lovenha7 @wonberries @lyks02 @seokjinthescientist @icatpjs @kristynaaah @ikeuheartz @enhaslxt @jakeznii @heebear @immelissaaa @riqomi @universallyllamatimetravel @enhxlvr @jakesaverse @omglivss

You sigh, slumping in your seat. Not dramatically enough to draw any attention to yourself, but Arthur is so fixated on the field that you don’t think he’d notice you throwing a whole tantrum next to him.

You grimace at the way he shoves his hot dog between his lips, the ketchup, mustard, and other toppings dripping down the side of his mouth. Which, he wipes with his thumb, just to lick it off. It’s not inherently gross or unnatural, but you’re quickly realizing that you’re just not into this poor guy.

From the jump, he’d been charming, sure, but he also had this off-putting energy. Not like serial killer off-putting, but more like the kind of guy who wants a wife and kids, but not necessarily to be a dad or husband, if that makes any sense.

You wanted to see it through, though, give the guy a chance. Which is why you’re here. Unfortunately for you, you’ve already made up your mind about Arthur, and now, you have to sit through this baseball game with a convincing enough smile to remain unbothered by him worrying about it.

Grabbing your paper cup, you sip on the cold soda of your choice, a taste of relief underneath the hot sun.

In other good news, safe from the half-melted drink in your hand, one of the players for the Seattle Mariners team is rather attractive. Which, you’re well aware that it’s somewhat immoral to be checking out a completely unattainable man while you’re actively on a date, but you’ve already decided that you’re gonna let him down gently later, so what’s the harm?

Park Jongseong, moreso known as Jay, or number 19, from what you’ve gathered, is a stellar player. He’s good at batting—you think that’s the term—and seems to have a shitload of fans in the stands.

Safe from your date, that is, who scowls at the baseball player like he’s got a personal vendetta against him.

“Why do you make that face every time?” You ask, tilting your head at Arthur, who you have to nudge to get his attention.

He looks at you, and you repeat yourself, just for him to scoff incredulously, like you should know exactly why he despises Jay.

“He’s the kind of player that’s only so popular because girls like him. He’s not even that good! Like, there was this one time—“

And here comes the long winded rant about shit you won’t understand. It’s clearly fueled by his disdain for Jay, rather than actual fact, and you’re somewhat icked out by the fact that he’s so passionate about his hatred for the man that he’s foaming at the mouth.

Yuck.

Again, if he was a better guy, you would care less, but he is not helping his case. So, you just nod, feign understanding.

“Yeah, boo,” you agree, shaking your head as Arthur whips his head back towards the field, finishing his hot dog in the same messy fashion he started eating it with.

You manage an amused huff at the ridiculousness of this situation. Your eyes wander back to the field, and your gaze lands on your beloved player.

Ironically, an actual grin forms on your lips. He’s pretty, with dark hair and tan skin, one of few guys to pull of full baseball attire. You can barely see his face, given his helmet, but every-time there’s a closeup shot on the big screen, you take your time admiring his features.

Arthur seems to notice the look on your face, and nudges your shoulder. “Having fun?” he asks, with a wide, oblivious grin, and you just nod enthusiastically.

You snicker to yourself, just under your breath, as you both return your attention to the game. Your eyes narrow with focus as you watch Jay ready up.

The ball is thrown, and he readjusts his grip on his bat, whacking it with immense force when it comes his way. The crowd roars, and the commentators burst into chaotic rants, all the while, the ball is hurdling towards the crowd.

Fortunately, no one is pummeled with it. In fact, by the time it comes falling, it lands on the ground below you. Interesting.

You lean down, rather enthusiastically, to grab the ball, just for a bigger hand to come down and snatch it. Your date. Arthur.

He fucking pelts the ball back onto the field, and you look up with a shocked, betrayed expression.

“What the fuck?!” You snap at him, and even some of the attendees around you both confront him for his behavior. You’re sure they’re not worried about you, so much as the possibility that they could have gotten their hands on the ball, but at least you aren’t the only one mad.

“What?” Arthur bites back, oblivious as ever, as he plops back down into his seat, his shoulder shoving against yours.

There goes your mood.

Even focusing back on Jay doesn’t seem to fix it, thanks to the douche canoe to your left.

What you missed, though, was the look of shock on Jay’s face. Not only is he too far away for you to make out any facial expressions, you were too busy glaring down your stupid date to see the way he scowled.

He hadn’t meant for the ball to go into the crowd, but the last thing he’d ever be is opposed to someone getting to take home such a souvenir, whether they’re into baseball or not.

And even if you had no interest in the game, your growing interest in Jay was enough to make that instance rather upsetting. Maybe you’d have gotten into baseball just to spite your date, become one of those “fangirls” he seems to hate so much.

Anyways, the game drags on for what feels like forever, and maybe it’s because you’re fuming, or maybe it really is just that long of a play.

Either way, by the time it’s over, your ass hurts, your thighs are stuck to the seat, and you’ve never been so eager to get home and take a shower.

Arthur is giving you the cold shoulder, it seems, as you’re getting up to leave. He’s got a set look of disinterest on his face, like you’d done him wrong.

You roll your eyes as you grab your bag, and any trash that Arthur seemed to have no plans on picking up. As you’re on your way to the stairs, to leave the stands, you hear yelling.

“Hey, miss!” Calls a voice, just loud enough to catch your attention. You look back, and there’s Park fucking Jongseong holding a ball, smiling at you.

You shove the trash into Arthurs’ hands, because of course his nosy ass turned around too, and walk towards the edge of the stands.

Jay tosses the ball up, and it lands perfectly in your hands. His signature is on it, accompanied by some smudges of dirt, a bit of beating from the bat, it seems, like he’d gone and retrieved the ball your date tossed— oh my god.

He did!

Your eyes light up as you look back at Jay, and he gives a kind wave, before he turns on his heel, walking back across the field.

Your heart flutters, and you feel ridiculous for it, but fuck if that didn’t make you feel more than Arthur ever had.

“Stupid fucking game,” Arthur mutters, and kicks one of the stairs before stomping up them like a damn toddler.

Yet, your mood has been repaired once again, by Jay…again. With a small smile, you clutch the ball and start up the stairs.

That smile fades though, when a mob of people are rushing your way. Men and women alike, as if they’re hunting you—or, more accurately, the ball in your hands—down. A look of horror flashes across your face as you start to back up, towards the barricade of the grand stands, because you’ll be damned if they take the one good thing that’s come out of today from you.

Alas, you’re one woman, against a hoard of lord knows how many feral baseball fans.

Meanwhile, on the field, Jay looks over his shoulder, his eyes widening at the sight. He curses under his breath, because he should have known better.

Jay doesn’t get a chance to act, though.

Not before screams of horror ripple through the stands. Not before chairs are ripped out of the concrete, thrown around haphazardly.

Distracted by the sudden, unknown threat, the ball is pried from your hands. The man who got it yells in exclamation, triumph, but then, a clawed, alien-like hand suddenly plucks him up like he’s nothing.

The ball drops, and rather than worrying about the very obvious danger directly ahead of you, you reach down, snatch the ball, and look up just in time to witness the man being thrown across the stands, at least fifty feet by this…creature.

Its four legs make up almost all of its body, its face opens like the ugliest flower you’ve ever seen, decorated with rows of sharp, slimy teeth. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, and you’re paralyzed with fear.

That is, until you’re grabbed by the arm, and suddenly dragged away, to a hidden exit that must have been blocked off from those in the stands.

As you barely grasp what’s going on, you realize that Jay is the one guiding you to what you hope is some form of safety. You clutch the ball in your hands like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded—which, it kind of is—and Jay leads you to the dugout.

It feels exposed, but when he drags you into a corner and has you crouch down with him, it’s not so bad. Well, safe from the echoing screams and chaos happening in the stands.

When you open your mouth to talk, eyes watery and blown with fear, Jay shakes his head vigorously, putting a finger to his lips, then yours. He nods his head towards the stands above, trying to silently communicate with you.

Your brows furrow with confusion, and Jay leans in.

“Sound. Notice how that…thing attacked the guy because he was yelling, making a lot of noise? We need to be quiet.” Jay explains, his voice smooth, unwavering, despite the scenario.

He takes a good look at you, and not for the same reason he looked back earlier—because he was hoping to catch another glimpse of the pretty girl who got the ball— but rather to make sure you’re unharmed. His hands linger on your arms, and his eyes are warm, caring, as he examines you.

He sees that you’re white-knuckling the ball, and can’t help but grin just a little. That’s cute.

He lays a hand over yours, meeting your gaze as he reassuringly squeezes your hand. As if to tell you “it’s okay” with the gentle touch.

Thunder suddenly booms in the distance, and when you flinch, Jay gently draws you into his embrace. While he’s not one to be so bold, for various reasons, he sees no reason to not comfort you right now.

The chaos seems to quiet, just in time for rain to begin pouring down from the sky above. Its sound is emphasized by the tin roof of the dugout, but the white noise is much nicer than the sound of people being mauled.

Jay sighs, his hand firm on your back, his head rested against yours. “So…your date didn’t seem like a great guy,” he says lowly, just loud enough for you to hear over the rain.

“I…yeah,” you laugh faintly, shaking your head as you look down at the signed ball in your grasp, rolling it between your hands.

“Thank you,” you say a moment later, lifting the ball, then nodding towards the stands, referring to when he practically saved your life.

He shakes his head dismissively, offering a reassuring smile. “It was the right thing to do, but you’re welcome.” He muses.

Before you can say anything else, a loud clanging sound makes both of you silent in an instant, your bodies tensing next to one another’s.

Thunder claps again, closer now, and you let out a soft breath as it seems you’re spared from whatever the fuck that first clanging sound was from.

You sink to the ground, looking out at the field, void of life, dimmed under the now gloomy sky. You carefully pull your phone out of your bag, put it on silent, and your eyes widen when an alert appears on your screen, issuing a state of emergency in the city of Seattle.

It’s not surprising, per se, but the realization that this threat is clearly looming, and larger than you had hoped becomes very prominent. Your throat tightens with worry, and your eyes sting again with tears.

Jay puts his hand on your arm, bringing you back to the moment, out of your spiraling thoughts.

“We’re safe,” he says under his breath, reassuringly, with a short, firm nod.

You let yourself believe it, even if it’s untrue. With a small nod of your own, you shove your phone back into your bag, opting to continue holding the baseball for dear life.

Jay sighs, then slowly stands up. Your eyes widen with fear, and you reach out to grab his hand, shaking your head, eyes pleading with him not to do anything risky.

“I have to check,” He mouths, gently prying his hand out of your grasp. Despite the look of worry on your face, he slowly walks out onto the field, turning to scan the stands.

While there seems to be no more of the creatures, the aftermath is equally as horrific. The blood, the destruction, the mutilated bodies and forgotten items. He swallows thickly, then walks back towards the dug out, now damp from the rain.

He reaches out to grab your hand, gently pulling you to your feet. “I need you to trust me,” he mutters, and you just nod, drawing in a breath when he gently covers your eyes with his hand.

He guides you across what you assume is the field, to an exit. Regardless of if you could handle it or not, he knows there’s no reason to let you witness the horror that lingers in the stands.

“I have an uh…an apartment,” Jay murmurs in your ear, finally letting his hand down. “It’s not far. We’ll walk there, and if we can get in, we’ll stay there tonight, okay?” He explains.

“I…are you sure? I mean, what if—“

“Hey. If I thought it would be unsafe, I wouldn’t do it. Okay? I got you,” he promises, raising a brow sternly.

With a slow nod of acceptance from you, he guides you out of the stadium, down the barren streets of Seattle. There’s no traffic or laughter, no signs of life. Everyone’s retreated, or worse, you assume.

“It’s raining. Hard. It’ll drown out any sounds we make. It’s okay.”

Jay’s voice is firm, promising, as you stand in his apartment, fingers shaking as they still hold the ball. He walks towards you and gently peels the ball from your hand, setting it on the counter.

He then takes your purse, sets it down next to the ball.

“Let’s get you dry,” He says, guiding you to sit down on the couch, before he walks away for a few moments, returning with a towel to wrap around your shoulders, since the rain drenched both of you the whole walk back to the apartment.

“Thank you, Jay,” you muse, looking up at him. He smiles, nodding in response.

“I never caught your name,” He says, a small, almost embarrassed laugh leaving his lips. How could he have forgotten to ask? Where are his manners?

Fortunately for him, you giggle. “Y/N.”

He nods, repeating it under his breath.

“Well, Y/N,” He hums, “It’s my pleasure to have you,” he says, then gestures to the apartment for some unknown reason, like he wanted to clarify his intentions.

He wanted to clarify his intentions.

A grin forms on your lips, but you decide you won’t pry into what exactly he meant by that. Instead, you watch as he walks into his kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, glancing at you, humming when you shake your head. He rummages carefully through his cupboards, because god forbid he were to somehow make too much noise, despite the pouring rain outside.

He pulls out ramen cups, turning to you. He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay with that, but you’re nodding before he can.


He just smiles to himself, and carries on. He fills the cups with water, sets them in the microwave, then walks into his bedroom. When he comes out, he’s changed into a black t-shirt and jeans, having cleaned off any dirt left on his skin from the field.

God, he’s hot. Like, seriously hot. You thought, when you were in the stands, that maybe it was just because you were sat so far away, but if anything, he’s more attractive up close.

“Look, if you’d like, you can borrow any of my clothes, or I can wash yours— or, hell, i’m sure we can find somewhere to get you new ones, but my point here is that I want you to be comfortable, so…make yourself at home, yeah? Just let me know if you need anything, or if there’s anything i can do.” He explains.

There it is again.

Your heart flutters. He’s so pretty, so kind, and his voice is so smooth and sincere—

You force a nod, sighing shakily as you look back towards the big window, overlooking the city. It’s emptier than ever, rain blurring the view through the glass.

You can hear Jay moving around in the kitchen. Carefully opening the microwave, pulling the ramen cups out, taking his time to stir them up.

You look over your shoulder, and decide to get up, walking towards the kitchen counter, bar stools tucked beneath the side that faces the living room.

You sit down, and Jay slides one cup towards you, along with chopsticks, before he digs into his, and makes a dramatic gesture, waving his hand in front of his mouth.

“It’s hot.” He says, making you giggle, and you quickly realize it wasn’t actually hot. Not hot enough to burn, and especially not with the way he blew on the noodles before eating them.

He just wanted to make you smile.

Your heart clenches this time. It doesn’t flutter, but squeezes. It’s painful yet welcome, and you quietly begin to eat the ramen. Which, given the fact that you don’t remember when you last ate, is some of the best ramen you think you’ve ever had.

You both eat in comfortable silence, Jay humming quietly here and there.

You don’t miss the way his brows move as he chews. A little quirk you don’t think you’ve noticed on anyone else. It’s cute.

Your eyes scan the kitchen counters. Safe from a plate and a few utensils in the sink, it’s clean, likely because he’s never at home enough to gather clutter, you assume. He seems like that kind of guy, but you could be wrong. Maybe he’s just a minimalist.

“So, what was the deal with your date?” Jay suddenly asks, as he leans his hip against the counter, glancing at you curiously.

“Uh…” you pause, stirring the noodles in the cup, watching idly. “He was my date,” you say with reluctance. Wasn’t much of a date at all, really.

“Oh?” Jay chirps, taking another bite of his ramen. “Like, first date or boyfriend-date or…?”

“It was our second date, actually,” You huff out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t really into him, but he seemed so excited about the baseball tickets. Didn’t want to disappoint, you know?”

Jay hums in acknowledgement, tilting this head thoughtfully. “That’s nice of you,” He muses.

A moment of silence passes. Both of you take another bite of your ramen.

“Excuse my language, but he seemed like an ass, respectfully,” Jay then says, making you pause.

Then, you grin. “He was an ass. One hundred and ten percent an ass,” You confirm.

“Sorry you had to sit through two dates with him, then,” Jay muses, and you both share a laugh at the notion.

As you’re finishing your ramen, a certain sweet treat catches your eye — Nutella.

Jay follows your gaze, his grin widening. “You want some?” He asks, and you nod slowly.

So, when you both wrap up with the ramen, he takes care of the trash and dishes, then sets the Nutella on the counter while he grabs a slice of bread, putting it in what looks to be all too fancy of a toaster.

“Can I have a spoon?” you ask, and Jay gives one to you mindlessly, too focused on the task at hand.

In fact, he’s sliding a piece of Nutella covered toast to you before he even notices that you’ve got a spoonful in your mouth.

He breaks into a shocked laugh, then shakes his head once. “Alright, fuck it,” the grabs another spoon, then scoops up a big glob of Nutella, before he shoves it into his mouth.

As he works his way through the thick substance, he grimaces slightly.

“So much chocolate,” He says through the Nutella in his mouth, making you both burst into a fit of giggles.

Once he recovers, he rinses off both spoons, smiling to himself when you go in for the toast. Then, he grabs a glass, fills it with water, and sets it in front of you, tending to you like it’s as natural as ever.

And honestly, it feels natural to you. You feel incredibly at home, despite being in such an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar company.

Later that night, Jay had given you the choice to take his bed, or sleep on the couch, whichever made you more comfortable.

Reluctantly, you accepted his bed, with some persuasion on his part.

So, now you’re in his bed, alone, in the dark. The rain is still going, but quieter now, more of a drizzle.

Your mind wanders back to earlier, the scene that unfolded in the stands, the fact that your date ditched you. You briefly wonder what happened to him, if he’s okay, and decide it’s not worth worrying over. There’s nothing you could do, anyways, and he clearly didn’t care what happened to you.

You sigh, a heavy, much needed sigh. Rolling over, you catch a whiff of Jay. That woodsy, warm scent, clearly remnants of his cologne in the bed, wrapped up in the sheets, lingering on the pillow that you can only assume he uses regularly.

Suddenly, being without him feels suffocating.

And, yes, that’s insane.

You just met the fucking guy.

You spend a good ten minutes warring with yourself. Maybe it’s just the situation. You’re scared and uncertain, so you’re clinging to something that’s not real.

Or maybe there is a genuine connection. Maybe he feels it too. Maybe he’s having the same thoughts as you.

You blink at the ceiling, then get up. You walk quietly to the door, open it gently, and move in the same cautious manner down the little halfway to the living room.

He’s sprawled across the couch, but it doesn’t seem he’s asleep. There’s a news channel playing on the TV, playing videos taken by those who were able to catch the creatures invading on film.

They’ve decided to dub them “Death Angels.”

You swallow at the reality of the situation as it weighs down on you once again. Then, you speak lowly.

“Jay?”

His head whips around, and he gazes at you from the couch. “Y/N,” he muses. “What’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowed with concern as he sits up, gesturing for you to come closer.

You walk towards the couch, arms wrapped around yourself in a sheepish manner.

“I don’t…want to be alone,” You murmur, avoiding his gaze, even as it gently caresses your form, with not even a hint of judgement.

“Okay,” he speaks softly, “Then you won’t be.”


It’s simple and sincere. He gestures again, beckoning you to join him on the couch. When you sit down, he drapes a blanket over you, then leans back, letting out a breath before he talks.

“There’s boats. At Alki beach.”

He stares at the TV, gnawing at his inner cheek. “Cars are too loud, when the streets are quiet, so we’d have to walk, but…but it would only be a few days,” He explains, sighing quietly. “It’s not safe to stay here, and even if we wanted to, evacuation is mandatory,” Jay continues.

“…Why are you helping me?” You ask suddenly, making Jay’s brows knit together.

“Why would I not?”

“I don’t know, it just seems…” You trail off. The only thing it seems is incredibly generous, which you’ve gathered that he seems to be exactly that, and genuinely so.

“I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do.”

You blink, then smile slightly. “You said the same thing when I thanked you earlier. It’s okay to give yourself some credit, you know?”

“Sure, but I don’t need it. Not when i’m doing the bare minimum,” he shrugs, glancing at you, then back at the TV.

He’s so…different.

He doesn’t expect praise. He doesn’t expect anything at all, actually. He’s been nothing but kind, and for no reason other than it’s what he feels is right.

“It’s not the bare minimum. Bare minimum would be wishing me luck and sending me on my way, but you let me into your home, you fed me, you gave up your bed, and now you’re…if i’m not misunderstanding, you’re offering to let me go with you.”

“Not let you go with me,” He corrects, “Take you with me. There’s a difference.”

“And that difference is…?”

“Letting you go with me makes it sound like i’m reluctant. Taking you with me means i’m responsible for it. I’d like you to come with me — I’d like to know you get there safely, if you’ll let me do that.”

You’re completely, wholly taken aback, because who is this man and who raised him to be this giving?

“I’d let you do anything to me, at this rate.” You say without giving it a second thought.

He’s still for a moment, then laughs. It’s short and bashful, and he shakes his head slightly, a grin lingering on his lips.

“Alright.” He says simply, nodding once, as if to confirm that you’ll go with him, to the beach, to the boats. To safety. Real safety.

As you both sit in silence—he muted the TV, since the rain was beginning to die down, and he didn’t want to risk anything—tiredness finally washes over you.

Your head droops, and the last thing you remember, before falling asleep, is a warm hand guiding your head to a resting place.

Jay, putting your head on his shoulder.

DAY ONE:

It’s like the universe knows what chaos is going on.

The sun isn’t out, when you and Jay leave his apartment, to start your venture to the beach. It’s gloomy again—not raining, not yet—and the weather is noticeably colder than you recall it being during the game.

Jay’s estimate was that it would take three days at the least to reach the beach, a week at most.

He planned stops, hotels or rest spots, places to look for food. You’d honestly been a bit impressed by it, how put together his plan seemed.

The streets are crowded. Thickly so. It seems some learned the hard way, that cars or other vehicles would be too loud, given the flipped over automobiles, windows busted out, and what you don’t want to believe is unfortunate souls sprawled across the asphalt.

You grip the baseball between your hands, brows knit together as you walk alongside Jay.

You’ve never been in such a big, yet quiet crowd. Everyone’s footsteps are cautious and calculated, slow and measured.

You look down at the ground as you walk, avoiding glass or leaves, anything that might make too much noise if you were to unintentionally step on it.

Jay has a firm grip on your arm, guiding you forward. He seems almost…angry. You’re pretty sure you’re misreading it, but maybe he’s frustrated at how slow paced this whole thing is.

I mean, you can look over your shoulder and see his apartment, when you’ve been walking for nearly half an hour now.

You glance up at the gloomy sky, then back down to the pavement below your feet.

Suddenly, you walk into another person, who had just come to a full stop in front of you. They make a noise, a loud, scoff-like sound, as if they hadn’t just stopped for no reason.

Jays eyes widen, and he grips you even tighter, suddenly dragging you away from the crowd. You follow him, tripping over yourself as he yanks you into a pharmacy. He pushes you down, crouches next to you.

He folds himself over you, guarding you, like a human shield.

Then, you hear it.

The screams, the chaos, the vile sounds of people being torn apart.

Jay suddenly stands, grabs you again, and yanks you up roughly. He drags you through the store, behind the checkout counter, and into what seems to be a break room, where he shuts the door.

He lets go of you, grabs a chair that he carefully places under the doorknob, to act as a stopper.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and you slowly sink down to the floor, hands shaking around the ball in your hands, as your breathing becomes uneven.

While the sounds are muffled, you can still hear the horrific noise. The windows of the pharmacy sound as if they’re broken, and then comes that high-pitched shrieking sound you had heard in the stands yesterday.

Jay turns to see you, shaking and scared. He rushes to you, and wraps his arms around you, sitting down next to you.

It’s exactly how he held you in the Dugout.

This time, though, you curl into him, opting to hold the ball with one hand, so you can wrap your arms around him, and bury your face into his chest, like it’ll save you from whatever is coming your way.

Jay rests one hand on your back, and the other lands on the back of your head, where he strokes your hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, so quiet that you barely hear it. “We’re okay.”

You nod, almost frantically, clinging to his words exactly as you’re clinging to him.

Jay holds you until the noise quiets, and waits until you seem to relax even a little, before he loosens his hold.

He doesn’t let go yet, though. He gently tilts your head back, caressing your cheek with his hand.

“You okay?” He murmurs, and you nod slowly. “Good,” he whispers, his eyes fixed on yours.

You swear he glances at your lips.

Then, he releases, with a subtle gulp, and carefully stands up. He examines the room around you both, then takes off his backpack, stalks over to a case of water bottles.

He unzips his bag, cautious and slow, before he begins loading it with water. Even if food is harder to get—given that there’s a vending machine right next to the water, of which would be entirely too loud to actually retrieve anything from—water is a non negotiable.

He tests the weight of his bag, then puts a few more bottles in it, and counts quietly. With a small, subconscious nod, he zips his bag up, and stands, putting it back over his shoulders.

You watch as he walks to the door, carefully removing the chair. It reminds you of when he had to leave the dugout to check the stands.

When he looks over his shoulder at you, and sees the worry on your face, he sighs quietly.

Jay walks towards you, crouches in front of you, and gently cups your face, tilting your head up.

“They can’t see. They rely on echolocation. As long as we’re quiet, we’re safe, okay?” He assures you in a low tone.

“And if we want to make any progress, we have to keep moving. I know it’s scary, but we’re gonna make it.” He promises.

You nod, lifting your hands to gently grasp his, where they rest on your cheeks.

Again, you swear he looks at your lips.

Then, he leans in, and your heart jumps several beats.

Instead of what you’d been expecting, though, he kisses your forehead, then stands up, offering his hand to you.

You blink, unsure of whether to be disappointed that it wasn’t your lips, or grateful that he kissed you at all.

That is, until you remember you just met the man, and internally scold yourself for being so entranced by him.

You take his hand, allowing him to guide you back to your feet.

Then, he does what he did when he lead you out of the field.

He covers your eyes for upwards of ten minutes, carefully guiding you forward. You’re assuming it’s not good, given that there seems to be hardly any crowding on the street now.

When he uncovers your eyes, his hand drops down to lace with yours, holding it firmly.

Then, you realize that you’re missing something that’s come to be rather important to you. The ball.

“My ball,” You say suddenly, brows furrowed as you look up at Jay.

His eyes widen as his hand flies up to cover your lips, and he looks at you with an expression that reads “Are you crazy?”

You press your lips together beneath his hand, guilt and fear clawing up your throat. How could you forget such a serious rule as to not speak, over a damn ball?

Jay looks around with sharp eyes, before he sighs, moving his hand to press his finger against his lips as a reminder for you to not talk.

He gently pulls you forward, and your heart sinks as you realize there will be no going back for it. You still aren’t sure why it means so much to you, but you do know that you’re dreading leaving it behind. So much so that each step forward feels near impossible.

Your eyes begin to water, against your will, but before any tears fall, Jay suddenly stops. He huffs under his breath, like he’s irritated, but not quite at the end of his fuse.

He lets go of your hand, carefully removes his backpack, and unzips it with even more caution than he had done in the break room.

You watch with furrowed brows, lifting your hands to wipe your wet eyes.

And, there it is. The ball. It sits on top of the water bottles, clearly retrieved by Jay, perhaps after he’d kissed your forehead.

You let go of it to reach up and cup his hands, you now remember.

You let out a careful breath of relief, gently taking the ball as he hands it to you.

You examine it for a moment, nodding reassuringly to yourself as you brush your thumb over the signature, which is slightly worn from how much you’d fidgeted with the ball since you got it.

Then, you cautiously leap forward, throwing your arms around Jay’s shoulders, hugging him tightly.

He’s tense at first, but he relaxes slowly, wrapping his arms just as tightly around you. He rubs your back, and his heart clenches when he hears your muffled cries against his jacket.

He caresses the back of your head, a silent reminder that it’s okay. He doesn’t let go until you do.

While you calm down, and wipe away the rest of your tears, Jay puts his backpack back on, and takes your hand, guiding you forward once more.

His expression is set in this stern, almost determined look, and for a moment, you feel guilty.

You were this close to throwing a fit over a ball. A baseball— you don’t even like baseball.

Swallowing, you look up at Jay, taking in his features. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are narrowed with focus, his nostrils flared slightly.

You look back ahead, trying to imagine where you’d be if it weren’t for Jay.

You aren’t sure you want to know how that would have gone. So, you don’t bother dwelling on it.

All you know is that you’re immensely grateful for him, and hurdling towards head over heels, too.

DAY TWO:

Safe from the incident in the morning, your first day of traveling through the city went smoothly.

You spent most of the walk in silence, both of you focused on simply making it to your next resting spot, which was a rather nice hotel, safe from the way it was ransacked.

No one was behind the front desk, which didn’t necessarily come as a surprise, which is why Jay took it upon himself to find a random room key.

Once in the room, you both sat down, drank water (which Jay also refilled the bottles while you were there), and talked quietly, sat across from one another on the couch.

Jay asked about your date again, and you gave him a pretty lengthy rundown. You met on a dating app, you reluctantly explained, along with the fact that you’d jumped from app to app, trying to form any sort of connection with any one.

Alas, men suck. You stated that proudly, perhaps a test of Jay’s character, as men you avoid tend to get offended about such a statement.

He laughed, though. He agreed, too, that a lot of guys do, in fact, suck.

Your little story time about Arthur also led to exposing your lack of knowledge about baseball.

So, then it was Jay’s turn to talk.

He explained his position as third baseman, how he bats fourth, brings in the runners. He grew up with baseball, and when his parents let him try it as an after school activity, it became clear that he had quite the talent for it.

You paid attention to his words, but found that you focused more on his voice, the warmth laced in his words, how gently he spoke to you. You were well aware that was mostly due to the circumstance, but a part of you wanted to believe it was just for you, and whatever bond you both now share.

You also watched closely, his facial expressions. The way his lips moved, how soft they looked, the way his brows twitched, the way he’d run his hand through his hair every few sentences, fidgeting with the strands.

He’s good at hiding stress, you’d learned, but you’re slowly catching onto his giveaways.

Right now, you can see it clear as day. His jaw is set, clenched firmly, his brows are ever so slightly furrowed, and he’s white knuckling the strap of his backpack as you guys walk slowly through a less rundown part of the city. You’ve made it to the outskirts, now, the stores smaller and closer together.

The skies above, as they have been since this whole thing started, are dark. The air is cool, cooler than it was yesterday, kissing your skin with cold breezes that come and go.

For some reason, when you look at Jay, his clear state of stress makes your heart a little heavier, your chest tight. You roll your beloved baseball in your hands, the signature on it worn down more with each passing hour of you rubbing your thumb over it.

Suddenly, a cold droplet lands on your forearm. You look up, another drop landing on your cheek this time. Jay looks up, too, sighing quietly.

He reaches for your arm, gently tugging you closer to the buildings, using the awnings to shield you both from the rain as it comes down heavier and heavier.

You subconsciously lean into him, but he drops his hand, lets go of you. You glance up at him, his expression unchanging.

A frown forms on your lips as a result, and you squeeze the ball a little tighter as you keep walking.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask, and Jay whips his head towards you, giving you that look again. The “are you crazy?” look.

“It’s raining,” you say, lower this time, “I thought you said the rain makes it hard for them to hear us?”

“It does, but—“ Jay shakes his head, walking a little faster. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

His tone is firm, like that’s it. No arguing. No talking at all, actually.

It’s like the Jay you had just started getting used to disappeared, replaced with this less gentle version of him.

Maybe he’s tired.

Maybe the stress is getting to him.

Maybe he’s just scared, too.

Those are just a few of the excuses you make, trying to cope with the growing fear that the connection you thought you’d made with him was fake.

It’s not like his embrace made you feel safe, or his voice sounded like music, or that his presence felt oddly homey…or anything. Definitely not.

The rain persists. You and Jay keep walking, not a word spoken for the following hours.

Jay slows as you guys come upon a convenience store. You look at him, waiting for some sort of anything that gives way to his thoughts, but he just continues walking, heading towards the entrance of the store.

Despite your growing worry, you follow him. He turns to you, at last, and gestures to the food, before he walks towards said isles. You walk behind him at first, but as you scan the store, you decide that maybe, just maybe, he needs space.

Maybe that’s what it is.

So, you turn in the opposite direction.

It’s a convenience store you’ve never been in, but comparable to maybe a Walgreens, or CVS, one of those stores that has a little bit of everything you might need on a whim.

As you venture on your own, carefully up and down the isles, you stumble upon box of stuffed animals, and maybe it’s childish, but for whatever reason, you feel the urge to see what’s in said box.

On the surface, there’s an oversized teddy bear, a green and black snake, a pastel, multicolor cat, and just when you’re grabbing the pastel cat, you spot something else that draws your attention.

A black cat with golden eyes. You pick up the plushie, a small smile on your lips. It looks like Jay— but then your smile drops, when you remember how he’s been acting.

Yet, you keep hold of the stuffed animal, tucking it under your arm, holding the baseball that you still refuse to let go of.

Continuing to make your way through the isles, you clutch the stuffed animal like it’s a lifeline. Once again, you wonder what’s got you so goddamn attached to Jay.

It’s not like he’s done anything incredibly out of the ordinary…but then you recall what you said to him.

“The bare minimum would have been wishing me luck and sending me on my way.”

Yet, he’s done so much more than that. He’s comforted you, he’s fed you, kept you safe—

Then comes, once more, the wondering what would have happened if it weren’t for him. It’s not that you don’t think you’re capable of doing this on your own; if you had to, you would, but he’s made it so much easier for you.

Does he think you’re a burden?

You swallow, your eyes watering in an instant, because god fucking forbid that’s the case.

You realize now, that the reason you’re attached to him doesn’t fucking matter, but you don’t want to lose him. Not after all this.

Just when a tear slips down your cheek, a firm hand grabs your arm, startling you. You whip your head around, eyes wide, blown with fear.

It’s Jay, and he looks pissed, but more than that, scared. He looks you up and down, like he did in the dugout, but with a sense of urgency unlike before.

Like he needs to know, for certain, that you’re safe.

Just as he noticed the ball, the first time, he now notices the black cat tucked into your side. If he wasn’t so worried, he’d have smiled, but he does have an inward reaction. His heart clenches, fondly so.

He loosens his grip on your arm, but doesn’t let go. He lets out a breath, a sigh of relief, you think.

“Jay?” You whisper, scared that he’ll give you that look again, scared that he might, for some reason, shove you away.

Instead, he lifts his hand, and wipes your tear. “Why are you crying?” He whispers, brows furrowing like your pain is his own.

“I…I don’t know,” you shake your head dismissively, and instead of prying, he just nods, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

You swallow, feeling your eyes burn in response to how intense his gaze is, the tenderness in which he caresses your skin.

“Did I do something?” you choke out.

“What?” His brows furrow closer together, confusion spreading across his expression.

“You’ve been so…off today.” You murmur, “and I— I don’t know why, or if i’m overreacting.”

He blinks, lips parting as if to speak, before he closes his mouth, clenching his jaw like he always does.

“I just…i’m just worried.” He mutters. “Everything seems too calm, today, and it’s like…like i’m just waiting for the ball to drop. Maybe that’s pessimistic of me, but I can’t let my guard down.”

Your heart sinks. He is scared.

You lift your free hand, mirroring the way he’s caressing your cheek, and you shake your head slightly. “Pessimistic or not, it’s understandable,” You murmur.

He nods slightly, jaw clenching tighter as he ever so slightly nudges his head against your hand.

He steps closer, reaches for your waist with his free hand, and moves his hand down to the side of your neck. “I was worried something happened to you, and I somehow didn’t know. I’d…never have forgiven myself,” he whispers, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips.

“I thought you wanted space,” you muse honestly, and he shakes his head immediately.

“I want you by my side. At all times. I need to know you’re safe.”

You nod slowly, your heart swelling as he leans in, his nose brushing yours.

Before he can say anything else, you step closer and press your lips against his in a soft, careful kiss.

The rain seems to pour twice as heavy in an instant, and the sound fades into nothing as he devours your mouth with his own, yet remains tender as he kisses you back.

Your hand shifts to the back of his neck, and you hold him there, soaking up the kiss for every ounce of what it’s worth.

In this moment, you feel unlike yourself, in the best way. It’s an out of body experience, warm and tingly, making your heart race in a way that reminds you that you’re alive, rather than makes you anxious.

When he pulls back, and you begin to trail kisses down his cheek, towards his jaw, he shakes his head slightly, letting out a breath as he guides you back.

“Not like this. Not here,” he whispers, giving your cheek one more affectionate caress, before he releases you.

Despite your disdain, regarding the end of that moment, you nod slowly.

“…Did you get food?” You murmur, and Jay nods, gesturing to his backpack.

“I see you got your necessities too?” He gestures to the stuffed animal, finally allowing himself to smile about it.

You nod, glancing down at the items in your grasp. Mirrors of him, really, in rather odd ways.

“Good.” He nods, then puts a hand on your back, gently guiding you out of the store.

“We’re close.” Jay says quietly, as unlocks the hotel room door, holding it open for you.

“To the beach?” You ask, looking over your shoulder at him, as he shuts and locks the door, nodding in response.

“Yeah. I think we can make it by sunset tomorrow, if we leave early enough,” he muses, as he takes his backpack off, sets it on the desk next to the ball and your new stuffed animal.

You sigh quietly, staring at him from your place on the bed, as he pulls out two water bottles, and the same ramen cups that you had at his apartment.

He walks to the kitchen area, and carefully searches for a pot, which he places with extreme caution on the electric stove. He adds water, turns on the heat, then turns to you.

“Do you think the shower would be too loud?” You ask suddenly, gazing at him, and he shakes his head.

“It’s still raining,” He comments idly, reassuringly.

So, you get up and head into the bathroom, shutting the door carefully. You take your time, carefully pulling out towels, discarding your clothes.

Then, you get in the shower, for the first time in several days, washing the grime off of your skin. You choose not to think about having to put your dirty clothes back on, in favor of savoring the warm water, the feeling of getting clean.

Meanwhile, Jay remains in the kitchen, quietly cooking the ramen. He smiles to himself as he looks across the room, gazing at the stuffed animal he found you with.

Black, short fur, golden eyes, long whiskers. It’s cute, and what’s even cuter is the fact that you decided you had to have it.

His eyes flick to the ball, and he hums quietly to himself, then walks towards the desk, where he picks it up. It’s grown a bit dirty, and the signature is worn. He raises a brow, then turns to his backpack.

With the ball in one hand, he unzips the front pocket of his bag, and digs around, nodding affirmatively to himself when he finds what he was hoping for.

A sharpie.

He pulls the cap off and carefully traces his signature, then just for you, adds a little cat face, with a heart on the nose.

He sets the ball back down, then puts the sharpie away, before he returns to the stove, carefully stirring the noodles.

Just when he’s finishing up with the ramen, he hears the shower turn off. He grabs bowls, carefully separating the noodles into the two dishes.

He looks up when he hears the bathroom door open, and his eyes widen when he sees you, standing in nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

He blinks a few times, the swallows, shifting his focus. “I should have grabbed clothes for you at one of the stores, i’m sorry—“

You smile. Of course that’s his concern.

He stands still as you walk towards him, until you grab his hand, gently pulling him towards the bed.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, gently sliding your fingers into his hair. He grunts quietly, leaning into your touch, where he lets you guide him towards you, until your noses ghost against one another’s for the second time.

This time, though, he kisses you, not the other way around.

You sigh into the kiss, shuddering as his hands find your arms, cautious of the fact that you’re naked, safe from the towel.

Then, you drop it.

His hands pause when he hears the fabric his the floor, and he slowly pulls back, but his eyes stay on yours.

“Jay,” you murmur, “Can you stop trying to be respectful for once?” You laugh quietly, and he manages a small, tight-lipped smile.

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want,” he whispers, caressing your cheek. His hand slowly drifts down your neck, hovering over your collarbone.

“I want this. I want you. I’ll tell you to stop, if need be, I promise,” You murmur, and he nods his head slowly.

His hand drifts lower, and he drags his other hand upwards, letting them both find your breasts at the same time. His brows suddenly knit together, and his hands slide back down, his arms wrapping around your form.

“You’re cold,” he whispers with concern, and you huff quietly, sliding your arms around his shoulders, pressing yourself into his embrace.

“I’m okay, Jay,” you respond, gently gripping the fabric of his shirt. “And if you don’t do something, I promise the least of your issues will be my body temperature.”


He snickers, the sound low and amused, as he nods, rubbing your back. His hands slide lower, until he’s groping your ass, gently pushing you towards the bed with his body.

He got the memo. Good.

You lay down, and your eyes double in size when he suddenly sinks to his knees. He wraps his arms around your thighs, drags you towards the edge of the bed, and starts peppering kisses along your legs, from the side of your shins, up to your inner thighs.

“Is this okay?” he breathes into your skin, glancing up just long enough to see you nodding eagerly.

He presses a kiss to the mound of your cunt, then kisses your slit, before his tongue darts out, and in a smooth, warm stripe, licks between your folds, flicking over your clit.

You gasp, reaching down to tangle one hand in his hair, the other curling into the blanket beneath you. “Jay—“

He draws back, and spits directly onto your pussy, then buries his head between your thighs, spreading his saliva, adding to your already evident arousal.

“Jesus, you taste good,” he mutters against you, swirling his tongue around your clit, his tongue then dipping down to prod at your entrance.

You spare a look between your legs, and holy fuck—

His eyes are shut, brows taut with focus, and he’s practically making out with your sopping cunt, the mixture of his saliva and your arousal dripping down your ass.

He slides his mouth down, then suckles his way back up, suckling gently at your clit, then a little more greedily when a moan rips from your throat.

He shifts one hand from your thigh, and gently pushes his middle finger into your clenching hole, groaning at the way you’re starting to grind against his mouth and finger. He slides a second finger into you, gently thrusting them into your needy pussy, while he continues focusing on your clit with his tongue.

“Jay, fuck, baby— i’m—“

You whimper, and Jay’s fingers curl into the plump flesh of your thigh, an instinctive response to the sound, while he pushes you closer to a climax.

“Give it to me,” he almost growls against you, his voice rasped and muffled against your slick heat.


“Jay, Jay—“ You repeat his name like a mantra, voice breaking when you finally come undone, hips rolling forward involuntarily.

Jay guides you through your orgasm, his fingers and tongue working rhythmically to draw out the pleasure.

When he feels your hand pushing against his head, he draws back, but his eyes linger on your pulsing cunt, and he hums, slowly drawing his fingers out of you.

He huffs quietly, almost in awe, as your walls squeeze around his fingers, and gently pats your pussy, as if to soothe you, but the motion makes you jolt.

Your lips part, but you’re too fucked out to say anything yet.

Jay stands, then leans over you and kisses you softly, your essence lingering on his lips.

“Stay here,” he murmurs against your mouth, then turns around, and disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, he’s got a wash cloth, which seems to be damp, and he gently cleans between your legs in a way that’s borderline uncomfortable with how intimate it is, even if he was just tongue deep in your pussy.

He sets the rag on the edge of the bed, then reaches around your body as you sit up, to pull the comforter around you.

You slide your arms around his shoulders, though, and he laughs gently. “Baby, there’s food…that’s now cold,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

“And?” you mumble, as you stroke his hair, burying your face against his shoulder, sighing into his shirt. He rubs your back, humming.

“I gotta make sure my girl is fed, yeah? So level with me, and let me get the food.”

Reluctantly, you release him, but not before stealing another kiss. He kisses you firmly, a promise to return, even if he’s not leaving your line of site.

He goes back to the stove, grabs the bowls, and dumps the contents back into the pot, turns on the heat.

“While we wait for that,” he says, voice gentle, he walks to his backpack, unzips it, and pulls out a small container.

Nutella.

DAY THREE:

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

In fact, the first thing you recalled when you woke up, was the fact that Jay had given you one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years.

Your cheeks warmed, your skin tingled like you could still physically feel the effects from what he’d done.

You were quick to realize his absence, though.

However, there was a reminder of his presence left in your arms. One you know you didn’t put there yourself.

The stuffed animal, tucked into your side.

Wrapping your head around the bits and pieces of context, like the idea of Jay choosing to tuck you in with your new plushie, you realized the shower was running.

You sat up, blinking tiredly as you pulled the comforter up to your chest, eyes fluttering shut as one hand rested on the toy next to you.

Then, you heard it. Or, him, more accurately.

A wet, repetitive sound. Gentle slaps, sharp breaths.

Your brows furrowed, and it hit you rather harsh, the realization. Jay was jerking off. In the shower.

You also realized in that moment that you had never returned the favor, after he ate you out, but he didn’t really give you the chance to.

You crawled out of bed and wandered closer to the bathroom, the sound becoming clearer with each step. You could hear it vividly, each stroke, each shake of his breath, meshed with the flowing water.

So, maybe you listened to the whole thing, until he let out a quiet, strangled noise, muffled by the shower stream. You gave it a few moments, then knocked on the door.

Meanwhile, in the shower, Jay nearly jumped out of his own skin. He hadn’t been bothered that you didn’t return the favor; he’s never been that kind of guy. That being said, that didn’t mean his dick wasn’t feeling neglected.

He’s a gentleman, though, and was driven by the very real image of you in bed, naked. He refused to let himself try to wake you, just to fuck you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine that pretty body of yours, right?

Anyways, he was startled. Like, seriously startled.

To be fair, he was just cumming to the thought of your noises and your delicious pussy—

“It’s unlocked.” He’d call, voice barely audible over the water. You spared a glance at the large window; the city is emptier than ever, and it’s raining. Again.

Jesus fucking christ. Sure, it’s typically pretty gloomy in Seattle, but raining for days straight?

You paid little to no mind to that, though, and instead pushed open the bathroom door.

“Sorry to bother,” you said, voice smooth, innocent like you hadn’t just heard some particularly lewd noises. “I uh…before we go, i’d just really like to brush my teeth.”

“Not a problem. Go for it.” Jay responded, voice thick, like he was caught.

He was.

You didn’t say that, though.

Instead, you helped yourself to the toothbrushes he snagged from the front area of the hotel, as they seemed to offer basic toiletries at the front desk.

When you reached for the handle, to turn on the water, you grinned.

“I don’t want to be too loud, or mess up your shower…can I just borrow some of your water?”

When you peaked in to wet your tooth brush, he stood, facing away from you. You were still naked, after all, and he didn’t find it exactly respectful to flaunt his slowly hardening—again—dick in your face first thing.

You held in a snicker, began brushing your teeth as you turned away from him.

Yes, you did want to brush your teeth, but more than that, you had to get a mental picture of him, post jack off.

After that unfortunate event (for him), you would get dressed, pack up, and head for what you hoped to be the final stretch of your journey to the beach, to your escape.

It had remained smooth sailing. That part was worrisome, for some reason.

With that in mind, you simply remained glad that you had made it this far.

You and Jay were walking in silence, as you’d done the last two days. It was peaceful, in an eerie way. The empty streets, the rain, the cool breezes, the quiet.

It all felt like the calm before a storm, like it was only a matter of time before the real thing showed up.

Today, you and Jay lingered a little closer to one another. His hand remained on your back, and you often found his fingers, lacing them with your own. Maybe, in some weird way, you guys had figured it out, how to cope with it all.

That being said, Jay had also seemed…tense. Again.

However, it became evident all too quickly that it was for a completely different reason this time.

Clearly, his shower session didn’t cut it.

You’re assuming so, given the very obvious hard-on that’s prominently pushing against his pants.

Poor guy.

You spare several glances, not concerned with subtlety at this point. You’re pretty sure he’s well aware that you knew what he was getting up to this morning, and regardless of that, you wouldn’t be opposed to him knowing that you’re hoping to feel more than just his fingers and tongue- amazing as they were.

Looking ahead, there’s a lingering smirk on your face, the knowledge of his not-so-little predicament bringing you some sort of twisted joy.

So, you decide to have fun with it.

First, you walked ever so slightly faster than him. Just enough to be in front of him. When you could feel his gaze—because it’s always intense, the way he watches your movements—you tug your shorts up, and definitely higher than necessary.

Jay notices. His eyes flick down to your hands as they hike the shorts up, and he swallows, taking in the way they hug your backside, the way he can just barely catch a glimpse of the crease where your ass meets your thighs.

He swallows. Thickly. His cock twitches in his pants, and he thinks back to last night, when he was groping handfuls of the plump flesh.

He doesn’t do anything though. Why would he? He’s a respectful, patient man, and he’s just trying to get the both of you to something that resembles even a little bit of safety.

Secondly, you walked ahead for sometime. Maybe half an hour, at most, just long enough to feel your shorts finally un-wedge themselves from between your ass cheeks.

You’re praying the wedgie was worth it.

You look up at the sky, dim, but not as gloomy as it has been. Then, you come to a sudden stop.

Behind you, Jay was busy averting his gaze from your backside, internally begging himself to get it the fuck together.

When he bumps into you, and you stumble forward slightly, not-so-accidentally dropping your stuffed animal, he blinks.

He presses his lips together in a firm, set line, and his eyes bulge when you lean down.

And third, you make a point to push back against him as you reach down to grab your beloved black cat plushie.

His breath hitches. His nostrils flare.

It’s taking every fiber of his being to not grab you by the hips and hump you like a fucking dog—

Then, you stand up and keep walking.

He’s going to lose his mind, he thinks.

By your fourth teasing advance, Jay caught onto your little game. His dick is throbbing in his pants, and he’s still thinking about your little acts, the way your ass felt against his dick, how all he could imagine was sliding his cock between your cheeks, dipping the head into your sopping cunt.

Fuck. The way you squeezed around his fingers.

An hour or so after that last incident, the rain starts. In this particular part of the city, there’s hardly any awnings for you to find purchase under, so, he pulls you into a random store, of which you find is an abandoned boutique.

You wander through the store while Jay pulls water bottles and snacks out of his bag, reorganizing some of the contents within his backpack.

He glances over his shoulder every now and again, watching the way you trace the details on some of the clothes.

“You should grab something, if you want it,” he comments idly, zipping up his backpack. He discretely reaches down to readjust his boner, eyes screwing shut.

You end up grabbing a sweater. It’s material is thin and soft, not too heavy, but enough that it’ll knock the chill of the occasional breezes as you and Jay walk through the city.

The clothing is cute, but not particularly practical for what you and Jay are doing, so you don’t bother with most of it.

When you return to Jay, he’s eating a protein bar, holding water in his other hand. You sit down in front of him, on your knees, and grin when he takes a sip of water, a droplet dribbling down his chin.

You smirk.

When you reach out to wipe it away, in a particularly promiscuous manner, he grabs your wrist.

“Stop.” He says firmly. “We are too fucking close to risk it, yeah? Just…wait.”

Theres an unspoken promise laced in his tone.

A promise to fuck you?

You fucking hope so, because the way he’s looking at you meshed with the sternness of his voice is incredibly arousing, and you’re still craving more from him after last night.

Nevertheless, you guys “refuel”, use the bathroom, then leave, walking through a lighter drizzle now that the rain has calmed.

It’s mid day, by now, you assume you haven’t had phone signal since the start of this mess, and your phones been dead since yesterday, anyways.

Another hour or so passes, before your next stop.

Jay gently grabs your hand, coming to his own stop, which makes you pause as well. He glances up at the label on a small building, the looks at you.

It’s a studio.

He pulls you into said building, and once the door is shut, he talks lowly.

“I used to come here, record music—“

Your gasp of interest makes him grin, but he shakes his head dismissively. “I never published anything, or even really did much. Just some sessions here and there, but I did come often to get some peace and quiet,” He explains as he guides you down a hall, and pushes open the door to a recording room.

He puts his backpack down in the rolling chair, then turns to you, gently taking the baseball and your stuffed animal.

He looks down at the cat, raising a brow. “Have you named it yet?”

“Jongseong.”

“What?” He looks up at you, confused by the fact that you called him by his government name.

“The cat. His name is Jongseong,” you clarify, and Jay breaks into a laugh as realization dawns on him.

“I see.”

He taps the nose of the cat, then sets it down on top of his bag, as well as the baseball.

“I don’t get what we’re doing in here,” you then say, tilting your head at him. “Like, did you just want to see it before we leave, or?”

He steps forward, reaching out to grab you by the waist. He pulls you in, slowly pushing your new sweater off of your shoulders.

“I’m fucking dying, honey,” he murmurs, and your eyes widen with realization.

Oh, fuck.

“Yeah?” You whisper, reaching out to drag your hands down his sides, letting one trail down to the bulge that has yet to soften within the confines of his jeans.

You bite your lip as you palm him, feeling him up through the denim, which is too thick of a barrier for you to really feel more than the obvious fact that it’s hard.

“Wait, baby,” he murmurs, gently pulling you into the recording box itself. He shuts the door, then turns to you, and pulls you into a searing kiss.

His hands roam your body, and he doesn’t waste any time unbuttoning your denim shorts, pushing them down your legs.

He hums against your lips, groping your ass with more greed than he did last night. Your hands are in his hair, tugging and pulling with need as you melt into the kiss, letting his tongue dance with yours.

It’s nasty and desperate, the way you’re kissing, bodies rolling rhythmically into one another’s.

His fingers dip under your shirt, and he pulls away from the kiss just to pull both your top and bra off in one fell swoop, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hands trailing up your sides, until he’s groping your boobs, his hands gentle, mindful of his strength.

Your brows are furrowed, and you’re internally freaking out. You’re supposed to keep quiet while this man—hopefully—pounds you into next week? Right, right.

“Not fair,” you whisper, and he tilts his head, sliding his hands up to your cheeks, as he leans down to kiss his way up your breasts, to your lips.

He kisses you, open-mouthed and sensual. “What’s not fair?” He whispers back.

You don’t dare mention your concern regarding your ability to be quiet, because you refuse to pass up this opportunity.

You reluctantly pulling your fingers out of his hair, and instead tug at his shirt. “I’m damn near naked, and you’re fully clothed,” You murmur.

He hums. “Where are my manners? I’m sorry, honey,” He almost coos, before he pulls his shirt over his head, and you’re already working at his jeans.

He caresses your hair, a breathy laugh leaving his lips as you yank down his jeans, mouth watering when you see his dick, strained and twitching through the fabric of his underwear.

“Can I?” You whisper, looking up at him. His fingers caress your cheek, and he tilts your chin up.

“Say please.” He purrs.

“Please, Jay,” you respond with quiet, but honest need, and he nods slowly.

When you tug his underwear down, you take him in, naked before you. He’s fucking gorgeous, all tanned, honey-toned skin, chiseled slopes, and his dick is hard, throbbing, precum making his head look slick.

You look up at him, his hand lingering on your cheek, looking for guidance. You’d happily suck him off, but you wouldn’t be opposed to him fucking you right here, right now.

“Shit. I don’t…” He sighs, brows pinched together. “I don’t have any condoms, we can’t-“

“I have an IUD.”

He blinks, and when you nod reassuringly, he nods back, silently communicating with you. It’s okay. This is okay.

“Come here,” he murmurs, gently pulling you to your feet. He pushes you against the wall, and the foam-like material is soft against your hands as you brace yourself, arching your back.

He grips your hips, starts kissing your shoulder, moving down your back, until he sinks to his knees, and yanks your panties down.


He grips your ass, spreading your cheeks, his eyes fixed on the growing arousal making a mess of your pretty pussy.

You gasp when he dives in, burying his tongue between your folds, licking long, thick stripes from your clit to your ass, like he didn’t get enough last night, like he’s been craving this all day.

Has he?

You can only assume so, with the way he moans into your cunt, fucking his tongue into you, licking up your slick.

“Jay,” you whimper breathily, fingers digging into the wall. “Jay—“

“Honey?” He pauses, “Talk to me, sweet girl,” he murmurs, rubbing your lower back.

“The— the noise,” you whisper, letting out a shaky breath. “I can’t…”

Can’t shut the fuck up.

And while dying as he fucks you sounds like the best way to go out, you refuse to not have this man for at least a little longer.

Jay hums, then slowly stands, kissing his way up your back. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reassure you, or respond at all.

He guides his cock between your thighs, rubbing the head between your lips, nudging your clit with each slow thrust.

Then, when he slides into you, he fucking whimpers.

Your eyes screw shut, and you let out a shaky, broken noise, an inaudible plea, fear and arousal consuming you.

He starts slow, fucking deep into your sopping, needy pussy, and gradually builds up to rough, calculated thrusts.

You cover your mouth with your hands, and Jay supports you by holding your hips, dragging you back and forth on his dick, to meet his thrusts.

There’s wet smacking noises, loud and filthy, but what’s even more nasty?

He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, and kisses your shoulder, then lets out a loud, raw moan as his tip nudges your cervix.

“It’s soundproof, honey,” he whispers, “I—“ He grunts, thrusting into you, his fingers digging into your hips to help him stable himself.

“I forgot about this place,” he explains through strained noises and heavy breaths, “But we’re safe here…and I want to hear you,” He slides one hand up your back, then wraps it around your throat, gently guiding you to stand up more straight, arched against his frontside, while he fucks into you.

His other hand slides between your legs, and he rubs your clit, thrusting into you, kissing your cervix gently with each thrust, just barely nudging it with the tip of his cock; not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you just how deep he is.

“Fuck,” you cry out, a single tear sliding down your cheek, and he gently kisses the tear.

“Don’t cry, honey,” he whispers, “It feels good, doesn’t it? I know, I know,” He soothes you, whimpers ripping from your throat, as you finally let go of the fear.

He gently pushes you back against the wall, lets go of your throat, and caresses your hair, before his hand returns to your hip.

You lean your weight into the wall, moaning as he rubs your clit and thrusts into you, his own noises meshing with yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back as you’re beginning to hurdle towards an orgasm.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he coos, “Taking me so fucking good, being such a good girl—“ He’s cut off by his own moan, and he speeds up both his thrusts and the circles he’s rubbing on your clit.

“I’m so close,” you whimper, brows furrowed with pleasure as Jay continues pounding into you, his pelvis smacking against your ass.

He hums greedily, the sound bordering on a low growl. “Cum for me, honey,” he pleas lowly, feeling his own orgasm approaching, his head falling back for only a moment before he lifts his head.

He needs to see you. He needs to take in how fucking sexy you are, how attracted he is to you.

“Jay, Jay—“ You whine, gasping as your orgasm rips through your body, your skin tingling and warm, your vision going white for a moment as he pounds into you.

He only slows his motions on your clit when you start muttering that it’s sensitive, and then, he grabs your hips, and his thrusts become harder, more desperate.

He moans, his jaw slack as he thrusts into you. “Fuck, baby, i’m gonna cum,” He breathes.

You look over your shoulder, managing to get a decent view at his expression, how he is so utterly focused on the way his dick disappears between your thighs, the way your ass recoils with each thrust.

“Holy—“ His eyes roll back, and his hips stutter, his thrusts slowing to a stop. He leans against your back as he cums, shooting ropes of hot semen into you, filling you with more than just his dick, now.

He lets out a breath as he kisses your shoulder, and wraps his arms around your middle, hugging you from behind. You lean into him, making a quiet noise when his cock slips out of you.

You grimace at the feeling of his cum sliding down your thighs, and he huffs a sheepish laugh.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, kissing your cheek softly.

“It just feels weird,” you giggle quietly, shaking your head. “And it’s okay. Didn’t want you to pull out anyways.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Fuck.”

After cleaning up to the best of your abilities, Jay suggested that you both take a small rest here, in the safety of the soundproof room.

So, you’re leaning into his side, fidgeting with your ball, while he sips on water, his eyes closed as he relaxes against the wall.

As you look down at the item in your hands, you realize that the signature is no longer worn.

In fact, it’s brand new, and has a new addition. The outline of a cat, with a heart in place of the nose.

Suddenly, your eyes are watery. The ball means so much to you because it’s from him. Maybe you subconsciously knew that he’d become part of your life, from the jump.

Even if that wasn’t the case at the time, now, you can happily confirm that the ball is important solely because it’s from him. It represents how you met, it represents his passion for baseball, it represents the comfort the mere thought of his presence has brought you in the last three, horrifying days.

“You signed it again.”

“Yeah. I did,” he murmurs, peeling his eyes open. “I did it when you were in the shower, the other day.”

Staring down at the signature, you sniffle, then look up at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It was the right thing to do.” He whispers, an ode to his refusal to credit himself, because of course he’d brush it off.

Rolling your eyes, you lean in, capturing his lips in a loving kiss.

It’s storming.

Like, properly storming. The rain comes down so harshly that the droplets almost sting, lightning strikes scarily close, and thunder booms so loudly it startles you every time.

Jay walks next to you, holding your hand. In his backpack, now, is your baseball and cat, an attempt to protect them from the weather.

You can see the beach, now, in the distance. Your heart is heavy, and there’s this feeling of dread, like something’s not quite right.

Jay feels it too. The atmosphere is heavy, and there’s this haunting sense of doom.

As soon as you make it to the sand, you stop dead in your tracks.

Hundreds of bodies, missing limbs, clothes, faces. They’re mauled and some are even slightly decomposed.

In the distance, a horn blares loudly, and you look ahead at the same time as Jay.

The boats are so far from the port that you can hardly make them out, but both of you realize one very unfortunate, critical detail.

The death angels, or whatever they were calling it on the news? They’d clearly been here. They’d been hunting down every single being who tried to get on the boats, and now?

There’s several on each boat, and there it is once again. That shrieking, high pitched noise they make.

You and Jay are met with a very grim realization.

You won’t be leaving Seattle.

You look at him, he looks at you.

Then, with unspoken communication, you both turn away from the gruesome scene, to face the very place you’d been trying to escape.

“…Looks like it’s you and me, honey.” He says, squeezing your hand.

You nod. You can do this, if it’s with him.

“don’t stress too much about it.” your friend whispers low enough for the group behind you to not pick up on. leading you up the stairs, she fathoms up an excuse that you may get lost and end up in her parents bedroom instead of her older brother’s. “Heeseung went out a while ago with Jay, he shouldn’t be back until later.”

“I know where his room is..” 

“you looked worried,” she stops at the top of the stairs with you, clutching onto your forearm. “don’t let them get to you, I really don’t care that you have a crush on my brother.”

“I d-don’t” you start to splutter, grateful that the hallway light is turned off, masking the heat rising up your cheeks with shadows. 

“seriously, it’s okay. I’m used to it.” she pats your shoulder, directing a thumb back down the stairs. “try not to get lost!”

“I don’t even like Heeseung like that..” you mumble to yourself, calmly striding toward his bedroom door. “what did she even mean…used to what?!”

the door before you draws a cringeful expression across your features, adorned with a thin metal plaque that says ‘BEWARE OF DOG’ in bright orange letters against a black background. “god, whose yard did he steal this from?”

“what a dork..” it’s mostly to keep yourself level headed, unable to fight the tremble ripping down to the tips of your fingers as you graze the bedroom’s door handle. “he’s not home.”

taking a deep breath, you nod to reassure yourself, you really have nothing to worry about. 

unless you get caught, of course.

Heeseung’s room is— as you should have expected, a disaster. unmade bed, crooked posters strewn all over four walls, some half peeled off. chains and jeans pile up on the floor surrounded by clunky skater sneakers and two boards.

his musk wafts through the air, tickling a pathway up your nostrils; stirring memories, memories you tried to forget.

memories of Heeseung coming home dripping in sweat, chugging down water with a heated gaze shadowed by the fan his eyelashes create where he stood. sip after sip without breaking a trance-like stare, slicing through your soul to expose secrets you try to keep to yourself.

secrets you aren’t even willing to share with your closest friends— Heeseung’s sister sat across from you giggling over her current boy of the week; too caught up in flirtatious banter to notice your discomfort. sweat itched at your nape, resorting to your anxious habit of picking at your nails to contain your nerves. 

Heeseung noticed though, thoroughly enjoying how your leg began to bounce the longer he took to finish off the glass of water forming condensation in his grip. foggy moisture seeped down his wrist, trickles streamed down his throat. all of it grabbing your attention as you pretended to stretch and flitter a glance around the room.

even as he tapped off the glass and dried off his pout with the back of his hand, he continued to burn holes into your side. adding more taunt where he stood, displaying an act of contemplation by tapping his chin thoughtfully. 

“hmmm” he murmured, shifting from foot to foot to aid his next decision. snapping his thumb and index finger, the light bulb turned on in his mind igniting flames throughout his iris; glinting bright and lively even as his eyelids lowered, fitting you with a lazy look.

“ah, there it is.” Heeseung said- to himself, despite your less than discrete stare. he smirked, toying with you by never breaking eye contact as he moved closer in slow motion. beads of sweat lined his forehead, pouring down faster with each step he took.

“excuse me.” he said flatly, averting his attention to the area just behind you. bending forward, the top of his shirt grazed your nose, instantly smacked with the scent of lingering body wash. hints of woodsy undertones masked by a fresh aroma of dark berries; tickling up high enough to reach your brain. 

Heeseung huffed, dipping in closer until your lips pressed to his shoulder, involuntarily puckering against the damp white cotton t-shirt clinging to his warm skin; leaving residue of your natural tone pink lip gloss to stain the heavily bleached material.

“thought I had lost this.” he grinned, passing a cartoon keychain between his fingers. 

“uh..” biting down on the sides of your tongue, you sank deeper into your seat. stuck on a dollop of sweat bubbled at the tip of Heeseung’s nose, hanging precariously, begging to be licked away.

he blinked, slowly returning to your gaze, tilting to the side just enough for the bead of sweat to drop; drop and land upon your upper lip, hot enough to expel steam and cause your mouth to tremble.

“I’ll be going to my room now.” with that, Heeseung spun on his foot, strutting out of the kitchen, out of your line of sight.

that memory painted the depths of your mind, screaming and cursing to yourself as you drove home.

“what did he even mean! going to his room?!? was I supposed to follow him?!?” 

and now, standing in Heeseung’s bedroom, dragging your fingers across his unkempt bedding, you ask yourself again-

“what did he mean!” you sigh, plopping onto his bed. engulfed by pillows coated in his scent. a scent that’s lodged itself deep within your sense, so much so that you recognize the moment Heeseung steps foot into the room now.

“who cares anyway.” you grunt, ignoring the ‘I care’ your subconscious responds with.

blue boxers, that’s what you’re here for. not to reminisce a failed crush that would never lead to more than mysterious glances and one sided lust.

the problem is, Heeseung has lines upon lines of drawers. most you find filled with mangas and porn, buried beneath old textbooks and skateboard magazines. growing more frustrated with yourself as you keep pausing to look through each item and lose track of time.

“don’t worry about it, feel better dude.”

Heeseung’s rich voice reaches your ears, followed by heavy footsteps ascending down the hallway. 

“fuck! shit fuckfuck!!” you curse, scanning the bedroom with quick lightning speed. the best option 5 feet away-- to hide inside of Heeseung’s closet.

holding your breath, you gingerly step inside, careful to shut the door just enough to not make a sound as Heeseung’s bedroom door closes behind him noisily.

he trudges in listlessly, turning his head side to side with a bored look. stopping abruptly as something near the closet catches his eye, a white t-shirt..

seemingly pleased, Heeseung picks up the garment between two fingers, striding over to his bed. he sighs, smirking and turning the shirt in his hold, stopping to admire a part of it. 

the part still carrying your lip stain from months ago. never once washed after that day, Heeseung found it cute at first. cute until he remembered the way your thighs clenched together, the shortness of your breath, and each nervous look you snuck toward him.

“cute..” he says to himself, pushing back to settle against the wall. Heeseung’s lips protrude in thought, setting the shirt next to himself to unzip his jeans.

shit. shit shit shit. 

you should look away, you shouldn’t continue to watch him shimmying out of his boxers through a small crack with your forehead perched on the doorframe. 

blue boxers rest on the middle of his thighs, shoving up his shirt enough for his throbbing length to breathe freely. you have to bite down on your lip, grab at the wall, whatever you can find surrounding you to stay stable. 

Heeseung licks a trail of spit up his palm, hissing and wrapping a fist around the base of his length as his other hand lowers, smoothing and rubbing the tip of his cock. pre-cum smears, mixing in with saliva, pushed lower to circle and tug around himself.

the worst and best part are really his reactions to each motion. a tight furrow between his eyebrows, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and speckles of pink rising from his throat to the apple of his cheeks.

his throat, on full display, huffing out short breathy moans as he builds a speed around himself. his hips lift every now and then, rolling up to fuck into his palm with more urgency. tossing his head side to side when he squeezes at the base torturously.

he’s toying with himself, serving just enough pleasure to make it feel good and fill his balls. enough to fool himself once again with the idea of getting off, only to halt and grunt, work himself to a painful orgasm the longer he resists. 

heat tickles throughout his belly, lowering to ride down to the tip of his shaft. glistening with a thin sheen of spit and pre-cum aiding to each glide under his pumping fist. 

he’s drawing up, hips rutting side to side in search of something to bury himself in. eyeing the shirt next to him, he squeaks, breathlessly moaning your name. rutting up faster with his knees bent, shoving his socked cover toes deeper into the bed.

“fuck..” you near cry, buckling at your knees; weakened and exhausted from only watching, itching through your palms like a dog in heat to be the one stroking his length. 

“fuck, I’m such a creep for this..” rubbing your thighs together like matches, you stumble back, gasping and knocking into a row of hung clothes. metal clatters, and the airy sound of wads of clothing smacking onto the floor circle around you. all of that coming to a stop as the closet door rips open.

“what the fuck?!”

Heeseung’s shadow looms over you, tucked back into his blue boxers, secured under his jeans. frazzled and infuriated where he stands with his eyes nearly bulged out. 

“I— oh crap..” you stutter, holding your hands up defenselessly. “I can explain!”

“you’ve been in here this entire time?!?” he exclaims, pupils blown. pushing away and shaking his head as he rips at tufts of hair. “WERE YOU WATCHING ME?”

“Heeseung! no no! really, listen!!” you crawl, stumbling on weak ankles to scamper after him. “it was just a dare!”

“a dare to hide in my closet?!” he’s pissed, hissing shouts between gritted teeth. 

“no! I..I—I..” 

crossing his arms, he stands intimidating above you appearing disgusted by your stuttering, fixing you with a piercing glare. “what did you see, huh?”

“n-nothing..” you lie, you never were good at lying though..

he scoffs, tongue clicking loudly against the backs of his teeth. nodding and rolling his neck around. “you have to show me whatever you saw.”

“huh?” 

“don’t play dumb.” Heeseung scolds you with a condescending tone. “you hid in my closet and watched me jerk off. you know what that makes you?”

“I didn’t! I didn’t watch!” you scramble to deny, clutching onto his thighs to pull yourself up. he sets his hand on your shoulder, shifting to leverage his weight there.

“you did, just like a no good creep.” reading shame written across your face, he leers, dipping his thumb into your clavicle until you squirm. “unless you want me to let my sister know what a filthy little pervert her friend is, you better do as I say.”

“Hee, please..don’t be like this!” you plead, grimacing from his fingers sinking into your shoulder. “what do you want me to do!”

“what? you’re the only one who gets to have a free show?” Heeseung smirks, aiming his chin to direct you toward his bed. “show me exactly what you saw. don’t make me repeat myself again.”

his menacing low tone makes your spine shrivel, silently nodding as you clamber onto his bed. eyeing the t-shirt still laid on his pillow, Heeseung follows your line of sight, mumbling a curse under his breath.

“I knew you were lying.” climbing on with you, he moves closer using his knees. nodding for you to sit against the wall just as he had. “your trembling thighs gave you away anyway.”

“I didn’t…see everything.” you did, but something about building onto your lie added thrill to your current predicament. 

when Heeseung said he’d be going to his room in a suggestive manner, you stayed put. rooted to your seat as your mind whirled with scenarios that could unfold if you followed after him. scenarios you’d continue to create for months, daydreaming of landing yourself in this position. sprawled on his bed, filled with fear, excitement, exploding nerves, heat and desire.

“oh yeah?” he mocks, grinning, smoothing his palms up your bare calves to your knees. “like what you saw? like what you heard?”

he knows you heard him moaning your name, pummeling his fist imagining you convulsing around him. begging and bursting into tears; urging him to slow down, and fuck you harder at the same time.

pushing against your knees, he doesn’t give you much time to respond. pinching up your inner thighs until he can tease at the lining of your pajama shorts. “Hello Kitty pjs..”

biting back a smile, he motions for you to hurry up, tapping his wrist to say you’re wasting his time. “exactly how I did it.”

“oka-okay..” in a quick action, you’re shimmying out of your pjs and panties. the man before you freezing, expecting more of a fight. a shy look and squished together thighs licks arousal through his gut, painfully aching as you duck your chin to hide the embarrassment staining your cheeks.

Heeseung never managed to finish getting off with you interrupting his alone time. he’s hard as a rock, trapped against his abdomen throbbing pitifully. tense and rageful, more frustrated by your much too slow movements.

“is that what I did?” he questions with no confusion, continuing to speak in a stern manner. Heeseung jerks his head, jaw tight to keep up a strong image. “come on, what are you waiting for.”

slowly, you stretch open, hitting him with the visual of your naked wet core. the bedding beneath you turns darker, pooled with wetness trickling down past your rim. 

Heeseung has to swallow, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down to quill his dry throat. he gestures for you to continue on, hypnotized by your fingers inching closer and closer to your mound. 

he’s struck, in awe watching your pussy folds part open. fat clit ready to be abused, riper than fresh fruit, dripping with sweet honey. his fist slams into the bed, nodding with urgency. “touch yourself, do it like I did.”

you listen, biting on your lip with your skin gathering between your brows. frustrated beyond belief to only just now get to touch yourself. ragged breaths leave your lips faster, trembling against your vocal chords with whimpered moans.

“god..” Heeseung’s neck drops, licking away the drool that’s dribbling out past the seam of his lips. heart shattering as he watches you circle your entrance, tapping and prodding two finger tips in just to feel your pulse speed up. “fuck..”

growing confidence and losing yourself to the pleasure, you arch, completely giving him the full view of your cunt. stroking side to side at your clit until a loud embarrassing moan flies free from your lips. Heeseung’s distraught hungry demeanor encourages your fingers to work faster. obscene wet splash-like sounds boom around you. throwing your head back, you hit one of his pillows, greeted by the scent that led you to this moment once again.

“I’m..close..” you announce, bitterly, not wanting this to end. pushed faster to the tip of your climax by the image before you of your biggest desire falling apart, drooling with his jaw hung. cock twitching under his shirt, begging to fuck you with a wanton gaze.

a muffled growl passes through his throat, hunched forward in a trance watching your hole spurt another glob of wetness out. opening and closing deliciously, rolling tremors up his thighs with each contraction shown off. “your little holes begging for me.” 

another twitch of your hips confirms how much you want him. writhing close enough for the scent of your wetness to infiltrate his senses, Heeseung topples over. face hovering right above your cunt like a man starved, finally finding a meal after months of voyage. 

“Heeseung..touch me” you shift, unveiling how much dampness has gathered under your ass. pouring wet like a fountain, squeezing at nothing but air.

“say please,” he smirks, grinding the backs of his teeth together to keep his tough shell intact. just as desperate and if not more needy with impatience to fuck you, fill you to the brim with his cock.

“please please! can’t wait anymore!” you sound even prettier begging, watery with tears threatening the rims of your eyes. reaching grabby hands for him to come closer, to give you what you want.

“pretty pretty pretty please,” licking his lips, he cages in on your face. the tip of his tongue traces across your plump upper lip. 

“pleasepleaseplease! pretty please!”

Heeseung sits back, smacking your hand away from your core. licking between his fingers before taking over your position. he rubs circles just as you had, better even. firmer, rougher and more commanding. forearm flexing, lined with angry veins from his meaty hand to the crook of his elbow. 

“such a dirty girl, always staring at me. even sneaking into my room to watch me.” he teases, sliding up and down between your folds. “is that how badly you want me? no decency to even ask, creep around instead hoping to get caught.”

it’s humiliating how much you wither and grind against his palm. babbling on about how you aren’t a creep, you’re not a dirty girl; earning smack after smack on your pussy with each denial.

“you’re so tight..” Heeseung glides the tips of two fingers inside, much like you had. “wanna feel you struggle to stretch around me. is that what you want?”

the more questions he asks feel more and more like a jeer, poking fun of you to your face in your weakest moment. left with no choice but to admit the truth if you want to get off. “wa-wanna feel you, feel you f-fuck me.”

Heeseung’s mouth goes numb, unable to control the amount of saliva coating his tongue. wanting to maul your cunt and feel your thighs clamp around him, strangle him until he can’t breathe properly.

“gonna fuck you, punish you being a bad girl.” he goes on patronizing you, using the act to set aside how badly he needs to feel you. fighting back from violently licking strips up your pretty cunt until you scream for him.

Heeseung’s parting open your thighs again, pushing at the backs of your knees until you hitch up enough. ass raised off his bed letting out mournful little whimpers, huffing his name out in broken parts.

“seung..” you can’t stop whining, embarrassed by how he admires your hole, lifting your lower half enough for you to watch as well. becoming obsessed with the flutter and push, his face dips in closer; the tip of his nose gliding in a circle around your clit. meticulously moving lower and lower until his lips pucker at your entrance.

“fuck..” Heeseung groans, breathing in your heady scent. kissing and pulling back to watch your hole spasm, empty, calling for him to use over and over again.

he can’t wait anymore, unhinging his jaw as he leans in, licking a fat stripe from your delicate hole to your clit; sucking a way up your glossy seam with a long drag of his tongue. Heeseung swirls around your clit expertly, pleased by your hands burying into his hair. clutching and pulling waves of pleasure down to his cock. he ruts against the bed, firmly gripping onto your hips for control.

slammed back down, he works with your circling hips, grunting with each pass on your stiff clit. using extra force to stop your incessant movements and hips from slipping free, he locks around your bundle of nerves. suckling and paying extra attention to your moans amplified with each pointed stroke of his tongue along the sides.

bucking up, you set a grind against his hot mouth. crying out and ripping bunches of his hair to a painful point, evident by the way Heeseung’s eyes clench shut, swallowing down hissed moans.

“fuck! oh fuck Hee—“ breaking off into a repeated round of pleads, his mouth lowers, pushing past your tightened entrance to curl his tongue deep inside of you. nose shoved against your clit wiggling side to side with his tongue lodged as far as his jaw will allow. “I-I can’t!”

you buckle, slapping your thighs together against his hold only to be pushed up higher to accommodate his mouth. relentlessly he buries his tongue in, stealing an orgasm out of you faster than you can process. mind hazy and sensitive as you attempt to move away from his lips wrapped around your clit.

“n-no more..can’t, no m-ore.” your protest falls on deaf ears, ignoring you as he litters kisses over your mound. Heeseung sits up, slapping the sides of your thighs. the tip of his nose obscenely wet, dripping from the tip with your arousal.

“oh you can’t?” he pouts, large glossy eyes innocent as he blinks slowly. “you can’t?? after hiding in my closet and begging me to fuck you?? you can’t?”

“Heeseung..” you whimper brokenly, too exhausted to mutter anything more.

“aww” he chides, kissing the backs of his teeth. “Heeseunnggggg.”

he laughs arrogantly between lapping his upper lip clean, cupping your center to dig the heel of his palm against your clit and watch you cry harder. 

“Heeseung Heeseung Heeseung,” he repeats, mimicking your strained tone. a playful smirk lifts one corner of his mouth, leisurely toying with your heat. “say you can’t anymore, but your pussy won’t stop rubbing against me. a creep, and a liar?”

“no..not..” your teeth chatter, embarrassed that you can’t even give him a proper reply. incoherence taking over your sense, the only thought filling your head to get fucked.

Heeseung’s smirk grows at that, rolling two fingers down, he circles your entrance, smearing the release between his digits. “I can fuck you deeper than your useless little fingers, that’s what you want, right? want me to make you cum, fucked full of my cock. bet you thought about it, watching me jerk off.. wishing it was you.”

“I—I…n-no..” you try to say, breaking off as Heeseung licks his palm clean. twisting the bottom of his t-shirt off, he throws it aside. the tip of his cock rages against his stomach trapped in his waistband, red and swollen. “oh fuck.”

“what was that now?” he sneers, wiggling a finger for you to sit up. “come here.”

obediently you lift without hesitation, coughing to mask your embarrassment. Heeseung fakes a pout, capturing your cheeks with one hand. the pads of his fingers sink into the hollows, forcing your mouth to jut out as he continues to jeer. “what would my sister say if she found out you were in here? drooling, covered in snot and tears, pussy making a fucking mess on my bed.”

“please, d-don’t tell her..” you pant as he brushes against your lips, sucking your wheezed breath away. 

“you gonna be a good girl and listen to me now?” he nods your head for you, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth. neediness and lust paints your mouth, swallowed and sucked around. a rushed heated kiss loosening your head to hang limblessly from your neck, passing thirsty moans between the swipes of his lips.

“please,” you pant, swallowing dryly. “please, wanna be so good for you. wanna be the best for you.”

“I know, my cute good girl..” he coo’s, slapping your hip until you flip around onto your knees. Heeseung whips a hand across your ass, hard, stinging in the aftermath. “yeah, just like that. show me how pretty that pussy looks from the back.”

despite your fingers wrinkling his bedding, and your waist trembling from another slap to your bottom, you nod. arching forward pushing your ass out further, curving your hips wider to space out an area between your legs for him.

Heeseung audibly swallows behind you, the click and clack of his belt and zipper chills up your spine. face dropping lower to catch a glimpse of his naked flexed thighs. his fist pumping up and down, spreading excess amounts of pre-cum to coat his length.

shifting closer, he drags his dick through your glistening folds. cursing and grunting behind you about how it feels so good, feels so right. “so fucking wet, dripping down to your knees.”

choking out a cough, you duck, burying the side of your face in his bed to hide your shame. he’s right, lewd drops of wetness stream down your inner thighs. disgustingly aroused, your hole pulses, kissing at his tip eagerly with each pass. 

“what was that again? you can’t, right?” he laughs, going stir crazy from each ripple your ass gives upon making contact with his hips. 

“please, I’m g-good…good gi—“ you whimper again, cut off by Heeseung’s hips ramming forward. burying inside of you for the first time, deep and stretched full. better than any stretch you’ve experienced. 

he fucks vigorously, clapping against the backs of your thighs and ass. jerking your knees to move forward until you’re gripping for dear life onto the edge of his bed, muffling drawn out screams by biting at his blanket. “fuckfuck!”

Heeseung only fucks you deeper, gaining power as you lose yours, burying his dick into you over and over. he can’t tell what’s better, watching your ass bounce sinking up and down on his wet length, or your adorable whimpers, stammering his name out like a broken record.

“so good, best pussy I’ve ever had.” he grits out while moaning, leaning over your back to grab a fistful of your hair and tug your dipped in back against his chest. he bites at your jaw, focusing on your eyes rolling around as he fucks you. “this what you wanted, huh?”

Heeseung shakes your head, pulling roughly on your scalp with a merciless grip. “needed, always w-wanted you.”

“fuck!” letting go of your hair, he circles your waist. thighs burning as he fucks into you with more force, throttling up hard enough to bruise your ass. “been wanting this, wanted to fuck you for so long. always staring at me like such an innocent slut, making me picture you while I cum all over my fist, is that right?”

you give him no more than breathless pants, eyebrows furrowed together as he hits deeper and deeper inside of you. the repetitive motion reaching past your sanity, split open on his length over and over again. he’s too deep, throbbing fiercely, pushing your walls to the limit. his balls smack against you obscenely, exuding lewd sounds between your bodies; disgusting and brain numbing.

“wanna feel you squeeze around me, milk my cock dry.” he puffs hotly, nibbling on your earlobe. fingers spider their way to your clit adding more anticipation and curling arousal licking through your gut. he taps on your bundle of nerves, pressing down in a torturous mean way. 

“Hee!” you jolt, ass clapping back against his hips and stomach much too noisily. gurgling moans between your wailed cries, he grunts, slapping his free hand over your mouth.

“shh, you want everyone to hear?” more determined to make you cum, Heeseung rolls your clit between two fingers. working his hips with renewed vigor to thrust into you harder and faster. each slide of his cock fills your insides, shaping your cunt to fit his size and ruin you for anyone else. “so fucking cute taking my cock, crying and still begging for more like a good girl should.”

even with your mouth covered, his bed creaks and squeaks loudly. muffled ‘yesyesyesyesyes!’ spew out all over his palm, tapping your clit just right following each tightened clamp around his size. Heeseung grunts, licking up your cheek and hissing as you squeeze around him screaming under his hand.

“so. fucking. good.” he emphasizes with hard powerful thrusts, gritting his teeth against your forehead. hips stilling and twitching behind you. his eyelashes flutter, letting out a guttural whimper by your hairline. “there you fucking go, giving me all of that pussy.”

Heeseung has to sigh, months of wet dreams and watching his cum spill down the shower drain could never compare to this. not as he lets you drop forward, limp on his bed, fingers twitching where they land. 

slowly he draws out, groaning and rubbing his face with a rough touch. stuck on how your juices continue to pour free, coating his length with release he gave you. realease sticking his balls to his inner thighs, filthy, and so fucking cute.

he tugs at himself, once, twice, spurting out warm white ropes on your lower back. noisy even with his lips pursed together as he smears it with the tip of his cock, pushing down for cum to dry between your ass.

kissing up your back, he bites at your shoulder, pressing his stomach on the mess only to make you squirm, disgusted.

sprawled under his weight, you blink slowly, coming back to life and reaching for a pair of discarded blue boxers half hanging off the side. clutching them in your fist to take back with you after getting cleaned up. 

choosing dare turned out to be the best decision.

You were playing near the community center, digging for worms in the mud, when the old station wagon rolled in. It sputtered and died right in front of the intake office.

Two adults stepped out first. They were quiet, unassuming people. They kept their heads lowered, their shoulders hunched—universal body language for we mean no harm. They smelled like nothing. Just soap and nervousness. Betas.

Then, the back door opened.

A boy climbed out.

He looked to be about your age. He was wearing a yellow raincoat that was two sizes too big, the sleeves swallowing his hands. But it was his face that stopped you mid-dig.

He was the prettiest thing you had ever seen.

He had a mop of soft, dark hair that fell into his eyes. And those eyes... they were enormous. They were dark pools, wide and shimmering with a mixture of terror and wonder. When he blinked, you swore you could see galaxies swirling in them.

He looked around, clutching a stuffed puppy to his chest. He looked at the towering pine trees. He looked at the gruff Alpha guards standing by the gate. And then, he looked at you.

You stood up, wiping your muddy hands on your overalls. You marched over to him.

The boy flinched, taking a half-step behind his mother’s leg. He peeked out at you with those big, sparkly doe eyes.

"Hi," you announced, your voice loud in the quiet clearing.

"Hello," he whispered. His voice was soft, like wind chimes.

"I'm Y/N," you said. "My dad is the boss. Who are you?"

"Jake," he said, hugging the stuffed puppy tighter.

"You have mud on your face," he pointed out, pointing a tiny finger at your cheek.

You scrubbed at it, probably making it worse. "I was hunting worms. Do you like worms?"

Jake wrinkled his nose. It was an adorable motion, scrunching up his entire face. "No. They're slimy."

"That's the best part!" You grinned, showing off a gap-toothed smile. "You want to see?"

He hesitated, looking up at his mom. She gave him a gentle nod.

Jake stepped away from her leg. He walked toward you, his yellow raincoat swishing. "Okay. But if they touch me, I'm going to scream."

"Deal," you said.

That was the beginning. It wasn't an explosion; it was a seed taking root.

Pack dynamics are brutal, even for children. Wolves value strength, lineage, and scent. Even before presentation, children mimic their parents.

Jake was an anomaly. His parents were Betas, "drifters" who had joined the pack late in life. They didn't have the rich history of the founding families. They didn't have status.

And Jake... Jake was soft.

He didn't like roughhousing. He didn't like play-fighting. While the other boys were tackling each other in the dirt, growling with their baby teeth, Jake preferred to sit on the swings and look at the clouds. He liked to collect shiny rocks. He liked to hum to himself.

This made him a target.

It happened on a Tuesday. You were six.

You were looking for Jake during recess. You found him behind the equipment shed.

Three older boys—Marcus, Tyler, and Sam—had him cornered. Marcus was eight, big for his age, and already smelling faintly of his Alpha father’s aggression.

"What's wrong, stray?" Marcus sneered, kicking dust onto Jake’s shoes. "Cat got your tongue?"

Jake was pressed against the wooden wall. His big eyes were filled with tears that threatened to spill over. He wasn't fighting back. He was trembling, his lower lip wobbling.

"Leave me alone," Jake whispered.

"My dad says your parents are useless," Marcus laughed cruelly. "Just worker bees. You're going to be a useless worker bee too. You don't even smell like a wolf. You smell like air."

"I am a wolf!" Jake cried, his voice cracking.

"Prove it," Tyler taunted. "Growl. Come on. Let's hear it."

Jake opened his mouth, but only a small, choked sob came out.

The boys laughed. It was a mean, sharp sound.

You felt a heat rise in your belly. It wasn't the hormonal rage of an adult; it was the pure, righteous indignation of a best friend.

You dropped the pinecone you were holding. You didn't think. You just ran.

"HEY!" you screamed.

You barreled into the circle, shoving Marcus with all your might. He wasn't expecting it, and he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on his butt.

"Leave him alone!" you yelled, standing in front of Jake. You spread your arms wide, making yourself a shield.

Marcus scrambled up, his face red. "Move, Y/N. This isn't your business."

"He's my friend!" you shouted back. "And if you touch him, I'm telling my dad!"

The ultimate threat. The Head Alpha.Marcus paled. He looked at you, fierce and muddy, and then at Jake, who was peeking out from behind your shoulder with wide, terrified eyes."Whatever," Marcus muttered, trying to save face. "He's just a crybaby anyway. Come on, guys."

They ran off, hooting and hollering.You turned around immediately.

"Jake?" He was crying now, silent tears tracking down his soft cheeks. He looked so small. So fragile.

"Are you okay?" You reached out, wiping a tear from his chin.

Jake sniffled, looking at you like you were Superwoman. "They said... they said I'm not a real wolf."

"They're stupid," you declared firmly. "You are a real wolf. You're just... a nice wolf. You're not mean like them."

"You saved me," Jake whispered. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your middle, burying his face in your shirt. He smelled like baby shampoo and rain.

"I'll always save you," you said, patting his back. "That's what friends do."

Jake pulled back, his eyes sparkling again, the fear replaced by adoration. "I want to be strong like you, Y/N."

"You will be," you promised, having no idea what you were talking about.

By the time you were eight, you were inseparable. The pack elders called you "The Shadow and the Shield." Where you went, Jake followed. He was clingy. It was the only word for it. He didn't like being alone. If you were watching TV, he had to be sitting next to you, his shoulder pressed against yours. If you were walking to the bus stop, he was holding your hand. If you were eating lunch, he was stealing food off your plate just to have an excuse to lean close.He was tactile in a way that defied his gender. Usually, boys at that age were going through the "cooties" phase. Jake didn't care about cooties. He only cared about you. One rainy Saturday, you were having a sleepover at his house. His parents, sweet Betas who baked excellent cookies, had built you a fort in the living room out of couch cushions and blankets.You were lying inside the fort, flashlight on, reading comic books."Y/N?" Jake asked. He was lying on his stomach, his chin resting on his folded arms. His eyes were reflecting the flashlight beam, making them look like pools of honey.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'll be a Beta?"

The question hung in the air.

"My mom and dad are Betas," he continued softly. "So I'll probably be one too. Right?"

You looked at him. He was so delicate. His eyelashes were long and dark against his pale skin. He was soft-spoken and kind. He rescued spiders instead of squishing them. He cried during sad movies. "Probably," you said honestly. "But being a Beta is cool. My uncle is a Beta and he flies airplanes."

"I don't want to fly airplanes," Jake said, rolling onto his back. "I want to be an Alpha."

You giggled. "You? An Alpha?"

"Hey!" He kicked your shin gently. "I could be! I'm growing! Look at my muscles!"

He flexed his arm. It was a noodle. A very cute noodle.

"Wow," you teased, poking his bicep. "So scary. Marcus better watch out."

"I'm serious," Jake said, his face growing solemn. "If I'm an Alpha, I can be the boss. And if I'm the boss, I can make a rule that no one is allowed to be mean to you. Ever." Your heart did a funny little flip.

"I don't need rules, Jake. I can take care of myself."

"I know," he sighed, shimmying closer until his head was resting on your shoulder. "But I want to take care of you, too. You always protect me. I want to take a turn."

"Okay," you whispered, turning off the flashlight so the room was plunged into darkness. "When we grow up, you can take a turn."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He fell asleep like that, breathing softly against your neck, his hand clutching the sleeve of your pajamas.

Fifth grade at age 10 brought the dreaded "Pack Biology" unit in health class.

The teacher, Mrs. Gable, pulled down a chart showing the three dynamics: Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alphas: The leaders, the protectors, the ones with the ruts and the knots. Strong, aggressive, dominant. Betas: The backbone, the stabilizers, standard biology. Calm, steady. Omegas: The nurturers, the heart of the pack, the ones with heats and slicks. Rare, precious, submissive. You sat next to Jake. He was staring at the chart with intense focus.

"Statistically," Mrs. Gable droned, "Two Beta parents have a 95% chance of producing a Beta offspring. There is a 4% chance of an Alpha, and a less than 1% chance of an Omega."

Jake slumped in his chair. After class, you found him sitting on the swing set, dragging his feet in the woodchips.

"What's wrong?" you asked, swinging next to him.

"95 percent," he grumbled. "That's basically 100 percent."

"So? What's so bad about being a Beta?"

"Betas are... boring," Jake said, kicking a rock. "And they can't mate bond. Not really. They don't have the bite."

"The bite sounds painful anyway," you shrugged.

"It's not about the pain," Jake looked at you with those big, earnest eyes. "It's about the connection. My dad says Alphas and Omegas are tied together by their souls. Like... magic. Betas just... like each other."

"Well, I like you," you said. "That's enough, isn't it?"

Jake looked at you. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over his face. He looked otherworldly pretty and handsome. "I guess," he murmured. "But I want the magic."

"Maybe you'll get lucky," you said. "Maybe you're the 4 percent."

"And you?" he asked. "What do you think you are?"

You thought about your parents. Your father was a massive, commanding Head Alpha. Your mother was a beautiful, elegant Omega.

"I think I'll be an Omega," you said confidently. "Like my mom. I like taking care of people. And I like soft blankets. And I hate fighting."

"You fought Marcus," Jake pointed out.

"That was different. That was for you."

Jake smiled, swinging a little higher. "Okay. So, if you're an Omega... and I'm the Alpha... then we're a perfect match."

"We're best friends, Jake. That's already a perfect match."

"Yeah," he said, looking at the sky. "Best friends."

The summer you turned twelve was the last summer of true childhood innocence. Puberty was knocking on the door, but it hadn't kicked it down yet.You spent every day in the treehouse your dad had built in the backyard. It was your sanctuary. No parents allowed. No bullies allowed. Just you and Jake. It was a hot August afternoon. You were lying on the wooden floorboards, drinking juice boxes and sweating. Jake was sketching in a notebook. He was getting really good at drawing. He was drawing you. "Stop moving," he mumbled, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

"It's hot," you complained, fanning yourself.

Jake put the pencil down. He crawled over to you.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"What happens if we present and... things change?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like... what if I become an Alpha and the pack tells me I have to find an Omega? A stranger?"

"You just say no," you said simply.

"Can you do that?"

"You can do whatever you want, Jake. It's your life."

He looked unconvinced. He picked at a loose thread on his shorts. "I don't want a stranger. I want to stay with you."

"We're neighbors, Jake. We're going to the same middle school. We're not going anywhere."

"No, I mean..." He struggled for the words. He was twelve, and the feelings were too big for his vocabulary. He just knew that the idea of being separated from you, of having a life that didn't revolve around you, made his stomach hurt. He lay down next to you, his head resting near yours. He turned so he was facing you.

His eyes were so close. You could see the flecks of gold in the brown. They were sparkly, innocent, and full of a blind trust that terrified you sometimes.

"Promise me something," he whispered.

"What?"

"Promise that no matter what we present as—Alpha, Beta, Omega, alien—we stick together. Two peas in a pod."

"Obviously," you rolled your eyes, reaching out to flick his forehead.

"No, say it. Promise."

"I promise, Jake. Me and you against the world."

"And..." he hesitated. "If you turn out to be an Omega... promise you won't let any big, mean Alphas take you away. Unless I say they're okay."

You laughed. "You want to approve my boyfriends?"

"Yes," he said deadly serious. "I have to vet them. If they can't beat me in Mario Kart, they can't have you."

"Deal," you giggled. "And if you turn out to be a big, scary Alpha... I promise to make sure you don't turn into a jerk like Marcus."

"I could never be a jerk to you," Jake said softly. He reached out and took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. His palm was clammy.

"I love you, Y/N," he said. It was the platonic, intense love of a child.

"Love you too, Jakey."

You lay there in the heat, holding hands, listening to the cicadas buzz. You didn't know then that biology was already writing a different script. You didn't know that the soft, sweet boy with the sparkly eyes who wanted to be your protector was carrying the genetics of a rare, high-level Omega. And you didn't know that you, the girl who wanted to be soft like her mother, had a beast sleeping in her chest that would one day wake up and burn the world down for him.For now, you were just two kids in a treehouse. Two peas in a pod. Waiting for the rest of your lives to start.

Age 14 Puberty hit Jake Sim like a freight train, but instead of awkwardness and acne, it brought angles and height.

It happened over the summer before freshman year. You went away to a leadership camp for three weeks. When you came back, the boy waiting for you on your front porch wasn't the boy you left. He stood up as your dad’s car pulled into the driveway. He was taller—at least three inches taller. His shoulders, once bony and narrow, had broadened out, filling his t-shirt in a way that made your mouth go dry for a split second before your brain caught up. His jawline had sharpened, cutting a striking silhouette against the afternoon sun.But then he smiled, and the "Hot Stranger" vanished, replaced instantly by Jake. "You're back!" he yelled, bounding down the porch steps with the same puppy energy he’d had at five. He engulfed you in a hug, lifting you off your feet. He smelled different, too. Not the pheromones of a presented wolf yet—you were both still technically "pups"—but he smelled like deodorant, laundry detergent, and something distinctly warm and masculine.

"Put me down, you giant!" you laughed, slapping his back.

He set you down, grinning. "Did you shrink? Or did I just win the genetic lottery?"

"You grew," you accused, looking up at him. "It's unfair." He leaned down, bringing his face close to yours. And there they were. The eyes. Despite the sharp jaw and the new height, his eyes were exactly the same. Dark, shimmering, and impossibly round. Boba eyes, you called them. They still held that galaxy of innocence, that wet, shiny look that made it impossible to say no to him.

"Missed you," he whispered, the playfulness dropping for a second to reveal the clingy attachment underneath.

"Missed you too," you admitted.

Age 15 High school was a strange ecosystem. As everyone waited for their secondary genders to manifest, hormones were running rampant. Jake became popular by accident. He was quiet, he was athletic (soccer star), and he was devastatingly handsome. Girls—and some boys—would whisper when he walked down the hallway. 

“Is he an Alpha? Look at those shoulders.”

“He has to be. He’s too hot to be a Beta.”

Notes appeared in his locker. Girls would "accidentally" bump into him. Jake didn't just reject them; he didn't even notice them.You were at your locker one morning, struggling with a jammed zipper on your backpack. "Here," Jake appeared out of nowhere, his chest pressing against your shoulder as he reached over to fix it. He was always in your personal space. He treated your personal bubble like it was his vacation home.

"Thanks," you muttered.

A girl from your math class, Sarah, walked by. She stopped, twirling her hair, looking at Jake with hungry eyes. "Hi, Jake. I like your sweater."

Jake didn't look up. He was focused on your zipper. "Thanks."

"Are you going to the pep rally?" Sarah pressed, stepping closer.

"I'm going with Y/N," Jake said, finally freeing the zipper. He zipped your bag up and patted it. "Done."

"Oh," Sarah’s face fell. She looked at you with a mix of confusion and jealousy. "You guys are... always together."

"Yep," Jake smiled, draping his arm heavily over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Two peas in a pod."

He turned you around and walked you to class, leaving Sarah standing there.

"You're rude," you whispered, though you leaned into his side.

"I'm not rude," he said, bewildered. "I answered her question."

"She was flirting with you, Jake."

"I don't care," he shrugged, resting his chin on the top of your head as you walked. "I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"Hanging out with you."

It wasn't a grand romantic gesture. It wasn't in the rain. It was in his bedroom, on a Tuesday afternoon, while playing video games.

You were sitting on the floor, leaning back against the edge of his bed. Jake was sitting between your legs, his back resting against your chest. It was a tangle of limbs that would have looked scandalous to anyone else, but for you two, it was just Tuesday.

You were both sixteen. The pressure of "Firsts" was heavy in the air at school. First dates. First kisses. First presentations.

"Jacob kissed Jessica under the bleachers today," Jake said, his eyes glued to the TV screen as he mashed buttons on the controller. "Gross," you commented, braiding a small section of his hair. "Was it sloppy?"

"He said it was... wet. And electric." Jake paused the game.

The silence in the room shifted. It became heavy, charged with the curiosity of two teenagers who were too close for their own good.

Jake turned his head. Because he was leaning back against you, his face was upside down from your perspective. "Do you think it's electric for Betas?" he asked softly. "Or is that just an Alpha/Omega thing?"

"I don't know," you whispered. You stopped braiding his hair. Your fingers were resting on his scalp. "We could check," Jake said. It wasn't a proposition. It was a scientific inquiry. Or at least, that's what he pretended.

"Check?"

"Kiss," he clarified. "To see if it's electric. Since we haven't presented yet. We're the control group."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You knew, logically, this was a bad idea. Friends didn't test-drive kisses. "Okay," you breathed out.

Jake shifted, turning his body so he was facing you. He sat cross-legged, his knees bumping yours. His boba eyes were wide, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. "Just a test," he whispered.

He leaned in.

His lips were soft. That was your first thought. They were chapped from the cold, but soft.He pressed his mouth to yours tentatively. Closed mouth. Innocent.

But then, he sighed. And you sighed. And the kiss deepened. Jake’s hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You instinctively grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. It was electric. It wasn't the biological spark of a mate bond—not yet—but it was the terrifying, white-hot electricity of realizing that the person you loved most in the world tasted really, really good. Jake made a low sound in his throat, a tiny whimper that sent a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head, his nose brushing against yours, and pressed harder. For ten seconds, the world dissolved. There was only Jake. Jake’s warmth. Jake’s smell (still just laundry detergent, but somehow intoxicating). Jake’s lips moving against yours with a clumsy, desperate hunger.

Then, he pulled back. You were both panting slightly. His lips were red. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated. He looked at you with a terrifying amount of hope.

"That was..." he started. Panic set in. If you acknowledged what just happened—that you liked it, that you wanted to do it again—everything would change. The friendship, the safety, the "peas in a pod." What if you presented as something incompatible? What if he met his fated mate later and you were just a mistake?

"Scientific," you blurted out, your voice cracking. Jake’s face fell. The light in his eyes dimmed just a fraction. "Right," he swallowed, pulling his hand away from your face. "Scientific. No electricity."

"Nope," you lied, your heart breaking a little. "Just... lips."

"Okay." He turned back around, picking up the controller. But his hands were shaking. "Level four?"

"Yeah. Level four."

You didn't talk about it. But the air between you had changed. It was thicker now. Heavy with things unsaid.

Age 17 The kiss haunted you. To escape it, you did what any confused, panicked teenager would do: you tried to find "normal." You started dating Caleb. Caleb was safe. He was a year older, a newly presented Beta. He was nice enough. He played guitar. He smelled like cedar chips (a standard Beta scent).

Jake didn't take it well. When you told him, he went quiet. His face went blank, shutting down in a way you rarely saw.

"Oh," was all he said. "Okay."

He didn't make a scene. He didn't fight for you. He just... retreated. He stopped coming over every night. He stopped touching you constantly. He still sat with you at lunch, but he sat across from you, not next to you. The loss of his physical presence felt like phantom limb pain. The relationship with Caleb lasted three months. And it was terrible.Caleb was insecure. He didn't like how close you were with Jake.

"Why does he look at you like that?" Caleb asked one night while you were watching a movie.

"Like what?"

"Like he owns you."

"He's my best friend, Caleb."

"He's a guy. And he's not presented yet. He could be an Alpha waiting to happen. I don't like it."

You tried to make it work. You created distance with Jake to appease Caleb. You ignored Jake’s texts. You stopped going to the treehouse. And then, Caleb cheated. You found him at a party, making out with a girl from the drama club. The breakup was messy. Caleb was defensive, calling you "frigid" and blaming your obsession with your "little pet Jake." You walked out of the party, tears streaming down your face, feeling hollowed out. You didn't call your mom. You didn't call your dad.

You walked three miles in the dark to Jake’s house.

It was 1:00 AM. The Sim house was dark. You threw a pebble at Jake’s window.

He opened it almost instantly, as if he had been waiting. He was shirtless, wearing pajama pants, his hair tousled from sleep. He looked down, saw you crying on his lawn, and didn't hesitate.

"I'm coming down."

He met you at the back door. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't ask why you were there. He took one look at your tear-streaked face and opened his arms.

You collapsed into him. "He... he..." you sobbed, unable to get the words out.

"Shh," Jake whispered. He pulled you into the living room, onto the big plush sofa.

He sat down and pulled you into his lap. You were seventeen, almost fully grown, but he held you like you were five. He wrapped his legs around yours, his arms banding around your waist, burying his face in your neck. "He's an idiot," Jake murmured into your skin. The vibration of his voice soothed the ache in your chest. "Whatever he did, he's an idiot."

"He cheated," you choked out. "And he said... he said I was cold."

Jake stiffened. His arms tightened around you, his grip bordering on painful. "You're not cold," he growled. It was a low sound, surprising for an unpresented boy. "You're warm. You're the warmest thing I know."

He rocked you back and forth. He used his thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his touch incredibly tender.

"I hate him," Jake said quietly. "I want to punch him."

"Don't," you sniffled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "He's not worth it."

"He made you cry. That makes him worth hurting."

Jake looked at you then. The moonlight was filtering in through the window, illuminating his face. He had grown into his features so well. He was beautiful. But his eyes... those boba eyes were shiny with unshed tears of his own. He was crying because you were crying.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I'm sorry I pushed you away."

"Don't do it again," Jake said, his voice cracking. He pressed his forehead against yours. "Please. I can't... I can't function when you're not there. It's like trying to breathe underwater."

"I won't," you promised. "No more boyfriends. Just us."

"Just us," he agreed. He didn't kiss you. He could have—you were vulnerable, you were close—but he didn't. Instead, he just held you. He ran his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp until your breathing evened out.

"Sleep," he commanded softly. "I've got you."

You fell asleep on his chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart. You woke up the next morning in his bed (he had carried you upstairs). He was asleep next to you, his hand gripping your waist even in his sleep. You looked at him and realized that Caleb was right about one thing. Jake did look at you like he owned you.

But as you watched him sleep, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, you realized something else. You wanted to be owned.

Your eighteenth birthday was supposed to be the start of your life. In the Silver River Collective, eighteen is when the biological clock strikes midnight. It’s the unveiling.

You spent the weeks leading up to it terrified and excited. Would you be a regal Omega like your mother? A commanding Alpha like your father?

The day came. You woke up. You checked the mirror.

You looked exactly the same. You smelled exactly the same.

You waited a week. Then a month.

Nothing. The pack doctors ran tests. "Late bloomer," they shrugged, marking your chart with the clinical code for Unpresented/Presumed Beta. "It happens. Not everyone gets a wolf." You watched the light in your father’s eyes dim just a fraction. He didn't love you less, but the expectation of a legacy had evaporated. You were just... Y/N. Normal. Boring. Invisible. Then came November. Then came Jake.

Jake Sim turned eighteen and the universe didn't just knock; it kicked the door down.

His presentation was violent and immediate. One day he was the beta boy next door; the next, he was one of the Pack’s Crown Jewel.

He presented as a Male Omega.

In your pack, Male Omegas were unicorns. They were prized for their high fertility, their potent scents, and their rarity. When Jake returned to school after his first heat week, the atmosphere shifted gravitationally. He walked down the hallway, and heads turned. Alphas stopped mid-sentence, nostrils flaring, tracking the scent of peaches and fresh rain that trailed behind him like a royal cape. He had filled out. His skin glowed with that distinct Omega luster. His lips looked softer, redder. He was undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

And you? You were the shadow walking beside the sun.

People stopped seeing you. They looked right through you to get to him.

"Jake, want to sit with us?"

"Jake, did you finish the calc homework?"

"Jake, you smell amazing."

You expected him to drift away. It would have been natural. He belonged to the elite now, the hierarchy of scents and instincts. You belonged to the background.

But Jake didn't drift. He anchored. If anything, his presentation made him more obsessed with you. "They're so loud," he complained one day at lunch, pressing his face into your shoulder to hide from a group of staring Alphas. "Can we go to the library? I need to smell your detergent. It quiets my brain."

"I'm boring, Jake," you muttered, stabbing at your salad. "Go sit with Sunghoon and Jennie. They're Alphas. They're your crowd now."

"They smell like warm body spray and ego," Jake mumbled, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer. "I'd rather sit with you."

Sophomore year of college. The dynamic was set in stone. Jake was the campus idol—the Music Production major with the face of a model and the scent of heaven. You were his "friend." The Beta bodyguard. It was a Friday night in October. Jay, a popular Alpha and friend of Jake’s, was throwing a massive house party. "I don't want to go," you groaned, lying on your bed.

"Please?" Jake pleaded. He was standing in your doorway, dressed in a black band tee, and ripped jeans. He looked dangerous. He looked edible. "Jay invited me, and he said I could bring a plus one. I'm not going without you. If I go alone, I'll get eaten alive."

"You love the attention," you accused, though you were already reaching for your shoes. "I hate the attention," he corrected. "I only want attention from one person."

He gave you that look—his eyes, wide and shimmering—and you crumbled. You always crumbled. Jay’s house was a sensory nightmare. The bass was shaking the floorboards. The air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and a cocktail of pheromones. You stuck to the wall, nursing a red solo cup. Jake was seated on the main sofa, a king in his court. He was laughing at something Jay said, throwing his head back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat. He looked radiant.

You watched him, a familiar ache settling in your chest. You loved him. God, you loved him. But you were a dud. A non-entity. You couldn't give him what he needed. He needed a mate. He needed a bite. He needed an Alpha.

"Hey."

You looked up. A girl was standing next to you. A Beta you recognized from History class. "You're Y/N, right? Jake Sim's... friend?"

"Yeah."

"Is he single?" she asked, shouting over the music. "My roommate is dying to ask him out, but she's scared of you."

"Scared of me?" You let out a bitter laugh. "Why? I'm nobody."

"You have a vibe," she shrugged. "Like a guard dog."

You looked back at the sofa. The mood had shifted. A woman had sat down next to Jake. You knew her. Kim Minji. A senior. A Female Alpha. She was stunning—tall, sharp-featured, radiating a scent of crushed mint and leather that cut through the room. She was everything you weren't. Powerful. Presented. Compatible. She was leaning into Jake’s space. Her hand was resting on the back of the sofa, fingers inches from his neck. She whispered something in his ear. Jake smiled. It was a polite smile, tight at the corners, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. Social etiquette for an Omega dictated he be polite to high-ranking Alphas. Then, Minji moved. Her hand slid from the sofa to Jake’s knee. A red haze dropped over your vision.

It wasn't rational. It wasn't logical. It was primal. The sound of your plastic cup crushing in your hand was lost in the music.You felt a growl vibrating in your throat, low and dangerous. Get your hands off him.But you were just a Beta. You had no right.

"I'm leaving," you snapped at the girl next to you.

You turned and shoved your way through the crowd, heading for the door. You couldn't watch it. You couldn't watch him be claimed by someone worthy.The night air was cold, biting at your heated skin. You marched down the sidewalk, angry tears stinging your eyes.

"Y/N! Wait!"

Footsteps pounded on the pavement behind you.

You didn't stop. "Go back to the party, Jake. Minji was just getting started."

"I don't care about Minji!"

Jake caught up to you, grabbing your arm. He spun you around.

He was out of breath, his chest heaving. His band shirt was slipping off one shoulder. He looked frantic. "Why did you leave?" he demanded.

"Because I don't belong there!" you shouted, ripping your arm from his grip. "I'm not part of your world, Jake! I'm just the background character holding your bags while you get flirted with by real Alphas!"

"Real Alphas?" Jake scoffed, stepping closer. "You think she's a real Alpha? She smells like mouthwash and desperation. She touched my knee and I wanted to vomit."

"She can give you a bond!" you yelled, the truth finally spilling out. "She can knot you! She can bite you! I can't do anything! I'm just Y/N! I just have... this." You gestured vaguely to your body. "It's not enough for an Omega."

Jake went silent. He stared at you, his eyes searching your face in the streetlights. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.

"Is that what you think?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "That I want a knot? That I need some biological lock to feel safe?"

"It's what you're built for."

"I'm built for you," Jake hissed.

He stepped into your space, eliminating the distance. He grabbed the lapels of your jacket and yanked you close.

He kissed you. It wasn't the innocent, scientific kiss from when you were sixteen. This was desperate. It was angry. It was hungry.

He tasted like beer and peaches. He kissed you like he was trying to breathe you in, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you. You froze for a second, then you broke. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hauling him flush against you. You kissed him back with all the pent-up frustration of the last year.

"My place," Jake gasped against your lips. "Now."

Once yo reached his place you stumbled into his room, lips locked, hands roaming.

The door slammed shut, locking out the world.The room smelled like him—concentrated, sweet, safe. But tonight, the air was crackling with a different kind of energy. Jake broke the kiss, shoving you gently towards the bed. He looked frantic, his eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

"Take it off," he ordered, his voice shaking. He was pulling at his own band tee shirt, ripping it over his head. You stripped quickly, your hands trembling. When you were both bare, the silence in the room was deafening. You stood there, feeling exposed, feeling inadequate.

"Jake," you started, "I don't know if I can—"

"Shh," he silenced you, stepping forward. He placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you around. You faced the wall, your heart hammering against your ribs. You felt the mattress press against your knees as he guided you down.

"I want to show you," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to show you that I don't need a knot. I need to be inside you. I need to feel you."

He pushed you forward until you were on your hands and knees. It was a submissive position, one usually reserved for Omegas, but tonight, he was flipping the script. He wanted to claim you.

You felt him move behind you. He was shaking. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the sweet, cloying scent of an aroused Omega filling your lungs.

"Y/N," he whined, a high, needy sound that made your toes curl. He pressed himself against your back. His skin was soft, burning hot. He wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging to you like a lifeline. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his wet eyelashes fluttering against your skin.

"Please," he whimpered. "Let me."

You nodded, unable to speak. He guided himself to your entrance. He was trembling so hard it took him a moment to find the rhythm. But when he pushed inside, a sob tore from his throat. "Oh god," he cried, the sound muffled against your shoulder. "You're so warm. You're so warm."

He didn't take control like an Alpha would. He didn't dominate. He moved with a desperate, clingy need. He kept his chest pressed to your back, his arms locked around your waist as if he was terrified you would disappear if he let go.

He began to move. It wasn't a power play. It was a plea.

With every thrust, he made a sound—a soft, broken whine that was pure Omega. He was the one penetrating you, but he was the one unraveling.

"Do you feel me?" he sobbed, biting gently on your shoulder to ground himself. "I'm right here. I'm connected to you. No knot can do this. Only us."

You gripped the sheets, your head falling forward. The sensation was overwhelming—not just the physical pleasure, which was sharp and blinding, but the emotional weight of it. He was literally pouring himself into you.

"Jake," you gasped.

"I love you," he cried, his hips snapping forward, driving deeper. "I love you so much it hurts. Don't make me find an Alpha. I don't want them. I hate them. I only want you."

He was crying openly now, his tears dripping onto your bare back. He sounded so pathetic, so needy, and yet he was the one holding you down, the one filling you up.

"I'm yours," you whispered, the truth finally slipping out.

"Say it again," he begged, his pace quickening, his breath hitching. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Jake. I'm yours."

That was it. That was the trigger. Jake let out a long, high-pitched wail, his body tensing. He thrust into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and collapsed against your back. He held you with a crushing grip, shaking violently as he came.

You felt him pulse inside you, and you shattered with him, your own climax hitting you in a wave of white light. He didn't pull away. He couldn't. He stayed there, slumped over your back, his face buried in your neck, sobbing quietly. He was heavy, warm, and smelled like peaches and salt. "Don't leave," he mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep and exhaustion. "Stay inside. Stay close."

You reached back, running your hand through his sweat-damp hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

The morning sun was cruel. It illuminated the dust motes and the reality of the situation.You woke up with Jake’s limbs tangled in yours. He was the big spoon, curled around your back, his arm heavy over your waist. He was still asleep, his breath hitching every now and then like a child who had cried themselves to sleep.

Panic set in. Cold and sharp.

What have I done?

You had crossed the line. You had slept with the pack’s most eligible Omega. You, the unpresented nobody. You had taken something that should have been saved for a real Alpha who could take care of him properly.

Jake stirred. He tightened his grip on your waist, nuzzling your shoulder.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice raspy and content.

You carefully untangled yourself from him and sat up. You pulled the sheet around your body, creating a barrier.

The smile froze on Jake’s face as he felt the loss of your warmth. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Y/N?"

"We... we shouldn't have done that," you whispered, staring at the floor.

Jake looked like you had slapped him. "What? Why? It was... it was perfect. You felt it."

"It was a mistake, Jake. I got jealous. I let my emotions get the better of me."

"So?" Jake asked, his voice rising, panic creeping in. "I wanted you to! I've been waiting for you to get jealous! Does this mean we're... are we together now?"

He looked so hopeful. His eyes were wide, pleading. It killed you.

"No," you said, forcing your voice to be steady, even though your heart was breaking. "We can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because look at you, Jake! You're an Omega! A high-level Omega! And I'm... I'm nothing. I'm a dud. I can't knot you. I can't bite you. Last night... last night was great, but eventually, your biology is going to demand those things. Eventually, you're going to meet your fated mate."

"I don't want a fated mate!" Jake yelled, grabbing your hand. "I want you! I don't care about the knot! Didn't I prove that?"

"You say that now," you said, pulling your hand away. "But you're eighteen. You don't know what's out there. I won't be the reason you miss out on your true mate."

You took a breath, steeling yourself to offer the only compromise you could live with. The only way to keep him without ruining his future. "But... if you want... we can keep doing this. Until you find someone else."

Jake went still. He stared at you, his eyes welling with fresh tears. "You want to be... friends with benefits?"

"It's better than nothing, isn't it?" you said, hating yourself. "I can take care of your needs. I can keep the Alphas away. But no labels. No promises. Because I can't promise you a future I can't give."

It was a cowardly offer. You were terrified of losing him, so you built a cage of "no strings" to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.

Jake looked down at his hands. He looked at the empty space in the bed where you used to be.He knew he should say no. He knew he deserved a mate who would claim him proudly in the streets. He knew he was worth more than a secret.

But he looked at you—his best friend, his protector, the person who let him cry while he fucked her because he was so overwhelmed with love.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice small.

"Okay?"

"If that's all you can give me," Jake looked up, a single tear tracking down his cheek. "I'll take it."

He crawled to the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab your hand again. He pressed his cheek against your palm, submitting to your terms, even though it broke his heart.

"Just don't leave me," he begged. "Please don't leave me alone."

"I won't," you promised, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

That was a year ago.

Now, you are both twenty. The "situationship" has become a lifestyle. To the outside world, you are best friends. To the walls of Jake’s apartment, you are everything.

You sleep together almost every night. You know every inch of his body. You know that he likes to be the one in control, but he needs to be praised while he does it. You know that he cries when it’s too good. You know that he needs to be held for exactly twenty minutes afterward before he can speak. He is still the talk of the campus. Alphas still bring him gifts. He politely declines them all. "I'm busy," he tells them.

He comes home to you. He crawls into your lap, smelling of other people's perfumes and colognes, and scrubs his face against your neck until he smells like you again.

"You're mine," he whispers in the dark, when he thinks you're asleep. "Even if you won't say it. You're mine."

And you? You hold him tighter, consumed by the guilt and the pleasure, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the day the universe corrects its mistake and takes him away.But for now, in the dark, he is yours. And you are his loser, his unpresented mistake, his secret keeper.

The lie began on a Thursday afternoon in the lecture hall of the Science Building.

Jake was sitting in his usual spot, third row, tapping his pen against his notebook. He was tired. His cycle was approaching—he could feel the pre-heat itch under his skin—but the calendar said he had at least another week. He was managing it. He was fine.Then, the door opened.A girl walked in. She was late. She was a transfer student, someone Jake hadn’t seen before. She was tall, with sharp eyes and a confident stride.She walked right past Jake’s desk to get to an empty seat.

As she passed, the air shifted. It hit Jake like a physical blow. Cinnamon . Leather. Woodsmoke. It was the scent of a dominant Female Alpha. And not just any Alpha—a compatible one. Jake’s biology betrayed him instantly. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. His mouth watered. A sharp, cramping heat coiled low in his stomach, seizing his insides. His Omega instincts, usually dormant and suppressed by blockers, woke up and screamed: Pack. Protection. Mate.

He gasped, dropping his pen. The girl paused. She turned, looking down at him. Her eyes flashed red for a microsecond—her Alpha recognizing a distressed Omega.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice low and rumbling.

That voice. It vibrated in Jake’s bones. It told him to bare his neck. It told him to submit.

And Jake hated it.

He hated the lack of control. He hated that his body wanted to bow to a stranger just because she had the right hormones. He hated that for a split second, he forgot about you. "I'm fine," Jake choked out, grabbing his bag. "I have to go."

He scrambled out of his seat, ignoring the Alpha’s confused look, ignoring the professor calling his name. He ran out of the building, bursting into the cold autumn air. He leaned against the brick wall, hyperventilating. The heat was already rising. The encounter had triggered a biological override. His heat wasn't a week away anymore. It was coming now. He pulled out his phone. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely type.

Y/N.

He needed you. He needed your scent—your neutral, detergent scent. He needed your hands. But he couldn't tell you the truth. If he told you that a Female Alpha had triggered his heat, you would do the "noble" thing. You would tell him to go to her. You would push him away, convinced that biology knew better than love. You would leave him. The thought made his chest ache more than the heat did. He swallowed the bile in his throat and typed the lie.

Jake: I think my suppressants failed. It's starting early. Can you come over? Please

You got the text while you were in line at the campus bookstore.

Panic, cold and familiar, washed over you. Early? You abandoned your place in line. You called your boss at the library and told him you had a family emergency. You emailed your professors that you were sick.

Then, you went to the grocery store. You moved through the aisles with robotic efficiency, playing the role you had carved out for yourself: The Beta Caretaker.

Items:

 Gatorade (Blue, his favorite).

  Protein bars (he wouldn't want to cook).

  Soft blankets (he liked new textures when he was nesting).

  Peaches (canned, in syrup—comfort food).

  Painkillers.

You arrived at his apartment twenty minutes later. The hallway already smelled faintly of him—a sweet, rising dough scent that warned of the storm to come.

You unlocked the door.

"Jake?"

The apartment was dark. The blinds were drawn.

"Bedroom," a voice croaked. You walked in. Jake was buried under a pile of blankets on his bed. Only his eyes were visible—those big, shiny boba eyes, now glassy with fever. "You're here," he whimpered.

He scrambled out of the blankets. He was wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. His skin was flushed a deep, rosy pink.

He practically tackled you. "Whoa, easy," you said, dropping the grocery bags as his weight hit you. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. He made a frustrated sound.

"You smell like the bookstore," he complained, rubbing his cheek aggressively against your collarbone. "I need you."

"I'm here, Jake. I'm right here."

You walked him back to the bed, though he clung to you like a koala. You sat down, and he immediately straddled your lap, wrapping his arms around your neck. "It hurts," he whispered, pressing his hot forehead against yours. "It feels heavier this time."

You ran your hands up and down his bare back, trying to soothe the tremors running through him. You felt the guilt rise in your throat.

"Jake," you said softly. "The books say the second heat is more intense. The body is... demanding a mate."

He stiffened in your arms.

"So?" he challenged, pulling back to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated.

"So... maybe we should call someone. Not a stranger. But maybe... Jennie? Or Jay? Someone safe. Someone who can help you properly."

It tore your heart out to say it. The thought of Jake with anyone else made you want to vomit. But you were a dud. A placeholder. If his heat was this bad, could you really satisfy him?

Jake’s expression shifted from pain to pure, unadulterated anger.

"No," he growled.

"Jake, be reasonable. I can't knot you. I can't—"

"Shut up!" he shouted, his hands gripping your shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Stop trying to give me away! I don't want them! I don't want an Alpha! I want you!"

"But why?" you cried, frustration leaking out. "I can't give you what your body is screaming for!"

"You don't know what my body is screaming for!" he yelled back, tears spilling over. "It's screaming for safety! It's screaming for Y/N! If you bring an Alpha in here, I will bite them. I swear to god, I will hurt them."

He collapsed against you again, sobbing into your shoulder.

"Don't leave me," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please don't make me be with them. They smell wrong. They feel wrong."

The lie hung in the air between you, unspoken. He wasn't just rejecting Alphas; he was rejecting the memory of the girl in the lecture hall. He was fighting his own biology to keep you.

You sighed, wrapping your arms tight around him. You were weak. You should be stronger. You should force him to do what was right for his health. But you couldn't deny him."Okay," you whispered into his hair. "Okay, Jake. No Alphas. Just us."

"Just us," he echoed, his grip tightening. "Promise."

"I promise."

The evening passed in a haze of tension.

Jake was unbearable. The pre-heat hormones stripped away his filters. He was needy, demanding, and incredibly sensitive.

He wouldn't let you leave the bed.

"I need water," you said, trying to untangle yourself from his limbs.

"No," he whined, pinning your leg down with his own. "Stay."

"I'm thirsty, Jake."

"I have spit," he offered, completely serious.

You laughed, despite the heaviness in the room. "You're gross."

"I'm dying," he corrected dramatically. "I'm dying of need and you want water."

Eventually, you managed to get the water and the snacks. You fed him peach slices in bed while he watched you with predatory, hazy eyes.

"You know," he murmured, licking syrup off his thumb. "You smell better than them."

"I don't smell like anything."

"To me you do," he insisted. "You smell like... stillness. Like the eye of the storm. Alphas smell like noise. You're quiet."

He crawled over to you, pushing the bowl of peaches away. He pushed you down onto the mattress.

"Sleep with me," he commanded.

"I am sleeping with you. I'm right here."

"No. Sleep." He emphasized the word. "I need to wake up with you. If I wake up alone..." He shuddered. "Don't make me wake up alone."

"I won't."

You lay down. Jake curled himself around your back—usually he liked to be the big spoon, claiming you, but tonight he wanted to be held. He backed into your chest, grabbing your arms and wrapping them around his waist.

"Hold me tight," he whispered. "Like a seatbelt."

You squeezed him. His skin was radiating heat like a furnace. The scent of peaches was thickening, turning from fresh fruit to something darker, heavier. Like fruit left in the sun too long. Intoxicating and overwhelming.

You fell asleep with your nose buried in his hair, breathing in the scent of your best friend, your lover, your forbidden Omega.

You didn't wake up to sunlight. You woke up to movement.

It was the gray hour of the morning, just before dawn. The room was heavy. The air felt thick, humid, and tasted of sugar and salt.

Jake was moving.

You were lying on your stomach—you must have rolled over in the night. And Jake... Jake was on top of you.

But not in the usual way.He was straddling your thighs, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He was panting, short, sharp breaths that sounded wet in the quiet room. "Jake?" you mumbled, sleep still clouding your brain.

He didn't answer. He couldn't.

The heat had hit. He was in the throes of it. His logic was gone. His human inhibitions were gone. He was pure instinct now. And his instinct was confused, beautiful, and desperate. Usually, an Omega in heat would be submissive, presenting, waiting to be taken. But Jake... Jake had always been a little different with you. He felt safe enough to take what he needed. You felt him shifting, his hips grinding against your lower back. He was slick—so slick. You could feel the wetness soaking through your pajama pants. "Y/N," he whined. It was a high, broken sound. "Need. Need."

He fumbled with your waistband, his hands clumsy and shaking. He shoved your pants down, exposing your skin to the cool air, which was immediately replaced by the searing heat of his body.

"Jake, wait," you tried to push up, but he shoved your shoulders down.

"Mine," he growled. It wasn't an Alpha growl—it didn't have the bass. It was a possessive, desperate snarl. "Don't move. Please. Don't move."

He wasn't asking for permission to top you. He was asking for permission to use you as his anchor. He positioned himself. You felt the tip of him—hard, weeping pre-cum, hot as a branding iron—press against your entrance.

"I love you," he sobbed.

And then, he sank into you. He entered you from behind, collapsing forward so his chest was pressed against your back.

"Oh god," you gasped into the pillow.

He was so hot. Inside and out. It felt like being filled with lava.

He didn't wait. He began to move immediately. It wasn't the rhythmic, controlled lovemaking of your usual nights. This was frantic. This was survival.

He was humping you, his hips snapping forward with a violence that shook the bedframe. But the sounds he was making... they broke you.

He was crying. He was whining. He was babbling nonsense into your skin.

"Right there. Good. So good. You're so warm. My Beta. My Y/N."

He reached around, his arms wrapping under your chest, locking his hands together to hold on for dear life. He was clinging to you like a sailor to a mast in a hurricane.

You reached back, grabbing his hair, trying to give him some resistance, something to ground him."I've got you, Jake," you gritted out, the friction building rapidly. "I'm here."

"Don't let go," he pleaded, his thrusts becoming erratic, shallow then deep. "I feel empty. Fill me. No, let me fill you. I don't know. I don't know."

The confusion of his biology—needing to be filled but needing to claim you—was making him delirious. He solved it by trying to merge with you completely.

Then, you felt it.

His teeth. He turned his head, finding the sensitive curve of your neck.

He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate.He bit down.

"Ah!" you cried out.

It wasn't the mating bite. He didn't have the Alpha fangs to pierce deep enough for the soul-bond, and you didn't have the gland to receive it. But it was hard. It was primal.

He clamped his teeth onto the muscle of your shoulder/neck junction. It was a hold. A scruffing. He was holding you in place, grounding himself through the taste of your skin, the texture of your flesh. The pain was sharp, but the pleasure was sharper.

Feeling him claim you like that—like an animal, like he had every right to leave a mark on you—sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

"Jake," you moaned, pushing back against him.

The bite seemed to trigger him. The taste of you, the submission of you lying there letting him use you... it pushed him over the edge.

He let go of your neck with a gasp, his head falling back.

"Y/N! Y/N!"

He slammed into you, once, twice, three times—deep, ruinous thrusts that hit your deepest spot. He came with a shout. It was a raw, shattering sound. You felt him pulsing inside you, twitching wildly as his heat-fueled orgasm ripped through him.

He collapsed completely.

He was dead weight on top of you. He was panting, his breath hot and wet against your ear. He was trembling so hard his teeth were chattering. You lay there, pinned beneath him, your own body throbbing with the aftershocks of his intensity. The room was silent for a moment, save for the harsh breathing. And then, the scent hit.

It exploded.

Before, he smelled like peaches. Now?

The room smelled like a peach orchard that had been set on fire. It was thick, sugary, smoky, and heavy. It was the scent of a satisfied Omega in the peak of his heat.

It was so strong you could taste it on your tongue. If you were an Alpha, you would have gone into a rut instantly. If you were an Alpha, you would have lost your mind.

But you were Y/N. You were a Beta. So instead of a rut, you just felt... love. And an overwhelming, protective fieriness. Jake shifted. He didn't pull out. He stayed inside you, keeping the connection. He nuzzled his face into your messy hair.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, his voice wrecked. You reached up, touching the stinging spot on your neck. It was definitely going to bruise.

"No," you lied softly. "You didn't."

"I bit you," he confessed, sounding horrified. "I tasted you. I'm sorry. I just... I needed to make sure you were real. I needed to hold you."

"I'm real, Jake. I'm not going anywhere."

"You smell like me now," he murmured, sounding pleased, almost drunk on the hormones. "You smell like my heat. No Alpha will come near you. They'll smell me all over you."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes," he hissed, tightening his arms around you again. "I want everyone to know. You're taken. You're the Omega's. You're mine."

He kissed your shoulder, right over the bite mark, soothing the skin he had just abused. "Round two," he mumbled, his body already reacting again, defying the laws of exhaustion. "Please. Don't make me move."

"I'm not moving," you promised, closing your eyes and letting the heavy, sweet scent of him lull you into submission. "Do whatever you need."

And he did.

The seventh day of an Omega’s heat is not a slope; it is a cliff. It is the biological finale, the "Crest," where the body stops asking for a mate and begins to demand one with a ferocity that overrides logic, dignity, and sanity.

For six days, you had been enough. You had been his anchor, his cool washcloth, his hydration, his comfort. You had held him through the tremors and the fever dreams.

But on the morning of the seventh day, the atmosphere in the apartment shifted from heavy to suffocating. Jake woke up not with a soft nuzzle, but with a frantic, jerky movement. He was thrashing in the sheets, his skin burning so hot it felt dangerous to touch, like a fever that had spiked past the safety zone. His scent—usually peaches and rain—had soured. It didn't smell like fruit anymore. It smelled like burnt sugar and ozone. It smelled like distress.

"Jake?" You sat up, reaching for him. "Jake, look at me."

He opened his eyes.

They were swimming. The dark, warm brown you loved was swallowed by a dilated pupil, rimmed with a hazy, golden desperation. He looked through you, not at you. His wolf was at the surface, scratching at the controls.

"Hurts," he whimpered, a broken, reedy sound that tore at your chest. "It hurts. Inside. Everywhere."

He clawed at his own neck, his nails digging into the sensitive skin over his scent gland. The gland was swollen, pulsing visibly beneath the pale skin, desperate for the release of a claiming bite.

"Don't do that," you said, grabbing his wrists to stop him from hurting himself.

"Need," he sobbed, his body arching off the mattress. "Need... tight. Need to be held. Need... Alpha."

The word hung in the air, sharp and cruel.

He didn't mean to say it. He didn't even know he was saying it. But his biology knew what was missing. He looked at you then, his eyes focusing for a split second. He saw you—his Y/N, his safe place. And he lunged.

He didn't attack you. He collapsed onto you. He pushed you back against the pillows, his weight heavy and feverish. He wasn't trying to dominate you in the way an Alpha would; he was trying to merge with you. He was trying to climb inside your skin because his own was too painful to inhabit. "Help me," he cried, his hands fumbling blindly with the waistband of your pajama shorts. "Please. Help me. Fill the empty. Make it stop."

You helped him. You always helped him. You shimmied out of your clothes, your heart hammering against your ribs. You lay back, opening your legs for him, offering the only thing you had: your body. Your Beta body.

Jake didn't wait. He couldn't. He positioned himself between your legs, his movements erratic and clumsy with heat-shakes. He was trembling so violently that his teeth chattered.When he entered you, he didn't thrust with power. He sank into you with a sob.

"Oh god," he wept, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Y/N. Y/N."

He felt huge, hot, and desperate. He filled you completely, but the physical connection wasn't enough to quell the storm in his blood.

He began to move.It was heartbreaking. He wasn't fucking you for pleasure; he was fucking you for survival. He ground his hips against yours, seeking friction, seeking depth. He wrapped his arms around your torso, locking his hands together under your back, clinging to you as if the bed was a raft in the middle of the ocean.

He didn't scream. He didn't roar.

He whimpered. With every thrust, a soft, high-pitched cry escaped his throat. It was the sound of an animal in a trap.

"Please," he babbled into your skin, his tears wetting your collarbone. "Please, please, please."

"I've got you," you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer, running your hands down his sweat-slicked back. "I'm right here, Jake. I'm holding you."

"Not enough," he moaned, the truth slipping out in his delirium. "It's not... it's not locking. Why won't it lock?"

He was searching for the knot. The biological mechanism that Alphas had (and he needed) to lock inside him or, in rare cases, the reaction that would lock him inside a Female Alpha. But you were a Beta. Your body was soft, welcoming, and warm, but it didn't have the clamp. It didn't have the biological key to his lock.

He picked up the pace, his desperation mounting. He was chasing a horizon he couldn't reach.

Then, he turned his head.

His nose brushed your neck. He inhaled deeply, searching for the pheromones that would trigger his release. He found only your detergent and your fear.

"Bite," he begged, nuzzling your pulse point frantically. "Mark me. Claim me. Please, Y/N. Bite me."

Your heart shattered. You knew it wouldn't work. You knew your teeth were flat. You knew your saliva lacked the enzyme. But hearing him beg, feeling him throb inside you, knowing he was in pain... you couldn't say no.

"Okay," you choked out. "Okay, Jake."

You turned your head. You found the swollen, pulsing gland on the curve of his neck.

You opened your mouth and bit down. You bit hard. Harder than you ever had. You put all your frustration, all your love, all your desperate desire to be enough into your jaw. Jake gasped, his back arching.

"Yes!" he moaned, a long, shaky sound. "Yes, yes, there. Take it."

For a moment, the sharp pressure was enough. It tricked his brain. He felt teeth on his gland, he felt you inside him (or rather, him inside you), and he felt the pain spike. He drove into you, his hips snapping forward in a frantic rhythm. He was chasing that sensation, trying to force the bond to snap into place. "Harder," he whined, tears streaming down his face. "Break the skin. Make it stay. Don't let go."

You bit harder. Your jaw ached. You tasted the salt of his sweat. You felt the skin under your teeth yield slightly, but it didn't puncture. It didn't tear. It just bruised. You were gnawing on him like a dog with a bone, but you couldn't break the seal. You couldn't give him the chemical rush of a mate claim.

Jake’s whimpers turned into sobs. "Why?" he cried, his voice wrecking. "Why isn't it working? Alpha... where is Alpha?"

He wasn't calling you Alpha anymore. He was calling for an Alpha. Any Alpha. The abstract concept of the thing that could save him.

The realization made you loosen your jaw. You pulled back, gasping for air.

You looked at his neck. It was a mess. A purple, angry welt was forming where you had bitten him. It looked painful. It looked ugly. It wasn't a claim; it was an injury.

"No," Jake whined, feeling you pull away. "Don't stop. Don't leave me."

"I can't," you whispered, tears blinding you. "I can't do it, Jake."

"You have to!" he cried. He slammed his hips into you one last time, his body seizing.

The orgasm hit him, but it wasn't the wave of relief he needed. It was a crash.

He cried out—a sharp, keening wail of overstimulation. He stiffened, pouring himself into you, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. But instead of the relaxation that should follow, he kept shaking. He was overwhelmed. His system was flooded with heat hormones that had nowhere to go because the bond hadn't grounded them.

He slumped forward, collapsing onto your chest. He was dead weight.

He didn't drift into a peaceful sleep. He passed out. It was a blackout induced by exhaustion and biological frustration. His brain simply pulled the plug because the body couldn't handle the stress anymore.

"Jake?"

You touched his cheek. He was burning up. His breathing was ragged and shallow. He was unconscious, but even in sleep, his brow was furrowed in pain.

You lay there, pinned beneath him, feeling his seed inside you and his tears drying on your chest. You looked at the bruise on his neck. It was a brand of your failure.

You carefully, slowly pushed him off you. He rolled onto his side with a soft groan, curling into a fetal position instantly, seeking warmth.You sat up. You were shivering. The room was cold now that the heat of the moment had passed.

You looked at him. He was beautiful. Even now, messy and exhausted and bruised, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

And you were killing him. It wasn't a metaphor anymore. You were physically hurting him. By keeping him in this situationship, by pretending that your love could override millions of years of evolution, you were denying him the one thing his body needed to be healthy: a true mate.

If he had been with an Alpha—Jay, Jennie, even that girl Minji—they could have bitten him. They could have knotted him. He would be asleep right now with a smile on his face, the bond humming in his blood, the heat broken and satisfied.

Instead, he was passed out from trauma, sporting a bruise instead of a bite.

"I'm sorry," you whispered into the silent room. "I was so selfish."

You thought you were protecting him from Alphas who might treat him like a trophy. But in reality, you were the one treating him like a possession. You were keeping him for yourself because you needed him, ignoring the fact that he needed something else.You stood up. Your legs were shaky. You felt liquid running down your thighs—a stark reminder of the intimacy you had just shared, and how futile it was.

You walked to the bathroom.You showered. You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, trying to wash off the scent of burnt sugar and failure. You watched the water swirl down the drain, taking your hopes with it.

You dressed in the clothes you had arrived in a week ago. Jeans. Hoodie. Sneakers. They felt like armor. You went to the kitchen. It was quiet. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound. You opened the pantry. You needed to do one last thing for him. You couldn't leave him to wake up hungry. You pulled out the ingredients for Kimchi stew. It was his comfort food. You moved automatically. Chopping the kimchi, slicing the tofu, measuring the water. You stood over the stove, stirring the pot, letting the steam warm your face. You poured your love into the food because you couldn't pour it into a bond.When it was done, you ladled it into a glass container. You placed it on the top shelf of the fridge, right at eye level. You grabbed a sticky note.

You held the pen, your hand trembling. What could you say? I love you? No. That would make him chase you. I'm sorry? Not enough.

You wrote:

Jake,

Stew is in the fridge. Drink the Gatorade.

- Y/N

It was cold. It was practical. It was the note of a friend, not a lover. It was a wall.

You walked back into the bedroom.

The air was still thick with his scent. It made your wolf—the tiny, dormant thing inside you—whine in protest. Mate, it whispered. Don't leave mate.

"Shut up," you told yourself. "He's not ours."

You placed a fresh glass of water and two painkillers on the nightstand next to his head.You looked at him one last time. You memorized the curve of his eyelashes, the slope of his nose, the way his lips parted slightly in sleep. You memorized the ugly purple bruise on his neck so you would never, ever forget why you had to leave.

You bent down. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss the bruise and apologize.

But you didn't. If you touched him, you wouldn't leave.

You straightened up. "You need an Alpha, Jake," you whispered, your voice cracking. "Not a Beta who plays pretend."

You grabbed your bag. You walked to the door. You stepped out into the hallway. The click of the lock sliding home sounded like a gunshot.

The walk back to your apartment was a blur.

It was late. The campus was quiet. The streetlights blurred into streaks of light as your eyes filled with tears you refused to shed.

You made it to your building. You made it up the stairs. You made it into your apartment.You locked the door.And then, you collapsed.You slid down the door until you hit the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your face in your arms.The tears came then. Not quiet, polite tears. Ugly, heaving sobs that shook your entire body. You wailed into your knees, the sound muffled by the fabric of your jeans.

You cried for the boy you loved.

You cried for the biology that hated you.

You cried for the bite you couldn't give.

You decided then and there. No more situationship. No more "friends with benefits." No more holding him while he cried for someone else.You had to be the villain. You had to be the one to cut the cord.He would hate you. He would scream. He would cry.

But eventually, the pain would fade. Eventually, his heat would come again. And without you there to enable him, he would be forced to seek out an Alpha. He would find someone who could truly claim him. He would be happy.

And you?You would be the Beta in the background. The guard dog who finally opened the gate and let the wolf run free.You sat there on the floor of your dark apartment, crying until your throat was raw, mourning a relationship that was doomed before it ever began.

The Next Morning Jake woke up to silence.

The sun was streaming through the blinds, hitting him right in the face. He groaned, shielding his eyes. His body felt like he had been hit by a truck. Every muscle ached. His head was pounding. His neck...

He reached up. His neck throbbed with a dull, bruised pain.

Memory washed over him in fragments.The heat. The desperation. The biting. The failure. "Y/N?" he rasped.

He rolled over. The other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cool.

"Y/N?" he called louder, panic starting to prickle in his chest.

He sat up, ignoring the dizziness.

"Y/N!"

Silence. He saw the water on the nightstand. The painkillers.

He scrambled out of bed, his legs weak. He stumbled into the kitchen.

Empty.He saw the note on the counter. He picked it up.

Jake,

Stew is in the fridge. Drink the Gatorade.

- Y/N

He stared at the handwriting. It was neat. Steady.

He crumpled the note in his fist.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no."

He ran to the front door. He yanked it open and looked out into the hallway, as if hoping you were just standing there.

Empty. She was gone. She had packed her bag. She had cooked him food. She had medicated him. And she had left.

Jake slid down the doorframe, clutching the crumpled note to his chest.

He felt the bruise on his neck throb. It wasn't a claim. It was a goodbye kiss.

Tears welled in his eyes, hot and fast.

"You idiot," he sobbed into the empty apartment. "You think you're saving me? You're just breaking me." But he was too weak to chase you. His heat was broken, but his body was exhausted. He curled up on the doormat, holding the note, and cried for the Alpha he didn't want and the Beta he couldn't keep.

The silence between two people who have shared a soul since childhood is not empty; it is heavy. It is a physical weight that presses down on your chest, making every breath a conscious effort.

For the first two weeks after you walked out of his apartment, Jake didn't let you go easily. He was Jake. He was the boy who had clung to your leg on the first day of kindergarten. He didn't understand the concept of giving up on you.

His name lit up your phone screen constantly.

Jake (8:02 AM): Y/N, please. Just talk to me.

Jake (12:30 PM): I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said during the heat. I was out of my mind. It wasn’t real.

Jake (7:45 PM): I’m outside your door. I know you’re in there. I can hear you walking. Please open up.

Jake (11:00 PM): Did I hurt you? Is that why? I’ll never ask for a bite again. I promise. Just come back.

You read every single one. You read them sitting on the floor of your living room, your back pressed against the door he was knocking on.

You listened to his knuckles rap against the wood.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Then a pause.

"Y/N?" his voice muffled, thick with unshed tears. "Please."

It took every ounce of willpower you possessed not to rip the door open. Your body screamed at you to go to him. Your heart ached with a physical sharpness that felt like a heart attack. But then you would remember the bruise. You would remember the way he looked at you with golden, delirious eyes and screamed for an Alpha. You would remember the way your teeth had failed to break his skin, leaving him sobbing in frustration. You weren't saving yourself. You were saving him. So you stayed silent. You let the tears stream down your face in the dark, biting your own hand to keep from sobbing aloud, until his footsteps finally retreated down the hall.

By the third week, the knocking stopped. The texts slowed down to a trickle, then ceased.

Jake Sim was sweet. He was kind. He was the type of boy who rescued spiders and apologized to inanimate objects when he bumped into them. He wasn't the type to harass someone who clearly wanted to be left alone.

He respected your decision, even though it was killing him.

But the campus was small, and the pack was smaller. You couldn't avoid seeing him.

The first time you saw him after the "breakup" (if you could call it that), it was in the cafeteria. You walked in, tray in hand, head down, trying to be invisible.

You looked up and froze. Jake was sitting at a large round table in the center of the room. He was surrounded. Jay was there, laughing loudly. Sunghoon was leaning in, saying something that made Jake smile—a small, polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. There were other Omegas there too, giggling and preening.

Jake was the sun. He had always been the sun. Even when he was an unpresented, shy kid, people were drawn to his warmth. Now that he was a presented Omega with a scent like heaven, he was a gravitational singularity.

And you? You stood by the condiment station, alone. You realized, with a crushing wave of clarity, just how much of your social life had been Jake.

People didn't talk to you because you were Y/N. They talked to you because you were the gatekeeper to Jake. You were the Shield. Without the person to protect, you were just... a Beta. A background extra in the movie of his life.

You took your tray to a small table in the far corner, near the trash cans. You sat with your back to the room. You didn't see it, but across the cafeteria, Jake had stopped eating. He was staring at the back of your head. His hand was gripping his fork so hard his knuckles were white.

"Jake?" Jay asked, touching his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jake whispered, tearing his eyes away from your lonely figure. "I'm fine."

Pack Nights were mandatory for the Silver River Collective. It was a time for community, for reinforcing the bonds that kept the wolves together.

Usually, Pack Night was your favorite. You and Jake would sit on a blanket near the fire, roasting marshmallows, making fun of Marcus, and sharing earbuds. You were a unit. A two-person pack within the pack.

This month, you went alone. You arrived late, slipping into the shadows at the edge of the clearing. The fire was roaring, casting long, dancing shadows against the pine trees. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and the intermingled scents of a hundred wolves. You sat on a cold log, pulling your knees to your chest.

You scanned the crowd. You found him instantly. It was impossible not to.

He was sitting near the Elders, a place of honor for high-ranking wolves. He was wearing a thick cream-colored sweater that looked soft enough to melt into. He was flanked by Heeseung and Sunghoon—two powerful Alphas who looked like his personal bodyguards. Heeseung was peeling an orange for him. Sunghoon was draping a blanket over his shoulders. They were taking care of him. They were doing your job. And they were doing it better. They were Alphas. They could offer him protection you couldn't.

A lump formed in your throat, hot and choking. You felt a wave of jealousy so potent it made your vision swim. That's my spot, you wanted to scream. That's my blanket. That's my Omega. As if he heard your thoughts, Jake turned his head.

He looked past the fire, past the Alphas, past the crowd. His eyes locked onto yours in the darkness. Even from fifty feet away, you could see the devastation on his face. He didn't look happy to be pampered. He looked lonely. He looked like a kid who had lost his mom in the grocery store. He made a movement to stand up. He placed his hands on the ground, ready to push himself up and come to you.

You panicked. If he came over here... if he looked at you with those sad, wide eyes... you would break. You would beg him to take you back, and the cycle would start all over again. The heat. The failure. The pain. You stood up abruptly. You turned and walked away, disappearing into the tree line. You didn't see Jake sink back down onto the blanket, his shoulders slumping in defeat. You didn't see him push the orange away, his appetite gone.

Three more weeks passed.

You were approaching your twenty-first birthday. The cutoff. The day you would officially, medically be declared a Beta for life.

But instead of settling into acceptance, your body was revolting.

It started subtly. You were in your dorm room, trying to study for a Business Law exam. Your roommate, Sarah, was chewing gum.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Usually, you could tune it out. Today, it sounded like a gunshot next to your ear.

"Can you stop?" you snapped, your voice harsh in the quiet room.

Sarah jumped, looking at you with wide eyes. "Whoa. Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you gritted out, rubbing your temples. "It's just loud."

"It's gum, Y/N."

"Just stop!" you slammed your book shut.

The anger was sudden and white-hot. It felt like a physical thing living in your chest, a caged animal throwing itself against your ribs. You stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving Sarah bewildered. Then came the nights. You couldn't sleep. You would toss and turn, kicking off the blankets because you were burning up, then pulling them back on because you were freezing. You woke up every morning soaking wet. Your sheets were damp with sweat. You showered three times a day, scrubbing your skin raw, but you never felt clean. You felt... sticky. Heavy. Like your skin was too tight for your body. "You look terrible," your reflection told you in the mirror. You had dark circles under your eyes. You looked pale, gaunt. But your eyes... there was something strange about your eyes. They looked brighter. Sharper.

"Stress," you told yourself. "It's just stress. Heartbreak is a physical illness."

You were starving. Always.

You ate four meals a day and were still ravenous. You craved meat. Rare meat. You found yourself ordering steaks at the campus diner and eating them like you hadn't seen food in weeks. "Growth spurt?" the waitress joked as she cleared your third plate. "Something like that," you muttered, feeling shameful. You stopped going to lectures.The lecture halls were too loud. Too smelly. That was the worst part—the smell. Suddenly, your nose was a superpower you didn't want. You could smell everyone. You could smell the Alpha in the front row who hadn't showered. You could smell the Omega three rows back who was wearing cherry blossom perfume. You could smell the fear on the students before a test. It was overwhelming. It was a sensory assault.So you stayed in your apartment. You drew the blinds. You sat in the dark. You were convinced you were having a nervous breakdown. You were convinced the grief of losing Jake had finally snapped your mind.

Jake noticed.

He noticed you weren't in your usual seat in Business Law. He noticed you weren't in the cafeteria. He noticed you hadn't been to the library in a week.

He was terrified.

He sat in his Music Theory class, staring at his phone. He typed out a text.

Are you okay? (Deleted)

I haven't seen you. (Deleted)

Please just tell me you're alive. (Deleted)

He respected your space because you asked him to. He loved you enough to let you go. But the silence was driving him insane. He started walking past your apartment building at night. He would stand on the sidewalk across the street, looking up at your window. The lights were always off.

"Where are you?" he whispered to the cold wind. "Y/N, where are you?"

He didn't know you were right there, sitting on the floor in the dark, clutching a pillow that smelled faintly like him, shivering through another wave of cold sweat.

The agitation became aggression.

You went to the corner store to buy water (you were so thirsty, all the time).

A guy bumped into you in the aisle. A tall, burly Alpha.

"Watch it," he grunted, not looking at you. Usually, you would have mumbled an apology and moved on. You were a Beta. You stepped aside for Alphas.

Not today. A low, vibrating sound started in your chest. It wasn't a word. It was a growl. The Alpha stopped. He turned slowly, looking at you. He looked confused. He was looking for the source of the sound, but he was looking right over your head. He didn't register you as the threat.

"Did you say something?" he sneered. You looked up at him. You felt a strange, cold calm wash over you. You looked at his neck. You visualized exactly where the jugular vein was.

"I said," you spoke, your voice dropping an octave, sounding rough and unrecognizable, "You're in my way."

The Alpha blinked. He took a step back. He looked unsettled. He couldn't explain why—you were just a small girl—but his instincts were telling him to move.

"Whatever, freak," he muttered, hurrying away.

You stood there, shaking.

What is happening to me?

You ran home. You locked the door. You curled up in your bed and cried.

Jake couldn't take it anymore. He had heard rumors. People were saying you looked sick. People were saying you had snapped at a professor. He bought a birthday gift. It was a small box. Inside was a silver bracelet with a charm shaped like a pea pod. Two little peas inside. He walked to your apartment. He stood outside your door. He could hear movement inside. Heavy, pacing footsteps. Like a caged animal.

He raised his hand to knock. But then, he smelled it. Through the crack in the door, a scent was leaking out. It wasn't your usual detergent scent. It wasn't the smell of illness. It was faint, but it was there.

Burnt Cedar. Honey. Dark Rum. It was the scent of a dominant Alpha. Jake froze. His heart hammered.

Is she with someone?

The thought nearly brought him to his knees. Had you moved on already? Was there an Alpha in there with you? Was that why you were missing classes? Were you... nesting? Tears pricked his eyes. He lowered his hand.

He couldn't interrupt. If you were with a mate, if you had found happiness... he had to let you have it. That was the deal. He placed the small box on the doormat. "Happy Birthday, Y/N," he whispered, his voice cracking. He turned and walked away, leaving you alone with a monster you didn't know you were becoming.

You were dying.

That was the only explanation. It was 11:00 PM. One hour until you turned twenty-one.Your apartment was a wreck. You had ripped the sheets off the bed because they were too rough. You had thrown a lamp across the room because the light was too bright. You were pacing the living room, naked, sweating profusely.

Your skin felt like it was splitting open. Your bones felt like they were lengthening, cracking, reshaping. The pain was blinding. You fell to your knees on the rug.

"Jake," you groaned. You didn't want to say it. You had promised to let him go. But in the face of this agony, your brain reverted to its default setting.

Jake. Jake. Jake. You needed him. You didn't know why. You just knew that if you didn't smell peaches and rain right now, you were going to shatter.

You crawled toward your phone, which was lying on the floor where you had dropped it hours ago.

You picked it up. Your vision was blurry, red around the edges.

You dialed his number. It rang once.

"Y/N?"

His voice was breathless, panicked. He picked up on the first ring.

"Jake," you rasped. Your voice sounded terrifying. It sounded like gravel grinding together.

"Y/N? What's wrong? You sound... are you sick?"

"Help," you choked out. "Hurts. Dying."

"I'm coming," he said instantly. No hesitation. No questions. "I'm coming right now. Don't move."

The line went dead. You dropped the phone. You curled into a ball on the rug, shivering violently. The clock on the wall ticked.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

11:58 PM.

11:59 PM.

The heat inside you hit a crescendo. It wasn't a fever anymore. It was an explosion.

A wave of energy ripped through your body, starting at the base of your spine and shooting out to your fingertips. You screamed, your back arching.

And then, the dam broke. The scent exploded out of you.

Thick. Heavy. Dominant.

Cedar forests burning in the night. The sharp tang of lightning (ozone). The deep, intoxicating warmth of spiced rum. It filled the room instantly. It saturated the furniture, the walls, the air.

12:30 AM.

You weren't dying. You were arriving.

The door burst open. The door didn't just open; it slammed against the wall, the handle punching a hole in the plaster.

Jake stood in the threshold, chest heaving, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat from his sprint across campus. He had burst in expecting a tragedy. He expected to find you sick, dying, or worse—nesting with the Alpha whose scent he had smelled outside.

"Y/N!" he screamed, scanning the dark room.

Then, the air hit him. It wasn't a drift of scent anymore. It was a tsunami.

It rolled over him in a physical wave—thick, suffocating, and terrifyingly potent. Burnt Cedar. Honey, dark Rum. It was the scent of a Prime Alpha, a dominant force of nature entering a Presentation Rut.

And it was coming from you. You were on the floor in the center of the rug, curled into a ball, shaking violently. You were naked, your skin glowing with a feverish, supernatural sheen. Jake froze. His brain short-circuited. There is no other Alpha, his mind whispered, the realization shattering his reality. It’s her. It’s always been her. And then, his biology answered.Jake’s suppressants, which he had been taking religiously since you left, evaporated instantly. The sheer force of your pheromones reached into his genetic code and flipped a switch.

His knees buckled. He gasped, clutching the doorframe, as a bolt of liquid fire shot through his veins. It wasn't the slow build of a normal heat. It was a flash flood. His scent glands flared open, dumping a concentrated cloud of Ripe Peaches and Heavy Cream into the room to meet your Cedar.

"Y/N," he groaned, the sound wrecked and wet.

You lifted your head. Jake stopped breathing.

Your eyes were no longer the soft, familiar color he had known since kindergarten. They were glowing. A deep, burning, bioluminescent red. The color of embers in a dying fire. The color of a predator.

You looked at him, and for a second, he saw the animal inside you assess him.

He stared back. His own irises flooded with gold, the pupil blowing wide until his eyes were pools of molten honey.

"Jake," you growled.

It wasn't your voice. It was a command that vibrated in the floorboards.

"It's you," Jake whimpered, stumbling forward, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. He didn't lock it; he didn't care. "It was you all along." You didn't answer. You couldn't speak human words anymore. Your brain was entirely offline, replaced by the singular, driving need of a rutting Alpha who had just found her mate.

You uncoiled from the floor with terrifying speed. You didn't stand; you launched yourself at him. Jake met you halfway. You collided in the center of the living room with the force of two planets crashing. You grabbed him, your hands searing hot against his cold leather jacket. You slammed him back against the wall, the impact knocking a picture frame to the floor."Mine," you snarled, burying your face in his neck. You inhaled violently, dragging the scent of him into your lungs like oxygen.

"Yours," Jake sobbed, grabbing your face, forcing you to look at him. "I'm yours, Alpha. I'm yours."

You kissed him. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was a devouring.

Your mouths clashed, teeth grazing lips, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate war for dominance. He tasted like salt and desperation. You tasted like fire.

Jake made a noise against your mouth—a high, needy whine that drove you insane. He wrapped his legs around your waist, jumping into your arms, trusting your new Alpha strength to hold him up.

You caught him easily. You felt powerful. You felt limitless.

You carried him to the bedroom, not breaking the kiss. You kicked the door open and stumbled toward the bed, which was stripped bare to the mattress.

You threw him down. He bounced on the mattress, looking up at you with those wide, golden eyes. He was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He reached for the zipper of his jacket, his hands shaking so hard he couldn't grasp the metal.

"Help me," he begged, his voice cracking. "Take it off. Please. I need skin. I need you."

You didn't have patience for zippers. You ripped the jacket open, popping the mechanism. You tore his t-shirt over his head. You shoved his jeans down his hips.

He helped you, kicking wildly to rid himself of the fabric.

When he was finally naked, sprawled out on your mattress under the moonlight filtering through the blinds, he looked like an offering. His skin was flushed pink, his nipples hard, his scent gland pulsing on his neck.

You crawled over him. The visual of you—a Female Alpha, powerful, muscles defined by the tension of the rut, eyes glowing red—hovering over him broke Jake completely. "Alpha," he whined, reaching up to trace the line of your jaw. "You're so beautiful. You're so strong."

You didn't wait. You couldn't. You settled between his legs. The heat radiating from him was intense, scorching your inner thighs. He was slick—his body producing the natural lubricant of an Omega in distress.

"Fill me," Jake pleaded, his hips bucking upward, seeking contact. "Fix me. You're the only one who can fix it."

You aligned yourself with him. This was different from before. Before, you were two friends trying to make biology work. Now, you were lock and key.

You guided him to your entrance. He was hard, weeping, desperate.

You sank down. "Oh, god!" Jake screamed, throwing his head back into the pillow.

The sensation was blinding.

Because you were presenting, because you were in a rut, your internal anatomy had shifted. You were tighter, hotter, your muscles gripping him with a possessive intensity that felt completely different.

You took him all the way in, until your pelvis ground against his.

"Y/N," he babbled, his eyes rolling back. "So hot. You're so hot."

You began to move.It was primal. You grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the mattress above his head. You dominated him completely. You set the pace—a punishing, grinding rhythm that forced cries out of him with every thrust.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixing with his wet, broken moans and your low, guttural growls. You leaned down, capturing his mouth again. You kissed him deeply, your tongue sweeping his mouth, tasting him, owning him. You swallowed his cries, drinking them down like wine.

Jake was a mess beneath you. He was thrashing, his hips snapping up to meet yours, trying to get deeper, trying to fuse his body to yours.

"Deep," he mumbled against your lips. "Deeper. Don't leave any space."

"I'm right here," you growled against his neck. "I'm inside you. I'm keeping you."

Your wolf was singing. Mate. Mate. Perfect Mate. He smelled right. He felt right. The way he submitted to you, baring his throat, hands around your waist to pull you closer—it was exactly what your Alpha instincts needed.

The tension built rapidly. This wasn't a marathon; it was a sprint to the claim.

You felt the pressure in your lower abdomen spike. It was a cramping sensation, heavy and inevitable. Your body was preparing the trap. "Jake," you panted, looking down at him. Your red eyes bore into his golden ones. "I'm going to lock."

Fear flickered in his eyes for a microsecond—the fear of the unknown—but it was instantly drowned out by longing.

"Do it," he commanded, his voice raw. "Trap me. Don't let me go. Never let me go."

He thrust up, burying himself as deep as he could go, and held it there.

You let go. You cried out, a roar tearing from your throat as your orgasm hit.

And then, it happened.

Deep inside you, the Alpha muscles—the mechanism you didn't know you had until today—slammed shut. It was a violent, powerful contraction. Your internal walls rippled and clamped down around the base of him, creating a vacuum seal. It was tighter than anything you had ever felt. It was a vice grip.

Jake screamed.

"Y/N! Y/N! Oh my god!"

The sensation of being gripped that tightly, of being literally milked by your body, sent him over the edge instantly. He shattered. He convulsed in your arms, his body bowing off the mattress. He poured himself into you, his release unending, triggered and sustained by the crushing pressure of your lock.

"I can't—it's too much—Alpha!" he sobbed, shaking violently.

But you couldn't stop. You were locked. Your body had him. You were holding him prisoner in the most intimate way possible. You collapsed forward, your chest heaving against his. You were fused together.

But the ritual wasn't done. The heat was broken, the rut was satisfied, but the bond needed the seal. The scent in the room was now a perfect, swirling nebula of your combined essences. Burnt Cedar and Peaches and Cream.

You lifted your head. Jake was panting, his face wet with tears and sweat. He looked wrecked. He looked divine. He saw where you were looking. He saw your eyes fixate on his neck. He didn't flinch this time. He didn't cry out for a stranger. He tilted his head back, exposing the gland. The bruise you had left weeks ago had faded to a faint yellow shadow. It was ready.

"Please," he whispered, his golden eyes locking onto yours. "Make it permanent. I don't want to be anyone else's. I only want you."

You lowered your head. You licked the skin first, tasting the salt, tasting the pulse that fluttered frantically beneath the surface.

Then, you opened your mouth. Your canines—longer now, sharper, designed for this exact moment—grazed his skin.

You bit down.

Crunch.

It was a sickening, beautiful sound. Your teeth pierced the tough skin of the scent gland, sinking deep into the muscle. Jake cried out—a sharp, high sound of pain—but he immediately grabbed the back of your head and shoved you closer.

"Yes!" he hissed through his teeth. You clamped down. You felt the connection snap into place like a physical tether. It wasn't just blood you tasted; it was his soul. A flood of emotions that weren't yours crashed into your brain. Relief. Safety. Overwhelming love. Belonging. You pushed your own feelings back down the bond.

Possession. Adoration. Protection. Forever. You held the bite, your jaw locked, marking him, changing his biology, writing your name on his very DNA.

After what felt like an eternity, you slowly released the pressure. You licked the wound, your saliva sealing the puncture marks, leaving behind the jagged, raised scar of a Mated Omega. You pulled back to look at him. Jake was limp beneath you. His eyes were rolling back in his head, a look of pure, drugged bliss on his face. He was floating in the endorphin rush of the bite. "Mine," you growled, your voice rough.

Jake blinked, focusing on you slowly. He reached up, touching the fresh mark on his neck. He smiled—a messy, tear-stained, radiant smile.

"Yours," he whispered. "Finally."