allie

I wanna make things with my hands!!

You used to squeal as a child whenever someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up. The laughter that followed always left you quietly confused.

What a cutie.

Wait till she grows up.

As if you weren't standing right there. As if it really was unattainable.

As you got older, that desire only split open and spilled into everything else—into baking, painting, shaping.

Anything that lets your hands create something beautiful. Something meaningful.

Over time, you realized it wasn't just about making things. It was about the space to make them—to exist without being watched, corrected, rushed. To live somewhere quiet enough that your thoughts could finally settle.

It wasn't that you were a complete introvert. You loved people—you loved the ones who mattered. But there was always that persistent pull, that quiet urge to disappear for a while. To exist in a world that belonged only to you. You would spend days on end just imagining.

And lately, that wasn't enough anymore.

You didn't just want escape. You wanted peace. Quiet.

Which was why you took the first opportunity to leave everything behind—a small farming town in rural England, offering work in exchange for relocation. Painting homes. Restoring old businesses. Fixing what had been forgotten.

Everyone had something to say about it. Your family. Your friends. Even your professors warned you against it.

But you didn't hesitate.

You've technically been here for a week already. Long enough to learn the unfamiliar quiet by heart, to wait while the cottage was cleared and signed off and made official. This is the first time you're really standing in front of it.

Ideas crowd your mind faster than you can catch the—paint, repairs, small changes that would make it yours. Your chest tightens, heart swelling, a quiet certainty settling in.

The place is neglected. Weathered. Clearly left behind.

And yet, all you can see is possibility.

For the first time in a long while, it feels like everything is falling into place.

"Excuse me?"

You're pulled from your thoughts by the soft voice beside you. You blink, realizing the man has been standing there the entire time.

He smiles, polite but tentative. "I just wanted to make sure everything was to your liking. It's an older cottage, so...lt isn't exactly our best."

"No," you say quickly, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "It's perfect."

Something about your response seems to catch him off guard. He clears his throat.

"Right. Then there are just a few things we should go over before we-"

A sound cuts him off.

An animalistic, sharp, distant squeal loud enough to make you flinch, the noise carrying unnaturally through the trees. You turn instinctively, scanning the hillside.

Up the slope, partially hidden by the trees, stands a barn. One you hadn't noticed before. The doors open with a loud thud.

For a split second, you don't register what you're seeing—only that something too big has stepped into the light.

Then your stomach drops.

The man fills the doorway, massive shoulders nearly scraping the frame, his silhouette swallowing what little light spills out behind him. He's enormous-not just tall, but wide, built thick and heavy like he was carved for brute force rather than grace.

He's covered in blood everywhere. Dark, soaked into his clothes, smeared across his arms, clinging in thick, ugly patches that glisten wetly in the sunlight. There's a faint metallic smell that drifts through the air, making you scrunch your nose.

To top it off, he had a skull—patterned balaclava covering the lower half of his face.

The printed grin feels out of place against the quiet countryside, against the green fields and open sky. You can't see his mouth. Can't read his expression. Just the size of him, the way he carries himself like nothing around here surprises him anymore.

Your shoulders tense on instinct.

It was straight out of a horror movie.

"Um," you let out a small laugh, more nerves than humor honestly. "Is that... normal?"

"Oh—yeah." The man beside you clears his throat.

"Yeah, that'll be Simon. Local butcher." He gives a small, awkward laugh. "Looks worse than it is."

Suddenly, you remember everything they warned you about.

A woman alone in the woods.

Right.

You watched cautiously as the man walked toward the cottage right next to the barn, slightly more hidden in the woods than yours, slightly smaller as well.

His steps are steady, boots pressing into the dirt with an easy familiarity, like he's walked this path a thousand times.

Halfway there, he slows and glances over.

Just a look - brief, assessing—the kind of look anyone might give when they notice someone new standing where no one usually does. You tell yourself that immediately.

Still, your chest tightens in an unsettling way.

Even from this distance, his attention feels heavier than it should. He doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Just takes you in for a moment longer than you're comfortable with.

"Don't mind him. He's a private bloke—won't be any bother."

You nod slowly as you turn, stepping back toward the cottage, the normal sounds of the countryside slowly filtering back in—though the image of him, bloodstained and broad-shouldered against the barn, stays longer than you'd like.

His view of you was completely different.

All he saw was a small figure standing out in the open.

Too small for this place.

You were dressed simply, soft neutral colors that didn't draw any immediate attention—yet somehow, you managed to draw it anyway. A long skirt brushing your ankles. A fitted tube top clinging in all the right places, bare skin catching the last of the daylight. Gold glinting faintly at your throat and wrists.

He has been watching you since the moment you arrived.

Could see you almost too clearly.

The thought settled heavy in his chest. The cottage next to his. Empty for years.

And now occupied.

His hand tightened around the handle of the front door as he went inside, the knowledge of you settling somewhere in the back of his mind.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You wake up before the sun does.

The room is still dark, the cold from the night before still lingers stubbornly around the corners. The smell of wood and damp earth seeps into your space as you lie still beneath the covers, listening to the sound of your breathing and distant chirping of birds.

The nerves you thought you left behind start to stir low in your stomach. You barely slept, drifting in and out of shallow rest. It's funny how the waiting -the planning and the packing was easier than actually waking up inside this new life. A whole week spent imagining, filling the gaps with maybes and what-ifs, had felt gentler than this moment.

But now, lying in your own bed, on the edge of your first real day here, the anxiety creeps back into you like it never really left.

You force yourself up, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the morning cold. The wooden floor bites at your bare feet as you cross the room.

You move through your room on autopilot. Pushing aside clutter and digging through your box filled with your things to wash up. You pull on a simple black crop top and black leggings—easy and practical, something you don't mind making a mess out of. You fix your hair the way you always do before big jobs, muscle memory taking over as you gather your tools, hand steady despite the tight, resistant pull in your chest.

Your first job is a simple mural for a little flower shop in town.

You'd already been introduced earlier in the week.

Names, faces, smiles. Florence, the owner, had shown you the wall, fingers dusted with soil, excitement bright in her eyes. They'd given you free rein over the design, only asking that you keep to a preferred color palette.

"Okay," you mutter to yourself, crouching by your supplies. "One, two, three-"

You line the cans up on the floor. Reds. Yellows. Whites. Count them twice. Then again.

"Four."

You tap each lid as you go, checking them off in your head like that'll keep your nerves in place. Everything's been ready since last night. Packed. Repacked. Adjusted.

You're stalling. You know you are.

Keys cold in your palm, you stand by the door longer than necessary. Your hand rests on the handle. You inhale once before stepping out.

A loud, wet huff greets you immediately.

You freeze.

Right behind you—way too close—is a dog. If you could actually call it that.

He doesn't look very friendly. Honestly, you can't even process whether or not he is friendly by the way he stands there.

He's massive—thick-chested, broad, and you're pretty sure you saw veins popping out of his shoulders, only reinforcing how strong this dog could be. His paws dig heavy into the dirt at the bottom of your porch. Drool clings to the sides of its mouth, slipping free as it stares at you.

And for a fleeting second, the image of yesterday resurfaced. Barn doors, and a blood covered man standing in the middle of the field.

Your heart jumps straight into your throat.

You lift your hand instinctively, bending just slightly at the knees before you can stop yourself.

"Oh-okay," you breathe. "This is... fine."

"Hi," you try, softer. "Hey, puppy."

The dog doesn't move, just tilts his head to the side.

You glance around, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is. No neighbors. No cars. Just you and the beast blocking your path.

The distant sound of a truck came before you could react, stopping abruptly in front of you.

"Oi," the voice is rough and hoarsed.

"Mate. What'd I tell you?" He reaches over and pushes the door open from the inside.

The dog perking up instantly before running toward him obediently, tail wagging like nothing just happened.

It's only then you realized who it is. Who's standing in front of your door.

The butcher straight out of a slasher movie.

"You botherin' this bunny?" he asks the dog while scratching the back of his ears, happily wiggling his short tail.

Bunny?

"No bunny, just me," you laugh awkwardly before you step down off the porch, forcing yourself to stand straight even though your grip tightens on your bags.

He huffs, something close to a chuckle. "Right."

"Sorry about him," he adds.

"He likes to wander."

"You sure about that?" you ask, looking at the dog.

"Because he looked like he wasn't planning on leaving."

His lips twitches, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Saw you movin' your things yesterday," he says. "The place's been empty for a long time."

"Yeah," you reply quickly. "Feels a little weird, but I'll make it a home."

"Takes time," he shrugs, watching you for a second longer than necessary.

"You heading into town?" he asks, pointing at your bags in hand.

You blink. "Yeah. I was just—"

"Hop in," he says, nodding toward the passenger seat.

"I'll take you."

You hesitate, words catching. "You don't have to—"

"Already going," he replies simply.

You pause for a moment, eyes lingering down the road, wondering whether or not you should climb into this stranger's truck. The bark of the dog breaks your thoughts, deciding to climb in anyway. The smell hits you all at once—raw meat, metallic and heavy, softened slightly by the clean interior and a faint pine-scented freshener.

Large freezers are secured in the back.

The dog squeezes itself between the two of you, panting proudly. Still massive. Just... not focused on you anymore.

cute, you think.

"Simon,"' he introduces himself.

“Y/n."

The car ride is silent, tires crunching over gravel as the hills roll out around you. Fields stretch wide and open, cows grazing lazily, sheep dotting the landscape like pale stones. Trees sway gently in the breeze.

You watch it all pass, mesmerized. Though your thoughts are running wild, thoughts going back to the sellers words.

Private bloke

Not private enough clearly.

Your gaze shifts from outside to his truck, trying to catch a glimpse at the man.

Simon drives easily, his hand on the wheel completely scarred, you wondered if he got it from his line of work or something else, the other holds a cigarette out the window. He looks different like this—clean, relaxed, almost ordinary. He looks handsome. In a rough, rugged way.

"Need somethin'?" he asks, eyes still on the road.

"Sorry," you say quickly, eyes snapping away "Just— thinking."

"Didnt scare you too much yesterday, did i?" he asks, looking at you briefly. "You seem slightly jumpy,"

Your neck snaps almost instantly toward his hard face.

"No of course not!" You reply hurriedly,

He hums in understanding.

The truck slows outside the shop, gravel crunching under the tires.

"This good?" he asks.

You nod, already reaching for the door. "Yeah. Thank you."

He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then gives a short nod.

"I'll be back," he states.

You hesitate, but smile anyway. Shutting the door with a loud thud.

You can feel his eyes on you until the bell above the shop door rings and the world shifts back into place.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The day goes by quicker than you expect.

One moment you're unpacking your things, the next you're moving on instinct alone. You work mindlessly— sketching, painting, letting your hands take over where your thoughts would only get in the way. People drift past on the sidewalk, slowing as they pass, curious eyes gazing at your art. A few linger. Most keep walking. You trade small smiles, nods of acknowledgement.

"Lovely," some say as they walk past.

It brings you back to before, when this was only just a distant dream.

At some point, you stop paying attention to the time.

By the time the sun begins to sink, warm light stretching long across the street, you finally step back.

The mural sits before you—unfinished, but already alive.

You begin packing up your supplies. Brushes rinsed.

Papers stacked. Movements slow, trying everything to not break the spell of the day just yet.

"Alright, Miss Florence," you call out as you step inside, setting your things down on the shop's counter.

"I'll be back around the same time tomorrow."

"Of course, love," she says easily, looking up from where she's standing. "The mural's coming along quite nicely. I'm impressed."

You smile at that, a quiet swell of pride warming your chest.

As you turn to say your goodbyes, her hand comes to rest gently on your shoulder.

"Is everything alright, love?" she asks, concern written plainly across her face.

You pause, staring at her, head tilting slightly in confusion. "Of course," you say. "Why?"

She doesn't answer right away-just nods toward the door, past the front window.

You follow her gaze.

A small sound of surprise slips from you at the sight of the red pickup truck parked outside. The big dog hangs halfway out the open window, tongue lolling as he pants happily. And leaning back against the hood is the man himself—somehow larger than he'd been in your memory. Smoke curls lazily around him, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"He's been waiting out there a while," she says, careful.

"Oh, we live on the same road. He's just doing me a favor." You smile reassuringly.

That doesn't ease her expression the way you expect it to.

"Why?" you ask, lowering your voice without thinking.

"What about him?"

"Oh—nothing," she says. "He's just a private man, is all.

We were a bit surprised seeing you come out of his truck... and now."

"That's all?" you press, eyes flickering towards the truck.

She pauses long enough that you lift your brows.

"Not much to him, really," she says finally.

"He's been up there longer than most people remember. Bought that land years back. Kept it when no one else wanted it."

"He's the butcher, though, right?" you ask, still trying to understand the wariness.

"He is. But it's odd," she admits. "He doesn't hire out.

Doesn't expand. Doesn't sell beyond what he needs to." She presses her lips together.

"Most folks around here like things that grow, y'know? But he stays exactly the same."

You wait for more. It doesn't come - and the lack of it frustrates you more than anything she's said.

Someone near the counter clears their throat. Another voice adds, quieter, "Never missed a delivery, though."

Florence nods in agreement. "Meat's always clean. Always fresh."

You let out a small, incredulous laugh. "So... he's just serious about his work?"

She clicks her tongue.

"He's particular," she says. "About his space. His time."

"And people?"

She doesn't answer right away.

"He doesn't come into town unless there's a reason," she says instead.

"And he doesn't wait around for nothing."

You glance back toward the window, toward where the truck had been.

"Oh," you say softly.

Florence squeezes your arm once before letting go.

"Just... take care, love."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

On the laptop by the counter, your mom watches you with that same careful look she's had since you told her where you were moving.

"So," she says, folding her hands together. "How was your first real day?"

You laugh a little. "Good. Actually... really good."

"The shop was busy enough to keep me distracted. People came in and out all day. A lot of staring at first, but not in a bad way." You popped a grape into your mouth.

"More curious than anything."

She hums, unconvinced but listening.

"They let me set up like we talked about," you continue. "People stopped to talk. Asked where I moved from. What I do. It felt nice." You glance toward the window. "Normal."

"Were you nervous?" she asks, giving you that look you know so well.

"I was," you admit. "But once I started working, it faded. I kind of forgot about everything else."

Her eyes soften at that, just a little.

"You didn't sleep much last night, though," she says. Not a question.

You pause, then shrug.

"Not really. New place. New sounds."

You smile like it's nothing. "I'm sure l'll get used to it."

She presses her lips together. "That's what worries me. You out there by yourself, in the woods."

"Mom—"

"I know," she sighs. "You're an adult. I just don't love the idea."

"I get that," you say gently. "But it's fine. Really. It's hidden, yeah—but not in a scary way."

There's a beat of silence before you add, almost offhand, "Although... people in town do talk."

Her gaze sharpens immediately.

"About?"

"About my neighbor," you say, a small laugh slipping out. "Apparently he's been up there forever. Everyone has an opinion, but no one says much."

"That doesn't make you uneasy?"

You pause, just for a second. "Not really. I mean, I met him yesterday. He was... normal. A little intense, maybe.

She doesn't look convinced.

"He even gave me a ride into town this morning," you add quickly, like it's no big deal. " ...and back

"A ride?" she repeats.

You stop to look up at the screen, finally aware of how that must sound.

"Mom, it was fine," you say. "We live on the same road. It was convenient, truly”

She exhales slowly. "I just don't like you being so isolated. Especially with people you don't know."

"I know," you say softly. "But today was good. I promise."

She studies your face through the screen, searching for something you're not even sure you could name.

"Just be careful," she says. "That's all I'm asking."

You nod.

"I will."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You're not sure when it became a routine.

At first, it was just convenience. You'd step outside and Simon would already be there, his red truck waiting at the end of the driveway.

Then it happened again.

And again.

Waking up. Getting ready. Eating breakfast standing by the counter because you never quite sit down anymore. Stepping outside into the cool air and the familiar sight of Simon and his dog waiting patiently for you.

Somewhere along the way, you started bringing him breakfast.

You didn't plan it. It just... happened. A plastic cup balanced carefully in your hand, still too hot to hold properly. And a sandwich wrapped in foil. You remember the first time you handed it to him-how he paused, just for a second, fingers hovering before taking it. His eyes flicked down to the cup, then back up to you.

"Didn't have to," he muttered, voice rough with sleep.

You shrugged it off, like it was nothing.

You did it again the next morning.

And the one after that.

Soon, it felt strange not to. Like something was missing when you stepped outside empty-handed.

Simon never commented on it again. He just took what you gave him every morning. Always made sure the dog stayed put while you climbed in. Always waited until you were settled before pulling away from the driveway.

"Hi baby," you'd coo, rubbing the happy dog's ear as you settle into the familiar leather of his car. Shadow-you'd come to learn the scary dog's name.

You don't remember when that became part of your normal either.

By the sixth day you stopped questioning it.

Simon always said he had business in town. Always said it like it was obvious. Like it explained everything.

And maybe it did—except some mornings, when you glanced toward the back of the truck, the bed was completely empty.

No freezers. No crates. Nothing.

You noticed it once.

Twice.

Then you stopped looking.

It was true what everyone said about him—he was private. Didn't speak unless necessary. Most of your rides passed in silence, broken only by the sound of tires on rocks and dirt and your small comments about whatever you saw outside.

He was intense in ways that was hard to ignore.

On the way he watched the road, eyes steady, barely blinking. The way his jaw tightened when he smoked, like he was holding something back even when he was alone with you.

But there was softness there too-and that was the part that caught you off guard.

It slipped in when he spoke to Shadow, voice dropping low, careful, like the dog was something fragile instead of built like a tank. The way his scarred hand reached down without him even looking, fingers rubbing the dog's belly in slow, absent strokes, like muscle memory.

Even the way he asked about the radio. Not choosing for you. Just a quiet, "What d'you want to listen to?"

You didn't know when you'd started noticing these things. Only that once you did, you couldn't stop. The intensity didn't scare you—it made the softness feel deliberate.

It was.... pleasant.

Comforting even.

Two weeks had passed before someone finally said something.

"Sure looks like Simons has a sweet spot for the new girl in town," a voice from behind the counter says, making you instantly perk up.

"Hm?" You look up, paintbrush still in hand.

They nod toward the window.

Outside, the red truck waits.

"Hes my neighbor," you shrug.

the comment lingers, even after the conversation ends.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You should speak more to everyone," you murmur later that night, leaning your head against the window, tired and worn out from the day.

"You eaten yet?" He asks without glancing over, completely ignoring your comment.

"You really do need to learn how to have a conversation Simon," you roll your eyes, shifting your position to where your knees are facing his side, careful not to bother the sleeping pup in the middle.

"Don't know what you mean," he hums.

You smile to yourself, eyes on the road ahead. After a bit, you add, the interaction from later that day crossing your mind, "Someone mentioned you've been acting... different lately."

He glances over for half a second. "Different?"

"Mmhm." You nod.

He doesn't say anything after that, just nods once and keeps driving.

"Have you eaten?"

You click your tongue.

"No."

The car slowly comes to a stop in front of you home, and so does the engine.

This wasn't part of the routine.

You look at him confused, head tilted to the side.

"Worked on a fresh cut today." He says, reaching forward to take the keys out. "Wanted you to have it,"

You blink, caught off guard. Before you can decide what to say, the truck door opens and he's already stepping out, calling Shadow after him with a short sound.

You watch him circle the hood, a flicker of something tightening in your chest when he reaches for your door.

It opens before you can protest. You hesitate before swinging your legs out anyway, letting him guide you without quite remembering when you agreed to it.

He doesn't crowd you. Just walks ahead, like he expects you to follow.

And you do.

When you stop at the door, keys cool in your palm, he stays a step behind you. Close enough that you're aware of his presence, the quiet weight of it pressing between your shoulder blades as you unlock the door.

You glance back once. He meets your eyes, unreadable.

Inside, you barely get the chance to say anything before he turns to the dog.

"Stay," he says—low and firm by the door.

"Simon—he doesn't have to" you say, too soft to be much of a protest.

Shadow listens anyway.

Your house oozes warmth. Simon thinks.

Not just heat—the kind of warmth that settles in your chest comfortably. It's nothing like his place. His is all cold surfaces and silence, everything where it's supposed to be, like no one's meant to linger too long.

Yours doesn't try to hide you.

There's stuff everywhere. Half-finished things. A stack of sketchbooks by the couch, paint-stained rags shoved into a corner, a couple of framed pieces leaning against the wall because you haven't decided where they go yet. It looks like someone keeps starting things and coming back to them.

It smells like you.

Not perfume. Not candles. Just you - soap, clean fabric, something faintly warm. Simon notices it as soon as he steps inside. It's different from his place.

His house never really smells like anything at all. It's just... neutral.

The kitchen's small. He isn't.

He fills the space without trying, shoulders close to the cabinets as he reaches for your drawers to find what you need. Most of them are empty. Just spices. The basics. He sets the steak down, still wrapped in paper.

You begin fixing things that don't need fixing to distract yourself. Sliding a notebook out of the way. Moving a mug. Your chest stays tight. It's the first time he's been inside your house, and the thought sits heavier than it should.

This is definitely not how you pictured your night ending.

The butcher up the road, in your kitchen. Talking about a fresh cut like it's nothing. Like this isn't strange. Like he hasn't just stepped into your space and started moving through it with quiet ease. The shift from how the night should've gone to how it's unfolding now hits you all at once, sharp enough to leave you reeling.

You reach for the remote, turning the TV on just to break it. The sound. The stillness. Anything. You crack a window open too, breeze slipping in as you step back, giving yourself something else to focus on.

"Do you need help?" you ask finally, mostly to fill the space.

"Mmm," he hums, "Where do you keep your pans?"

"Oh." You move on instinct, opening drawers, pulling things out. A pan. A cutting board. Knives. Setting them down beside him without thinking twice.

He works quietly. Salt first. Pepper. The sound of it hitting the meat sharp in the small kitchen. He heats the pan, waits for it, tests it with a flick of water that hisses and disappears.

You lean back against the counter, watching.

The steak hits the pan and the sound fills the room - loud, immediate. He doesn't rush it. Just let's it sit, pressing it down once with the tongs, then leaves it alone. The smell starts slow, then builds. Rich. Savory.

It crawls through the air until your stomach reacts before you can stop it.

You laugh under your breath, hand pressing briefly to your middle.

"That smells amazing," you beam.

He flips the steak once. Cuts into it to check. Juice beads along the surface, catching on his fingers as he pulls a small piece free.

He lifts his hand without comment, holding it out toward you.

You swear you short-circuit for a second before leaning in, taking the bite he's offering, your lips lightly grazing his finger.

He stares at you—openly this time. Long enough that it makes you shift, a shiver running through you before you look away with a quiet, breathy laugh.

"Wow," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you chew, letting the taste settle properly this time.

You swallow, then glance back at him, still leaning against the counter. "That's... fucking incredible, Simon."

It slips out softer than you mean it.

For a second, you forget about everything else-the tightness from earlier, the fact that he's here, in your kitchen. There's only the warmth on your tongue and the way the moment hangs between you.

"How long have you been in this business?" you ask after a pause, watching his face like you're checking for a reaction. Questions aren't usually part of your routine. Neither is this.

"Long time," he answers simply as he fixes the plates.

"Old man ran the business. Guess I kind of inherited it."

You hum, thinking it over. "Must keep you busy.

Between the shop and... everything else."

"Enough," he says, shrugging one shoulder. "Mostly keeps me close to home."

That's when he adds, almost as an afterthought,

"Don't like going into town much."

You snort softly. "Could've fooled me."

You meant it as a joke-only half truth.

He exhales through his nose, something like a huff, and shakes his head once before turning back to the plate.

The conversation ends there, easy and unspoken.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The better part of your day had been spent exploring and wandering the area. Something you haven't gotten to properly do since you got here.

Bare feet planted right on the grass as you wandered into the field behind your backyard, the earth cool and uneven beneath you. You kept breathing in deep without really thinking about it—grass, dirt, something clean in the air. Birds flew low overhead, noisy and playful.

The trees out here were huge. Like, old old. Thick trunks, branches stretching everywhere. You caught yourself staring up at them, wondering how long they'd been standing there, what they'd seen before any of this existed.

You kept walking, pencil moving absentmindedly as you added loose doodles to the sketchbook tucked tightly under your arm. Shapes. Lines. Little half-ideas you'd probably forget later.

You explored every area you could think of, picking rocks and flowers as you went.

Every area except one.

You didn't mean to head that way at first. It just... happened. Your steps slowed as the land subtly shifted, the trees thinning just enough for a familiar structure to come into view.

The closer you got, the clearer it became.

Simon's barn sat just beyond the tree line-close enough that if you turned around, you could still see your cottage. The roof peeked through the branches, almost reassuring. Close enough that you told yourself it didn't really count as trespassing.

The barn itself was a faded, rusty red, the paint chipped and sun-worn, like it hadn't been touched in years. It clearly needed a new coat. You filed that thought away automatically, like you did with everything else.

You slowed your steps, circling wider instead of heading straight toward it.

For some reason, your mind kept dragging you back to the first day you'd seen him there. Bloody. Intimidating.

Almost unreal. The unease returned now, settling low in your stomach as uou get closer.

You'd been sneaking glances at the place ever since, careful not to get too close. Careful to remember that conversation.

"So will I ever get to see your workplace?" you'd asked once, half-teasing.

All he'd given you was that small, almost-missed smile.

"S'not meant for a bunny like you to see."

Today, though?

Today, you wanted that angle.

Simon be damned.

You huffed softly to yourself, shaking your head as you settled into the grass and opened your sketchbook. He really did have a way with words.

You started with the barn first-loose lines, quick strokes-then added his cottage beside it. It stood only a few feet away, smaller than yours, but somehow cozier. It looked like him. Minimal. No decorations. No unnecessary clutter. Just a single chair on the lawn, a small table beside it, an ashtray resting on top.

You shaded, erased and worked until the world narrowed down to paper and graphite.

You looked like a lost bunny.

The thought crossed Simon's mind as he watched you move along the upper slope behind the barn. Delicate sundress, sketchbook tucked under your arm, hair pulled back out of your face. Careful steps, like you weren't sure you were meant to be there.

He paused what he was doing and just stared.

You'd been out since early. He remembered you mentioning you had a few days free from work, maybe more, before someone else found something for you to fix or soften or make pretty. You didn't seem like the type who sat still for long. Always moving. Always making.

Simon hadn't meant to care. He usually didn't.

Years of work had trained that out of him. Grind. Routine. Blood when there had to be blood. He liked his life simple, contained, predictable. The land. The barn. The quiet. When he heard the house down the hill was being rented, it pissed him off. Change always did. New noise. New eyes.

Then you showed up.

He didn't know when exactly he started noticing the warmth—your laughter carrying up the hill, music bleeding out of your windows, sound settling into places that had been empty for too long. It didn't belong here. Neither did you.

And yet.

You stopped near the side of the barn, turning slowly, taking it in. He watched you look around like you were measuring the space, committing it to memory. You could still see your cottage from there - close enough that you were probably telling yourself it didn't count as trespassing.

He wiped his hands, stripped the gloves off, and stepped outside.

By the time he rounded the corner, you were already sitting, sketchbook open on your lap. Pencil moving.

Focused enough that you didn't notice him right away.

You were so in deep you didn't even notice the shadow towering over you at first.

He stopped a few feet in front of you-close enough to notice the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers smudged charcoal without you realizing it.

"Can I help you."

You startled—not badly, but enough that he knew you'd forgotten the rest of the world existed.

You looked up at him, your eyes flicking briefly over the apron, the stains, the evidence of the day's work.

Your pulse jumped—he could see it—but you held his gaze anyway.

"Just….. scoping the area," you say easily, like you hadn't been caught at all, even though your heart was pounding. "Gaining inspiration."

He exhaled through his nose.

"Told you," he said. "This place ain't meant for a bunny like you."

He meant it.

Your cheeks warmed. You didn't deny it.

"I didn't walk in, though, did I."

Silence settled between you —thick, but not uncomfortable. Your pencil resumed its quiet movement against the page. He stayed where he was. Didn't tell you to pack up. Didn't step back either. You took it as a good sign.

He watched you for another moment, then shifted-just slightly. Half a turn. Enough to give you a better angle.

He didn't comment on it, but you noticed anyway.

He stayed like that—half-turned, broad shoulders cutting against the quiet of the field.

The contrast caught you off guard.

He didn't belong in a place this calm, you thought. Not with the way he was built-all sharp lines and restrained violence, hands stained from work that wasn't meant to be pretty. And yet the grass bent easily around his boots. Wildflowers pushed up near the barn wall, soft and careless, brushing against wood that had seen such degeneracy.

Sunlight filtered unevenly through the trees, catching the edge of his jaw, the scar across his face, the quiet tension in the way he held himself like he was always braced for impact.

Your pencil hovered uselessly above the page.

This—this—was the angle you hadn't known you were looking for. The way he looked out of place and perfectly rooted all at once. Feral, yes—but framed by something gentle. Something alive.

The thought settled before you could talk yourself out of it.

"Let me draw you," you said suddenly, not even pausing to think.

"Now?"

"Like this?" he asked, glancing down at his clothes.

Your cheeks warmed, suddenly aware of how dirty he must feel.

"Right-sorry, that was a weird ask," you laughed it off.

"I'll just draw your house." You shrugged, getting up from the grown and walking past him.

"Fine,” he said. "I'll do it."

You stopped short and turned back to him.

"You sure? I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I'm not the fastest-,"

He started walking before you could say anything else, already heading toward the cottage like the decision had been made the moment you asked.

You look around for half a second furrowing your brows before following.

The ground changed under your feet as you left the grass, dirt packed firmer near the house. Up close, his place felt even smaller than it had from afar. The door stood open just enough for the smell of him to drift out—wood, smoke, something iron-sharp beneath it.

He stopped at the steps and sat, elbows resting loosely on his knees, forearms bare. The position looked natural on him.

You looked at him properly then.

The daylight caught his face in a way that made you pause.

You noticed things you hadn't before.

The tattoo peeking from his neck and rolled sleeves. The way his jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, every few moments.

He looked. feral. You weren't sure that was the right word. Beastly, maybe. Grounded. Dangerous in a way that made your thoughts take a turn you didn't want to examine too closely.

You tightened your grip on the pencil, your eyes drifting despite yourself.

Brutal. Masculine.

Your heartbeat picked up as unholy thoughts flashed through your mind.

"You alright, bunny?" he asked.

You froze-caught, like a deer in headlights. Heat rushed to your face.

"Yeah," you laughed softly, shaking your head as you forced your gaze back to his face.

"Here" you say, already leaning closer before he could answer. You reached into your bag for one of the flowers you picked earlier. Small and delicate.

As you lifted your hand toward him, he tensed and leaned back slightly.

You were about to apologize when he spoke.

"Careful. Don't want you getting all dirty."

You blinked-then laughed again.

"Can I?" you asked again.

This time, he stayed still.

You tucked the small white flower behind his ear, fingers brushing skin warmed by the sun. He watched you closely, eyes tracking every movement.

The contrast—him and the delicate bloom resting there—felt almost cinematic.

"You have soft hands, bunny." he says, dead serious.

"Thanks." You breathed out, not realizing you were holding it in.

"Why do you call me that?" You ask after a few minutes.

He shrugged, like it had never needed explaining.

"Because you look like one."

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head—but you stayed. Kept drawing. Like the answer was enough.

You went back to his face. Really focused. Honey-brown eyes. Thick brows. Plump, chapped lips. The scar cutting across him, running from one eye, down his nose, into his cheek like a map of where he'd been.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your grip on the pencil as you leaned closer, angling the page to catch the light.

Your knee brushed the step without you noticing.

"You got a boyfriend?"

Your hand stilled mid-line.

"Why the sudden question?"

"Well," he said evenly, "you asked one. Now it's my turn."

You laughed at that.

"No," you said. "I don't."

He hummed in acknowledgement.

Silence settled again, filled only by the pleasant sound of trees moving with the wind. You wanted to keep talking. Wanted to know him. But you weren't sure where the line was.

"You," you started. "How long have you been up here?"

"Mmm. Couple years."

You click your tongue.

"Couple years? I didn't know vague answers were allowed."

He shrugged.

"You can allow whatever you want."

You smile at that, soft and a little crooked, and let your pencil move again.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The sounds around you settle into something easy— the wind threading through the trees, the faint creak of the barn in the distance, the quiet scratch of charcoal against paper. Simon stays still on the steps, only shifting when his knee starts to ache, careful not to disturb your line of sight.

He glances down at the page after a minute, curiosity getting the better of him.

"So," he says, casual, like it just occurred to him. "You always draw scenery?"

You hum thoughtfully, eyes never leaving the sketch.

"Sometimes. Helps me understand how things fit together."

"People included?"

"Especially people," you admit.

He watches the way your mouth curves around the words, the focus in your eyes. There's something intimate about being studied like this—not in the way people usually look at him, measuring or wary.

"You any good?" he asks.

You laugh quietly. "Guess that depends who you ask."

"Hm." A beat. "You don't look like you're guessing."

You glance up at him then, catching the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Not quite a smile. Something warmer than indifference.

You go back to drawing.

Time slips by without either of you noticing.

The light shifts gradually, the sun lowering behind the trees, turning the field gold and then amber. Shadows stretch across the ground, softening the sharp edges of everything around you. The flower behind his ear wilts a little, petals curling inward, but you leave it there.

Simon moves once when his leg goes numb, rolling his shoulders, flexing his hands. Letting out a low groan of discomfort. You adjust without thinking, tracking the movement, adapting your lines.

"You don't have to stay still," you say after a moment of watching him.

"I know," he replies. Then, quieter, "I don't mind."

You chuckle to yourself, heat creeping up your neck as you look back down at the page.

"You're a good model," you say, a little too quickly.

The breeze cools as evening creeps in, brushing over your bare arms and drawing a light shiver from you.

You shift your weight, knees stiff, and finally lean back, lowering the sketchbook into your lap.

"I think that's enough," you say softly.

Simon straightens a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You hesitate before standing, brushing grass from your dress. There's a strange reluctance in the air now, like neither of you wants to be the one to end it.

You step closer, tearing the page free and holding it up beside his face. The distance shrinks without you meaning it to.

You tilt your head, eyes flicking between him and the sketch, comparing angles and the way the light catches him in real time versus graphite.

"Here."

He grabs it without question. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything.

That usual uneasy feeling in your stomach creeps up slowly, the one that shows up every time you finish a piece. Like you did something a little too personal and now it's just... out there.

Then, quietly, "You see a lot."

"O-oh," you say, eyes wide in surprise. "Only what's there." You lift a hand, brushing the comment off like it's nothing.

He nods once.

"Thank you," he says.

The words hang steady.

"Of course!" You smile softly.

The sun has dipped low now, the sky washed in muted pinks and purples. You step back, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"I should probably head back," you say. "Before it gets dark."

"Yeah." He stands as well. Drawing still in hand.

"You can keep that, if you want," You call out.

"I owe you a better one, though." you laugh lightly-but the sound fades as soon as it leaves you, suddenly aware of how that might've come out.

Before you can overthink it, you give a quick wave and head down the slope, not waiting for his reaction.

His eyes linger a bit longer till you fully disappear from his view, gaze dropping to the piece of paper then back at you, breathing out slow.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It's been a month now since you've settled into your new life. A month of building and creating and slowly disappearing into your little cottage, filling it with your things until it felt like a place you'd lived in for years instead of weeks.

A month, too, of growing closer to the local butcher.

The one who had a reputation for keeping to himself. For not interacting with anyone. Somehow, that rule never applied to you.

You were almost inseparable now. Him showing up unannounced to fix small things—a loose lightbulb, a squeaky door-like he'd been waiting for an excuse.

Any time you needed something from town or had a job lined up, he'd already be outside your door, keys in hand.

Sometimes he'd bring uncooked steak even when you'd try to refuse. Fresh cuts wrapped in paper, held out with a casual shrug. He'd say it didn't fit in his fridge. Leftover. No big deal.

A stupid white lie. One that worked every single time.

He'd gotten softer, too. Softer than you suspected anyone else had ever seen him. Letting you borrow his thick coats—or leaving them behind and claiming he'd forgotten them. When you tried to give them back, he'd just shake his head, lips pressed into that tight little smile, like the conversation was already over.

"It's cold, bunny. Shouldn't be wearing that outside," he says immediately, voice stern and low, eyes cutting straight through you.

You swallow, feigning innocence as you shrug one shoulder.

"I thought it was just gonna be a light storm,"

you reply plainly—ignoring the warning as you lean back on your hands, legs crossed, chest subtly pushed forward while you look up at him.

He scoffs and drops down beside you with an exaggerated huff, his damp shoulder bumping into yours. He's close—close enough that you can feel his heat, the steady pull of his breath. It makes your head spin.

His forearms rest on his knees as he settles in, but his eyes never leave you. Those same hungry eyes that have been plaguing your thoughts every night.

"It's gonna get really cold," he repeats, quieter now, looking straight at you.

You swallow thickly before standing, deliberately slow, giving him a full view.

"I can handle a little cold," you tease.

You barely make it inside before you're running, laughter spilling out as you hear his heavy footsteps thudding after you.

Now you're stuck inside, alone, heavy rain hammering against the roof and rattling the windows. Moisture beads along the glass near the heater, the room dim and warm. You sit on the bed with a towel wrapped around your body and hair, picking at a bowl of cut fruit balanced on your thigh.

It's one of those nights.

The kind where loneliness creeps in quietly, twisting into something darker. Where your mind betrays you with memories of every interaction you've had with him.

You'd wanted to relax. Wash the day off, eat fruit and watch tv.

But moments like this don't let you.

They turn that restlessness into something else entirely.

It makes your cunt ache.

Your thoughts drift back to the time when he showed up unannounced, claiming your grass was too high. Brought his own tools, mowed the lawn like it was nothing. Sweat clung to his skin as the sun hit him, shirt damp and sticking in all the wrong places.

You'd worn an incredibly short sundress. The kind that shows off every inch of your curves.

You remember the way he wiped sweat from his forehead with the thin fabric, lifting it just enough to give you a glimpse of his hard bulging stomach. The sight had made something low in your belly twitch.

The way his hand rested at the small of your back when you brought him cold lemonade. How close he stood. The smell of him-clean and earthy. The way his Adam's apple bobbed with every swallow.

Fuck.

Your left hand drifts down without thinking—first over your chest, then higher, barely grazing your nipple. A quiet sound slips from your lips.

Your body feels overly sensitive. Needy.

You picture his hands on you—large, rough—teasing your skin, gripping your waist, your ass. Your free hand slides between your thighs and you gasp when your fingers brush against your slick heat.

You barely touch yourself at first. Just graze your clit. Then down your folds. A soft hiss escapes you.

You're already a mess. You have been since you stepped out of the shower.

His image won't leave your mind. Everything he'd do to you. Everything you'd let him do. You saw him differently today, and it did something to you. It was something you feared from the moment you started becoming close. But you pushed that thought down.

Your fingers begin to move in slow circles, the other hand latching onto your hardening nipple as your thoughts spiral. His hands. His weight. Him bending you over, tugging your hair.

Your thighs squeeze together.

You wonder what he'd smell like fresh from a shower. What he'd look like with water clinging to his skin, a towel slung low on his hips. The thought makes your toes curl.

Your breathing picks up as pleasure builds, slick heat spreading with every movement of your fingers.

A moan slips free.

"Simon," you breathe, barely above a whisper, like saying it out loud makes it too real.

Your hand moves from your nipple to your breast, groping desperately, trying to recreate the way his scarred hand would feel. Would he pinch you? Roll it between his fingers? Replace his hand with his mouth?

Your breaths turn uneven. Your hand between your thighs moves faster.

The image of today is burned into your mind-him rough and bloodied from work, yet speaking to you so softly. It's overwhelming. He consumes your thoughts until you nearly forget why you're even here.

"F-fuck," you moan, eyes falling open as you look down at yourself—naked, wet, undone. Your hips lift, chasing the sensation.

"Si-"

Boom.

The crack of thunder is immediate, violent, followed by sudden darkness that steals the air from your lungs.

You jolt upright with a gasp, heart slamming against your ribs as if it's trying to escape. For a second you just sit there, frozen, the rain pounding against the roof like it's trying to cave it in.

"Oh-fuck," you whisper, the word shaky.

Your body catches up a second later. Awareness hits all at once and sends a fresh wave of panic through you. You scramble, grabbing the towel from the foot of the bed and wrapping it around yourself clumsily, hands trembling as you try to ground yourself. The room feels too quiet without the hum of electricity, the shadows stretching and shifting with every flash of lightning outside.

"Y/N!"

The sound of his voice cuts through the rain.

You fumble for your phone, fingers slick as you swipe the flashlight on, the harsh beam making you squint.

You don't stop to think—just move. Sweats and a tshirt. You tug them on hastily, heart still racing as you rush down the hallway, the floor cold under your bare feet.

The power's out.

When you pull the door open, rain mist clings to the air immediately. Simon stands on your porch, shoulders damp, flashlight in hand, Shadow pressed close to his leg. His face shifts the moment he sees you-concern sharpening, eyes flicking over you like he's checking for injuries.

"Hey," he says, firm but low. "You okay?"

“I—yeah” you nod too quickly, suddenly very aware of how warm your face feels, how close he is. "The power just…went out."

"Yeah." His gaze lifts briefly to the dark windows behind you before settling back on you. "You're coming with me."

"What?" You blink. "Simon, it's really not-"

"Not up for discussion," he cuts in, already stepping past you like he owns the place. He moves with practiced ease, flashlight sweeping through the room as he heads for your bedroom. "Storm's getting worse.

This place isn't insulated well enough for it."

You trail after him, flustered, hugging yourself as you watch him grab a few essentials—your charger, a hoodie, shoes—moving through your space with unsettling familiarity.

"I'll be fine," you insist, even though your voice lacks conviction. "It's just for the night, plus my things are here. I need to make sure everything's in order."

"Y/n," he replies, glancing back at you. His tone softens, just slightly. "Humor me."

You don't argue after that.

The rain blurs everything on the drive over. The road glistens under the headlights, water streaking across the windshield in uneven patterns as the wipers struggle to keep up. The cab of the truck is warm, quiet except for the storm and the low hum of the engine.

Every now and then, lightning flashes bright enough to turn the inside of the truck white, and you catch him glancing over at you like he's checking you're still there.

When you finally pull up to his place, your nerves spike all over again.

You swallow as you step out, rain speckling your skin, heart pounding harder with each step toward his door. This would be your first time inside. After everything. After all this time.

He unlocks it and nudges the door open, motioning you in first.

The warmth hits you immediately.

The house smells like him—burnt wood, something clean and sharp, iron underneath it all. It's quiet, small, almost stark. The living space is simple: couch, TV, dining table pushed close to the kitchen. No decorations. No clutter.

And then you see it. Your drawing. The same one you drew of him months ago.

It sits on the side table framed neatly. It surprised you. Your steps slow without you meaning to, something tightening in your chest as you stare at it. It's not really a big deal but, seeing your drawing there—framed, dusted, given a place—feels strangely intimate. Like walking into someone's thoughts and realizing you've been there longer than you thought.

"Oh my god," you laugh softly, reaching for it. "I can't believe you kept this."

"Hm?" He glances over, distracted at first. Then he sees what you're holding. "Oh. Yeah." He shrugs, like it's obvious. "You make beautiful art."

The words hit harder than they should.

Your face warms instantly as you duck your head, pretending to inspect the frame. "This was so long ago. I thought you'd thrown it away."

"I would never," he says, without hesitation.

Something short-circuits in your brain at that. You clear your throat, setting the drawing back where it belongs before you can overthink it.

"That's... sweet," you say, lighter than you feel.

You move toward the couch, perching on the edge at first before letting yourself sink back. It's smaller than yours, but comfortable.

Simon disappears into the kitchen for a moment, and you hear the faint clink of a kettle being set down. You sit on the couch, hugging the mug when he hands it to you, grateful for something warm to hold onto.

"Wait," you frown slightly, glancing toward the dark kitchen. "How'd you even make tea if the power's out?"

He pauses for a second before answering. "Backup electric stove,"

"Keep it around for storms." He adds

You blink. "Of course you do."

He almost smiles.

The silence that follows is comfortable, not awkward. Just the storm outside and the low crackle of the fire starting to catch as he moves to the hearth. You watch him from the couch as he kneels, stacking logs with practiced ease, striking the match. The flames take quickly, casting a soft orange glow across the room.

"There," he says, standing again. "That'll help."

He grabs his coat from the back of a chair as he passes, hesitating only a second before draping it over your shoulders. The weight of it makes you exhale.

"You don't have to—"

"I know," he says quietly. "Drink your tea."

You do, pulling the coat tighter around yourself. It smells like him. When he sits down beside you, it's close but not pressing. His knee brushes yours. Just once. Neither of you move away.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," you nod. "Just... settling."

"Mm." He leans back slightly, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. Not touching you. Not yet. But there, like an open invitation you don't acknowledge out loud.

You shift a little closer anyway, more instinct than decision. The fire pops softly. The storm fades into background noise. For a moment, it almost feels like you've done this before—like this is normal.

"You're quiet," he says after a while.

"Oh my god," you scoff softly. "Are you calling me annoying?"

He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed, and then his shoulders shake with that quiet laugh you've come to love.

"No," he says. "Just noticing."

You smile into your mug, cheeks warm.

"Y'know, i never really liked tea till i met you," you mention out of nowhere.

And he looks at you with an almost blank expression, it would've made you nervous if it was for the twitch to the side of his lips.

"Tea's good for you,"

The fire crackles. The coat stays around your shoulders. This is definitely not how you imagined your night going, but you couldn't really complain.

The quiet stretches again, but it's different now. He's closer than before-not just beside you, but aware of you in a way that makes your skin prickle. When you shift, he shifts too. When you breathe, he seems to notice.

"You're shaking," he says softly.

"I'm not," you lie automatically.

He doesn't call you on it. He just reaches out, tentative at first, resting a hand on your arm. It's warm, and it has you spiraling. Just a minute ago you were talking normally to each other, but the air shifted.

"Come here," he murmurs.

It's not an order. Not this time. Just an invitation.

You hesitate for half a second before leaning into him, your temple brushing his shoulder. His arms come around you slowly, careful, like he's giving you time to change your mind. When you don't, he tightens his hold just a little.

This is new for the both of you.

Your heart starts to race, loud in your ears, the warmth of him seeping into places you weren't prepared for.

His hand moves absently, rubbing small circles into your back. Your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking. This isn't just friendly anymore.

You pull back slightly, laughing under your breath as if that might diffuse the moment. "Okay," you say, voice a little breathless. "I— I need a second."

He releases you immediately, hands dropping, but his eyes stay on you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod quickly, already stepping away.

You turn toward the kitchen, more to put space between you than because you actually need anything.

The counter is cool under your palms when you brace yourself against it, breathing in slowly, trying to stop your heart from beating out of your chest.

You're raking your brain trying to put yourself back together, breathing in the cool air when you hear his footsteps behind you.

"You don't have to run," he says gently.

You glance over your shoulder—and that's when you realize how close he is again. Not pressing. Not touching. Just close enough that the room suddenly feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.

You straighten without thinking, taking a step back.

The space behind you disappears faster than you expect, the counter cold against your lower back. You didn't mean to corner yourself, but Simon always had a way of filing a room without ever touching you.

He's only a hair away from you. You could feel his warm breath with a hint of black tea.

Your hand comes up on instinct—flat against his chest.

He stops immediately.

"Simon," you say, quieter than you meant to.

His eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face. He waits.

"If we do this," you say, swallowing, "I don't want to pretend it's nothing."

A beat passes.

Then he nods once. Slow and certain. It's crazy how quickly your nerves and fears ease.

"It's not," he says.

His hands settle on your waist, firm, pulling you flush against him. The contact knocks the air from your lungs, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His mouth finds yours slowly this time-testing, deliberate. Like he's giving you a chance to pull away.

You don't.

The kiss deepens, unhurried but heavy, his lips moving against yours with a pressure that makes your knees soften. He kisses you again. And again. Each one lingering longer than the last.

His hands stay at your waist, thumbs digging in just enough to remind you he's there, holding you in place.

You breathe him in-cigarettes, beer, heat-and it makes your head spin. Your fingers curl around his neck, tugging him closer when he pulls back, chasing his mouth without thinking.

"Taste so fucking good," He exhales against your lips, a low sound, before kissing you again—rougher now.

Hungrier.

As the kiss deepens and your thoughts start to slip, you barely register his hand moving-gliding over your chest, your stomach—until it slides into your shorts with ease. You're already wet.

"Fuck, bunny—you're fucking soaked," he grunts, hands gripping you, making you gasp in surprise. He doesn't pull away, just uses the moment to kiss you again, shoving his warm tongue into your mouth.

He sucks and licks, messy and unrestrained, saliva slipping down your chin as he keeps you close, like he can't get enough.

You feel your knees buckle as he begins rubbing your clothes core with the palm of his hands, his lips trailing down your neck.

"Ah-" you squeal in surprise, the sound tearing out of you before you can stop it.

"Hump on me, bunny," he murmurs, low and steady, stilling his hand just enough to make the words land harder.

"W-what?" You blink, pulled back into yourself by his voice, trying to make sense of it as you look up at him.

His expression doesn't change.

"Want you to grind this wet cunt on me bunny," he pressed his hand harder into you.

"Oh my….. god," you breathe, the words barely there as you roll your hips down, tentative at first, trying to find your rhythm. You gasp when the pressure shifts, when his hand flexes and your body lights up in response.

Your thighs start to tremble, weak and unsteady, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself as your movement grows more desperate.

"Thaaat's it," he encourages, his voice rough, threaded with something that sends a fresh wave of heat down your spine. "Just like that. Feel good for me."

Your hips move on their own now, chasing the sensation without thought. One hand grips the back of his neck, fingers digging in as you struggle to stay upright. You're acutely aware of yourself-too warm, too sensitive, skin slick with sweat, the contrast of cool air and burning need making everything sharper, more overwhelming. The pleasure is dizzying, addictive, pulling you further out of yourself with every movement.

You can't imagine what you must look like right now.

You're sure you wouldn't recognize yourself—messy, unfocused, clinging to him as your body reacts faster than your mind can follow. Every shift makes your breath hitch, every second stretching thinner than the last.

The pressure suddenly increases, firmer now, more insistent. A broken moan spills from you before you can stop it, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds coming from you.

"No," he mutters, catching your wrist and pulling it away, pinning it above your head with one strong grip.

His other hand doesn't slow. If anything, it moves with more purpose, stealing the strength right out of your legs. Your head tips back against the wall as you let him take over completely, your body yielding without protest.

Your vision blurs. Everything goes white at the edges, your mouth falling open on a silent gasp as you cling to him, holding on like he's the only solid thing left. The sensation rolls through you in waves, too big to process all at once, leaving you breathless and shaking.

He keeps you close, holding you steady as it passes, murmuring praise against your skin—soft words, grounding words—until your breathing slowly evens out again. Your chest feels tight, full in a way you don't quite understand yet.

"I-" you try to speak, but the thought slips away before you can finish it.

Without warning, his arms hook behind your knees and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled, hands flying to his shoulders as you cling to him, eyes wide, your body leaning into his instinctively despite the shock.

"What are you doing?" you ask, breathless.

"M'gonna take care of you properly, bunny."

His room is simple. A bed. A chair. A small desk. No TV.

No pictures. Exactly what you expected.

He lays you down carefully before gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Moonlight spills through the open window, tracing every scar and mark along his skin, the faint trail of hair leading up his chest. It makes you press your legs together, biting your lip.

"Like what you see?" he teases.

"Shut up," you mutter-cut off when his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is hard, wet, unrelenting. He doesn't hesitate, tugging the flimsy top over your head and tossing it aside, leaving you bare beneath him.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and you catch the strain in his pants, dark and obvious. Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

His hands slide up your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He doesn't pull them down. Just hooks his fingers there, eyes roaming over you like he's taking inventory. It almost makes you self-conscious.

The hunger in his gaze burns through you, settles low in your belly, makes you feel exposed in a way that's almost empowering.

Your hands fall uselessly to your sides as you whine softly, body arching. Back arching as you expose yourself more to him. You want his weight back on you—his warmth. You need it.

"Look at you, bunny," he murmurs, hands coming back to grip your stomach before leaning up to cup your breasts. "So fuckin perfect."

Your head tips back at the sensation, a soft, surprised sound slipping from your throat. Heat coils tight in your lower belly, dampness clinging to the fabric between your legs. The cool night air brushing over your skin only makes it sharper.

His eyes rake over you, eyes shining as he takes you in.

Your chest rises and falls unevenly, skin flushed, lips swollen from biting and kissing. He leans down, mouth trailing from your neck to your chest before closing around your nipple.

You moan, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue circles, sucking hard. His other hand grips your opposite breast, kneading, rough enough to make your breath stutter. Dark marks bloom in his wake.

"Si-" you swallow hard, hands clutching his shoulders as his mouth drags lower, down your stomach, lingering before pressing against your soaked panties.

He inhales deeply.

You're so sensitive it makes you shake, his touch warm and overwhelming, like he knows exactly how to pull every reaction from you.

His lips brush your thighs, soft at first, teasing. His tongue slips out, tasting you through the fabric, biting and nibbling while his hands draw slow circles along your legs. Your thighs tremble, the sensation sharp enough to sting your eyes.

"Smell so fucking good," he mutters.

"Please," you whisper, lifting your head to look at him.

"Need you."

Your body burns with want, embarrassment mixing with it until you don't know which is worse.

"Be patient," he groans, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"I'm gonna take my time with this sweet cunt."

You whine, defeated, frustration curling tight in your chest.

True to his word, he doesn't rush. He kisses, licks, bites—taking his time, savoring every sound you make. You can hear it in his breathing, feel it in the way his grip tightens.

Your hands fly everywhere, unsure where to land as his mouth traces every freckle, every curve, every soft stretch of skin.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, thick and rough, pausing there. The thought of how easily he could tear them away makes your breath hitch.

"Don't zone out on me," he murmurs, tapping your hip before hooking his fingers properly into the fabric. He looks at you, waiting.

"Please."

He kisses your stomach once before tugging them down, tapping your ass so you lift for him. He slides them off with practiced ease, tucks them into his back pocket without a word.

You instinctively try to close your legs, face burning— but he grips your thighs, forcing them apart. His stare is slow, intense as he takes you in, swollen and slick, clit peeking out, folds glistening in the moonlight.

"Prettiest fuckin' pussy l've ever seen," he groans, hands rubbing up and down your thighs, gaze burning into you until you tremble under it.

"Stop messing around," you reply, tummy filled with butterflies as he continues to watch you with mindful eyes. You lift your hips up, wanting any sort of friction from the man.

He smirks, leaning down without breaking eye contact.

His tongue slips out, presses flat against you—covering you fully, dragging over your hole and your clit before he seals his mouth around you.

The contact steals the breath right out of your lungs.

You throw your head back instantly, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth—warm, wet-slick with his saliva and your own juices. It's too much all at once, your body reacting before you can even think.

He takes his time with it. Licking. Sucking. Lapping at every sensitive spot, tongue tracing your folds with intention. A low moan leaves his throat, vibrating straight through you, sending a sharp jolt up your spine.

He grunts into you, fully focused now, like nothing else exists. His tongue doesn't stop, doesn't rush—just works you steadily while his cock strains hard and aching beneath him. Every sound you make matters.

Every moan, every broken whine, every shaky plea. You feel it in the way he presses closer, the way his breath stutters.

You were a weakness he learned to accept the moment he met you.

He pulls back just long enough to make you shiver before pressing a finger against you. Your mouth snaps shut as you watch, breath caught. His fingers are thick. Calloused. The stretch alone makes you slicker.

One finger pushes in. Slow. Then a second, following behind it, filling you deeper.

"Oh my god, Simon—"

They're big. So big it takes a second for him to settle, fingers stopping fully buried inside you before his mouth drops back to your clit, sucking it in again like he's been waiting for it.

Your thighs start to shake. Your end is nearing embarrassingly quick. But you didn't care, only focusing on the immense pleasure he was giving you.

"C'mon, give it to me," he groaned against your cunt, fingers rubbing inside you faster, harder. Your thighs shook, and the room filled with the sound of your squelching. "Gimme your cum."

It hits you in waves—fast, blinding, overwhelming. You cry out, tears slipping free as your body tightens around his fingers, pleasure tearing through you in a way that leaves you sobbing. You've never felt anything like this. Never been this far gone.

The world narrows to sensation. Sound. Heat.

He laps it up like an animal, only adding to the sensitivity of your core. He doesn't let you come down.

"Si-" you whine, hands pushing at his head just enough to make him look at you.

"Hmm?" he hums, lips brushing a soft kiss where he just had you before standing up off the bed.

Your ears are still ringing from the mind-numbing orgasm, head fuzzy, body slow to catch up. Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, at the way his cock twitches between his thick thighs like it's got a mind of its own. You didn't even notice when he had fully undressed himself.

It's huge.

So thick it barely holds itself upright.

Your brain scrambles, a thousand thoughts crashing at once. There's no way. That can't possibly-

Would this even fit inside you?

But your body doesn't care what your mind thinks.

Your heart kicks up again, anticipation curling low in your stomach, your still—sensitive, drooling mess aching for more even after everything it's just been through. The sting is still there. The fullness lingers. And somehow, you want it again anyway.

The tip of his shaft catches the light, a thick vein running along it, pulsing. His balls hang heavy and full beneath it. Trimmed hair. Thick, solid thighs flexing when he shifts his weight.

You're pretty sure you're drooling when you're ripped out of your thoughts when he speaks.

"You think you can take it, bunny?"

Your body burns, but you nod nonetheless. The arousal you felt was almost too much to bare.

"Let me see that pretty cunt," he lifts your knees up, exposing both of your holes.

Your arms hook beneath your knees, making it easier for him to position himself, lining his cock right at your greedy hole. Your heart pounds in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth hard enough you're sure you might draw blood.

He drags the head along your clit first, smearing you with his precum—then taps it there. Hard.

"Hurry-" you whine, brows furrowed in frustration.

"Just the tip, baby," he breathes, more to himself than you. "Just the tip."

For a split second, you think you understand what he means. Then he pushes in.

"Fuck-" you cry out, sharp and startled, your body locking up on instinct as your walls convulse around him, struggling to take his size. The sensation borders on too much immediately—too full, too sudden. It pulls a low grunt from his chest as he freezes, every muscle in his body going taut.

No. He can't do that. Can't hurt you.

"Shhh," he soothes quickly, voice dropping, steadying.

His hand moves where you need it most, rubbing slow, gentle circles, grounding you while your body panics around him.

Your head feels fuzzy. Like everything is happening underwater.

"Si-ah-too-" you babble, words falling apart as your eyes roll back, fingers digging into his shoulders. You can feel him inching deeper, barely moving, and every fraction of an inch feels like your body is being asked to do something impossible.

Too big. Too thick. There's no way this should fit.

He's not even halfway there, and you already feel stretched past anything you've known. Your mind flickers in and out—whines and broken cries are the only sounds you can make as he keeps going slowly, carefully.

Your hands slide down to his, gripping tight like you're anchoring yourself.

"Hey," he whispers. "Breathe for me."

You try. A shaky inhale. Then another. Tears slip down your temples as you force your body to listen.

He looks nothing like you feel.

He's calm. Focused. Completely present. Sweat beads along his forehead, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths, eyes locked on where you're taking him in.

Then warmth—unexpected.

You jolt lightly as he spits, the heat of it hitting your clit before spreading where you're connected, slicking things enough to take the edge off.

"Too big," you cry, lifting your head to look.

You almost wish you hadn't.

It looks unreal. Wrong. Your body stretched wide around him, doing something you don't understand how it's doing. You swear you can feel him everywher—high, deep, overwhelming.

He hasn't looked away once.

"Almost in, baby," he tells you.

Then he stops. All the way in.

You lose your breath completely. You've never felt this full—like there's no space left inside you at all. His body presses close, skin slick with sweat and your heat, and you can't tell where you end and he begins anymore.

Everything inside you feels pulled tight, stretched to its limit. He's so deep you swear you feel him kiss your cervix.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you cling to his shoulder, focusing on the slow movement of his hands as they slide up your sides, steady, reassuring. You breathe again slowly . Letting your body adjust inch by inch.

Letting the shock fade.

"Tell me when to move," he says quietly.

You don't answer right away. Just a quick nod after a while of feeling his body pressed to yours.

When he finally does move-just barely-the discomfort softens into something else entirely.

Something deep and rolling and unfamiliar. Pleasure replaces the sting in waves, so intense it makes your toes curl.

He moves at a languid pace, dragging himself out of you just a bit before pushing back in. Slowly. Making you feel everything.

You're growing desperate. All the pent—up tension you've been carrying for months finally spilling over, burning hot and restless.

You want him. So bad.

"You can be rougher-ah,"

"Rougher?" he chuckles, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, so gentle it makes you purr. "You don't want me to be rougher, baby."

His hips snap forward sharply, pulling a surprised gasp from your throat.

"I do!" you say breathless.

You see it then-the veins standing out along his arms, the way his jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth. He's losing it. Barely holding on anymore.

And you don't want him to.

"Please," you whisper, voice low, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.

His hands fly to your hips, pinning them hard against the bed.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

The smile on your face disappears just as quickly as it came when he snaps his hips forward again—harder this time. The movement is rough and powerful, stealing the air from your lungs.

"You ever had your neck squeezed before, bunny?" His large hand comes up loose at first, fingers barely resting against your throat, and your breath already hitches. Then he squeezes harder, thumb pressing into the side of your neck.

Your vision blurs around the edges, pleasure shooting straight through you. You don't hear a word he says after that, though the soft smile that creeps on your face doesn't go unnoticed.

Something flips inside him.

He's not the caring giant anymore-the one coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you, softly rubbing your side and clit to ease the stretch of his cock. No. This version of him is different. Rougher. Bolder. It makes your toes curl in the best possible way.

All you hear is ringing and the sound of his hips hitting your ass.

Your mouth hangs open in a perfect O, no sound coming out except the faintest whimper dragged from you with every thrust. Your eyes cross as you let him do whatever he wants with your body.

You're a drooling mess. Nothing but babbles and broken cries spill from your lips as your eyes roll back, nails clawing at the messy, wet sheets that smell like nothing but you and him.

"Stupid thrust fucking thrust bunny thrust."

The sound sends a warm, overwhelming rush through your stomach, like the drop of a roller coaster. His hips don't falter, and neither does his grip.

With every movement, he rolls his hips in slow circles, making sure you feel every inch, every vein dragging against your sensitive, gummy walls. His hand loosens at your throat only to slide down and grab your tits hard.

"Simiiimon-ah—ah-ah," you cry, voice breaking with each powerful snap of his hips. Short, deep thrusts. His pubic bone slamming into your swollen clit every time.

"So fuckin' tight," he growls. "You feel so fuckin' good一fuck.”

He lets go of your neck, hands moving down your body as his hips slow, grinding into you instead. "I'm gonna rip you in half," he mutters to himself, the rumble in his chest deep and dark.

You don't hear him.

You're too busy gripping the sheets for dear life as the sinful sounds of skin slapping, cunt squelching, and your broken moans fill the room.

The sounds you make only fuel the heavy throbbing of his cock. "Feel good, baby?" he breathes, chest heaving as he looks down at your fucked-out expression, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Yesyesyes," you babble, drool slipping from your mouth, eyes fluttering as you struggle to keep them open.

"Please-" Your cheeks are wet with tears, hair a mess, body buzzing with heat and pleasure. "Please go faster."

You lift your hips, digging your heels into the mattress, grinding back into him with everything you have left.

He lets out a deep grunt-surprised, pleased.

"Yeah, baby," he teases, thumb sliding down to rub your clit. "You want me to go faster?"

"Please, need it," you sob pathetically. The only thing you care about is pleasure—coming apart on him and letting him ruin you again.

"Work for it, then," he pants, chest rising and falling as he watches your blissed—out face. Beautiful. Fucking wrecked.

Your hips jerk erratically now, calves trembling, sweat slicking your skin as he lets you use him to get yourself off.

"You're-ah-being—mean," you sniff, your legs giving out slowly.

The familiar pressure coils tight in your stomach. Your clit is red and angry with every twist of his thumb, his free hand coming up to squeeze and play with your tit.

Before you can stop it, another orgasm washes through your whole body.

"Fuck," he he throws his head back when you clamp around him, tight and desperate, refusing to let go.

It takes everything in him not to come right then and there, buried deep inside your hot, gummy walls.

You're left gasping, clutching the sheets to your chest like you need something solid as you come apart on his cock.

As you come down, he slowly pulls out of you.

"Ah—" you yelp, the sudden emptiness uncomfortable, almost cold without him.

"Bend over."

His eyes are completely dark as he steps back, cock twitching and leaking. Before you can even lift your head, he's gripping your thighs, dragging you forward and flipping you onto your stomach, then onto your knees. The sheets beneath you are soaked.

"C'mon, bunny," he says, slapping your ass impatiently. "Bend over."

"M'gonna breed this fuckin' cunt," he mutters.

His hands grip your waist, putting you exactly where he wants you—on your knees, tits pressed into the bed, ass up just like he's imagined too many times before.

And you. You're just a cock-drunk, drooling mess. You can't even form words. Just cries and whines spilling out of you.

Music to his ears.

Fuel to his aching cock.

He positions himself behind you, a heavy hand coming down on your ass. The sharp sound echoes through the room, followed by your broken cry.

"Sii-"

His thrusts are messy—messier than before.

Desperate. His grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you harder, deeper. You chant his name like it's the only word you know.

Your body starts to betray you first. Your legs tremble, knees threatening to give out as the rhythm stutters, breaks, turns reckless. You can't keep up anymore—can't tell where one movement ends and the next begins. Every nerve feels lit, stretched thin, buzzing too loud inside your skin. Your breath comes apart in your chest, sharp little gasps you can't control, like your body already knows what's coming before your mind does.

You're right there—so close it hurts. The need swells until it feels unbearable, like pressure behind your ribs, behind your eyes. Your grip tightens, fingers clawing uselessly at his pillow.

"Fuuuuck, baby!" he nearly yells, hips snapping animalistically, your whole body jolting with every thrust.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" you scream, loud and unfiltered, grateful there aren't neighbors close enough to hear.

The pressure builds again-and just before you can release, he pulls out.

You sob at the emptiness, looking back at him. "No! — please.

He smirks, gripping his cock, a white ring of your slick at the base before he leans down, spreading your ass. Both holes are on display. You can't stop him even if you wanted to.

He spits directly on your asshole before burying his tongue there, licking and slurping like a man starved.

From your clit to your ass, messy and obscene. His hand pumps his cock as he eats you, smacking and pinching your ass, tongue pushing deep enough to make you cry into the pillow.

"Please—want your cock, Simon," you beg, pushing back into his mouth without thinking.

“Yeah, baby,” he mocks, voice pitched higher. “You want this fat cock in your tummy?”

His fist tangles in your hair, jerking your head back until your neck strains, eyes lifting to meet him looming over you.

"Yes, please," your voice is horsed, neck straining with veins popping out. Chin wet and you're panting like a dog.

It made Simons cock impossibly harder.

He sinks into you again-no pause, no waiting. He bottoms out and immediately starts fucking you without restraint, the bed squeaking so loud you're sure it'll break. He slaps your ass, pulls your hair harder, forcing your back into an uncomfortable arch.

"This is what you wanted huh baby," he pants, hips never faltering, yet they get sloppy. His end is nearing.

He knows it by the way his balls tighten. Still dripping a sticky mess of both of you.

Then everything disappears.

Your vision blurs as you cum all over his cock again—no warning, no buildup.

You don't even know how many orgasms you've had.

This last one knocks you out completely.

You collapse onto the bed when he finally lets go, lying there motionless, drool slipping from your mouth as he uses your body for his pleasure.

"Fuck, bunny," he laughs. "Came so fast."

He doesn't give you time to recover.

He hauls you back up onto your hands and knees, positioning himself at the edge of the bed-your face level with his throbbing cock. Every twitch sends a bead of precum sliding down the angry red tip, already mixed with your cum.

"Make me cum, bunny."

"Wha-?" you mumble, still coming down from your high, vision spotting as you look up at him.

"C'mon, bunny," he groans. "You can't just leave me high and dry."

His hand comes down to grip his thick cock, the other cupping his balls. Your mouth waters instantly.

And then his earlier words echo in your head.

M'gonna breed you.

You whine softly and reach up, nudging his hands away so you can replace them with yours. You shuffle forward on your knees, settling in as you lean closer, both hands moving slowly up and down his shaft.

You tilt your head, staring up at him as you muster the best face you can manage, cheek brushing against the warm weight of him. You love the sounds he's making—ragged moans as he loses control.

"Want it inside," you beg.

Simon's eye twitches.

His breathing turns rough, uneven, gaze hardening as they lock onto you. For a split second, you almost wonder if you've crossed a line.

His grip snaps tight in your hair, the burn sharp enough to steal your breath. You barely have time to yelp before he's shoving his cock into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat hard.

It's sudden. Too sudden.

You choke, gagging around him as he thrusts shallow and rough, spit bubbling at your lips and dripping down onto him.

Your head rocks back and forth as you grip his thighs to steady yourself, fingers digging in.

His grip doesn't falter, using it as leverage to drive you deeper. It's brutal. Too much. The sounds you're making would make you blush under any other circumstance.

Your throat burns, gag reflex overwhelmed as you choke around him, fluids spilling from your mouth every time he pushes deeper. Your cunt gushes as he uses your throat for his own pleasure.

"Yeeeeah gimmie that—gurg, gurg—baby."

He grips the base—what you can't fully take-along with his balls, forcing it down. Your eyes widen as you physically feel the stretch of your throat around him.

You tap at his thighs hard and fast, panic spiking just before he finally releases you.

You pull back immediately, coughing, gagging as phlegm spills from your mouth. Your face is a complete mess when he grips your hair again, jerking himself fast and hard. His expression twists with pleasure and desperation, lips caught between his teeth.

Your hand slips down between your legs, rubbing at yourself as he works his cock over your face.

"M'close," he breathes, chest red and heaving, focus razor-sharp.

"Fuuuck, bunny."

Before you can say anything, you feel it—sticky ropes splashing across your face, catching in your hair, your lashes, your brows, your lips. Everywhere. It lasts longer than you expect, enough to leave you stunned.

He grips the tip, giving a final stroke before tapping your cheek and pulling away.

You look up at him as he backs off, dragging your fingers through the mess on your face and bringing them to your mouth, licking them clean.

"Don't do this to me, bunny," he groans.

You giggle softly, the sound weak and breathless, before collapsing back onto the bed. The exhaustion finally catching up on you. Every muscle feels loose, heavy, like your body forgot how to work all at once.

The mattress dips as he moves closer again, slower now.

"Easy," he murmurs, hand settling at your side to keep you from rolling awkwardly. He grabs something off the nightstand—a cloth, a shirt, whatever's closest—and gently wipes at your face, patient, thorough.

Your eyes flutter half-closed as he works, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing finally evening out. The tension from before disappearing and turning into something soft, and peaceful.

"There you go," he says softly, brushing your hair back from your forehead. His thumb lingers there for a second longer than necessary.

You hum in response, too spent to form real words.

He shifts again, sliding into the bed beside you and tugging the covers up around you, making sure you're warm. When he settles beside you, he pulls you in without asking, arm firm and grounding around your shoulders.

You melt into him easily.

For a while, neither of you says anything. You just lie there, your head on his chest, his breathing steady beneath your ear. His hand traces slow, absent lines along your arm.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

You nod against him, eyes closed. "M'good,"

His arm tightens just a little.

"Good."

You smile to yourself, fingers drifting over the scars and dips along his chest. "Thought you said you were gonna breed me," you joke softly.

He lets out a low laugh, warm and deep, the sound vibrating through you.

"That was heat talk, bunny," he says easily. His hand slides to your waist, fingers trailing along your stretch marks.

You tilt your head, listening.

"When i do cum in your pretty pussy," he pauses, other hand reaching to drag a finger along your cheek. "It's gonna be for a reason.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

© all content belongs to httpxyeager 2026. do not modify or repost.

——————————-

“Hey, man,” comes Mingi’s voice, accompanied by a soft knock from the door of his bedroom. Yunho knows him, knows his voice, and something is off. His head turns from the video he was watching, choreography, to look at his best friend. His roommate and business partner. He looks rough, the circles under his eyes dark and his hair lacking its usual shine. He smells wrong too, too sharp and strong, his usual warm scent of cherries and apple cider almost burnt.

“What’s the matter?” Yunho asks him, but he’s pretty sure he already knows.

“My rut is a couple days early,” Mingi explains, his voice hoarse with dehydration and exhaustion. 

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I’ve got that new class starting tomorrow too. My rut was supposed to happen between classes,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. Mingi was lucky, his rut usually only lasted about 3 days, so he rarely missed any work when he had one. “Can you teach the first one for me? I’ll be back by the second one.” Yunho knows he’ll say yes, as much as he hates teaching new dancers. It’s Mingi’s forte, his easy demeanor and flirtatious nature made him a natural for teaching adults. His looser style made him a fantastic teacher for beginners too. 

Yunho was better suited to professional choreography, a couple of the idol groups in the area used him for choreo. His penchant for wanting perfection made him an excellent choreographer for those who were in the spotlight. He had two on the payroll and Yunho often spent his hours in the studio teaching them or creating new routines. Mingi contributed, of course, and together the two of them had built a decent reputation.

Even then though, Mingi never asked for anything. They might have different jobs but they still work in the same studio, one they built from the ground up. They’ve been best friends for over a decade, a pack without being a pack, and Yunho would do anything for him. “Of course,” he says, standing. “When is the class?”

“Tomorrow. 10 am. It’s the only one, the rest aren’t until next week, it’s the only class you’ll need to cover.” Yunho moves to walk over, give him a shoulder to lean on, but Mingi holds a hand up to stop him. “I’m good. Just need to rest and do the usual,” he says and he doesn’t have to explain what ‘the usual’ entails. 

“Need me to get you anything?” 

“Nahh, I’m okay. Maybe sleep at the studio tonight and tomorrow though. Your scent is pissing me off,” they both laugh, Yunho understands what he means. Ruts are exhausting enough when you are expecting them, let alone when they come early. The scent of another alpha in the space can make them worse. They’d built a small bedroom in their studio for them to go to when they rut or have company. Yunho uses it more than Mingi, sometimes sleeping at the studio when he’s working on a new routine.

“Alright man, I’ll see you in a couple days. Let me know if you need anything,” he starts shifting around, packing his bag for the next few days. He’s done and out of his bedroom in 20 minutes, Mingi’s door shut tight. He can’t help himself from making sure he’s taken care of, so he slips out for some snacks and Liquid I.V. packs, dropping them outside Mingi’s door. He’s at the studio within an hour and he figures that while he’s here, he’ll work on some new routines, get some into his backlog. He ends up staying up way too late, working himself up to a hard sweat, soaking the practice room in his scent. The new class will definitely smell him tomorrow, but right now he’s too exhausted to care. He showers and sinks himself into the tiny bed, letting sleep take him under.

————————————————————————

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this!” You sigh into the phone, frustrated. 

“You’re the one who lost the bet. Don’t write checks you aren’t prepared to cash, sweetheart!” You’d lost a stupid bet, a silly bet, one you shouldn’t even have made in the first place. Your best friend, Jiyho, had bet she could get the cute guy at the bar to buy her a drink and for some reason, you’d said that he wouldn’t. He’d bought her a drink, a second, then a third as she’d gloated behind his back. After they’d exchanged numbers and she’d made her way back to you, she’d decided on how to make you pay. “That dance studio I go to,” she’d said. “The one with the cute instructor with the thick thighs? You have to sign up for a month-long class there,” and you groaned, dropping your head in your arms. You enjoyed dancing at the club, where the dancing wasn’t dancing, but otherwise? No thanks. 

This class would end up being the most embarrassing thing you’d ever done in your adult life, you knew it. But you’d already paid for the month, and Jiyho was encouraging you.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun! Mingi is a joy, he makes every class easy.” She promises but when you walk into the studio, it was clear that the man leading the class was not Mingi. This man was thinner, his thighs much leaner, his facial features sharper than the ones Jiyho had described as Mingi’s. “A baby chick,” she’d sighed one day after class. “He looks like a baby chick.” This man was so handsome, his long hair in his eyes, his lean frame evident even under his loose clothing. He was beautiful, dangerously so, and if he was your instructor, god help you.

“I don’t think Mingi is teaching this class,” you whisper into the phone, urgency in your voice. Then the scent of him hits you, cedar and rain. Your favorite scents, you always have a candle of at least one of them burning in your home. It’s so intoxicating and you miss everything Jiyho was saying on the other end.

“What?”

“Might be Yunho,” she says again. “We don’t see him often. He usually works with professionals, not beginners or intermediates. Is he lean? Tall?”

“Yes,” you say but your voice comes out hoarse as you try to control your own scent, keep it inside your own space instead of pulsing around the room. You’d applied a scent blocker this morning, it was part of the rules. Everyone, instructor included, had to wear scent blockers, it was a common courtesy. But it could only do so much, only make so much of a difference if you were pulsing out a scent in response to one in the room. Speaking of, why could you smell him so strongly? He was supposed to be wearing a blocker too. 

“Yeah that’s Yunho. He’s nice but he’s much harder to get to know. I wonder why he’s teaching today?”

“I’m going to kill you,” you mumble, but it lacks any heat as his scent washes over you again. Your eyes close, inhaling as you lean against the wall with your face away from him, trying to keep yourself together.

“You’re going to have fun! Call me after!” She’s completely unaware of your inner turmoil, the way Yunho’s scent is making you feel. Combine that with the fact that you’re nervous and uncomfortable with dancing in a room full of people. With a man who usually works with professionals; and your fucking knees are knocking together. 

“Alright,” his voice is as nice as his scent, low and soft, but carrying authority. “If everyone could put their things in a cubby, we’ll get started.” You do as he asks, too engrossed in your own feelings to notice the way his eyes follow you and his nostrils flare at your vanilla scent. He shouldn’t be able to smell you, he’d applied his own blocker this morning, aware that his own scent would be strong for any omegas in the class. He also didn’t want to get distracted by too many scents in the studio, but for some reason, your scent comes through, loud and fucking clear.

“Hello everyone, I’m Jeong Yunho and I’m filling in for Song Mingi today. He’s come down with the flu and asked me to teach this first class to you, so I apologize for his absence.” He doesn’t have to explain the ‘flu’, you all know what he means.

“I’m going to lead you through a series of stretches, some dynamic movement to get our muscles warmed up. Then we’ll work on flow and moving with the beat, any questions?” When he’s met with silence he claps his hands together and moves to the front of the room, instructing everyone to follow him. He moves through the motions like someone who’s been dancing for most of his life. He stretches and everyone follows him, helping your muscles get warm. It’s nice, the movement, and for a moment you forget that this is a dance class and you're expected to dance. 

“Great job,” he tells everyone and you do your best not to sigh at the praise, even though it's not directed at you. “So, in dance, we count in beats of eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. We start on five, the first four beats usually go too quick to start right away. So the next thing we’re going to do is tap our feet in time with the beat.” He moves to a metronome you’d not noticed before and sets it to the tempo he likes. “Follow me,” he taps in time with the metronome, his motions exaggerated as he waits for everyone to get on the same beat.

You can keep a beat fine, it’s the movement that gets you, so you have no issue keeping the beat but it’s clear that some people do. You can hear the people that are off beat, hear how their feet taps are a second too early or too late. Yunho waits until almost everyone is on beat before he starts moving around the room, adjusting those who aren’t quite right. You have to stifle a giggle as you see the exasperation on his face. The way his shoulders pinch together a little at the fact that even after being corrected one person still can’t get it right. 

Once they have it down, at least as much as they’re going to get, he speaks again. “Good,” and you swear he looks at you and his voice drops an octave and it makes your inner omega purr. “Now we’re going to incorporate a little movement, a step forwards and then backwards on beat,” he says, moving to the front of the room once again. He steps forwards with his right foot, then his left, then he steps backwards in the same order. He repeats the motion several times, until everyone has a basic feel for it, then he walks around the room to start correcting. 

You can smell him as he does, the notes of cedar coming across a little headier as he starts to work up a sweat. You’re too focused on your own steps to notice the way his eyes keep flicking over to you, but you do notice the way he keeps drifting closer and closer to you. “Like this, you’re a half step too late.” His instructions are soft, one of his hands on your waist as he corrects you. Yunho stands there for a second, watching you, and when he’s sure you’ve got it, he compliments you. “Good job,” he says it low in his chest, not quite in an alphas tone but close enough that a blush light up your face and chest, making you look away from him. 

“Thank you,” your own voice is small, too close to the submissive tone of an omega for either of you right now and you have to clear your throat. He shifts away and you can feel the reluctance on him, can feel the way his eyes are finding you in the small room over and over again. You do your best to avoid his eye-line, keep your head down and make sure you’re on beat. 

“Great. You guys are getting it,” he compliments and you have to bite down on your tongue to keep your reaction at bay. “I’m going to add some music now, see how you guys do with that, then if we have time, we’ll get to our choreography today.” The song he picks is one of your favorites to dance to at weddings and parties, the drum of the beat too strong to miss. You repeat the same steps, letting your hips sway a little as you sink into the music. “You’re a natural,” comes his voice from behind you and you jump at how close he is. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he laughs under his breath at your reaction and you wave him off.

“I’m very concerned with staying on beat, I didn’t realize you’d moved around the room again,” you tell him with a smile. 

“You really are doing a great job, are you sure you’re a beginner?” He teases, taking a step closer to you. Your breath hitches and you nod your head, not trusting your voice as his scent fills your nostrils and it makes your eyes flutter closed. You’re too focused on how his scent is affecting you to notice how yours is affecting him, the way his chest and shoulders puff out a little. For the briefest of seconds you feel like it’s only the two of you in the room, your eyes locking with his and everything else drowning out into the background. Then someone calls his name and the spell breaks, he’s off and moving and correcting forms. 

He doesn’t get much time to come back to you for the rest of class, once he starts adding some specific movements he has to stay moving so he can make sure everyone is doing the right thing. There’s one time he’s able to get his hands on you again, shifting your arm motions so they’re perfect. It makes the two of you suck in a sharp breath when your skin connects, the air around you thickening with vanilla and cedar. It’s almost like neither of you wore a scent blocker, the way your scents fill the room and clog everyones lungs. If your eyes weren’t drawn to everything Yunho was doing you’d notice people complaining about it under their breath, shooting glances between the two of you, the tension obvious. 

As class ends, you hang back, trying to get a moment alone to maybe ask for his number. A few girls in class stop to tell you what a great job you did, how they can’t wait to see you next week when Mingi is back. You’ve forgotten that Yunho isn’t the actual teacher for this class, he was a fill-in and you're displeased by the idea of not seeing him again. As you’ve gathered the courage to go up to him and ask him for his number, the door opens and a local idol group files in. You’re pretty sure they’re called the KQ Fellaz, known for their intense choreographies, and you realize with a start that Yunho created all those dances. Well, Yunho and Mingi together, but still. He leads them to a back studio, not even sparing you a backwards glance. The dismissal stings, burning sharp in your chest and you try to ignore it as you dig your phone from your bag to call Jiyho and update her. 

—————————————————

Yunho doesn’t even realize he never asked for your number until his practice with KQ Fellaz is over. He’d been standing to the side, waiting until some of the other class members had departed, working up the nerve when they’d walked in, 15 minutes early. They had a big comeback coming up in the next few weeks. Their first performance was soon and they were still working out some of the kinks in their routine. He’d wanted to, it was clear as day to him that the two of you had chemistry and he wanted to explore what that could mean. He was so upset with himself that he hadn’t asked, but you had class again the next week and he would ask you then. He was gross after dancing for the last two hours, so he hopped in the shower and opened his phone to check on Mingi. He’d sent a short message thanking him for the snacks and drinks, but not much since then. 

Yunho knew how ruts could be, emotionally and physically draining. Thinking about Mingi’s rut had him pulling up the app on his phone that helped track his and he realized his was due at the end of the month. Right around the same time as KQ Fellaz comeback, he’d have to let them know that he might not be there on the day of their performance. The rest of his day goes normal, he handles the financials, he sends critiques to his other group and before he knows it, it’s late, he’s exhausted and ready for bed. 

The rest of his week is much the same, Mingi makes it back right on time to teach his beginner classes, feeling much more like himself. Yunho watches him with amusement as he works through a class, much smoother than Yunho had been during his own, which is actually the next day. Mingi corrects, much gentler and much more forgiving than he had been. Mingi was the fluid one in their friendship, his personality matching his dance style. Everything Mingi did looked like it was liquid on the dance floor, flowing from one move to the next. Yunho was more rigid, expecting a lot from everyone, including himself. His dance lines were clean and sharp, precise as he worked from one move to the next. They were equally great dancers, with two very different forms and styles. 

“Hey,” Mingi shuffles up to him, big grin on his face as his class files out. “Looking lost in thought over here. Everything good?”

“Yeah, thinking about how different we are but how well we complement each other,” Yunho explains, but there is something on his mind. “I know you’re supposed to teach that 10 o’clock tomorrow, but do you mind if I do? It’s only a month long class and I don’t think its fair to switch instructors on them,” the lie comes off his lips easy, but he isn’t ready to tell Mingi the truth yet. 

“What?” Mingi’s head whips around to look at Yunho with utter confusion, his facial features resembling an emoji. 

“Yeah, I started with them. It’s only a month and doesn’t interfere with any of my own stuff so I wouldn’t mind finishing it out.” 

“Sure, I guess,” Mingi says, a small smile on his face. Something is up with Yunho, he’s sure of it, he doesn’t know what it is, yet. So, when the class files in the next day, Mingi decides to stick around. He greets everyone with a smile, explaining that while he’ll be here to help, Yunho will be running the class for the duration of the month. He catalogues everyone in class, trying to see if it’s a person that has Yunho wanting to teach and when his eyes land on you, he knows he’s figured it out. 

You, however, are still smarting from the fact that Yunho didn’t speak to you after the last class, going off with his pack of alphas and leaving the omega behind. Logically, you know that’s not what happened, you know he has a job to do and the idols he works with depend on him. But your hindbrain won’t let go of that feeling of dismissal because you’re an omega and it’s eating at you. 

So, when Yunho gives you a warm smile as he starts the warmup, you give him a small, tight one in response. It’s stupid, you know you’re being stupid, but you can’t shake it. You’ve already sweat through your first blocker, your vanilla scent soaking the room, at least it feels that way to you and Yunho as he sets a beat for everyone to follow. He walks around the room, trying to copy some of Mingi’s easy banter with the class and not able to completely mimic it. He’s easier this week, letting some things go if they aren’t perfect but unfortunately for him, you’re perfect today. He has nothing to comment on, nothing to fix, nothing that would allow him the excuse of putting his hands on your waist or wrist. “You are a natural. You should try an intermediate class,” he finally says to you, his voice dropping low as he walks behind you. You flush hot at the praise, willing it not to show on your face. 

“Thanks.” Yunho's confused about your reaction, considering how well the two of you had gotten on the last week, but he tamps down the feeling and moves on. He compliments you twice more, only correcting you once and that was bullshit. Your form was good, you took to dancing like a natural and he does his best to ignore Mingi’s crooked grin. He’s a big help and Yunho can see why he enjoys it, maybe they should teach together more often. Once class is over, Yunho hangs back, waiting until the girls you made friends with disperse so he can ask for your number, but you don’t spare him a glance as you leave with them.

“Omega got your tongue?” Mingi asks, leaning against the counter next to him. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face and he loves that he knows the reason Yunho offered to keep teaching. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Yunho snaps but they both know he doesn’t mean it. “We clicked last week. She was kind and funny, and you can see her, she’s gorgeous. We both had blockers on last week and I could still smell our scents mingling together,” Yunho says, the disappointment hitting him hard. Maybe you weren’t as into him as he’d thought. 

“Well, what could’ve happened that made her act this way?” Yunho thinks back, replaying last week. He’d been watching you, waiting for the group around you to leave. He could see you watching him too, less obvious but still out of the corner of your eye. It had been clear to him that you were intending to try to talk to him too. But that’s when KQ Fellaz walked in and he’d gotten side-tracked, instead of sending them to the practice room, he’d walked them there himself. 

“Shit,” he groans, dropping his face in his hands.

“What did you do?” 

“I was going to ask her for her number last week and got distracted by a group, they were early and it threw me off a little. She probably felt dismissed.” Yunho says, thinking about how his alpha felt being dismissed today and how you probably felt it double last week. 

“Ahh, that would be it. Better fix that next week.”

And Yunho plans on it.

————————————

When the next class comes around, Yunho's determined to catch you before it starts. He posts up against the door, waiting for everyone to file in, his disappointment rising with every person that isn’t you. He’s about ready to give up when he sees you, speed-walking down the sidewalk, bag slung over your shoulder.

“Hey,” he greets you at the door, holding it open for you and you try not to act pleased about it. 

“Hello,” you say, trying to sound uninterested. 

“Hey, so, look-“ he starts but he loses his train of thought when you slip off your shoes and stand up straight to look at him. You’re gorgeous, so gorgeous he can’t remember what he was planning on saying. 

“Can this wait?” You ask, jerking a thumb towards the class, where half of them are surreptitiously watching the two of you. The other half (Mingi included) are staring openly. 

“No, actually it can’t,” he responds, shocking you both. Your mouth snaps shut, any retort dead on your lips and you stare at him. “I wanted to ask for your number,” he says, lowering his voice so he’s not heard. 

“Oh,” you say back, your cheeks lighting up with embarrassment. 

“I wanted to a couple weeks ago,” he explains, his hand on the back of his neck as he talks. “I’m sorry I didn’t. I should have.”

“Oh,” you say again, incapable of producing another word. 

“I’d like to ask you out for coffee. I don’t know if I can this week, my schedule is pretty full. I have one group releasing a comeback next week and another starting practices for an upcoming comeback, but I’d really, really like to get to know you better.” He huffs out a breath after he finishes his little confession and the way your eyes light up makes something in his chest go soft. “I wanted to ask the last two weeks but it hasn’t worked out. So, I’m asking for it now, or after class. But I’d like to have it.” He smiles at you and it makes all those other feelings slip away.

“Oh,” you say for a third time before you mentally slap yourself. “Yes. I would like that,” you smile. 

“Thank god because I was going to feel so stupid if you said no,” he grins, pulling out his phone. 

“No, wait until after class. They’re waiting on us,” you say, smiling at him again. “C’mon teach, show us some moves,” and with that you’re off, taking the open space between the same girls from last week. They all laugh and shoot jabs at what transpired but you don’t care, you’re too busy basking in the moment. Your alpha does want you. 

Wait. He’s not your alpha. He’s an alpha but definitely not yours. Definitely not yours. 

Yunho can’t hardly wipe the joy from his face as he teaches, Mingi poking and prodding at his happiness every chance he gets. You seem to be on the same page, your scent a soft vanilla that makes his eyes cross when he gets too close. His own scent is softer too, warmer, the cedar has a touch of campfire to it that makes you melt. The class is lighter on him today, weightless as he corrects forms, laughing and smiling. He sees why Mingi enjoys teaching these beginner classes so much, there’s more room for fluidity and creativity. He still prefers his professionals, but he might poke into a few more beginner classes with Mingi once this one is over. 

He tries to not crowd you, give you some space, since you actually did pay for the class, but it’s almost impossible. His feet take him to your side of the room without him even noticing, watching you from across the room without meaning to. He’d been doing that the last two weeks, but today? After you’d agreed to see him a little more? He'd had to drag his eyes away from you and make his feet move in the opposite direction. Mingi laughs at him every time he looks confused about how he ended up behind you again, and Yunho sends him dirty looks in response. He touches you every time he can, correcting perfect form as an excuse. You know it’s bullshit, he knows it’s bullshit, the whole class knows it’s bullshit but no one says a word. There’s lots of sly glances between other dancers as they watch, some murmured words that Yunho ignores, a few knowing shoulder bumps into you as your newfound friends tease you. 

The class drags on today, every time he checks the clock only five minutes have passed and he has to hold back a sigh of relief when Mingi calls the day. Yunho hovers near your cubby as you put your shoes back on and slip your sweatshirt over your head, pulling off your blocker. It’s sweet, it makes you melt a little bit more, the fact that he missed getting your number the last two weeks but he refuses to miss the chance today. Mingi is hovering too, but you’re only paying attention to Yunho as the girls chatter to you, trying to drag the moment out.

“Go! I’ll catch up with you later this week, we can go get dinner and drinks,” you tell them, all but shoving them out the front door. They laugh the whole way down the street but you can’t even be mad, they’re happy for you. They gave you a hard time the week before for running out on him, they wanted you to stay and get his number, even though you were upset. They’re beta’s, so they didn’t understand the way your hindbrain had felt dismissed, they way you had felt unwanted. So, they also didn’t understand the joy that you had felt when he’d insisted on delaying class to ask you out, how it made you feel wanted. When you turn around, you notice that he’s taken a step forwards, like he was worried you were going to leave and you have to suppress a smile. “Hi,” you say, looking up at him.

“Hey,” he responds, looking exceptionally shy for an alpha, especially one that’s as tall and broad as he is. “I’m sorry about that first week, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I can get distracted when it comes to my choreography and my groups.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t react very well. Sometimes when I get my feelings hurt, I can let the feeling linger much longer than it needs to,” you admit to him, you know you were being a little silly. “I’m glad you asked for my number today though.”

“Me too. Speaking of, do you-?” 

“Oh! Of course!” You tell him, switching phones with him. You input your number, sending a quick text to your number and he does the same thing. 

“Like I said, I’m pretty busy this week and next, but if you’d like to have coffee or lunch or breakfast or-“ a sharp snort from behind him reminds you both of the other presence in the room. 

“You have like, no game,” Mingi huffs, his chest heaving with the effort of not laughing aloud. It makes you smile, their easy relationship. 

Yunho wrinkles his nose at him before turning back to you, “as I was trying to say, I can move some stuff around if you’d like to get together this week.”

Your omega preens at the idea of him shuffling around his schedule so that he can see you and your soft vanilla scent floats through the air at your contentment. He smiles as he inhales, happy that he’s made you happy. “Yeah, I’d like that. Do you have any evenings open? I can come here with food if you can’t leave?” Mingi smiles from behind him, he never thought he would see his best friend getting courted by a pretty omega, but that’s exactly what’s happening. You’re offering to bring him food so he doesn’t get hungry when he has to work, and you’ll probably ask what his favorite is when the time comes too. A courting gesture if he’s ever seen one.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I can get out of here on Tuesday evening too, take you out on a real date?” He offers and you nod quickly, almost too quickly. 

“Are you doing anything right now?” You ask, feeling bold. He’s as into you as you are into him and you try to keep it together when he checks his watch and smiles.

“I have a group coming in for new choreo in about an hour, but we could definitely get a coffee. Or an ice cream. Or some street food or walk the Han River,” he rambles and Mingi snorts again. He’s never seen his best friend like this, rambling like a teenager with his first crush, his eyes darting around the room. Both of you ignore him this time, too engrossed in one another to notice. You’ve never felt this way about another person before, this nervous and excited, this pull to spend as much time with them as possible. His scent makes your head spin and you’re trying hard not to think about the old wives tale of soulmates and scent matches and all those things they say exist, but no one you know has ever experienced.

Yunho heads to the door, you following close behind him, neither of you even sparing Mingi a backwards glance. The conversation is light and easy, get to know you’s and basic questions as you walk to a small coffee shop up the road. 

“So, you know what I do for work. What do you do for work?” He asks as he orders his coffee and gestures for you to order yours. 

“I’m a teacher. Middle school,” you tell him, ordering your own.

“Mmhm,” his eyes light up as he smiles and pays, even though you have your own wallet out. “You’re brave. Middle schoolers are a different breed,” his hand is low in your back as he guides you to stand at the pickup side. It takes everything in you not to lean into him as you talk and it catches you off guard, how comfortable you are with him. You've known him a few weeks, but this is your first date, you shouldn't be this comfortable yet.

“They are, but they’re also loyal to the ones that they care about. I’ve got a handful that might push my buttons but if another kid tries to be disrespectful to me? They have it handled before I do. They’re also independent but they still want your help a lot of the time, unlike high schoolers, who want nothing to do with help,” you laugh, looking up at him. “Or elementary kids, who can’t do anything without repeating instructions 30 times.”

“That’s pretty amazing. You must have a lot of patience. What subject do you teach?”

“Language and literature, everyones favorite subject,” you laugh as your coffees pop up. Yunho moves to grab them, handing yours to you. 

“Hey,” he says, walking with you to the door. “I liked language arts a lot more than I liked math,” you laugh, letting him guide you outside. “Would you like to walk the river? 

“Sure,” you tell him, flushing hot when he switches his coffee to the other hand so he can link your fingers together. The two of you talk, the conversation easy as you walk. There’s no lapses, no uncomfortable silences, and from your side, there’s definitely a spark.

It’s nice, getting to know him, the way he talks so with you and you with him. You feel the sharp twinge of disappointment when you find yourself heading back towards the studio, your hour must be almost up. “This has been nice,” you say as the studio comes into view. “I would like to do this again. This was….really nice.”

“It was,” he agrees, taking your empty cup and throwing it in the trash for you. He also holds the door open as you enter the studio, a group standing at the desk waiting for him. “I’d also like to do this again. Can I text or call you later this evening? It might be late.” You can feel his own disappointment, how he wants to keep spending time with you but he has to work. 

"I’d really like that. I’ll be up, I have to work on my lesson plans anyways,” he smiles at that, nodding his head before he gets ahold of himself again. 

“Okay,” his voice is soft, and he’s reluctant to go, choosing to stand there and stare at you with a dopey smile. “I should go.”

“You should,” your voice as soft, your smile as dopey.

“I don’t want to,” he tells you, his cedar scent softening around the edges the longer he looks at you. “I need to but I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to either,” you tell him, your scent curling with his, soaking the room.

“You two smell like Christmas,” Mingi says, amused.

“What?” Both your heads whip around and you speak at the same time.

“You smell like Christmas,” he repeats, “like a fresh-cut tree and sugar cookies. It’s disgusting,” but the way he says it makes you think he actually likes it. “We’re waiting, whenever you’re finished over there. I’m sure these guys would like to learn their new moves.”

“I should go,” Yunho sighs, taking a few steps backwards, “I’ll call you when we’re done.”

“I can’t wait,” you say, moving towards the door. 

“Wait!” He says, stopping you in your tracks. He walks back over to where you stand, closing any distance he created, “Are you going to be okay getting home? You’re going to be safe?” His protective instincts are kicking into overdrive at the idea of you being out there alone, without him. 

You loose a soft laugh, “yes, my car is a half a block down. I’ll be fine, alpha,” it’s said with affection, you love the idea that he wants to protect you. But you also don’t miss the flash of interest when you call him by his designation, the way his eyes darken a little. 

“Alright, little omega,” it’s your turn to be affected, a flush creeping up your chest and neck. “Be safe. I’ll call you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then holding the door open to let you out. You don’t miss the cheers and obnoxious shouts from all the other men in the room as the door swings closed behind you.

——————————

“Oh my god, you’re in deep already and that was only your first date,” Mingi laughs, pushing Yunho on the shoulder.

“Bro,” Yunho starts, stopping when he realizes his group is paying attention too. They’re smiling at him though, they seem genuinely happy. They’re a group he’s been working with for a long time, several years, one of the original groups they took on. “I think we might be scent matches,” he says, his voice a little shy and unsure. 

“Can I be honest?” Mingi asks him. Yunho nods his head. “I think you are too. Your scents click when you’re in the same room. I’m happy for you,” he says, clapping Yunho on the shoulder. The group nods their agreement, stating how they could see something special brewing between the two of you. 

Practice runs long, not that he minds, but it puts the whole day behind schedule by around 30 minutes and he has plans. He’s glad the groups he works with understand he wants perfection in their routines but today his mind is somewhere else. It’s 8pm when he finally gets out of the studio. 8:30 before he’s home and getting dinner. After 9 by the time he’s done showering and eating. He pulls out his phone, opening your contact card and hitting the video call button. You answer, glasses on your face and your hair pulled back and Yunho feels himself melt a little more. 

“Hey,” you say softly, your computer perched on your lap. 

“Hey,” he responds, just as softly. 

“How was practice?”

“Good, long. A longer day than expected. It felt like it took forever, but that’s because I was ready to get home so I could talk to you,” he admits and it makes you flush. “I didn’t call too late, did I?” He asks, checking the clock.

“No, we’re on break this week and next so my schedule runs a little later than on an average day,” you tell him. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too,” his smile is blinding as he looks at you.

“Does that mean we can meet in the mornings sometime this week? My groups don’t usually practice until afternoon, idol time is way different from average time,” he laughs and you nod your head.

“Actually yeah, that would work out for me,” you say as you settle into your pillows. Your conversation flows, a clear level of comfort between the two of you.

“So, you’re off tomorrow, I’m off tomorrow, would you like to do something?” You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence and you love the way his face lights up.

“Definitely. Did you have something in mind or..?”

“Do you want to come over for breakfast? I don’t cook a lot of things but I can make breakfast. I can make a pretty good gyeran bap,” he says.

“Ooh, that sounds good, I’d love breakfast. Do you want me to bring anything? Coffee, donuts, tea?”

“Some coffee, if you're okay with picking some up for Mingi too?”

“Oh, you guys live together?”

“We do. We have for a few years now, it’s so much easier for us.”

“Of course I can pick up some coffee for you both. What do you two want?” He relays their coffee order, his close relationship with Mingi evident in the way he speaks about him. 

The two of you stay on the phone for hours, its nearing midnight before you finally hang up with a promise to see him the next day. He sends you his address before you drift off to sleep, setting an alarm through bleary eyes. Morning comes too quick, your late night catching up with you, but you rouse yourself and shower, setting out for coffee.

You can smell the spices through the door as you knock, the light scent of the two alphas underneath it. It’s warm, comforting, and you inhale as the door opens, Mingi’s bright face greeting you. “There’s the dancing queen!” He says and there’s something easy in his tone that makes you break out into a giggle.

“I’d hardly say that,” you hand over his coffee, which he thanks you for, before he leads you into the kitchen where Yunho stands over the stove. 

“Hey,” he tosses in your direction with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” your voice is small, bordering on submissive and you have to shake yourself out of it. Just because a good-looking alpha is cooking you breakfast, something akin to a courting gesture, doesn’t mean you submit. Especially when his roommate is standing right behind you. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept well, pleasant dreams and all that,” he says, turning to you. The look in his eye makes you feel like the dreams he had involved you and it makes you flush, a soft, pleased scent drifting into the air. “One of those for me?” He grins when he catches a whiff of your vanilla spiked with cinnamon and he determines is his new favorite scent in the entire world. 

“Of course,” you tell him, handing his over, a courting gesture of your own. “Is there anything I can do to help? 

“I don’t think so, it’s almost done. Waiting on the eggs to finish,” he says, stepping back to the pan as Mingi quizzes you on your life. It could feel like an interrogation if Mingi wasn’t so open about everything, if he didn’t seem so interested in your answers. It’s not long before Yunho sets bowls down in front of you both, Mingi’s decorated the way you assume he likes but yours is plain. “I didn’t know what you liked on yours, but I have anything you could want,” he says, his ears lighting up a pretty pink.

You tell him what you’d like, you’d have gotten it yourself but he’d whined low in his throat when you moved to grab your bowl. He sets it back in front of you within seconds, the way you asked for. It’s your turn for your ears to get hot, the act might be simple but it’s definitely a courting gesture, one that feels intimate and soft. 

Mingi, for all he’s worth, sits across from the two of you and shovels food into his mouth, “you two are so cute it actually makes me sick to my stomach.” Both your gazes drop at the same time, realizing that you’ve been holding eye contact the whole time and Mingi is halfway through his bowl already. 

“Shut up, Min,” Yunho says but you can tell he doesn’t mean it, especially not with the way that Mingi cackles and shovels another mouthful of food down. You take your own bite, the flavors hitting your tongue and making your eyes close. It’s delicious and Yunho flushes hard when you tell him so, his ears lighting up a bright red.

The conversation is easy, like it was yesterday, like it was on the phone last night, even though you now have the addition of Mingi. He’s funny, dorky in a way that would be cringy if he wasn’t so adorable and kind. You can hardly believe a man like that is an alpha, even his scent doesn’t give off alpha tones, it’s sweet and fruity. 

When Mingi’s done eating he washes up his bowl, claps his hands together to gather the attention of the room and speaks. “As much fun as I would have watching you two flirt with one another, I’ll go bother Wooyoung and San and see if I can pick their brains about new choreo. Maybe I’ll finally convince them to quit their jobs and work for us,” he says and he then disappears. Yunho watches him go, something protective in the way he makes sure the front door gets locked, then heads to the window to make sure Mingi got in his car safely. 

“I’m so sorry about him,” he starts but you cut him off.

“No, it’s fine. He’s very funny. Something about him feels….safe, would be the word I would use,” you tell him and his face lights up. It’s clear that Mingi is important to him, clear that he was hoping the two of you would get along and that makes your chest soft.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, his eyes bright and shining as he watches you finish your last few bites. 

“So, who are San and Wooyoung?”

“Friends of ours, all four of us grew up dancing in the same studio. They’re so talented, we’ve been trying to get them to quit their pencil pushing jobs and come work for us for years. If they did, we could take on more opportunities,” he says and you love hearing him talk about dancing, it’s so obvious he’s passionate about it.

“Yeah?” You say to him, encouraging him to keep talking. 

“If we had more dancers we could get signed with a group and be backup dancers,” he says, shifting to take your now-empty bowl from you. “If we got signed with a group, we would create all their choreography and get to tour with them.” He’s rambling now as he washes the bowls, drying them and putting them back in the cabinet.

The action makes you melt, a lot of alphas would expect the omega in the house to clean up after them, even if it isn’t their home. Yunho didn’t even think about it, he did it of his own accord and you have the briefest flash of a future with him. One where you’re partners in life, not alpha and omega but partners, sharing things equally. The housework, the bills, the cleaning, the cooking, the pups. Wait-the pups? Why are you thinking about pups right now? You’ve been on one date with this man. This alpha. He could turn out to be a completely different person, but something tells you he’s not. Yunho is still talking and you force yourself to focus on him and not the pups you will not be having anytime soon.

“Can you do it without San and Wooyoung?” You ask him when he finally stops to take a breath. 

“I’m sure we can find some great dancers,” he concedes, coming to sit down next to you at the table. “But I want to do it with them,” he admits. “We’ve been friends so long, I trust them and I love the work they do. They’ve created some routines with us before and enjoyed it. They’re nervous about quitting their jobs and we get it. I just want to work with them,” he tells you and you can’t help the draw to reach across the table and hold his hand. He perfumes in the air, the scent of a cedar floating through the room and while his ears turn red with embarrassment, yours flush with pride. You, an omega, made an alpha perfume everywhere by holding his hand. 

“I’m sure they’ll come join you soon,” you reassure. Who wouldn’t want to come work with Mingi and Yunho? They love what they do and they’re good at it. 

“Thanks,” his voice is so soft. “Do you have anything you’d like to do today? I have the whole day free and I’m not above begging to get you to spend your day with me,” he tries to make it sound like a threat but it comes across much more pleading.

“I’m not picky,” you try to think if there’s anything you want to be doing. “Ooh, can we hit the farmers market?”

“Of course, there’s a new restaurant over there I’ve been wanting to try too. Let’s make a day of it?” He offers and you’re quick to agree. The two of you gather your things and head out the door, wrapped up in each other.

—————————-

The whole week continues like this, you two spending every spare moment together that you can. Early morning coffee, Yunho pays. Lunch brought to the studio, Abura soba, his favorite. One late night dinner with wine and laughs over tiramisu. If he can’t meet you for dinner, he calls you after he’s done with practice, telling you all about his day and you telling him all about yours. Unfortunately you don’t get to see him the day before your final class for the month, but you do talk to him on the phone until you fall asleep with it in your hand.

So it surprises you a little the next morning when you show up early to the studio with a coffee in hand for him and Mingi. Yunho’s got dark circles under his eyes and his movements are a little bit sluggish, he looks exhausted. “Hey,” you say to him, soft, so you don’t scare him. “You okay?” His scent smells a little different, sharper, and you hope he’s not overworking himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, a bit tired from all these practices,” he assures you. He knows his rut is coming, due within the next week, and that’s the cause of some of his exhaustion, but you don't need to know that. Not when he’s getting to know you, not when you've only been dating a week.

“Alright, but if you need anything, please ask,” you tell him, smiling when Mingi comes to get his coffee from you.

“God. I love your girlfriend,” he drawls, inhaling the scent of coffee. The both of you freeze, not sure what to make of his words. “Why are you both looking at me like that? Please don’t tell me you forgot to ask her to be your girlfriend,” he shoots a pointed look at Yunho, who seems sheepish.

“I forgot to formally ask,” he turns to you, “I’m sorry. I would like you to be my girlfriend.”

“I’d love to be your girlfriend,” you tell him, your voice dropping into a omega tone that makes him nearly growl.

“I am so teasing you about this at your wedding,” Mingi drawls before he walks away, leaving the both of you reeling. Wedding? Mingi is so far ahead of himself, so far ahead of the two of you, that you’re both stunned into silence. Not uncomfortable silence but silence nonetheless as you drink your coffees, shoulders brushing where you lean against the counter.

“I’m sorry about hi-” Yunho starts but you don’t let him finish.

“Please don’t be, I’m glad he feels comfortable enough with me to tease me,” you tell him. You’ve spent nearly as much time with Mingi over the course of the last week as you have with Yunho and you find that you like him. He’s funny, kind, smart, and gives you the kind of comfort usually reserved for omega friendships. You adore him.

Yunho relaxes, enough that you can see the way his shoulders droop with exhaustion, with something else, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. Other class members start arriving and you don’t get the chance to talk to him anymore, especially when your group of girls shows up. They giggle about you and Yunho having coffee from the same shop, talking when you tell them how you’ve seen each other almost every single day. He’s smiling next to you the whole time they chatter, his scent softening as he hears how excited they are for you.

As class starts, you take up your usual spot at the back, moving through the dynamic warm-up. It’s about the time you start to work up a sweat that you realize you forgot to apply your blocker this morning and vanilla sweeps through the room. Yunho notices right away, his hindbrain firing as two thoughts come to his mind over and over again. My mate. Protect. My mate. Protect. He shakes his head, trying to clear the thoughts and send his hindbrain back where it belongs, eyes darting to Mingi to get his attention. Mingi, emotionally intelligent Mingi, always keeping an eye on his best friend Mingi, notices his change in demeanor immediately and shifts to take over teaching. 

Yunho makes his way to the back, his mouth dry and his heart pounding. “Hey,” Yunho tries to be casual but he knows his voice sounds strange. “Did you forget your blocker today?” 

“Shit, yes,” you curse low under your breath, “I’m sorry, I was so excited to get you coffee that I forgot to grab one. Is it a problem?” It’s not, it’s really really not but it’s making Yunho’s eyes cross and his mind head down to an inappropriate place. You were excited to bring him coffee? His chest thumps with pleasure and if he didn't have a blocker on, you'd be able to smell it. He has to fight the chuff that threatens to work its way out of his mouth.

“No, but you might want to put one on, you’re making my head spin,” he laughs. He's trying to play it off, make it seem like his body isn’t screaming at him to bend you over the-no. No. He cannot go there. Not here and not now. The way his body and mind is feeling right now makes him think his rut is coming on a little sooner than scheduled. 

“Do you have one? I ran out of the ones in my bag,” you’ve missed a decent amount of class so far so you don’t care when he nods and grabs your hand, pulling you down the hall and into his office. His shoulders are tight, his back rigid, and he flinches when you reach out and touch him. 

“Yun, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he promises, spinning to look at you, he’s not fine, you both know that. Your eyes are wide as he hands you a blocker from his bag, and you’re looking up at him with so much omega softness that it makes his hindbrain go into overdrive. The urge to protect you, to hold you, to knot you, to claim you, takes over his mind. He needs to take a deep breath but he knows he’ll get overwhelmed with your scent and that will make it worse.

“Hindbrain taking over?” You ask, noting his posture and the way his eyes are blown a little wide and he releases a huge breath of relief.

“Yes.” It’s short and sweet and to the point but you get it.

“Is my scent making it worse?”

“Yes and no?” He says, honestly. “It’s overwhelming, but I feel like if you leave my sight I’ll come apart at the seams,” he admits, letting the protective instinct take over. 

“Would it help to scent me?”

“God, please,” he admits, swallowing hard when you take a step closer to him, pressing your thighs to his and dropping your head back to give him what he wants. His arm curls around your waist, pulling your chests together as his nose presses against your scent gland. It clears his head immediately, sating his protective desire. Now when his omega leaves, she’ll smell like an alpha and the others will know she’s taken. Wait-his omega? Would he consider you his omega? Would you consider yourself his omega? He’s pondering these questions as he takes another deep inhale and you loose a soft sigh and Yunho fucking wills his cock not to jump where your thigh presses against him. 

“Better?” You ask as he takes a third deep inhale and his body relaxes against yours.

“Yes, actually. You smell a little like me now and that makes me feel better,” he admits and you can’t help but laugh at him. 

“I don’t know how many alphas you think I’m fending off every day but it’s not that many, I promise. I don’t mind smelling like you though,” you tell him, poking him in the arm as he smiles. 

“Can I kiss you?” Your heart skips a beat as you nod, it’s not the first time he’s kissed you, you’ve kissed plenty over the last week but something feels different about this one. He presses down into your space, his lips capturing yours as you sigh. It’s not demanding but he kisses with intent, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. His lips are soft against yours, his mouth molding to your own.

It doesn’t last long enough, Yunho must remember why you’re here in the office about the same time you do and you both pull away, reluctance carved in every motion. “Oh shit, your class. I’ve got to get you back out there, you’ve missed like 15 minutes in here with me. C’mon, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes as he pulls you along behind him. “Did you get the blocker on?” You shake your head and he lets of your hand so you can apply the little patch before he pulls you back out to studio 1. The two of you make it in time to start the choreography and all your girls give you sideways glances as you rejoin. 

“I needed a blocker,” you whisper to them, “Yunho let me use one of his.”

“Doesn’t explain why you smell like him,” they smile, teasing you. Rolling your eyes at them, you try to figure out where you’re at in the class, try to keep up with the steps that Mingi is teaching. 

Yunho doesn’t stray far from you, not even bothering to help Mingi teach the class but truthfully? You don’t mind. His hindbrain is in control right now, so you let him do what he needs.

Once the class finally ends, he’s in your space, his body shadowing yours as you pull your shoes back on and slip your sweatshirt over your head. He’s not overwhelming you, not bearing down on you like some alphas would, but he is making his presence known and you don’t mind. He makes you feel safe, protected, cared for.

Your girls chatter to you the whole time, asking about your plans for the weekend and if you want to come get lunch with them after this. You do, Yunho has a full day so you aren’t able to hang out today. Besides you have a breakfast date planned for tomorrow that will turn into another all day date. So, you agree to meet them at a little restaurant a couple blocks up the road, turning to Yunho so you can tell him goodbye. 

“Are you walking or driving?” His tone is clipped and you’re trying not to get your feelings hurt by it. He’s got no reason to be angry with you, especially considering how sweet he’d been while getting you a blocker, which you forgot you were wearing and remove. You know he’s struggling to put the rational brain in front of the instinctual one but that doesn’t mean he gets to be unkind.

“Walking, it’s only a couple blocks,” you tell him, and shrink a little when he frowns.

“I don’t like it.” No explanation, no reason, just ‘I don’t like it’

“You don’t like…what? Me going out with my girlfriends or me walking?” Your own tone has turned sharp and Mingi chooses that moment to clap him on the shoulder.

“You good, man?” He asks and between the two, it’s enough to shake him out of whatever trance he was in.

“Fuck,” he curses and you shrink back a touch, not sure if it’s aimed at you or not. “I’m sorry,” he looks at you with those big brown eyes and you can tell he’s sincere. “There’s nothing wrong with you going out or walking,” he looks down at the ground, embarrassed by his own behavior. “My protective instincts are in overdrive, I got scared when I thought about you walking there and back alone. I’m sorry,” he says again, his ears skipping pink and shooting straight to red. You relax a little, understanding flowing through you as he figuratively tucks his tail between his legs. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to at least walk you there, but I understand if you’d rather go alone.” He gives you the choice and you know that if you chose to go alone, he’d respect it and send you off with another apology and a promise to text you later. 

Instincts are hard, sometimes they make you act in ways that you wouldn’t normally. For the the first time that day you wonder if he has a rut coming up, if that’s the reason for the protective surge, the way your scent is making him act. You get the same way before a heat, the desire to be protected and cared for overwhelming some of your other senses. If it is the case, you don’t want to be too hard on him, so you decide to take him up on his offer to walk you and ask about it then.

“I’d love an escort,” you tell him and you watch the stress drain from his shoulders when you agree. Gathering your things, he stands to the side, not shadowing you like he was earlier, giving you space. “Ready?” His nod is tight like he’s still embarrassed about his behavior and you know there’s no way you’ll hold a grudge against him for it.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, running a hand through his hair. “My instincts are doing battle up here,” he taps on his temple and you get it, you really do. 

“Is your rut coming up soon?” You ask, you try to make it casual but there’s no way to make those words sound casual and you’re not surprised when he nods.

“The end of next week. This isn't normal behavior for me, I swear,” and you believe him. You take his hand in yours, linking your fingers together while you walk, a silent communication that you aren’t upset with him. Making easy conversation as you walk, you do your best to not think about Yunho during his rut, how big he would be over you. You wonder if you’d even be able to see the ceiling around his shoulders and you have to shake the thoughts from your head as you arrive to the restaurant.

“Would it make you feel better to scent me again?” You ask and you can see the hesitation in the pinch of his shoulders. 

“It would, but I don’t want to overstep, I’ve done that enough today.” His tone is soft and you can’t help the smile that crosses your face.

Stepping close to him, much like you were in the office at the studio, you smile as you speak. “I don’t think I’m going to complain about an alpha who wants to protect his omega." His mouth runs dry at you calling yourself his omega and his heart goes insane. You don’t think about how the words roll off your tongue, “we both know you could’ve done it in a better way, but you want me safe and I like that.” Your chest presses against his, his heart pounding and his cock half-hard in his joggers.

Your head drops back, like it did earlier, only this time he doesn’t press his nose to your neck. He’d rigid, he’s got a million thoughts running through his head and most of them are unsavory and if he presses against your skin he’s going to have a hard time walking back to the studio. 

But you don’t seem to care, curling your hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down to you, making sure his nose is pressed against your scent gland. He inhales deeply and he feels himself stiffen in his pants and he prays that you can’t feel it too. Your fingers twist in his shirt, your head dropping off to the side to deepen the position and he takes the opportunity to drag his nose along your entire neck.

You smell so good that it makes his head spin, makes his thoughts tunnel into something instinctual and primal. It makes him want to tug you back to his apartment and forget the whole damn schedule for today. It makes him want to drag his face along your whole body, making sure that any alpha who might even think about looking at you can smell him, smell how you’re taken. “Feel better?” Your voice is soft and submissive, sweet for him, for his alpha and he wonders if you sound like that when he asks you to present for him.

“Hmmm?” He knows you asked a question but with the way your scent is making his head feel, he has no idea what it was. His nose continues to travel up and down your neck, spreading his scent and you repeat the question. “I do. Thank you,” he pulls back, allowing you to straighten your neck and he smiles at you. “I’m sorry again for how I acted, I promise it won’t happen again,” and you smile at him, nodding your head. 

“Do I smell enough like you?” The question is simple but he tunnels again at the idea of his scent all over you and yours all over him and he thinks about how much you’ll smell like him after he knots you for the first time. “Yun?” Your soft voice shakes him out of his trance, and he has to ask you to repeat yourself for the second time in less than 5 minutes. “Do I smell enough like you? Are your instincts okay for now?” Yunho leans back, taking a deep inhale to determine if your scents are mixed together enough. Mingi’s right, you do smell like Christmas when you’re together, but you smell enough like an alpha that he can allow himself to take a step back and relax.

“You smell like me,” he says and those words make his stomach tighten, make him want to do unspeakable things to you and he needs to get back to the studio before he does something stupid. “I’ll let you go,” he kisses you gently, so different from the way that he wants to kiss you, before separating your bodies. “Thank you for letting me do that, it means a lot to me that you’re okay with it.”

“Of course, if a simple thing like letting you cover me in your scent makes you feel better, you can do it anytime,” and god, you really do not know what you’re asking him this close to his rut but he forces a smile and kisses you again. “Besides, you smell good. And I don’t mind that no other alphas will come sniffing around with the scent of you all over me,” god he’s got to get away from you right now. Not because he wants to but because he still has a whole day of practice ahead of him, perfecting routines and teaching for the next 8+ hours and he needs to be able to concentrate. 

“Your girls are waiting for you,” and he laughs when you turn and see all their wide-eyed stares through the window of the restaurant. You laugh too, the sound ringing in Yunho’s ears and he thinks that he’ll do anything to hear you laugh again and again. “I’ll call you tonight, text when I can,” he promises and it’s on the tip of his tongue to apologize again but you put a finger to his lips.

“Don’t apologize, it’s long since forgiven. You’d better get back, I’m sure you have work to do,” this time you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, before sauntering into the restaurant with his eyes glued to your ass.

———————————

The next morning you wait at the diner you agreed to meet Yunho at, checking your phone again to make sure he hadn’t sent you a message. He was 15 minutes late, very unlike him. He’d called the night before but you could tell he was exhausted and you didn’t keep him long. Through the video call you could see the exhaustion in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes, his hair limp against his forehead. He’d promised to meet you for breakfast, promised he’d be here but now that he’s not, you’re worried. If he doesn’t show in another five minutes, you’ll call again. If he doesn’t show in ten, you’ll go over there. 

Five minutes go by, you call, and then call again when he doesn’t answer. Nerves curl in your stomach when you think about how he looked before bed and you force yourself to sit the next five minutes and wait to see if he’ll call you back. When he doesn’t, you stand and toss some cash down on the table, making for his apartment. There’s this deep urge to make sure he’s fine, taken care of, not hurt, and you know it’s your omega instincts reacting, but you can’t make them stop, nor do you want to.

The drive is quick, and you try to keep you worry under control. Truthfully, you feel a bit silly panicking when you know he’s more than likely got a cold, but you can’t shake the worry. The worry intensifies when you finally make it to his apartment door and knock several times to no answer. No Yunho, no Mingi, no one. You try again, knock harder, call his name through the door. Still nothing. The next time you bang even harder, your fist rattling the frame and you’re taking a deep breath to shout his name, damn the neighbors, when the door swings open.

Yunho looks terrible, his eyes bloodshot, the bags under them dark and swollen. His hair is a mess, his shoulders slump and he looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. “Jesus, are you okay?”

“You need to leave,” nothing else, nothing kind, just ‘you need to leave’ and it fucking stings. But your own omega instincts are firing, you need to take care of your mate, make sure he’s safe and happy before you leave, so you shake your head. Hold on, your mate? Where did that come from? But then you glance at him, see how tired he looks, and the term mate comes to the forefront of your mind again.

“There’s no way I’m leaving with you in this state,” you demand, pushing past him and setting your purse on a table in the foyer. Juk, that’s what you’ll cook for him, juk is what your mother used to always make when you didn’t feel well, juk would be perfect. “I’ll make you something to eat then I’ll-“ but your words get caught in your throat as you finally catch an inhale and when you do, it’s heady. Thick. Hot. Full of need, full of desire, and you realize what you walked into. “Oh shit,” the curse drops from your lips and for the first time, Yunho smiles. You’ve walked into an alphas den on day one of his rut.

“Oh shit is right, omega. You need to go,” he’s kinder about it this time, clearing the way back to the door so you can leave but you can’t get your feet to move, you don’t want to. It must be hard for him, encouraging his omega to leave but wanting her to stay. Realistically, if you walk out the door, he's going to be throwing himself at it, wishing he'd asked you to stay.

“And if I don’t want to?” You want to say it like you’re not trembling with nerves but it comes out so meek that he laughs, actually laughs at you. His scent is invading your synapses, the only thing you can smell is him and his want for you, and god, you don’t want to leave.

“Have you ever spent a rut with an alpha?” His tone borders on condescending. You haven’t and he knows that and he huffs out his nose when you shake your head. “Then you don’t know what you’re asking. You need to leave,” this time he opens the door for you, stepping back again to allow you through. 

“At least let me make you some juk,” you say. Deep down you know that’s the wrong choice, you need to leave and let him work his rut out on his own but you don’t want to. You want to be here with him, you want to help him and if food is the best way to do it, so be it.

“No,” he barks and the alpha in his voice shocks you and makes you shrink. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m spiking soon and you smell like fucking sin and you look like that and all I want to do is-“ he cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Please, I need you to leave.”

“I think you need my help,” you say back to him, taking a step closer but not to the door, to him. This time you feel a little braver, he’s rutting, but he’s still concerned about you. “Do you want me to leave because you don’t want me?” He’s shaking his head before you even get the sentence all the way out. “Why do you want me to leave?” He shakes his head again, gesturing towards the door. “Yunho, why do you want me to leave?”

“I don’t want you to leave but I don’t want to hurt you.” He knows he’s fighting a losing battle, his pretty omega is asking to stay to help him with his rut and he’s losing the willpower to say no. 

“Yun,” you say, taking another step closer to him, and then another when he doesn’t move, “you could never hurt me.”

“You don’t know that,” his voice has an edge to it, scared and desperate. “What if I lose control? What if I don’t hear you, can’t tell that you’re in pain?”

“Baby,” you drop into a submissive tone, letting it drip down the edge of your voice. “You would never hurt me. You always want what’s best for your omega, don’t you?” He nods at your words as you move close enough that he could close the gap with one long stride. “Let me help you, alpha,” your scent pulses out, vanilla and something earthy, amber, maybe? He takes a sharp inhale, his eyes zeroing in on you when he recognizes the scent of arousal. Not his but yours. His control is hanging on by a thread, one more step towards him and he’ll snap, he knows it. 

“What if-“

“You worry too much,” you say, smiling at him. “I want to help you, help my alpha. I don’t think you could hurt me if you tried, you’re not that kind of alpha, Yunho.”

He’s not, he knows he’s not, but god he’s terrified. Terrified he’ll do something embarrassing like beg to fill you with his pups. “I want you, Yunho, let me help you with this.” 

His pretty, perfect, kind, sweet, omega is asking to help him with his rut and he can only hold out so long. When you take another step towards him, his alpha takes control of his brain and he’s got you by the waist before either of you can think. “I want you so bad, I need you,” his voice is rough, tinged with desire and hormones. 

“You can have me, Yunho,” your own voice is soft, tinged with submission and trust, putting all your faith in your alpha to take care of you. He groans, low and deep in his chest, almost a growl. His lips meet yours in a feverish kiss, pouring all his desire into it, and he kicks the front door shut behind him. Yunho hauls you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist and his hand moving to cup your ass. It makes you gasp, allowing him to shove his tongue in your mouth, and you reciprocate as he walks your bodies down the hallway. 

“Need you,” he grunts, trailing his lips down your neck, sucking at your pulse point and it makes you dig your fingers into where you cling to his broad shoulders. “We need to talk first though,” he says, full of regret and longing as he lowers you to the floor. 

“Why?” You insist, chasing his lips with your own. 

“I’ve never spent my rut with anyone, you’ve never spent a rut with an alpha. You need to know what to expect if you’re going to stay.” Huffing, you concede, sitting on the edge of his bed like you belong there and Yunho has to blink away the thoughts in his mind.

“What do you want to talk about?” You ask, looking up at him with soft eyes that make him want to do unspeakable things to you. 

“Fuck, I don’t know but I don’t want you heading into this unprepared. You have heats, you know what it’s like,” for all his talk about wanting you to be prepared, he doesn’t know what he wants to say.

“How long do your ruts usually last?”

“About four or five days, but I don’t know if that will change having someone to spend it with.” Your eyes widen in shock and he’s quick to reassure you. “You don’t have to stay, it’s okay. I’ve had a lot of solo ruts,” fuck, he can feel his heat fever spiking and you smell so fucking good and you look so fucking pretty sitting on his bed. “And I’ll have a lot of lucid periods. Once I…when I..”

He doesn’t know how to say it so you say it for him. “Once you pop a knot, you mean,” and you smile when his ears go bright red. 

“Yes. I’ll have some lucid periods, I assume they last longer than the ones you get when you’re in heat,” he says and you nod. You took secondary gender presentations in college, you know the basics of a rut. Ruts tend to change person to person, in the same way that heats change person to person.

“Do you eat during your ruts?”

“Yes?” He’s confused by the question, who doesn’t eat?

“I don’t eat during my heats, some small snacks here and there but that’s it. That’s why I’m asking. I’ll make you some juk when you come down from this first spike.”

He’s only got a few more things to say but they’re so fucking embarrassing. “Anything I say…during….it’s my rut speaking.”

“You mean if you say you’re going to fill me with pups?” And you smile again when his ears, which had gone back to their normal color, spike bright red again. He nods jerkily. The idea of you growing round with his pups makes his vision go fuzzy and his blood pressure spike and he knows the smell of his desire coats the room. “Is that all, Yunho?”

“Can I knot you? I understand if not,” god, his body is hot, his pretty omega smells so good, looks so pretty sitting on his bed and he might die if you say no. His eyes cross when you nod, when your eyes fog over with the idea of a knot.

He wants to give you the world, he doesn't care what it takes. He cleaned the house for you this week, bought you soft blankets for your nest, grabbed your favorite foods from the store. The rational part of his brain realizes that he was doing his own form of nesting, of courting, trying to make sure he’s a good alpha for his omega. His hindbrain wonders if you'll accept his gifts, hopes you'll accept them.

“I need you,” his voice has dropped into his alpha tone and he’s pleased to see you straighten, at attention for any command he might give you. “Fuck. So pretty, omega, want you so bad,” his vision is tunneling, the need to knot his omega is taking over his brain and he can’t stop his feet from moving forwards to where you sit. 

“Alpha,” oh fucking christ, your tone is so submissive, so willing and ready for him and he can’t stop the low growl that comes from his chest. The possessive streak he usually keeps under control comes flying to the surface and he’s irritated that his omega doesn’t smell like him.

“Did you shower?” The question comes from left field and you nod, confused. “You don’t smell like me,” his rational brain buried somewhere deep under the instinctual one and he knows he sounds fucking ridiculous but you look up at him and smile. 

“Scent me then, alpha.” His shirt is off in an instant, yours following behind. Your skin looks so soft, so smooth and he takes a second to run his hands over you. 

“So pretty, just for me. Mine.” His large hands push you back on the bed, hovering over you. 

“Yes, alpha, yours,” you know exactly what to say, your instincts are driving you as much as his are driving him. He shuffles your bodies so that you’re laying in the middle of the bed, his large frame caging yours in. Your head dips to the side, submitting to him, encouraging him to press down into your space and run his nose along your neck. His scent is suffocating in the room but you don’t care, you want to smell like him, want to make sure any other alpha knows who you belong to. His hand anchors in your hair, pulling your head even further back as he covers you in his scent.

He’s running his nose along your neck, dragging the scent of him along, coating your glands in the smell of alpha, but it’s not enough. Next thing you know, he’s growling, saying something about how you don’t smell enough like him and he’s covering your entire body with his. He’s hard between his legs, pressing right up against your core and it makes you whine. His face drags along every inch of you he can reach, your jaw, your chest, your neck, your cheeks. His tongue slips out of his mouth, tasting you, coating your glands in his saliva. His tongue will make the scent stick longer, make it harder to wash off.

He presses his chin into your scent gland, blooming your mixed scent into the air. His eyes are closed, taking large breaths through his nose as he continues scenting you, rutting his hips into you, making you whimper underneath him. “My omega makes such pretty sounds,” he says, kissing the tops of your breasts before pulling your wrist to his face and rubbing himself there too, leaving no inch of you unscented. “Need you to smell like me,” his voice is so low and rough and it makes your hips jerk underneath him, makes him rut into you a little harder. 

“Yunho,” you whine his name and it makes his blood run hot, makes him think about whether you’ll say it like that when he knots you and he needs to know right now. His hands tug your bra off, marveling at you, how you’re his. He dips down, wrapping those pretty, perfect lips around your nipple and it makes you arch into his mouth. 

“Pretty omega,” he mumbles, other hand coming up to palm at your breast. The praise lights up your brain, makes you feel so wanted, and you need to hear even more of it. Your bodies are melded together, your hips rutting against one another and you can feel how much he needs you. His lips are still wrapped around your nipple, drawing little gasps from your throat and he makes a pleased hum in his chest, almost a purr. 

“Can I take off the rest of your clothes?” Yunho’s shoulders are taut, he’s restraining himself. Undoing the button on your jeans for him, he takes over, trailing kisses from your breasts down to the soft swell of your belly before he unzips them and pulls them off. “Smell so good,” he comments as he zeroes in on the space between your legs. “These off too?” You nod, nervous but excited as he pulls the soft cotton panties off.

You melt at the way you know he has to be uncomfortable, in a rut and hard enough to cut glass, but he still takes the time to check in. He rumbles in his chest when he gets them off, “prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. You smell like vanilla, do you taste like it too?” 

“Why don’t you find out?” He takes the challenge with a smile filled with teeth and pushes forwards, tongue flicking out to swipe through you. It makes you gasp, throwing your head back onto the bed and he does it again. 

“Fuck, you do taste like vanilla,” he grunts before he dives in. He’s everywhere all at once, not messy but experimental. Using his tongue, he determines what you like, what you don’t like, what makes you reach for his hair. It doesn’t take long for him to figure it out, your fingers tangling in the dark strands when he does. His mouth moves over you, swiping through your pussy, circling your clit, testing and tasting you like your slick alone will get him through his rut.

Yunho growls low in his chest when he inserts one finger and you tug, hard, whispering an apology when you do. “No, I like it,” he assures you, sucking your clit into his mouth. “Taste so good,” another finger joins the first and you clench down, hard, on him. A low chuckle reverberates through his chest at the feeling, a taunt on his lips. “I don’t know how you’re going to take my knot, omega. You’re so fucking tight.”

“You’ll figure out how to make it fit,” you snap back, moaning when he curls his fingers against that sweet spot that makes you see stars. You’re close now, between his tongue and his fingers, you won’t be able to hold on much longer. 

“Relax for me, I need to open you up,” his voice softens, giving you a reprieve from his mouth and you try to do as he asks. “You’re trusting me not to hurt you, sweetheart,” you glance down at him, between your legs, and his eyes are filled with so much love and adoration that it makes you melt into the mattress. “That means I have to open you up, your body isn’t ready for my knot.”

Nodding your head you try to relax, his mouth isn’t on you anymore but you feel his breath across your pussy as he works you open for him.

A third finger joins the first two and this time you feel the stretch. “You’ll need three if you’re going to take me,” he tells you and you wonder how fucking big his cock is. He’s tall, his hands are huge, his feet are huge and you know what they say about men with big hands and big feet. “I’ll make you cum, that will help relax you too,” he says but you can barely register it before his mouth is on you again, sucking your clit into his mouth as he curls his fingers again. The orgasm that had ebbed away while he was talking comes back in full force as he works your body. 

“Shit, Yunho!”

“I know baby, I can feel you. You gonna come for me? Come for your alpha?” His fingers are working faster now, pumping in and out of your body hard, you can hear how fucking slick you are. Curses are dropping from your lips, the orgasm right there, his name mixed in. “Come,” his voice is dipped in alpha and the omega in you can’t help but respond, body locking up as the orgasm crashes into you. He works you through the whole thing, telling you how pretty you look for him, how well you’re taking his fingers, how he can’t wait to feel you wrapped around his cock.

When you finally relax, he’s gentle as he removes his fingers, drying them off on a towel that you didn’t notice earlier. “Hey baby,” his voice is gentle as he hovers over you to kiss you, the slight taste of vanilla left on his tongue. 

“Hi,” your voice is small, still recovering from the bone-shattering orgasm until you remember why you’re here. “Shit. Are you good? You’ve been so focused on me,” but he waves you off. 

“Having you here, in my space, your scent on my sheets, is making it better.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Alphas are caretakers, remember? Taking care of you in any way would make my rut easier, sexually or non-sexually. Of course, popping a knot while buried inside your sweet pussy would make everything clear for a couple hours but I love taking care of you,” you blush at his words, how he says them without embarrassment. It's such a far cry from how he was earlier, no shyness to be found. You lean up to kiss him, pulling his body across yours. You can feel him, hard against your thigh where he lays and you want to feel him inside you. 

“Need you, Yunho,” you whine.

“Don’t whine my name like that,” he warns, “I won’t be responsible for my actions.” He steps off the bed to drop his clothes, feeling the heat of his rut spike licking up his spine. Your jaw drops when he does and he can’t help but chuckle. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’d need three.”

“You were not,” you agree, pushing up on your elbows. “I want you,” and you beckon him forward to lay across your body, dipping his tongue in your mouth. He sits back on his heels, wrapping a hand around himself to line up with you. 

“I’ll go slow,” he promises and you nod, your hand gripping onto his forearm. The hand that isn’t wrapped around his cock presses your thigh back, opening your body up for him. The initial push isn’t much, but as his cock thickens, it becomes noticeable and you whimper. His vision starts to cloud as he feels you wrap around him, he needs something to ground himself so he doesn’t snap forward and hurt you. “Let me have your wrist, please.” Lifting your hand, he bends down to press his nose against your scent gland, inhaling. 

“You okay?” You ask, grinding your hips down on him to try and take more. 

“Yeah,” he breathes in again, “your scent calms me. Makes my brain function again,” and you flush at the compliment. He works himself in a little more, praising you the whole way. “Almost there baby, doing so good for me. So pretty. Only girl that can fucking take me like this,” and you’re doing your best not to clamp down because fuck, he is big. It’s slow going, but before you know it, he’s all the way in, your hips fitting together and he drops over your body, breathing hard, his ears beet red. “I need to move. Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” truthfully you need him to move too, need to feel the way your bodies move together. Yunho starts to pull back a little, and you gasp at how it feels. He stops, worried that he’s hurting you, but the need is pressing down on him and he really need to fucking move. “Don’t stop,” your voice is strained, "I’m okay. You’re,” a pause as he pulls a little further out, “fucking big, Yunho.” He huffs a laugh under his breath, keeping his movements measured and even.

“Don’t inflate my ego,” he says, pushing back in. Your body is opening up to him, he can feel it, and it’s going to his head. His thrusts start to pick up, your body slicking up to accommodate him and he knows he’s on the verge of snapping. “Fuck, feel so good sweetheart,” he grunts in your ear. He’s not fucking you quite the way he wants to be yet, but he’s getting there and the only noises you’re making are pleasured little whimpers.

“Yunho!” Your tone is high pitched and whiny, the exact one he’s already told you not to use.

“Fuck,” he growls, his chest rumbling where it’s pressed against your own. “That voice is going to make me lose it.”

“I’m sorry, you feel so good,” you whine again, pressing your nose into his scent gland and it makes his eyes cross.

“Can you take more?”

“More?”

“Harder,” he clarifies and he sighs in relief when you cry out a yes. You watch as he sits back a little, giving himself leverage to grab your hips. “Take me so well,” he coos, pressing your thighs back and you preen at the praise.

“Feel so good, Yunho,” your voice is breathy and you can see how it affects him, see how his eyes start to blow wide and his thrusts pick up again. He’s giving it to you good now, your bodies slapping together and his eyes hold a singular focus, the eyes of an alpha in a rut.

“My little omega feels so good,” he says, his voice deep with alpha. “Taking me so well, taking me so pretty,” his thumb swipes across his tongue before it drops to rub at your clit. It makes you clamp down on him, whimper out his name, tell him how close you are. “Come on omega, come all over my cock,” it's not said as a command but your body takes it like one, your orgasm crashing into you with force. It blacks you out for a second, unable to concentrate on anything that isn’t his cock hitting your sweet spot or his thumb swiping across your clit. The orgasm drags on, your body locked up and your breath caught in your lungs. Yunho fucks you through the whole thing, not slowing or stopping, keeping his pace steady as you come down.

When he sees that you’re back with him, your eyes locked on his once more, he pulls out. You whimper, needing him, “Yun-“ but his voice cuts you off.

“Present.” This is a command and you scramble to obey. Flipping over, you push up on your knees, laying your chest flat on the bed, your hands between your ankles. “Good omega,” he says, and you whine. “Oh?” He hums, his hands finding your hips, thumbs digging into your lower back. “You like that? Being told you’re my good omega?” You nod your head as he starts to press back in. He feels bigger at this angle, his hands locked on your hips as he grunts. “Fuck, you take me so well, baby,” he grits out, his mouth curled up into a snarl. His instincts are taking over now, his mind producing one thought as he fucks into you. Knot. Knot my pretty omega. Knot.

“Alpha!” Your voice is a whimpering cry, needing him, needing his knot. One of his hands grabs the plush of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can watch your body take him.

“Gonna knot you, omega,” he says and you want it. You tell him so and his fingers dig in harder, his hips moving faster. “Fill you with my pups, make sure all the alphas know who you belong to.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you tell him, pushing your hips back to encourage him. The swell of his knot starts catching at your entrance and you whine, needing it. Needing him. Your own orgasm is close, you’re right on the edge.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “can you take it?” Even through the haze of his rut, he’s concerned for you, worried about you.

“I can take it alpha,” your body slicks up in preparation to take him, to be knotted by him.

“I’m gonna come. Gonna fill you up with my come, make you round with my pups,” he snarls the last word as he pushes forwards and locks his knot into place. The feeling of being knotted by your alpha, his come coating the inside of you, tips you over the edge. You lock up as he collapses to the side, pulling you into a spooning position. He teases your mating gland with his tongue as he swirls his hips to get himself deeper. It elongates your orgasm, your brain stops working, as you get wrapped up by your mate, his knot locked deep.

“Took me so well, little omega,” his voice is deep in alpha tone and it makes you whimper. “Took my knot so well. Took my cum so well. My good omega. My pretty omega,” he croons, tongue tasting every inch of you he can. His hips continue to grind himself deeper, drawing out your paired orgasms and it takes a second for both of your breathing to return to normal.

His fingers are tight against your skin, nails digging into the flesh, but you don’t care. You got knotted by your alpha, his scent still resting on your skin. “That was perfect. You were perfect,” he finally says, his body relaxing as he curls around you. His knot is still locked deep, you can feel how big he is inside you and you sigh. “Thank you,” he whispers against your skin.

“For what?”

“For helping me. For staying,” his fingers trace patterns against your skin as he talks, the domesticity of it making you melt.

“Of course,” you tell him, twisting as best you can to get a good look at his face. “I would’ve never let my alpha deal with that alone if I could help it.”

“Are you okay? I didn’t go too rough?” He preens at you calling him “your alpha”, his nose rubbing along your shoulder.

“I’m fine, I feel great. You have to feel better too,” you tell him, pressing your back against his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me your rut was due today?”

“To be fair, it wasn’t. I’m not due until the end of the week, Mingi’s was early too, now that I think about it.”

“Are you usually on the same schedule?”

“Usually about a month apart, almost to the day. I should’ve realized it,” he says, pressing soft kisses along your skin. “It’s why I was so overprotective yesterday, I guess. I’m still sorry about that,” but you wave him off.

“I didn’t mind,” you tell him, linking your fingers together. “Well,” you correct yourself, “I minded the tone. I didn’t mind you wanting to protect me,” and he nods.

“I think it’s because I hadn’t scented you yet either, my alpha brain kept telling me that other alphas weren’t going to know you were seeing someone. They weren’t going to know you’re my omega,” he says and it makes sense. You get it. The primal brain can be a beast to deal with sometimes.

“You can always scent me, if you need to,” and it surprises you when he laughs.

“I did that pretty well earlier, it’s going to take quite a bit for my scent to come off,” he admits, thinking of how he drug his face, his tongue, all over your skin. “My knot is going down, are you okay with me pulling out?” His fingers are softer against your skin now, the pressure between your thighs noticeably less. Nodding your approval, he starts to move, deflated enough that he slips right out.

“Hungry?” You ask him, moving to roll and take care of yourself but he stops you.

“Just because I’m the one rutting doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you,” his hand on your arm. He gets up, moving to the bathroom and coming back with a pack of wipes in hand. “Roll on your back for me,” and you oblige, feeling his cum leak from between your legs. Yunho cleans you up, the cool wipe surprising you, making you gasp. “Sorry,” he offers but you wave him off.

“Just cold,” you smile. “How do you feel?”

“Much better. Much clearer. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Watch something on tv?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“A little, but I’d rather lay with you for now, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, baby,” you tell him, rolling to lay across his chest as he climbs back into bed, covering you both with a blanket. “How long until your next spike?”

“Hmm,” he thinks, ‘I’ve never spent my rut with someone before, so I can’t say. I would think a couple hours, but I don’t know.”

“Do you sleep a lot?”

“Not more than usual. I’ll sleep when I’m finished though. Do you sleep during your heats?”

Nodding, you explain, “if I’m not-“ you trail off, hoping he’ll understand your meaning without you saying it out loud and you smile when he nods and laughs. “I’m usually asleep. But I’ve always heard that heats are more intense than ruts, so that makes sense.” The two of you lay like that for the better part of a few hours, a tv show playing in the background as you talk. It isn’t until your stomachs start rumbling at the same time, that you make the decision to get up and make something to eat.

“Juk sound okay?” You ask, dressed in his t-shirt and a pair of underwear and nothing else. “It’s what I planned on making,” a pause, “y’know before, we-“ and Yunho chuckles when you look down and flush.

“Juk sounds perfect,” he takes a spot at the kitchen island, “do you want some help?”

“No thanks,” you smile at him, pulling out the pot and setting it on the stove, “let me take care of you, my omega needs it.” Moving to the fridge to see what vegetables you can put in, you make a soft noise when you open the door. Your coffee creamer, your favorite fruits, the brand of yogurt that you like, they’re all stocked in here.

“What’s the matter?” Yunho asks, glancing up from his phone, checking in with Mingi. Poor Mingi who had to leave in a rush this morning, shaken awake by a Yunho with half feral eyes and a sharpened scent.

“My favorites?” Your voice comes out quiet, Yunho’s thankful for his sensitive hearing.

“I, uhh, went shopping this week. I got some things I know you like,” he tells you and at first he’s worried he overstepped. But then the distinctive scent of your pleasure floats into the air, soft vanilla spiked with cinnamon and he smiles. “Hang on, I have a few more things for you,” he says, moving to the living room and grabbing some bags you hadn’t noticed earlier. “Come here,” he asks, not commands, asks, and you make your way to him. Yunho sets the bags in front of you on the counter, encouraging you to open them with a soft noise.

They’re stuffed full, so full you can’t hardly even tell what’s in them. Pulling open the first bag, you pull out something soft and fuzzy, something that feels inviting between your fingers. “A blanket. For your nest,” Yunho offers. A soft purr comes from your chest as you rub the material against your face. A contented chuff comes from Yunho’s chest as you accept his gift, reaching back into the bag for the next item. Or items. Candies, all kinds. Your favorites. Ones you and Yunho have discussed at length over the last week. A heartfelt hum leaves your throat as you open a bag, eating a few and passing some to Yunho. He eats them from your fingers, pleased that you’d accepted another gift. Pulling the last thing out of the first bag, you flip it over, trying to figure out what it is. “Fairy lights. Also for your nest,” he explains. Most omegas, especially during a heat, do not like big lights, they want something softer. Enough to keep the darkness at bay but not overwhelming to the system.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly, rubbing your other hand over the blanket in your lap. Setting them with the candies, you move to the other bag, pulling out the first item. It’s soft, but in a different way from the blanket. They feel expensive. Unfolding them, you see that they’re pajamas, silk, and you want to cry. You don’t own many items of luxury like this, your educators salary didn’t leave a lot of room for expensive sets.

“Do you want to go put them on?” Yunho asks, correctly reading your fidgeting.

“I do but not right now, later if we take a nap.” You tell him, reaching in the bag for the next item. Another pair of pajamas, red this time, the first pair was a soft blue, and there’s an emerald green pair underneath that. The next item you pull out is a small stuffed dog, and you can’t help but snort a laugh. Mingi always calls Yunho a puppy, like a 6’1 golden retriever, and he’s clearly leaned into it.

“I scented it too,” he says, gently, like he’s worried you won’t like it. Bringing the small dog to your nose you take a deep inhale, immediately drowning in the scent of cedar and rain, your eyes slipping shut.

“I love your scent,” you tell him, sniffing again and he looses a deep breath, exhaling his anxieties. “Will you scent my blanket too?” You ask, pressing it into his hand so he can rub it against his scent glands. He obliges as you pull the last item out of the bag, a small box that has you curious about what’s in it. Pulling the lid off, you gasp as you lift a beautiful gold necklace, a rhinestone-encrusted charm with your first initial hanging on the delicate chain.

“Yunho-ya,” you gasp, the endearment slipping off your tongue, holding up the beautiful piece. His ears flush a bright red, laying the blanket in your lap as he exhanges it for the jewelry.

“Let me put it on you,” he whispers, standing behind you and working the tiny clasp with his huge hands.

“Thank you,” you say as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek after he gets it on. “I love all this,” you tell him, sweeping your arms out to the things laid on the counter. Courting gestures if you've ever seen them and you flush with satisfaction. His alpha rumbles in his chest, pleased that you'd accepted all his gifts.

“I also cleaned the house,” he says, his ears tipping pink. “Not that I thought you would come over-hey, hold on, why did you come over?”

“We were supposed to have a breakfast date this morning, you were late and I got worried,” you remind him, leaning into his body when he puts an arm around you.

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I woke Mingi up and kicked him out sometime around 5 this morning and then angrily paced the apartment until you got here,” he tells you and it makes you laugh.

“Let me make us something to eat,” and he nods, kissing you softly as you get up and get back in the fridge. Pulling out vegetables, rice, and chicken, you start cooking.

You cook quietly, letting your body sink into the familiar motions of a comfort meal. Your eyes aren’t on Yunho, too focused on not burning the rice. If they had been, you’d have noticed that he was starting to flush again, his eyes taking on that sharp focus from earlier. The same sharp focus he’d had before he made you come apart on his cock, knotting you so deep you still felt it between your legs.

Yunho’s trying to keep it together, trying to let you finish lunch before he bends you over the counter and knots you again. His fever is rising, he can feel it, the need for his omega clawing up his throat. So when you flip the burner off, sliding the juk over, he’s on you in a second. He was so quiet you didn’t even hear the chair shift, and he catches you by surprise. “Pretty omega,” he husks in your ear, moving your body away from the stove. He's got you pressed over the counter with a hand between your shoulder blades.

“Yunho wh-“ you start but he cuts you off with a soft sound.

“Spiking, I need you so bad,” he explains, hands slipping to your waist, gripping tight. “Can I have you? Are you sore?” His hips are grinding into your ass, making you see stars.

“Yes, alpha, you can have me,” you whimper, reaching back to wrap a hand around his wrist.

“Fuck, my good omega.” He grunts, tugging your shirt off, tossing it to the floor. His hand trails up your spine, grabbing a fistful of hair so he can pull your head to the side. His nose presses against your scent gland, taking a deep inhale. “You smell so good. I’ll never get tired of your smell,” he grunts, tongue laving over your gland. Your body starts slicking up, the feel of your alpha pressed against your back, his tongue on your skin gets an instant reaction from you.

Yunho smells you right away, smells your arousal and your need. “Want me as much as I want you,” he notes, tugging your panties down your legs.

“Yes, alpha. Want you so bad,” you tell him, pressing against his hand when he cups your sex.

“Need to knot my pretty, perfect, sweet omega. Please, let me knot you,” he all but begs. His scent is thick in the room, heady with desire and need and how on earth can you tell him no?

“Yes, alpha,” you whimper, his breath hot on your neck as he starts to push in.

“So fucking tight,” his voice is a whimper in your ears. “Feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he’s inching in slow, allowing your body to slick up for him. You’re giving him these little gasps as he works in, little noises he’s relishing and he never wants to stop hearing. Once he’s all the way in, he takes a moment, resting his forehead against your upper back.

“Yunho, alpha,” you whine and it makes him press you hard against the counter.

“That fucking voice,” he grunts, pulling out a little before snapping back in. “Gonna make me knot you before I’m ready.”

“Does it turn you on? Me whining your name?” You ask, trying to keep it together as his hand clamps down on your hip.

“You don’t even know,” he says, pulling out again, the movement smooth with how slick your body is for him.

“Yunho-yaaaaaa,” you whine, pressing your hips back against him, making him choke.

“Fuck.” He grunts, his hands pressing harder against your hips. “Say it like that again,” he commands, his voice dipped low in alpha tone.

“Yunho-yaaaaa,” you whine again, and you hear him curse behind you. His hips start pumping harder, faster, rougher, single-minded focus now. He doesn’t have words anymore, only low growls and grunts as he uses your body. A hand comes between your shoulder blades, high in your back, as he presses you down against the counter again. “Yunho,” you whimper, your hindbrain fucking purring at being pinned by your alpha.

An orgasm builds in your body, the angle of Yunho’s cock hitting a spot that makes you see stars with every thrust. Reaching back for him, he catches your fingers in his, shifting so they’re tangled together. He shifts again, his large hand laid over yours, pressed flat on the counter, a line of communication if you need one. You can feel his knot starting to flare with each drag out of your body and you can tell he’s holding himself back for you. The hand that isn’t holding yours shifts to between your legs, pressing over your clit with urgency and desire. The room is thick and heady, Yunho’s scent smelling like dripping sap from a pine tree and you’re suffocating in it.

In his rational brain he knows he’s going to have to deep clean the kitchen so Mingi doesn’t bitch about the scent, but with the way his pretty omega is whimpering underneath him, he can’t find it in himself to care. Your body is clamping down on him and Yunho redoubles his efforts to make you come before him, pressing down hard on your clit. “Come on baby, I can feel you, I know you need to come,” his voice is deep and dipped in tone, the growl of an alpha coming from his chest. You whimper underneath him, your body tightening until he almost can’t breathe with the way you feel around him. His knot is almost popped now, catching on your entrance before locking into place as you finally come around him.

Your orgasms take both your legs out from under you, your conjoined bodies collapsing to the floor. Yunho does his best to catch you, making sure his knot doesn’t pull too hard as your bodies fall. It takes the both of you a second to catch your breath, your bodies curled up on the kitchen floor, hard and unforgiving. But neither of you can bring yourselves to care, Yunho’s tongue laving over your scent gland as he works to keep his fangs in his mouth. He’s itching to bite down, mark you as his, but he’s in a rut and you’ve not been dating that long.

It takes a couple minutes but eventually you hum, a purr coming from your chest. Your lips slide across his knuckles, snuggling deeper into his arms. “Feel better?” You ask and you chuckle when he confirms.

“I would say I’m sorry,” he says, “but I’m not. You feel like heaven,” he admits, his lips sliding along your shoulder before he presses his nose against your scent gland. “You looked so pretty cooking for me, making sure I’m taken care of. I couldn’t help it,” he husks in your ear, his voice low and you wonder if he wants to go again.

“My juk had better not be burnt!” You threaten but you both know you don’t mean it. Yunho’s knot is starting to soften, and he gently pulls himself from your body and grabs a wipe to clean you up. He helps you to your feet, pulling out one of the pairs of pajamas he got you, slipping the silk over your body. He’s already clipped the tags off and they smell like he’s washed them for you as well and it makes you melt. He plates you both some juk, decorating them the way you like. He gets you settled in the chairs at the kitchen counter, moving so that your feet lie across his lap, his warm hand on your shin.

smut tags: unprotected sex (don't do this, especially with an alien lol), oral (f receiving), dom!Yunho, alien genitalia, breeding kink, knotting, tentacles, unrealistic sex (obviously lol he's an alien but also penetrated cervix. Do not attempt to do this, for the love of everything, i cannot believe i need to add this warning). I think I got everything but of course, let me know if I missed anything!

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You stared at Seonghwa with one eyebrow raised.

“The Keeper of Keys?” you asked, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

“What does that even mean?”

A smile spread across Seonghwa’s face.

“Just that. I keep the keys to each section. The ones that allow you into the restricted section however were taken,” he explained.

“They are being held in each section by a guardian.”

Your brain tried to keep up as he explained. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you said shaking your head.

“You mean to tell me you’re the keeper of the keys but some of the keys were stolen from you?”

Seonghwa nodded. “Precisely.”

You tried to fight the smirk that threatened to form on your face.

“Not a very good keeper, are you?”

Seonghwa’s smile dropped quickly, eyes narrowing. In a flash, he’d closed the distance between you, face inches from yours.

Fear erupted in the pit of your stomach. “I could easily kill you,” he whispered, his words sending a chill up your spine. Every ounce of humor left your body and you stood with rapt attention, waiting for him to continue.

“As I was saying,” he said, pulling back and starting to pace slowly around you.

“Six keys were taken, given to the guardians of each section of the library. I was tasked with keeping the keys safe. Making sure they don’t fall into the hands of those who aren’t worthy of the treasure.”

You watched Seonghwa pace around you carefully. “If they are in these sections, then isn’t that better than having them all together?” you asked. Seonghwa stopped in his tracks and looked up to meet your curious gaze.

“No,” he answered. “The safest place for the keys is with me.”

You nodded, dropping the subject immediately.

“If you want to get into the Restricted Section, where the treasure is, you have to collect these keys,” Seonghwa continued. “That is the only way to enter.”

You inhaled slowly. “There really is no other way?” You asked, your stomach dropping when Seonghwa shook his head. “No. There is not.”

You looked at each door, noticing the signs above them lit up in different colors.

“Then I guess I only have one choice if I want to get out of this place,” you answered, drawing Seonghwa’s attention.

“You’ll do it?” He asked, perking up immediately. You nodded.

“If the only way to leave the Library is through the Restricted Section, I don’t have much of a choice,” you replied. “Do I?”

Seonghwa shook his head slowly.

“The Restricted Section is the only way out.”

You nodded, determination filling your body.

“Then I’ll do it.”

Seonghwa looked relieved as he thanked you. “Which section would you like to visit first?” he asked. You glanced around. “Any section?” you asked to which he nodded. “Any section,” he confirmed. Your eyes landed on the neon green sign that read ‘science fiction’ and pointed. “That one.”

Seonghwa led the way over, pulling out a key ring to unlock the door to the section with you in tow. He pulled the door open and you both peered down the long shelf lined corridor that faded to black.

“So, what am I to expect in these sections?” You asked as you looked from the black void to Seonghwa. “Expect anything. There will be a guardian that has the key,” he replied. “It could be anything. Man, creature, machine,” he answered.

“So, do I just need to defeat the monster and claim the reward?” You asked jokingly. Seonghwa didn’t answer, prompting you to glance up to meet his gaze. “Something like that,” he answered. “These guardians are… tricky.”

Your brow furrowed. “Tricky? Tricky how?”

Seonghwa shook his head. “They’re smart. Cunning. Adaptable. They might try to seduce you, make deals with you, or worse. You must outsmart them, take the key for yourself and come back. Only with the key in hand will you be able to return to this Lobby.”

You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay,” you replied.

You took a step into the doorway, turning to look back and Seonghwa. “Wait. Can I die here or is there, like, a respawn option?” Seonghwa chuckled darkly.

“Try not to die,” he answered, making your smile fall.

“Thanks. That was really comforting.”

As you continued further into the hall, Seonghwa whispered from behind you.

“Good luck.”

You turned to look back but the door shut with a click. “Prick,” you whispered before turning back to face the void before you.

“One foot at a time, Y/N,” you told yourself before continuing forward.

The shelves extended the length of the hall, disappearing into the darkness. You stopped, opening your pack and pulling out a flashlight you packed. It clicked on with relative ease but did nothing to provide you with more visibility.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you started forward once more, looking around the old dusty and decrepit shelves at the stacks of yellowed pages and ruined books.

Before long, you caught sight of something that looked out of place.

A plant. Bluish green leaves extended from stems growing out of the cracks in the wooden floor. Your eyes looked over the giant leaf, fingers reaching out to touch before you froze, remembering where you were.

“Probably not the best idea,” you murmured to yourself, getting up and continuing down the corridor.

As you walked, more plants started to appear in your vision. Some the same as the plant before and some with huge blossoms that looked unlike anything you’d ever seen. Vines started to cover the shelves the deeper into the hallway you walked until you no longer saw shelves and only…

“Is that rock?” You whispered, more to yourself as you reached out, placing your hand against the cool, damp stone. “What the hell?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack in the distance, the ground rumbling under your feet.

Pulling your hand back you continued forward, hoping there wasn’t a cave in. As you walked, bits of light started to shine in between what you assumed were cracks in the stone. ‘What the hell is going on?’

You reached the end of the tunnel and saw your path was blocked by dense foliage. The same vines as before, green with bioluminescent blue wound their way through each other, creating a thick wall of vegetation. You started to pull at the ropes, some as thick as pythons until you were able to create an opening.

You wormed and wiggled your way through the vines until you found yourself outside the cave, blinded by the sudden light.

Blinking heavily, you looked around, taking in the jungle around you.

“What?” You whispered. “How did I end up back in the jungle?”

You spun on the spot, looking around desperately for the sandstone building but only saw the cave you’d come from. There was nothing but vegetation, brush, and trees as far as you could see. Had you taken a wrong turn somewhere?

No, that was impossible. You’d only gone straight. There were no turns.

Maybe you missed a turn then?

No, there were no openings in the shelves. You could remember seeing between the shelves but there were no breaks between them. Just one long aisle that turned into a tunnel and somehow led outside the Library.

“Fuck,” you cursed as you looked around again.

‘I couldn’t have gone far,’ you thought as you turned back in the direction of the cave. “I guess I’ll just backtrack out here and find my way back in,” you said aloud.

Before you could take a step, thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground with its intensity. You took a few steps to the side to look around the cave but saw only more trees. Sunlight was coming from that direction.

Deciding it would be best to just backtrack, you did just that, setting off in the direction you came from, bypassing the cave and walking alongside the stone, covered in moss, vines, and various plants.

As you walked, you noticed something was different about the jungle.

The colors were different.

Instead of the various shades of greens and browns of the jungle from before, the colors were brighter, more vibrant. Purples, reds, greens, blues, and more made up the color palette of this jungle. Plants you’d never seen, even in movies, surrounded you. Even the trees were different.

The tan wood sprung up from the ground in various places, weaving together to create a unique look. Gaps in the trees allowed you to see part of the way to the other side and no doubt provided hiding places for all manner of critters.

Another clap of thunder sounded, this time a bit closer. You decided to keep moving and made your way through the dense jungle foliage, taking note of any landmarks you saw in case this plan didn’t pan out.

You stopped briefly to take a sip of water, the humid jungle heat making you break a sweat. You continued forward, traversing over various plants and other things like rock and bits of branches from the trees until you noticed a break in the trees.

‘Finally,’ you said to yourself as you picked up the pace and hurried forward, breaking through the foliage and almost toppling over a cliff. Letting out a small scream, you grabbed one of the closest trunks and managed to keep your balance, looking down what you estimated was over a fifty foot drop to the forest below.

You looked around, surveying the jungle tree tops. There was no mistaking it. This was not the same jungle as before.

“Where the hell am I?” you wondered as you looked into the distance.

A huge mountain range you’d never seen, jagged peaks capped with snow, a large river that wound through the jungle and was fed by a massive waterfall from a bluff some miles away from you.

Beyond the jungle was the setting sun… wait no. Suns.

There were two. You blinked rapidly before rubbing your eyes and looking back. There was no mistaking it. There were two suns in the sky, both slowly dipping below the tree line. It was then you noticed the clouds.

Above the sunset, thick grayish green clouds had accumulated, looking equal parts dangerous and mesmerizing. Your eyes scanned the sky, the wind picking up and the temperature dropping. Another crack of thunder, rumbling in the distance and a flash of white across the clouds had you jumping back.

“That doesn’t look good,” you admitted. Taking a couple steps back, you watched as the clouds advanced menacingly.

“Ookay,” you said softly. “Time to go!”

You turned in the opposite direction and started to make your way back to the cave but the jungle was dense, the plants all looked the same, and you didn’t remember seeing any landmarks to identify and soon, you were completely lost.

Your head turned in each direction, looking for something familiar as daylight started to fade away, bringing with it minor darkness.

You picked a direction and started walking, hoping you were going the right way.

As you continued, the jungle seemed to come to life around you.

The bioluminescence you’d witnessed in the cave was outside it as well. Plants with specks of light started to light up and even small insects, also glowing, emerged from their hiding places. You stopped, staring in awe at all of it.

The small insects flew around you lazily before taking off in search of food.

Letting out a small laugh you continued on, trying to tread as carefully as you could.

As you went, there was a creaking above you, causing you to stop and look towards the canopy. You could have sworn you caught sight of something dark moving in the treetops but it was too fast. Too blurry.

You pushed it from your mind and continued on, pushing giant leaves aside as you moved through the dense vegetation. The sound of running water met your ears. It wasn’t fast but it might replenish your drinking supply.

Walking forward, you nearly tripped over something large and smooth. It looked like a log but it wasn’t the right color. Carefully, you poked at it, letting out a yelp as it wiggled and moved. Following the length, you were met with the head of a giant serpent peeking at you from the ground.

You didn’t stop to see if it was friendly, instead taking off with a shrill scream as you ran. The snake didn’t seem interested in fast moving prey as it didn’t give chase. When you were sure it was safe, you slowed to catch your breath, wiping your forehead and turning to find yourself at the edge of a small creek.

Walking over, you knelt down and inspected the crystal clear water. You were thankful as you carefully dipped your hand into it, sighing at the cool temperature. You raised your cupped hand to sniff the water but smelled nothing. Tentatively, you took a sip. It tasted no different than the water in your canteen.

You quickly pulled your bottle from your bag and twisted the cap off, lowering the canister to fill it with the cool water before replacing the cap and putting it back in your bag. You were placing your pack on your back when you heard a loud snap and quickly looked over your shoulder.

You scanned the jungle but saw nothing. Slowly, you stood up and continued to glance around until you were sure nothing was around. “Weird,” you breathed, noticing how the tension in the air had changed. The previous sounds of the jungle had ceased. All bugs and whatever other animals had stopped.

That only happened when a predator was in the area.

Just as you were about to start off, the brush in front of you rustled. Your eyes widened, breath catching in your chest until a small creature popped out.

It looked almost like a type of squirrel. It had long tufts of fur at the end of its ears, large and powerful back legs like a rabbit and the long bushy tail of a skunk. Its’ fur was a purplish red with a white belly and black fur around its eyes.

“Aww,” you said softly, kneeling down to get a better look. “Hi there cutie.”

The creature looked up at you, sniffing the air for a moment before it made a squeaking sound and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Just as you were about to comment how weird that was, a loud crash sounded behind you, followed by an earth-shattering roar.

You didn’t have a chance to look back before a force hit you, something grabbing you by the backpack and dragging you across the creek, drenching your clothes before dropping you.

Raising your head, you caught sight of something large and covered in vegetation padding ahead of you. Pushing yourself up you saw the creature was massive. It looked almost like a bear. It turned to face you, giving you a good look at its alien face. Bears had two eyes. Not… six?!

You let out a scream as it stood on his back legs, rearing and showing it’s stomach and brandishing four other muscular arms tipped with flesh ripping claws.

The bear-like creature roared again but before it could lunge, something dropped from the trees above and began wrestling it. You could hear growling, grunting, and a scream of pain before the animal let out a gut wrenching cry as whatever had jumped on it gained the upper hand, stabbing it with what appeared to be a spear.

You watching in terror, chest heaving with labored breathing as the creature that came out on top stood up and slowly made its way over to you.

You gasped as you realized it wasn’t some creature.

It was a man.

You were staring up into the face of a man who was looking down at you curiously.

He closed the distance, kneeling down by your side as he inspected your face.

He opened his mouth and spoke but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. It didn’t sound like any language you’d heard before.

“What?” You whispered. He spoke again in that same foreign language.

“I’m sorry,” you said shaking your head. “But I don’t understand you.”

The man tilted his head, eyes studying you and allowing you to get a good look at them. They were a bluish green with black vertical pupils. ‘Maybe he isn’t human after all,’ you wondered as he leaned in closer, reaching a hand up. You shrank away, eyes shutting before you felt his fingertips gently brush against your forehead.

Opening your eyes, you saw him pull his hand back and inspect it.

It was then you noticed your blood was on his fingers. You were bleeding.

You reached up to feel your head, cursing when you felt the warm liquid trickling down the side of your face from a gash on your forehead, near your hairline.

“Shit,” you hissed, bringing your hand down to look at the blood.

“Shit.”

You looked up quickly, meeting the man’s gaze. “What did you just say?” you asked, watching him as he continued to stare at you. “Shit,” he repeated.

You stared in a mixture of shock and amusement. “You speak english?” you asked incredulously.

The man nodded. “I speak some,” he answered. You sighed in relief. “Oh thank goodness,” you replied. The man looked past you, brows furrowing. “We have to go,” he said suddenly, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet.

You stumbled and fell into him, his large hands catching you and steading you.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly. You nodded, looking at him. “Yes.”

The man nodded, pulling you along. “We must go. It is not safe!”

You tried to keep up, stumbling along as he dragged you behind him. “Hurry!”

Behind you, the sound of rain hitting the ground and the leaves as the sky opened up, the rain coming down in sheets while thunder cracked and lightning flashed overhead. The darkness had caught up and the sun was almost completely behind the horizon.

“Come!” The man said, continuing to urge you behind him. “Where are we going?” You called as the sound of the rain and wind picked up, turning into a howling.

“No time to explain! Just run!”

You did as he instructed, running behind him as the rain continued to follow you, the wind whipping and blowing the drops sideways. The trees creaked, swaying against the wind as leaves from the canopy fell to the ground.

The rain had finally caught up to you, the drops pelting your skin and the wind nearly blowing you over, stinging your cold skin. A loud crack overhead caused you to glance up but the man grabbed your hand again and pulled you forward just as a branch fell to the ground from the canopy.

“Do not stop!” He shouted. “Do not look! Just run!”

You kept going, following him as you trudged deeper and deeper into the jungle. Soon you noticed the trees spreading out as you ran, a wall of stone greeted you but the man stopped and motioned for you to follow him.

You hurried forward, squeezing between a gap in the rock which turned out to be some sort of pass. The man urged you to keep going until you came out on the other side where the trees were much thinner. “Over here!”

You ran and ran, your thighs burning as you tried to scramble over the terrain, your boots digging into the mud. Your lungs burned from lack of air and just when you thought you were about to collapse, a light came up in the distance.

As you neared the light, you realized it was a lantern, hanging on a pole outside a hut. The man hurried up to the door, opening it and allowing you inside, shutting the door and bracing it. You doubled over, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “Holy shit,” you wheezed as the man moved to check the windows.

“Who are you?” You asked as he lifted one of the hatches to look outside.

He turned his head to meet your gaze, face illuminated by the dim light of a lantern nearby. “Yunho,” he answered. “My name is Yunho.”

You watched as he moved around to the various window hatches, making sure to secure all of them. He stopped, glancing over at you, mid action. “What is your name?” he asked. “Oh,” you stammered. “I’m Y/N.” Yunho gave you a quick smile before resuming his motions.

“So,” you said nervously. “Is this a normal storm, Yunho?”

Yunho nodded as he finished securing a hatch while you looked around anxiously as the sound of rain pelted the roof of his home, thunder rumbling close by.

You glanced around but couldn’t see much. “It’s dark in here,” you noted, making Yunho glance up. “Oh,” he said softly, moving to the center of the room where a lantern hung. He reached up with his spear, unhooking the lantern and turned a small dial on the side, light illuminating the room before he hung it back up.

“Is that better?” He asked, turning to look at you.

You nodded with a small smile before shivering. Yunho clicked his tongue and hurried into a doorway leading into another room. He was gone only for a few moments, the sound of him rummaging around before he returned.

“Here,” he said softly, handing you some material. “It’s not much,” he added.

You opened it up and looked over the fabric. It was some sort of tunic. You thanked him and started removing your boots before you looked around.

“Uh… where can I change?”

He glanced at you, having already removed his own top.

“Change?” He asked, sounding confused.

You held up the tunic. “Yeah? Where can I change my clothes?”

Yunho didn’t seem to understand the concept. “You can undress here,” he replied. Your cheeks turned red, burning as he continued to undress. You gasped, drawing his attention. He stared at you wide eyed.

“Your shoulder,” you said softly, noticing the blood which was not the color you expected it to be. He looked like a human but the blue staining his skin said otherwise. You walked over, reaching up to inspect the wound.

“We should clean this,” you said, looking around for some sort of first aid kit. Yunho seemed to sense what you were looking for and nodded towards a shelf on the back wall near the door into what you assumed was a bedroom.

You walked over and grabbed a basket that held a few jars and some rolls of cloth.

“This?” You asked, showing him. Yunho nodded and moved to sit on a stool near a large square table. You used a damp rag to carefully wipe the blood from his wound which you could now see was a bite mark.

“It bit you?” You asked, to which he nodded silently.

“Does it hurt?” You asked softly as you continued to wipe the area. Yunho shook his head. “Not anymore,” he answered. You hummed as you worked, tossing the soiled rag in the basket.

“I’ll wash that later,” you murmured before starting to look through the jars in the basket, trying to discern which was antiseptic. Yunho smiled before he pointed the correct one out. “Use that one,” he said, his voice soft and gentle.

You unscrewed the lid and brought the jar up to sniff. It smelled strong and almost like pure alcohol. You coughed and Yunho glanced up, concern forming on his features until you waved his concern away. “I’m okay. It’s got a really strong smell.”

Yunho waited patiently as you cautiously dipped a finger in the jar and started to smear the ointment over the wound to his shoulder. You glanced up, studying his face as you coated a generous amount of the goo on his skin, making sure to be as gentle as possible.

His skin was smooth and warm, much like a human, but there was no mistaking he wasn’t human. His hands, which were large, had sharp pointed nails which were also present on his toes and he didn’t seem to wear shoes.

It was probably because of his clawed feet. His physique was largely humanoid. He was just large. Tall, broad shoulders, large hands and feet, and muscular. He had short black hair that fell over his forehead. It seemed like a generic cut like the men you saw back home.

His eyes were bluish green with vertical slits. The irises were a little bigger than a humans and you imagined it helped him see in low light settings like the jungle and at night. You suddenly wondered if maybe he was nocturnal or crepuscular.

You thought it might be rude to ask though, so you said nothing. Yunho glanced up, eyes meeting yours. “Are you alright?” He asked, his voice calm and gentle, unlike the erratic beating of your heart.

You weren’t sure how you didn’t spot it before. His teeth were sharp and pointed. His canines and the teeth next to them were like fangs while the rest were more like a human’s. ‘He must be a carnivore,’ you thought to yourself.

“Are you alright?” You heard him ask again and nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. The last thing you wanted to do was make him worry or concerned. ‘Just focus on what you’re doing,’ you told yourself. ‘Stop thinking.’

Once you were sure you covered the wound, you wiped your fingers on the bloodstained rag before grabbing a clean piece of cloth and started to cover the wound. “I’ve never done this before,” you admitted as you tried your best to wrap his wound.

“I can tell,” Yunho said, a small smirk present on his face.

“Do it like this,” he added, showing you where to wrap the cloth.

With his guidance, you were able to wrap and cover the wound while also keeping the dressing tight. “That was not so hard,” Yunho said with a smile as he got up, gathered the supplies and returned the basket to the shelf.

“Your clothes are still wet,” he added, noticing you still hadn’t changed. “You must be cold.” You nodded, grimacing as you moved to grab the tunic he’d given you.

You turned away and carefully started to unbutton your blouse. You pushed the wet garment off, letting it fall to the floor before doing the same with your shorts.

You glanced back at Yunho who still hadn’t put on a shirt and was now busying himself with building a fire. You quickly turned back around, heat rising to your cheeks. ‘Why are you checking him out?’ You scolded yourself.

You glanced back once more, eyes moving over his form as a fire started to dance in the hearth. The light flickered, shadows dancing over his skin and allowing you to see in a different light how his skin was much different than you thought.

While he had a honeyed tone to skin, there was a shimmer to it that was really illuminated as the light of the fire hit his skin. Beautiful was the only word you could use to describe it.

Yunho turned his head, looking mildly shocked as his eyes met yours.

“What?” He asked, curiously. You shook your head. “Nothing,” you murmured.

Yunho slowly stood up. “You said something,” he answered, matter of factly. You shook your head again. “No I didn't,” you replied. He nodded as he stepped closer. “You said the word beautiful. It was soft,” he retorted. “But I still heard it.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. ‘You idiot. Why did you say that aloud?’

You turned back around, facing away from him. “I-I’m going to finish getting changed,” you announced before carefully peeling your wet undergarments off and letting them fall to the floor with your wet clothes.

You heard the floor creak as Yunho moved to pick your clothes up.

“I will hang these by the fire,” he said softly and you heard the floorboards creak as he returned to the fire’s side. You exhaled softly and looked down at the tunic in your hands. “Calm down,” you whispered to yourself.

‘You’re supposed to be finding the key!’

You raised your head and noticed something hanging by the door. It was a large skeleton key with an intricate handle. Wait, was that… the key?

‘Speak of the devil,’ you mused silently.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud clap of thunder. You looked over your shoulder to see Yunho at one of the windows, peering through the hatch.

“It's still not safe out there,” he said as he closed the window hatch again, making sure it was properly secured. He turned and caught you staring again.

“You still haven’t put that on,” he said, nodding at the tunic. Your cheeks flushed and you turned away. ‘Why hadn’t you put it on yet? What was wrong with you?’

The floorboards creaked softly behind you as Yunho slowly approached you.

You jumped slightly, turning to look up at the alien creature behind you. This close, you could smell the scent emanating from him. The tips of his fingers danced across your back, eyes taking in the blemishes that adorned your skin.

“Your flesh is peculiar,” he said softly, continuing to inspect you.

Keeping your chest covered, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. Maybe the fact he kept his eyes trained on you was why you felt compelled to not move and uncover the front of your body, hugging the tunic close.

“Could you maybe stop watching me?”

Yunho tilted his head curiously. “Why do you wish to not be seen?”

You glanced around the room like you couldn't believe what you were hearing. “Because I'm naked?”

That didn't seem to phase Yunho.

“Why is your skin changing color? Are you trying to camouflage?”

You shook your head. “No, I'm… blushing,” you explained. “What is blushing?” Yunho asked. You turned your head to look up at him. “It’s what we do when we’re embarrassed.” Yunho tilted his head inquisitively. “Embarrassed?”

You nodded. “Yeah, embarrassed. Ashamed, abashed, bashful, blushing,” you rambled on. Yunho let out a small huff, almost like a chuckle.

“Do you feel shame for being nude?” he asked, eyes looking up and down your body. ‘Not when you look at me like that.’

Ignoring your thoughts as they started to turn, you nodded again. Uncertain why, but his gaze made heat spread from your core throughout your body. ‘What is this feeling?’

“Why do you feel ashamed?” Yunho asked suddenly. You hesitated to respond. Yunho continued to speak. “Is it because you are alone in your nakedness?” Silence again as you found yourself unable to answer his question.

Why were you ashamed to be naked?

“Shall I undress as well?” Yunho's hands moved to untie the drawstring of his pants. You quickly shook your head. "No! That's okay!"

Yunho looked up, the strings still in his hands before he tied them again.

“Would you like to be alone?" he asked.

“I can leave the room if you would prefer that.”

Not wanting him to leave, you shook your head. “I'll be quick. You don’t have to leave. I won't be naked for long.”

Yunho nodded understandingly. “I will wait while you dress.”

The idea of him watching you change had arousal starting to pool in the pit of your stomach but you were thankful when he turned his back and allowed you some privacy to finally pull on the dry tunic.

Once you'd pulled it on, you announced you were dressed and Yunho turned around to face you. He smiled, noting how the tunic looked more like a dress on you. He was just that big.

“I apologize that I do not have anything that fits you better,” he said, closing the distance between you. “That's okay. It's better than my wet clothes.” Yunho smiled again. “Your clothes should be dry soon,” he said before his smile dropped, replaced with an unreadable expression.

You watched as he started to blink rapidly, nostrils flaring slightly as he picked up a new scent.

“You smell different,” he noted.

“I-I do?” You asked, feeling self conscious suddenly. Yunho nodded.

“It's stronger the closer I get,” he added.

You let out a squeak of surprise as his strong hands grabbed you, holding you in place as Yunho leaned in and sniffed you.

First your hair, then down the side of your neck and tickling you. You giggled as he moved further down, sniffing your shoulder, then down your chest and stomach until he was kneeling on the floor of the cabin, sniffing a place you didn't think anyone should be sniffing.

“Yah! What are you doing?,” you whined, gently trying to push his head away from between your thighs.

Yunho then pushed the fabric of the tunic you wore up past your hips, exposing your naked lower half to him. “Yah!” You cried out in shock, trying to push the tunic down, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Yunho glanced up, meeting your gaze. You could see the desire in his eyes, pupils wide with lust. “Please?” he asked softly. You'd be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit curious.

After giving him a nod, Yunho gently pulled your hands away before quickly lifting one of your legs to get a better view.

“Someone is eager,” you laughed.

Yunho turned his attention down, eyeing your glistening core. You caught a glimpse of the green tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips before he unfurled his tongue, the tip quickly slipping between your folds and collecting some of your essence and drawing it back into his mouth.

Yunho ignored your protests, eyeing your glistening core. You caught a glimpse of the green tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips before he unfurled his tongue, the tip quickly slipping between your folds and collecting some of your essence and drawing it back into his mouth.

You watched in a mixture of shock and arousal as his eyes changed, the reptile-like pupils widening. In an instant, Yunho had pulled you to the floor, legs thrown over his shoulders as his long tongue squirmed around, teasing your clit briefly before dipping to your entrance and pushing into your cunt.

You gasped, fingers tangling in his dark tresses as his tongue explored your walls, digging deeper and deeper until it felt like he could go no further. You were pinned to the floor with an alien tongue buried deeper in your pussy than any human man's cock had been. You let out a moan as the muscle inside you continued to squirm and wiggle.

Yunho had a firm hold on your hips as his tongue continued to explore. You whined, moaned, and mewled as you writhed on the floor of his cabin, incoherent babbles and a slew of curses leaving your lips.

A burning desire unlike anything you'd ever felt started in the pit of your stomach and spread throughout your body like a wildfire. Your walls clenched around the muscle, crying out in pure ecstasy as a white hot heat burst inside you, spreading from your belly to your extremities.

As the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced ebbed away, Yunho withdrew his tongue, pulling the muscle back into his mouth before kicking his lips once more. He wordlessly undid the strings of his pants before rolling you over onto your stomach, pushing the fabric up past your waist.

You tried to catch your breath, also trying to push yourself up but Yunho pushed your chest back down with a growl. You felt two smooth fleshy appendages wrap around your thighs near your hips, lifting your lower half off the ground.

“What are you-?” your question was cut off as two more fleshy appendages slowly spread your folds, exposing your hole to the cool air and Yunho's gaze.

Slowly, you felt one of the appendages which upon looking back you learned were tentacles, no more than an half an inch in diameter. The tentacle was warm and pulsating as it explored your walls much like Yunho’s tongue had only this time, you cried out as a second tentacle joined the first.

You moaned as they moved around, inspecting your cunt.

You felt one of the tentacles prod against your cervix before carefully pushing into it, making you scream. Yunho quickly covered your mouth with his hand as the tentacle continued exploring, squirming into your uterus. It was a foreign feeling, definitely uncomfortable as you tried to free yourself from Yunho’s iron grip.

The tentacles around your hips kept you in place while one of Yunho’s hands kept your mouth covered, muffling any sound you might make. You screamed into his hand as the second tentacle joined the first, pushing into your uterus and beginning to explore.

Tears filled your eyes as the tentacles continued to prod around inside your uterus, feeling the walls and inspecting every crevice.

“Hmm,” Yunho hummed. “How strange.”

To your relief, the tentacles withdrew from your uterus, and were now moving asynchronously of each other, thrusting into your velvety walls.

“You only have one uterus,” Yunho said, sounding mildly intrigued.

“Your kind is much different than mine.”

You gasped as the tentacles continued to thrust into you at different rhythms. “What do y-you mean?” You moaned. “My kind, the females have two wombs,” Yunho explained. “It is fascinating that you only have one,” he continued.

“It means we will have to do this a little differently.”

You tried to look back at him. “Do what?” You asked, your eyes rolling back as another moan left your lips. Yunho either didn’t hear you or didn’t care as he didn’t answer your question, instead kept his attention on the tentacles that were now moving faster.

You cried out, head dropped as your second orgasm approached. The heads of the tentacles swelled inside you, suddenly bursting and filling your cunt with a warm, viscous fluid at the same time you came.

As quickly as they entered you, the tentacles withdrew. “Please tell me you're done,” you whimpered, glancing back to find that the tentacles had not withdrawn into his body.

“Oh God no,” you whimpered as the two tentacles that were inside you moved to wrap around your thighs, keeping you propped up and spread for the alien. “Please,” you moaned. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Yunho either didn’t hear you or he simply was ignoring you.

You felt something hot prodding at your entrance and tried to peer back but only caught sight of something green and blue. Craning your neck, you were able to make out that you were seeing what you discerned to be his massive cock.

The base, which disappeared into a slit, was a dark blue which faded into a cyan before blending into a bright apple green at the flared, pointed head. At the base of the shaft was a large knot. A dark blue, thick fluid was leaking from a slit at the tip.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat as Yunho’s hands moved to grab your waist, taking a strong but gentle hold before firmly pressing the tip of his cock into you. The pointed head parted your folds, pushing easily into your leaking cunt.

You let out a deep, guttural moan as the flared head breached your walls. The thick shaft slid further into your pussy until the top of the knot pressed against your lips. Yunho made no further attempt to enter you, merely holding you still as he no doubt needed a moment to adjust to your walls. His cock was impossibly big and you had no idea how it even fit.

Yunho pulled back carefully before snapping his hips forward, making you gasp. There were no comforting words. He didn’t warn you before setting a relentless pace, hands gripping your waist tightly as the tentacles around your thighs held you tightly. It was rough, fast, and animalistic.

This wasn’t for pleasure. Not entirely anyway. This was for procreation and the thought both terrified and aroused you. The idea of Yunho filling you with his cum had you moaning, nails digging into the wooden floorboards.

With each thrust, the top of the knot hit your entrance, reminding you that at some point, he was going to try to fit it all inside you. The thought was less horrifying and more erotic as you imagined how full you'd feel with not only his entire cock but that knot stuffed inside.

You moaned, walls clenching around Yunho's cock and pulling a grunt from him as well. “F-feels so good,” you whimpered, chest still resting against the floor. You tried to push yourself up but Yunho let out another snarl, pushing your chest to the wood again.

“Down," he growled. "Stay. Down.”

You replied with a yelp as his thrusts grew in intensity, the sound of his skin hitting yours as well as the wet sound of his knot slapping against your soaked lips. With each animalistic thrust, you could feel the knot start to stretch your entrance.

A slew of growls and grunts left Yunho as his grip on your waist tightened. Your cunt convulsed around his massive cock as your third orgasm approached, your whines and moans turning into cries and screams of pleasure until Yunho gave one final thrust, the tentacles around your thighs pulling your ass taut against him and driving the knotted base of his cock into your tight pussy.

A deep, rumbling growl emanated from his chest, drowned out only by your shriek of pain from the sudden intrusion of the knot.

You tried to steady your breathing but it was too shaky. Your thighs shook as you felt a gush of warm liquid fill your cunt. It was more than any human sized load and soon you realized it wasn't stopping as Yunho continued to unload a massive amount of cum inside you.

Your belly swelled slightly and you moaned, feeling fuller than you'd ever felt before. The knot at the base of Yunho's cock also swelled, effectively trapping his cock inside you.

You felt something squirming around inside, pushing past your cervix, though not as thick as the tentacles. As quickly as you felt it, the feeling retracted and you were left, the lower half of your body being held up by Yunho’s hands and the four tentacles, with his cock knotted inside your cunt.

Time passed but you weren’t sure how much as the storm outside raged on, rain pelting the outside of the hut and loud crashed of thunder shaking the ground.

Finally, after you felt enough time should have passed, you spoke up.

“How much longer?” you whined, cheek pressed against the cool floor. Yunho softly shushed you, one of his hands moving to rub your back soothingly. “Only an hour more,” he answered.

“An hour?!”

Yunho chuckled, still rubbing your back.

“Yes. Another hour and the swelling will go down. Then you will be free.” You sighed heavily. “Fine. One more hour.”

Yunho hummed in response, smiling down at you.

“Yes. One more hour, and then we can go again.”

Your eyes shot open as you tried to push yourself up only for Yunho to grunt and push you back down against the floor.

“Again?!” you cried out, Yunho gently stroked your hips.

“Yes," he cooed. “We will go again.”

You groaned against the wooden floor. “How many more times?”

Yunho’s fingers on your hip continued to draw circles against your skin.

“Many times,” he answered. “After all, we are mated now.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, realization dawning on you.

“Mated?” You whispered. Yunho hummed, nodding as he looked down at you fondly. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Mated. You are mine now.”

‘Oh you gotta be shitting me…’

You don’t know how you managed to survive another two rounds of whatever insane mating ritual Yunho’s species had but you did. You also managed to convince him to part with Seonghwa’s key.

With the promise of coming back, he took you back to the cave you’d come out of and after a surprisingly tender and heartbreaking farewell, you were back in the dark tunnel, flashlight in hand as you headed back the way you came.

The walk took almost no time at all, the rock and vegetation giving way for the wood of the bookshelves and books as the door came into view.

You took hold of the doorknob and twisted it, feeling relief as the door opened and you stepped out into the lobby, never being so glad to be surrounded by ruined books and stacks of old paper and dust before.

Seonghwa looked up as you closed the door behind you and turned to face him.

A smirk was present on his face as he inspected your appearance.

“Welcome back,” he mused. “How was your trip?”

The day that you were born, the whole kingdom rejoiced at your presence. Your parents held you close to their chests, while your older brother couldn't help but poke your cheeks in awe. The King and Queen gave birth to a healthy Princess, and whispered the same promises to you as when your brother was born: that they would always protect and love you. But unlike your brother, as the younger one, he would also protect and love you, but also give you a headache while he's at it. You were too young to understand the eight-year-old's mischievous smirk, but you would grow to forgive him as he became your partner-in-life amidst the heavy responsibilities of being part of the Royal family. 

But as many years passed, those responsibilities were growing for both you and your brother, who would be crowned as the King later in the future. Understanding his role, it's natural for him to spend less time with you, as your father taught him all the do's and don'ts starting from an early age. In a short amount of time, your brother was able to do much good for the Kingdom by strengthening current bonds with existing other Kingdoms, but also partnering with new Kingdoms to benefit each other's future. And as much as that did good for the whole Kingdom, the new bonds also allowed you to develop a new one with a neighbouring Kingdom with a young Prince your age, Prince Jeong Yunho.

Solmera is widely known for its education; however, due to its rough landscape, they sometimes experience food shortages in harsh seasons, a problem that your kingdom did not have. Many travel to Solmera even for just a glimpse at their education system, a desire to understand the best way to study, or the content that they have acquired. It was a deal that your father expected from your brother, as he himself spent his free time in the library to read any and every book on the shelves. With an excellent offer, it wasn't long until the Jeongs visited the kingdom to plan for the future. 

It's a common procedure for you to make sure that you don't go near the discussion rooms to avoid any disturbances, and as you grew up, you found many ways to entertain yourself alone, but your favourite thing to do is to spend time in the workers' quarter of the castle. It was the only place that would be free from any Royals after all, which ensured that you wouldn't be disturbing anyone. Plus, what better way to spend your time than helping those who are always helping you?

“Princess!” The head chef, Wooyoung, stops your ten-year-old self from coming too close to the oven. “Shouldn't you be getting ready for dinner?”

You do remember the schedule; however, you knew that you had time beforehand. “It's not for another two hours!”

“And have you finished all your homework and responsibilities until then? You’re almost going to graduate from grade school, Princess. You can’t keep doing this,” Seonghwa, the other chef, called out from behind you. “Princess, you're not supposed to be here today, either. Your family is taking the Solmera’s Royal Family on a tour around the castle! You should not be seen here!”

“But why?”

“Princess, we belong in different social classes-”

“But we're all humans, aren't we?” Your hands clasp your dress. “Plus, I hate being alone, and I love how everyone is so happy together here…”

Other than the humming of the oven and the clanging of utensils against their bowls, some of the workers look upon their Princess with gentle eyes. Their exhaustion faded with their Princess’ comment about their nature together, and they’re reminded of the safe place that they work at, and the family that led their Kingdom. 

Seonghwa lets out a defeated sigh, handing you a bag of whipped cream to help. It’s one of the first activities that Wooyoung and Seonghwa taught you, as they didn’t want you near anything dangerous. Your eyes sparkled at the pastel pink bag, nodding with needing any more words. You work alongside Wooyoung, asking him for pointers and if the cake is presentable for the dining table. As much as your parents and brother knew that you would help out the kitchen staff, you have to understand that it’s unusual for those outside of the castle staff and your family. They’re unsure how the information would get twisted and turned outside of the walls, and with you decorating the cake that will be shared with the Jeong Family, you had to make sure that your peaks and swirls are as perfect as Wooyoung’s pastry skills to conceal the idea.

As you focus on making the dessert, the rest of the kitchen focuses on making the event complete in their own ways. Within the next hour, you’re finished with the preparation of the cake, as well as the extra tasks that Wooyoung failed to convince you to let him do. In the end, you managed to free a good portion of his to-do list, an act that he was thankful for and promised you that he would make you some treats later in the week. After a final greeting, you slip out to get ready for dinner. Your steps are light to your bedroom, and amidst the humming and being appreciative of the interior of the castle, you bump into a daydreamer in his path.

With great reaction time, your hand is clasped tightly in the stranger’s hand. Fearful of you falling, they pull you close to their chest. You freeze at the unfamiliar arm around your waist. Yet, it doesn’t feel alarming at all. You slowly regain your balance and will the courage to give some distance between yourself and the man in front of you. As you pull back, the silk around his shoulders is trimmed with intricate gold designs. Immediately, you knew that this wasn’t one of the workers that you’ve never met. You knew that this man was of a higher status.

“M-My apologies,” he breaks the silence. He slowly lets you go, clearing his throat and taking a safe distance back from you. “I-I’ve become lost in this castle.”

Now, you’re able to take a good look at the man. He’s taller than you, his black hair styled perfectly to expose his forehead. The suit is slightly bigger than his shoulders, and you assume it’s to add some demeanour and statement to those around him. Yet, you felt none of that because the stranger’s cheeks are blushed with red. He has his head turned away from you, a hand scratching the back of his neck. From his side profile, he showcases his jawline and the slight pout of his lips. And as you take in the rest of him, you finally recognise the crest on his uniform. The familiar crest has you taking a curtsy to the Royal family member visiting the Kingdom.

“How rude of me,” you apologise and mentally curse yourself. “Welcome to the Kingdom. I apologise for my clumsiness.”

“No, no! Please don’t mind me!” You had him waving his hands profusely. Embarassed at the encounter, you straightened yourself, but were still unable to look at his eyes. “I was looking for some fresh air, Princess Y/N.”

The mention of your name had your eyes widening. Your head immediately rises to look at the man, to whom he bashfully smiles. “A-And you are?”

Neither of you knew it, but his introduction would be the start of something that you would both forever love and share. “My name is Yunho. I’m the First Prince of Solmera.”

It’s been almost a decade since your brother and Solmera’s King shared their resources for the good of their respective Kingdoms. Both are going strong, with both strengthening their future prospects for other agreements. With the back and forth between the two Kingdoms of both officials, Yunho has somehow always managed to be part of the journey. Now, whether or not that journey has been approved by his parents is almost always the question mark to the story.

After the first dinner with Solmera’s Royal Family, the Prince has promised you that he would come visiting often. And he really did keep his promises throughout the decade. The first time back, he had permission from the King and Queen. You both spent the week inside the castle walls, with you showing him the activities that you would keep yourself busy with. Eventually, you even snuck him out to the worker’s side, much to Wooyoung and Seonghwa’s nervous smiles in worries of keeping their jobs. But as soon as they met with the Young Prince, they knew that their Princess and their little secret were going to be safe.

When Yunho didn’t get permission from the King and Queen, that’s when you would discipline him yourself. In the first trip, he tried to rationalise by saying that it was a quick trip as their Kingdom needed emergency supplies from your Kingdom. And whilst that reason might’ve been enough for him, it definitely wasn’t for you. During that day, you weren’t expecting any guests. So, you could only let your jaw drop when Yunho knocks on your bedroom door, presenting himself in a flower pose. You immediately pulled him in and scolded him.

“Yunho!” The boy couldn’t help but flinch at your firm voice. “You can’t do this even if it’s just for a few hours!”

His shoulders slump, and he pouts. “Are you not happy to see me…?”

“That’s not the point, Yun…”

As soon as the nickname left your lips, his eyes regained their sparkle. The bag hanging from his shoulder is discarded on the floor, and he pulls his best friend into a hug. “I knew you weren’t mad!” 

And as much as you disapprove of his presence due to the fear of him being in trouble later, you couldn’t help but smile at his warmth. 

The other notable time was when he did get permission from the King and Queen to visit your kingdom as his birthday wish. He spent the day at his Kingdom, and would be travelling to yours midday to spend the rest of the night. What he didn’t tell you was that you would have a mischievous guest at the castle with him. That was when you met his only cousin, Prince Mingi. As much as he was a joy to be around, the two were best friends since birth for a reason. Not only because they did pretty much everything together (otherwise, Prince Mingi would be protesting), but they were almost carbon copies of each other. When Yunho arrived, you were at a meeting with your brother. So Yunho used this chance to sneak out of the castle walls, and Mingi enabled this decision.

You didn’t want to stir up a panic at the missing Princes from the guest room. As calmly as you could, you spedwalk through the hallways, turning every door into the places where you and Yunho would spend your time. As a last resort, you couldn’t help but recruit Seonghwa and Wooyoung, the two bewildered at the cause of your panic.

Tears well up in your eyes at the worst-case scenarios. Did they get kidnapped? Did they even arrive? They would have, or else you would’ve been notified. In that case, did they really get kidnapped? But the castle is heavily secured with the best of the best. Plus, the castle is too big to accommodate two people, so they could be anywhere. Still, where would Yunho be? And why wouldn’t he wait for you?

You decided to take a breather in nature, sitting at one of the benches towards the back of the castle. It’s then that you hear the leaves of the trees above you rustle, and then Yunho peeks up from the castle’s brick walls, his laughter mixing with a deep voice beside him. You immediately leap from the seat, the overwhelming amount of words ready to spill out from your throat.

“Oh! Y/N!” He greets you brightly and lands next to you. “The castle guards let me in and-”

“You can’t do that, Jeong Yunho!” Shocked by the full name and no title, Yunho gulps and freezes. “You can’t just leave like that and not tell anyone! What if something happened to you? What if-”

He stops your rambling with his arms around your middle. The Prince gently pats the back of your head, careful not to mess your hairstyle and wrinkle your dress. At the gesture, your arms slowly came up to his back, fist clenching on the fabric of his most casual attire. Your ears are pressed against his chest, and despite the physical exercise Yunho just did, his steadying heartbeat calms you. 

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

When your tears dried, you went back to reprimanding his actions for a bit more before Yunho officially introduced you to his cousin. And when that’s done, you reprimanded both of them more.

And now, as you reach your adult years, the friendship that you share with Yunho never faltered or changed. Even though you weren’t going to lead the Kingdom, your brother has given you many opportunities to take the lead. Through this, you’ve been recognised in your own way. Yunho always celebrated your wins and kept you company during your losses. The same way that you have for yourself. The first time his proposed idea failed, you made the trek to his Kingdom. The first time he cried quietly out of the sudden during dinner, and when he confessed about his weight to bear when he becomes officially crowned. For every special occasion that would involve you both being present, even in a crowded room, your eyes would always look for his eyes that held your heart.

You don’t know when you first came to fall in love with the Prince. Maybe it’s when your brother teased you about it for the first time, recalling his events when he fell in love with his fiancée. Or maybe it was when Mingi whispered in your ears to look for a handsome man, and Yunho is the one who fits the description. Or maybe it’s when he would always make sure you’re warm in the winter, or keep you in the shade in summer. Maybe it’s when other Princesses were blushing over his being, and your heart felt like it was being tugged uncomfortably. Or maybe, it’s all of that combined.

Those thoughts would fill your mind in random moments, just like now, as you’re in the study room across from Yunho. You didn’t realise the tender smile from across the table, nor the way you take his breath away when you’re not doing anything. He never said it to you, but he kept all the little things you gave him throughout the years: the flower from your backyard, the ribbon that you used for his gift and your favourite book that he reads when the world is too loud. 

And as he moves onto his journey, he’ll be sure to bring those with him, because he won’t be able to see you for a while. He was allowed to travel and learn far away, and it’s been delightful news to him until he thought of you. He has never been far from his Kingdom or you before, and the anxiety that builds in him at the thought has him wanting to reject the offer many times. His hand slips into his bag, where he feels the silk of the jewellery box. He steals another glance at you, willing himself to break the news. He’s sure of your supportiveness, but he wonders how this will change you two.

“Wanna take a break?” He whispers the suggestion. 

Enthusiastically, you nod and hold out a hand for him to take. He chuckles and takes your hand into his, while his other hand pockets his gift. You both walk out of the room for a breath of fresh air and aimlessly walk down the hallway. Your voice fills the space between you both, while Yunho has you making sure that you don’t bump into the priceless artifacts of the castle.

“But you know?” Yunho hums in question. “You think I was the only one spacing out back there? I see you not being focused and present in your duties, My Prince.”

The nickname has his cheeks blushing, and he turns his head away despite your curiosity. “I-I was perfectly focused in there.”

“If you say so,” yet the tone suggests your disbelief in his words. He rolls his eyes playfully, bumping his shoulder to yours. When the initial playfulness fades a bit, your tone becomes firmer. “I’m here if you need to talk to me.”

You sucks in a sharp inhale and lead you to the garden, bowing at the maids who opened the door. “I know.”

You become aware of Yunho’s touch when his thumb strokes the back of your hand. Your heartbeat grows louder against your ears, unaware of the same effect that his own actions had on him.

Then, he abruptly stops. After an extra step from you, Yunho tugs you back to his chest. The yelp only has him melting into you more as he wraps his arms around you. He tucks your face into his embrace, humming softly against your ear.

“What's this about?” Your voice wavers. Your finger draws shapes into his fabric.

“What? I can't hug the Princess?” A smack landed on his chest. “I just want to hug you, Y/N.”

“I guess that's fine then, Prince Yunho.”

Yunho starts swaying side to side lightly, and you follow him with quiet protests and questions. He sings to the birds’ chirps and points out the butterflies that colour the greenery around you. It all gives him a small amount of time to swallow his tension.

When Yunho retracts an arm from you, your eyebrows knitted at the loss of his presence. But when you lean back to question him, he's already looking at you intently. Cautiously, he leans his forehead to kiss yours, closing his eyes to savour the closeness. Unlike him, you couldn't close your eyes, choosing to admire the details on his skin. You don't remember the last time you were this close to him, or if you've ever been this close to him.

When he pulls away, he's already rummaging through his pocket. “I have something for you.” You nod, continuing to admire him. Out comes the surprise he's been holding for the last few weeks.

You stare at the closed box, head tilting and eyebrows slightly knitted. The velvet lands on your palm, and Yunho opens the square to reveal a gemmed bracelet. You recognise it as one that is only found in his Kingdom, and your shoulders relaxed as you're amazed by its shine.

“Do you like it?” Again, you nod wordlessly. Yunho asks to put it on you, and the cooling gold touching you warms your heated skin. He puts it on your wrist just right, and you are in awe of how it glimmers in the sunlight.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

“Will you keep this safe for me? And think of me whenever you see it?” 

You know just from a single look at his eyes that he's hiding something, and the gifting gesture only confirms your suspicion. You brush his bangs away from his eyes, promising your words to his questions.

“But only if you tell me what's going on,” you compromised. “I can tell something is bothering you.”

Yunho lets out a heavy exhale, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Sharp breaths of nature fill his being, and he could no longer look into you. Eventually, he chooses to settle on the wooden bench, pulling you alongside him.

“I'm going away. Just for a while.”

An eyebrow rises. “What? Where? How long?”

“For a year or so.” He leans his elbows on his thighs, refusing to look at you. “I was given an opportunity to learn a couple of things, but because of the distance, I'll be living far away from home.” And he turns his head to you, “From you.”

You moved your lips, but no sound came out. In the end, you blink your tears away and clasp your bracelet. “That's amazing, Yun.” 

Delighted at your support, but sorrowful at his leaving, he straightens his back and focuses on you. “But I'll be back. I promise.” The sureness of his gaze is one that you’ll hold onto in your mind. “I’ll be far, but never too far.”

A tear escapes, and Yunho brushes it away with his thumb. You take in every bit of him to memory, and when he leans in once more, you don't hesitate to throw your arms around his neck. You're positive his shoulders are weighed with your tears, and you're sure yours are too with his.

“Princess, I promise that I'll come back for you.” His nose nudges the crook of your neck. “I promise that I'll be back, Y/N.”

Jeong Yunho has never let you down, and you're sure that he would never do so now. You're confident that letters will reach him, and maybe you'll be able to visit him. Maybe he'll come back home or visit the Kingdom. Nevertheless, you're sure of his return, the same way that you're sure of your love towards him, even if, for now, it remains unspoken.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist

The late afternoon sun of October filtered through the tall, leaded-glass windows of the campus library, casting long, dusty beams across the silent study tables. You, Y/N, always claimed this was your favorite time: the golden hour where the day’s frantic energy settled into a quiet, focused hum. You were hunched over a heavy textbook on microeconomics, coffee long since gone cold, trying to conquer the final, brutal chapter before the midterm.

A familiar, barely perceptible rustle drew your attention. Without looking up, you knew who it was. The quiet boy.

He sat three tables away, always at the same time, in the same spot, nestled behind a towering stack of architecture monographs. He wasn’t loud or distracting; in fact, he was the picture of studious invisibility. His name, you’d learned through an orientation roster once, was Jeong Yunho. He had dark, neatly styled hair that fell just over his eyebrows and a profile that was sharp and strangely arresting when he was deep in concentration.

He was a batchmate, an art major, though you’d never spoken. He was just... there.

You’d started noticing his constant presence about two months ago. If you were in the student center cafeteria at lunch, he was usually seated alone near the windows, sketching in a large pad. If you were taking your regular sunset jog around the perimeter track, you’d sometimes see him walking in the opposite direction, headphones on, head down. And here, in the library, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening, you could set your watch by his arrival.

“Another coincidence,” you’d murmur to yourself, giving your brain a little shake to get back to the demand elasticity curve. The campus was small enough, after all.

The next day, you were having lunch with your best friend, Sana, on the sun-drenched lawn outside the humanities building. You were relaying a particularly frustrating story about a group project gone wrong.

“...and then I had to redo the entire presentation slide because Minji used Comic Sans, Comic Sans, Sana!” You took a dramatic bite of your sandwich.

Sana, sipping her iced latte, just grinned. “A true campus crime. But hey, speaking of campus regulars, who’s that?”

You followed her gaze. Walking across the lawn toward the main gate, precisely intersecting the path of a flurry of late-day students, was Jeong Yunho. He was wearing a simple black hoodie and carrying a slim messenger bag.

“Oh, that’s Yunho. He’s in my batch, I think. Art major,” you explained casually. “He’s, like, the quietest person on campus. I see him everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Sana raised a finely sculpted eyebrow, a hint of playful conspiracy in her voice. “You see him in the library, right? You said he was the ‘quiet study table guy’?"

“Yeah, but also sometimes by the track, or in the café—it’s just coincidence, though. He probably lives in the dorms near me or has a similar class schedule. We’re both seniors, you know.”

Sana paused, taking a slower, more deliberate look at the passing figure. Yunho didn’t glance toward the lawn or the crowd; his eyes were fixed somewhere on the ground ahead of him, a ghost in motion.

“Huh. He looks… determined,” Sana commented. “Like he has a very specific route he always takes. Kind of intense.”

“He just looks like a guy trying to get off campus,” you chuckled, dismissing the observation. “Don’t be weird.”

But as you watched him disappear around the corner, a small, cold droplet of thought landed in your mind. Determined. It was the perfect word. He never seemed to meander. He moved with the focused efficiency of someone whose destination—and more importantly, whose timing—was absolute.

A week later, you were walking home after an exhausting late-night study session. It was dark, and the street lamps cast watery halos on the wet pavement. You lived in an off-campus apartment complex about a fifteen-minute walk from the main gate, a route you had memorized by the cracks in the sidewalk.

You were halfway there, scrolling through your phone to play a podcast, when you heard the distinct, soft rhythm of footsteps behind you. They were keeping pace. Not rushing, not lagging, just… matching yours.

You immediately silenced your phone and slowed your walk, subtly glancing at a reflective window of a closed convenience store. The figure was perhaps twenty feet back. Tall, wearing a dark jacket, head slightly bowed.

It’s just a neighbor, you told yourself. Someone else is coming home.

To test the theory, you stopped abruptly to tie your shoe, even though it wasn’t loose. The footsteps stopped, too. Immediately. The silence that followed was heavy and prickly. Your heart started a quick, nervous flutter. You straightened up, looking pointedly back, but the person had melted into the shadow cast by a large oak tree. You could only make out a dark silhouette.

Swallowing, you sped up, turning down the final, slightly narrower street toward your building. The footsteps resumed, still maintaining that unnerving distance.

Then, you saw it.

You passed the familiar blue sedan that was always parked under the sickly green streetlamp on the corner—the one belonging to your grumpy downstairs neighbor. Tucked behind the sedan, where the light barely reached, you saw a figure leaning against a brick wall, partially concealed by the shadow of the car’s trunk.

As you got closer, your breath hitched. It was Yunho.

He wasn’t walking. He wasn’t following you. He was just standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, staring at a phone screen that cast a pale blue glow on his face.

“Yunho?” You called out, the name sounding foreign and sharp in the night air.

He looked up, and the blue light vanished as he lowered the phone. His eyes, dark and wide, found yours. There was a fraction of a second—a beat of pure, naked surprise—before his face smoothed into a neutral mask.

“Oh. Y/N,” he said, his voice quiet, almost husky. He sounded genuinely caught off guard. “Hey. What are you doing out so late?”

The question was so normal it was disorienting.

“I was just… coming home from the library,” you said, feeling suddenly foolish and over-dramatic. “What are you doing here? You don’t live in this complex, do you?”

“Me? No. I was just taking a walk,” he replied, a tiny, almost-smile gracing his lips. “I live a few blocks over, near the café. I like walking late at night. It clears my head. Looks like we’re taking the same route tonight.”

He gestured vaguely down the street, and in that gesture, he seemed to shift from a suspicious figure into a perfectly innocuous, quiet student.

“Right. Walking,” you repeated, feeling a wave of relief wash over the residual adrenaline. You had let your tired brain jump to conclusions.

“Yeah. Good night, Y/N,” he said softly, a low note of warmth in his voice that was utterly new.

“Good night, Yunho.”

You hurried the last fifty feet to your door, fumbling with your keys. But as you unlocked the door, you risked one last glance back. Yunho was no longer standing against the wall. He was walking away, slowly, in the opposite direction of where he claimed to live.

The relief vanished, replaced by that cold, hard knot of suspicion. He was walking away from the direction he claimed to live in.

And he knew my name.

You hadn’t introduced yourself that night. You hadn’t exchanged classes. You were just the girl he saw in the library, the café, and on the track. You had given him his name, but you were certain he had never asked for yours.

You slid your door shut, locked the deadbolt, and stood in the dark hallway of your apartment. You saw the quiet boy, the determined walk, the immediate stop behind the tree, and the lie about his address, and a new, chilling pattern began to emerge in the back of your mind. It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was an orbit. And you were the center of it.

You shivered, but beneath the fear, a strange, almost electrifying curiosity began to spark. He was a curious cat, you thought, but what exactly was he so curious about? And why did the thought of finding out make your skin prickle with both dread and a darker, more undeniable thrill?

The following days were marked by a subtle, internal shift in your perspective. The world hadn’t changed, but the lens through which you viewed it had fractured. Every “coincidence” now seemed charged with a silent, heavy intention.

Yunho was still everywhere, but now that you were looking, his methods felt less like chance and more like painstaking planning.

It was Tuesday, and you were back in your usual library spot. Yunho arrived exactly at 5:15 PM, as always, settling into his architecture corner. You watched him from over the edge of your textbook. He took out his materials—a sketchbook, a slim laptop, and a particular dark-blue thermos.

You remembered thinking how organized he always was. But today, you noticed something new.

He opened his sketchbook, and immediately, his eyes darted from the page, across the aisle, and fixed directly on you for a fleeting second—not with the intensity of the night encounter, but with the quick, scanning efficiency of someone checking a clock or confirming a target.

He then lowered his gaze, seemingly engrossed in his work. But you tried an experiment. You deliberately picked up your water bottle and took a slow, noisy sip.

Immediately, you saw the tiny, almost invisible shift in his peripheral vision. He didn’t look up, but his hand paused mid-sketch, and his breathing hitched, a minimal but distinct interruption in the silent room. You felt the precise moment he registered your action.

He’s monitoring me.

Another realization struck you, something so obvious you felt foolish for missing it. The light in your spot was notoriously bad. The light in his spot, tucked away by the shelves, was even worse. Yet, he never moved.

The best-lit table in that whole wing? It was two tables down from you, vacant half the time. He avoided it. Because if he sat there, he would be looking straight at the wall. In his current corner, however, his side profile was perfectly positioned to maintain an unobstructed, but indirect, view of you and your table. His setup was engineered for observation, not optimal lighting.

You leaned back, the textbook forgotten. The pit in your stomach was still there, but it was hardening, morphing into something resembling strategic patience.

Later that week, you met Sana for a quick coffee break between classes. She noticed your preoccupied air immediately.

“You’re still thinking about the quiet study guy, aren’t you?” she asked, stirring her foam.

“I ran into him again,” you lied slightly, omitting the part about staking him out. “He was walking near my place again. Said he lives near the café.”

“Ah, the designated night walker,” Sana said dryly. “Look, Y/N, I’m not saying the guy’s a creep, but you know how protective I am. If someone’s popping up everywhere, and you get a weird vibe, listen to it. Guys who are too quiet usually have a lot going on upstairs.”

She lowered her voice. “Have you checked his social media? Maybe you’ll see if he’s, like, posting motivational quotes about finding his destiny in the university library.”

You shrugged. “I looked once. He’s completely locked down. No public profile, just a blank profile picture and a private account.”

“See? That’s suspicious.”

But the locked profile didn’t worry you; it confirmed your suspicions. It meant he was carefully controlling his visibility. A true “quiet boy” might just be shy, but a completely invisible online presence combined with a meticulous physical presence suggested deliberate camouflage.

“Maybe he just likes privacy,” you defended him weakly, but it was only to keep Sana from getting truly concerned. You couldn’t tell her about the shoe-tying test or the library sightline.

I need to see how close I can get to his sun without getting burned, you thought, a forbidden thrill bubbling up.

The next day, you decided to push the boundary, just a little.

It was your routine to stop at the small campus convenience store every Tuesday and Friday morning to buy a specific brand of sparkling water—a habit you’d maintained for a year.

That Friday, you walked into the store at 9:05 AM. The store was busy. You moved to the back cooler, grabbed your sparkling water, and headed to the checkout.

There was a short line. Standing three people ahead of you, paying for a handful of energy bars and a large bottle of water, was Jeong Yunho.

He hadn’t been there when you walked in.

He was wearing a light-gray crewneck and a baseball cap, pulled low. When he turned to leave, he brushed past you, his shoulder lightly grazing yours.

“Oh, excuse me,” he murmured, his voice that low, husky sound you remembered from the night street. He didn’t lift his head, just gave a quick, almost panicked nod of apology, and walked swiftly out.

You stepped up to the cashier, your heart hammering, holding the cold bottle in your hand.

“Did you see that guy, ma’am?” the cashier, an older woman named Mrs. Lee, asked you with a wry smile. “He’s always in a rush. Buy the exact same thing every Tuesday and Friday morning, right after the 9 AM lecture gets out.”

You stared at the cashier. Your 9 AM lecture let out at 9:00 AM, and you arrived at the store by 9:05 AM.

“Always?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Always. Like clockwork,” Mrs. Lee confirmed, handing you your receipt.

You stood rooted for a moment. You hadn’t been seeing him at the convenience store before. Why was he only there now?

You reviewed your schedule in your head:

Mondays: Economics 101, 8:00 AM.

Tuesdays: Microecon lab, 9:00 AM.

Wednesdays: Campus Work Study (Off-Campus)

Thursdays: Group Project Meeting (Off-Campus)

Fridays: Microecon lab, 9:00 AM.

He had started showing up at the convenience store only on Tuesdays and Fridays, the two days you were consistently on campus at that exact time.

You had thought the stalker was following you. Now you realized he was following your schedule. He wasn’t relying on chance; he had acquired and memorized your routine and was inserting himself into it with surgical precision.

The knowledge didn’t frighten you into hiding, however. Instead, it lit a fire. You realized that all the pieces of the puzzle—the sightline in the library, the knowledge of your name, the lie about his route, the sudden insertion into your predictable coffee routine—pointed not to a shy admirer, but to a calculating presence who had invested serious time in learning the architecture of your daily life.

And his panic when you called out his name on the street? It wasn’t because he was surprised; it was because he was exposed. He wasn’t supposed to be seen; he was supposed to be the ghost in the machine.

You walked out of the store, the sparkling water feeling suddenly heavy and cold. You looked down the street where Yunho had hurried away, and you felt a dangerous kind of resolve.

If he was watching you, observing every detail of your life, then he wanted access. He wanted to close the distance. And you, now fully aware of the extent of his fascination, decided that you would be the one to open the door, just a crack, to see what kind of dirty, nasty intentions were truly hiding behind the quiet boy’s innocent facade.

You gripped the bottle tight and started walking. You had to make a change to your routine, something small and deliberate. Something that would signal to the man in your orbit that the center was ready to shift.

The next step is mine, you thought, a predatory curiosity eclipsing the last vestiges of fear.

The shift in your routine was subtle, almost imperceptible to an outsider, but you knew it would be a flashing beacon to the quiet boy who had mapped your every movement.

Your Friday afternoon route to the library was sacrosanct: from your last class, straight to the central coffee cart for a mocha, then up the grand staircase to the silent wing. Today, you diverted.

Instead of the coffee cart, you stopped by the campus bookstore. Not to buy anything, but to browse the towering, slightly disorganized philosophy section—a section you never frequented. You spent ten minutes running your hand along the spines of books on Existentialism and Ethics, projecting an air of deep, thoughtful deliberation.

You knew he wouldn’t be here yet. The library rule was 5:15 PM. This maneuver was about creating a brief, verifiable absence from the expected path. It was a digital footprint in his mental map of you.

When you finally entered the library at 4:55 PM, twenty minutes earlier than usual, you didn’t go to your usual spot. You chose a table near the main entrance, far away from the quiet wing. You spread out your books, but instead of studying, you checked your phone.

At 5:16 PM, you saw him enter the library.

He moved with his usual measured, focused pace, heading straight for the quiet wing. He was halfway across the main floor when he registered your location.

He froze.

It was only a fraction of a second, but you saw the hitch in his stride and the slight confusion in the way his head tilted, like a compass needle thrown off true north. He was supposed to find you in the back, bathed in the golden, dusty light. Instead, you were here, under the harsh fluorescents, facing the main thoroughfare.

He recovered instantly. Without looking directly at you, he executed a perfect pivot, diverting his path to a shelf near the circulation desk. He pretended to browse the New Arrivals, using the spine of a book to obscure the side of his face. He spent a solid three minutes there, calculating.

His plans are disrupted, you realize, a dark satisfaction blooming in your chest. He needs to recalibrate.

Finally, he walked toward the main staircase, but instead of continuing to the quiet wing, he took a table one row behind you. This was a major tactical error on his part—an immediate, desperate attempt to re-establish the orbit. It meant he sacrificed his carefully constructed indirect sightline for a direct view of the back of your head.

You could feel his presence, a tangible warmth at your back.

You waited ten minutes, allowing him to settle, allowing him to believe he had fixed the problem. Then, you began phase two.

You shifted your body slightly in your chair, turning your back partially to the aisle. You then pulled out your notebook and began drawing a simple, geometric pattern—a shape that required frequent, small pauses and head tilts.

And then, you pulled out your earphones, unwrapped the cord with deliberate care, and plugged them into your phone. But you didn’t put them in your ears. You let them dangle over your shoulder.

The silence that had previously defined your relationship was shattered. The dangling earphones were an audible crack in the wall of your focused privacy. They were an invitation to speak, a suggestion that you weren’t fully sequestered.

You went back to your drawing, maintaining the subtle, rhythmic movements.

It took another ten minutes. You heard the soft, familiar rustle of his backpack as he shifted his weight. Then, a hesitation.

Finally, the low voice arrived, closer than it had ever been.

“Excuse me, Y/N?”

The use of your name, quiet and careful, felt like a caress across the nape of your neck. You slowly turned your head, pulling one of the dangling earbuds up and holding it between your fingers, projecting mild surprise.

“Oh, Yunho. Hey,” you said, your voice carefully pitched to sound friendly but slightly preoccupied. “I didn’t see you come in.”

He was standing right there. Up close, his dark eyes were even more captivating, and his expression was a perfect blend of shyness and polite urgency.

“I apologize for interrupting you,” he said, gesturing vaguely at your books. “But I… I noticed you studying microeconomics. I have a really stupid question about something, and you look like you have it figured out.”

This was his move. A perfectly reasonable, studious request. The cover story was flawless.

“Oh, sure. Which part?” You smiled, a genuine, welcoming smile that was calculated to disarm him entirely.

“It’s about… the elasticity of demand, that chapter with the formulas,” he mumbled, taking a half-step closer, his eyes finally meeting yours in an unbroken gaze.

You gestured toward your stack of books. “That’s exactly what I’m studying for the midterm next week. It’s tricky. Want to sit down?”

This was the final piece of the trap. He hadn’t asked to sit. He had just asked a quick question. By offering the seat, you were granting the access he had labored for weeks to obtain, but on your terms.

His eyes flickered to the empty chair across from you, then back to your face. The brief moment of surprise was replaced by a visible, slow-burning triumph that he immediately smothered.

“I don’t want to bother you, I just—”

“It’s no bother,” you interrupted gently. “I was about to take a break anyway. Come on. I can walk you through the midpoint formula; it saved my life last night.”

You watched him take the final, deliberate step forward, pulling the chair out and sitting down opposite you. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint, clean scent of laundry detergent and a subtle, musky cologne. The quiet boy was suddenly occupying your space.

He leaned forward, and his gaze dropped to your textbook, but not before you caught the quick, assessing sweep of his eyes across your face—an unspoken acknowledgment of the success of his mission.

“So, the midpoint formula…” he began, his voice dropping even lower now that you were sharing a space. He pointed to a section of your notes. His finger was long, pale, and steady.

You spent the next fifteen minutes talking about economics, but the conversation was merely a vehicle. Your brain was entirely focused on the subtext. He listened too intently, his answers too perfect, his ‘confusion’ too well-articulated. He wasn’t confused about the math; he was confused about you.

“Wow, thanks, Y/N. That actually makes sense,” he concluded, closing the borrowed textbook page gently. He didn’t immediately move to leave. He lingered.

“You’re welcome, Yunho,” you replied, feeling the dangerous, beautiful tension hum between you. “I see you here all the time. I figured you were a genius; you’re always so focused.”

His mouth curved into that same small, almost shy half-smile. “I try to be focused. Especially on things that... catch my attention.”

The phrase hung in the air, loaded with a meaning that had nothing to do with calculus or corporate finance. He had thrown his first overt hint.

You met his gaze, holding it steady. You saw the curious cat, yes, but now you saw the razor-sharp teeth underneath the soft fur. The darkness was there, hiding just beneath the polite skin.

“Well,” you said, leaning forward just slightly, mirroring his posture, closing the last little bit of distance. “It’s a huge campus, Yunho. It takes a lot of effort to notice the same thing, in the same spot, every single day.”

You had acknowledged the orbit. You had shown him that you knew.

A flicker of something predatory—something excited and deeply satisfied—lit up his dark eyes before he masked it completely. He had been caught, and he knew you knew, but he also realized you weren’t running.

“That’s true,” he murmured, his voice now barely audible, a secret whispered across the table. “Sometimes the most interesting things are the ones you have to search for... and wait for.”

The conversation was over. The game had started. You had caught him in your web, and now you were waiting to see how far he was willing to crawl.

The moment after you spoke those words—acknowledging his persistent, observed presence—the energy between you and Yunho transformed. It wasn’t the tentative connection between two shy batchmates anymore. It was a wire stretched taut, thrumming with mutual, unspoken recognition.

He stood up, pushing the chair in slowly, his movements deliberate. He didn’t offer a flustered denial or a weak excuse. Instead, he gave you a small, careful bow of his head—a gesture of respect, or perhaps, acknowledgment of the new terms of your engagement.

“Thank you for the help, Y/N,” he said. The politeness was a thin veneer now, barely concealing the undercurrent of anticipation. “I hope our... encounters will become less coincidental from now on.”

You held his gaze, offering a slight, enigmatic smile. “I’m sure they will, Yunho. I’m sure they will.”

He walked away, not back to the quiet wing, but toward the exit. He knew his position had been compromised, and he had secured the first key exchange: mutual awareness.

The following week, you made a second, crucial change to your routine.

On Monday, instead of leaving the library at 7:00 PM, you left at 6:30 PM.

You walked the longer, well-lit route home, passing the bustling local market where you often saw people you knew. This was a safety measure, but it was also a performance. You needed to establish a new, slightly earlier timeline for him to track. You hadn’t walked three blocks before you felt the familiar shift in the air. He was there, not twenty feet behind you, maintaining the exact, equidistant pace he had on the night you confronted him.

This time, you didn’t stop. You didn’t pretend to tie your shoe. You simply pulled out your phone and sent a text to Sana—a mundane, casual message about a professor—and then you deliberately slowed your pace to a leisurely stroll.

The man behind you slowed, too.

You didn’t look back until you reached the brightly lit entrance of your apartment complex. As you were about to turn in, you paused and turned around fully, facing the street. Yunho was standing where the shadows began, near a large, blooming bougainvillea bush. He wasn’t hiding; he was simply waiting for the inevitable moment when you would look for him.

“You’re walking earlier tonight,” you stated, your voice calm and level, cutting through the nighttime hum.

He stepped out of the shadow, his hands still in his pockets. He looked completely relaxed, as if he had been merely contemplating the flowers.

“I was finishing up my critique. I like the fresh air this evening,” he replied, giving a slight lift of his chin. His eyes, however, were fixed intently on yours.

“Did you, now?” you murmured, letting the implication hang. “I changed my schedule. You must have thought I was missing.”

His expression didn’t change, but his answer was revealing.

“I noticed. When you weren’t in your spot at 7:00, I figured you might have taken the earlier train of thought.”

Train of thought. He used your academic language to signal his understanding of your patterns. He wasn’t tracking time; he was tracking you.

“Well, you found me,” you said, taking a small step toward the street, decreasing the distance between you by a foot. “That’s impressive, Yunho. You’re very observant.”

He walked a step forward, too, meeting your small advance. He was close enough now that the gentle light from the complex entrance defined the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity of his stare.

“You’re the one who is hard to miss, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-confidential whisper.

It was the darkest, most direct statement he had ever made. It implied that his interest in you was powerful enough to override all his previous caution. You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mingling of fear and sheer excitement. He was admitting his obsession, thinly veiled as a compliment. You didn’t smile this time. You adopted a thoughtful, serious expression.

“Maybe. But I think you’re more than just observant, Yunho. I think you’re… invested.”

The word ‘invested’ hung between you, a shared secret tossed into the night. It suggested time, effort, and expectation.

He stood perfectly still for a long moment, simply absorbing your acknowledgement. Then, a slow, deep smile finally spread across his face—a smile that was utterly different from the shy half-grin. This one was assured, almost arrogant, and laced with a profound, almost dangerous excitement. It was the smile of the hunter who had been given permission to approach the trap.

“I am,” he confirmed, his voice rougher now, no longer pretending shyness. “More than you know.”

He took one more step, and you didn’t flinch. You were close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Good,” you breathed, giving him exactly what he wanted—permission to escalate. “Because I find myself becoming very invested in finding out why.”

He chuckled—a low, husky sound that was intimate and unsettling. He glanced past you to the entrance of your building, then leaned in slightly, his head tilting toward yours.

“Why don’t we start with something simple?” he suggested, the shift in his tone suggesting an immediate, nasty intention lurking beneath the surface.

“We both know where you study. We both know your schedule. Tell me, Y/N... Do you ever leave your window open at night?”

The question was a direct, dirty challenge. It stripped away all the pretense of economics and late-night walks, demanding to know the extent of your vulnerability and compliance. He wasn’t asking if he could look in; he was asking if you would let him.

You didn’t hesitate. You held his eye, your own resolve firm.

“Only when I’m expecting company, Yunho.”

The air crackled between you. You had offered the key, and Yunho had snatched it with a speed and intensity that was terrifyingly magnetic. His eyes, usually subdued, now held a deep, liquid heat.

“Expecting company,” he repeated, the phrase savoring on his tongue. The polite student was gone; what stood before you was the curious cat that had finally pounced. “That’s good to know. I prefer invitations.”

He paused, letting the weight of the last few minutes settle. His gaze swept over your face—from your eyes to your mouth—a slow, deliberate movement that felt more intimate than any touch.

“So,” he continued, his voice barely a breath. “If the window is an invitation, what does it mean if you are alone... and the curtain is open?”

The question was another escalation. He wasn’t just observing the structure of your life; he had been observing the minute, domestic details of your privacy. He wanted to know how much of the observation was deliberate exposure on your part.

You returned his stare, refusing to yield the power of the moment.

“It means the view is available,” you replied evenly, matching his low tone. “But only for someone who knows exactly where to look.”

A genuine, thrilling smile broke across his face—the first you’d ever seen, and it was devastatingly attractive. It was the smile of someone who had just won the highest possible reward.

“I know exactly where to look,” he affirmed. He didn’t need to elaborate. You knew he did. He knew the layout of your room, the placement of your desk, and the direction the light fell in the mornings.

He finally pulled his hands from his pockets, but he didn’t reach for you. Instead, he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a small, flat object wrapped in tissue paper.

“I didn’t expect to have this conversation tonight, but since we’ve cleared the air of coincidences,” he said, his voice laced with mocking humor, “I have something for you.”

He held it out. It was a small, perfectly carved wooden charm, smooth and polished, shaped like a miniature house key.

“What is this?” you asked, taking it. It was still warm from the confines of his bag.

“A token of my investment,” he explained, his eyes never leaving yours. “A reward for your honesty. And a promise. I made it in the studio this week. I thought you might appreciate something that represents access.”

The implication was clear: I made this for you while thinking about accessing you. It was beautiful, meticulous, and completely unnerving.

You closed your fingers around the tiny wooden key. “This is a very specific gift, Yunho.”

“You are a very specific subject,” he corrected, his voice dropping to a near-purr.

“You kept drawing me in, even when you knew I was watching. That’s what I noticed first, Y/N—the way you almost always wear that pale blue scarf on Wednesdays, the way you pause exactly three seconds before opening your microecon book, the way your coffee cup is always chipped near the handle.”

He stepped closer, closing the last few inches of distance between you. You could feel the warmth of his body, the intense focus of his entire being trained solely on you.

“I didn’t just observe you, Y/N,” he murmured, leaning down so his mouth was just inches from your ear. “I learned from you. Every meticulous, beautiful routine. And I want to learn the messy parts, too.”

His breath ghosted against your skin, and you felt a sudden, sharp intake of breath. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of all the weeks he had spent in the shadows.

“And if I let you?” you whispered, challenging him one final time, confirming your dangerous compliance.

His eyes darkened, and his hand lifted, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of your hand where you held the wooden key. The contact was brief, but it felt like a brand.

“If you let me,” he promised, his voice low and intensely serious, “you won’t have to rely on coincidences anymore. I’ll make sure you know exactly when I’m coming for you.”

He then pulled back, instantly returning to a distance that felt safe to the casual observer, yet agonizingly far to you now. The transition was seamless, a testament to his practiced control.

“Get some rest, Y/N,” he said, the quiet student back in place, but the underlying tone was a command. He knew he had unsettled you, and he wanted you to process it.

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark street without a backward glance. He had secured the conversation, the truth, and your explicit acknowledgement. The game was no longer about discovery; it was about surrender.

You stood there, the cool night air hitting your suddenly feverish skin, gripping the wooden key tightly. You didn’t rush inside. You stayed until the last trace of his footsteps faded.

He had asked about the window, and you knew, with absolute certainty, that tonight, your curtain would be drawn wide open. You had invited the predator in, not out of foolishness, but out of a fierce, dark desire to confront the danger he represented. You wanted to see what he would do now that he had been given access.

He’s invested, you thought, looking down at the small wooden key in your hand. But the dirty intentions are a two-way street.

The wooden key stayed tucked deep in your wallet, a cold, hard reminder of the boundary you had willingly dismantled. True to his word, Yunho’s presence was no longer about stalking; it was about integration.

He initiated conversations with the practiced ease of someone who had rehearsed the scenarios a thousand times in his head. In the weeks leading up to finals, your “coincidences” became scheduled study sessions.

“I know you leave the library at 7:00 PM on Tuesdays,” he’d say, appearing at your table at 6:55 PM, his expression earnest. “But I saw the syllabus. If you skip chapter 12, we can grab a coffee at the campus center before it closes. I need a third opinion on a design concept.”

He didn’t need your opinion; he needed your time. And you gave it to him.

During these talks, he was charming, attentive, and incredibly observant. He asked about your family, your goals, and your fears, processing every piece of information with startling thoroughness. He would reference things you’d casually mentioned days ago—a slight headache, a preference for black tea, a critique of a specific film—making you feel deeply seen and deeply scrutinized.

He never mentioned the observation, the window, or the street encounters. Those remained the core of your shared secret, the hidden language of your dark, escalating intimacy.

Sana, however, was not fooled by the sudden, polite appearances of the once-invisible Yunho.

“He’s definitely not the quiet boy you described,” she commented one afternoon, watching Yunho walk past your table at the cafeteria, offering you a brief, intense nod that seemed to communicate an entire paragraph.

“He just opened up,” you countered, trying to sound casual as you rearranged your salad.

“Opened up? Y/N, he’s orbiting you like a newly discovered moon. I barely saw him for two years, and now he’s always within a fifty-foot radius of you, talking about ‘design concepts’ and ‘third opinions.’ What kind of architecture student needs a microecon major’s opinion on design?”

You forced a laugh. “He’s eclectic, Sana.”

Sana leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “Eclectic, or calculating? You seemed so freaked out by him a few weeks ago, and now you’re suddenly best study buddies. What changed? Did you confront him?”

You kept your gaze steady, protecting your shared secret like a valuable, dangerous stone. “I realized he was just shy. And honestly, he’s a great listener. He remembers everything.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Sana hissed quietly. “He remembers everything. It’s a little intense. Be careful, Y/N. I feel like you’re playing a game, and I don’t trust him.”

You nodded, acknowledging her concern, but your mind was already elsewhere. She’s right. It is a game. And I like the way he plays.

The final exams were brutal, but the release was electric. You and Sana, along with a few other friends, headed downtown to The Foundry, a club known for its aggressive bass lines and crowded dance floor. You were attempting to navigate the packed space when you felt an insistent, unwelcome pressure on your lower back. A guy, far too old and far too handsy, kept bumping into you, trying to initiate a grinding dance. You tried moving away, but the crowd was too dense.

Feeling a spike of genuine panic and disgust, you pushed your way toward the back fire exit, needing air and escape. You burst out into the alley behind the club. The air was cold, smelling of rain and stale beer. You leaned against the brick wall, taking deep, shaky breaths, trying to get the clammy feeling off your skin.

Before you could gather yourself, the club door swung open again. It was the same man, his face flushed and his eyes gleaming with aggressive interest.

“Hey, where are you going? Don’t ditch the party,” he slurred, blocking the exit door with his body.

“I’m leaving. My friends are inside,” you said sharply, gripping your phone tighter.

“Come on. Don’t be like that. We were having fun,” he insisted, taking a step toward you, his massive frame suddenly making the alley feel claustrophobic.

Panic seized you. Your friends were inside, unable to hear you over the music. You fumbled with your phone, ready to call Sana, but the man was closing the distance too quickly. You had nowhere to go, pinned between the cold brick and his intimidating presence.

“Get away from me,” you warned, your voice trembling.

He smirked, clearly enjoying your distress. “Or what? Who’s gonna stop me back here?”

Just as his hand reached out to grasp your arm, a voice cut through the silence of the alley—a voice that was low, calm, and utterly devoid of fear.

“I am.”

You looked up. Standing just at the mouth of the alley, framed by the faint city light, was Jeong Yunho. He was wearing the same dark hoodie he wore on the street, and he looked unnervingly composed. He wasn’t rushing; he was simply there.

The man turned, irritated. “Who the hell are you? Get lost, kid.”

Yunho didn’t respond to the taunt. He walked toward the man with slow, measured steps, radiating a focused stillness that was more menacing than any loud threat.

“She asked you to get away from her,” Yunho stated, reaching the man. He wasn’t overtly aggressive, but the intense quality of his stare—the same focused intensity you saw when he was sketching a particularly complex design—was terrifying.

“Look, buddy, mind your own business,” the man growled, pushing Yunho’s shoulder dismissively.

That was all the contact Yunho needed.

In a blinding flash of movement that was over before your brain could register it, Yunho’s hand shot out, not in a punch, but in a precise grip. He used the momentum of the man’s push, pulling the man off balance and twisting his arm back and up toward his shoulder blades.

There was a guttural gasp of pain, and the man was suddenly bent over, his face slammed against the cold brick wall, held immobilized by a single, slender arm twisted behind his back.

Yunho’s voice, inches from the man’s ear, was deadly quiet. “Let her go. And if I ever see you near her again, I will break more than your arm.”

He held the submission for a few more agonizing seconds, then released the man with a final shove. The man stumbled away, rubbing his shoulder, his drunken aggression replaced by shocked pain and fear. He scrambled toward the street and vanished.

Silence returned to the alley, broken only by your own ragged breathing.

You stared at Yunho, whose chest was barely rising, his stillness immediately restored. He hadn’t broken a sweat. He looked like he had simply solved a complicated equation.

He turned to you, his dark eyes sweeping over you, checking for damage.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” His voice was gentle, the earlier cold command gone.

You managed to nod, your heart still pounding a frenetic rhythm against your ribs. “I… I’m fine. Thank you. How did you—I didn’t even know you were here.”

He walked toward you slowly. He stopped a few feet away, the light from the exit glinting in his eyes. He didn’t touch you, but his presence was overwhelming.

“I knew you would be out tonight,” he admitted calmly, giving up the pretense completely. “When I saw you leave, I waited. I’m an expert at waiting, remember?”

He lowered his voice, his eyes gleaming with the triumph of the predator and the satisfaction of the protector. “I didn’t just learn your routines, Y/N. I learned your vulnerabilities. And I will always be there when you need me to step out of the shadows.”

He had protected you, not as a boyfriend or a friend, but as an observer who felt entitled to step in and manage your threats. The dirty, nasty intention was now clear: control. And the protection, while terrifying, was undeniably effective.

You looked at the man who had stalked you, who had mastered your life, and who had just executed a perfect, professional submission hold to save you from danger.

“You know Judo,” you stated, your voice still shaky.

He offered that dark, unsettling smile. “Among other things. I told you I was invested. Now,” he said, taking a step toward the club exit. “Let’s get you back inside. You need to tell your friends you’re okay. And then, we need to talk about what you owe me.”

Yunho didn’t wait for your reply. He simply held the club door open, his posture signaling that your reprieve was over and the conversation was now mandatory. The contrast between the cold-blooded efficiency he had just displayed and his quiet, attentive demeanor was intoxicatingly confusing.

You followed him inside, your senses heightened. The bass and the flashing lights were overwhelming, but you felt anchored by Yunho’s presence. You found Sana and your friends near the bar, and a quick explanation—“Ran into a weird guy outside, Yunho helped”—was enough to satisfy them, thanks to Yunho’s immediate, calm confirmation of the story.

Sana shot Yunho with a look of intense, complicated gratitude and lingering suspicion. “Thanks, Yunho. Seriously. You have no idea.”

Yunho simply nodded, accepting the gratitude with cool reserve. “I’m glad I was there.”

After a quick, shared drink to settle your nerves, you leaned in to Sana. “I need some air. I’m going to leave now.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Sana insisted.

“No, I’m fine. Yunho is going to walk me to the cab stand. He lives this way, anyway,” you lied smoothly, meeting Yunho’s gaze across the table. His eyes held an amused, possessive triumph at your sudden reliance on him.

You grabbed your jacket. Yunho was already waiting by the door.

The late-night air felt crisp and clean compared to the club. You walked in silence for a few minutes, away from the clamor. The streets were quiet now, just the distant sound of traffic.

“You didn’t live this way the last time we talked about walking,” you finally pointed out, the accusation light, almost teasing.

Yunho slowed his pace, turning his body toward yours. “I don’t live anywhere that prevents me from being near you, Y/N,” he said simply. The admission of his devotion to your orbit was now effortless, unashamed. “I told you, I’m invested.”

“And you’re very skilled,” you acknowledged, touching the arm that had just subdued a man twice his size. “Judo?”

“Hapkido, mostly. A little bit of Judo. Useful for controlling movement without causing unnecessary harm,” he explained, a flicker of something cold and clinical in his eyes. “You need control when dealing with unruly subjects.”

You swallowed, absorbing the terrifying implication of the word subjects. You were his subject.

“You saved me tonight,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You saved me from a genuinely horrible situation. I owe you.”

He smiled, but this time, it was a slow, calculating smile that sent a shiver down your spine. “Owes are problematic. They imply a debt that needs to be settled quickly. I prefer... arrangement.”

He stopped walking altogether, turning to face you fully under the pale light of a streetlamp.

“I asked you once if you leave your window open,” he reminded you, his voice low and intimate. “You said, ‘Only when I’m expecting company.’ Tonight, I proved I am capable of defending your space, which is a significant part of the vulnerability you revealed to me.”

He reached out, and this time, his touch was concrete. He brushed his knuckles lightly along your jawline, a feather-light contact that felt like a claim.

“The payment for my intervention tonight is simple,” he continued, his eyes holding yours captive. “I want to be your expected company. I want a proper invitation that is not about microeconomics or fear in an alley.”

He leaned closer, eliminating the space between your faces. “I want you to send me a single text message tomorrow. It will be the location, the time, and the explicit understanding that we are meeting, not because of coincidence, but because you want me to be there.”

“And if I send the text?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

“Then the path closes,” he confirmed, his gaze heavy with intent. “I stop having to observe the tiny, beautiful details of your life from the shadows, and I start experiencing them with you. And I can show you exactly how nasty my intentions truly are, now that you’ve given me permission to approach.”

He stepped back, the warmth instantly receding. He gave you no time to reply, letting the weight of the proposal settle.

“I’ll walk you to the cab stand now,” he stated, his voice returning to a neutral, courteous tone, the conversation over. “Good night, Y/N.”

As you walked away, your mind reeled. You had set the trap, but Yunho hadn’t just sprung it; he had re-engineered it into a cage for both of you. He had transitioned seamlessly from stalker to protector, using violence to demonstrate the level of dedication—and control—he was willing to exert.

You knew you should walk away, run far from the man who had admitted to mastering your weaknesses. But the thought of that text message—the power in sending the single word that would officially dissolve the barrier—was an irresistible temptation. You had given him the key, and now he was demanding you open the door.

You reached the cab stand. Yunho stood by until you were safely inside the taxi, his figure framed by the streetlights, looking like the perfectly silent, respectable student.

The last thing you saw before the cab pulled away was his eyes—dark, intense, and waiting. Waiting for the text that would finalize the arrangement.

You arrived back at your apartment in a state of suspended reality. The silence inside felt enormous, amplifying the adrenaline that still raced through your veins. You didn’t even bother turning on the main lights; the pale glow from the streetlamps outside provided just enough visibility.

You walked straight to the window. The curtain was wide open, exactly as you had left it days ago—an invitation he had confirmed he’d noticed. You looked out into the night, half-expecting to see his shadow, but the street was empty.

You touched your jaw where his knuckles had grazed your skin. The touch had been possessive, not affectionate. It was a brand of ownership.

Sana’s caution, the fear in the alley, and the cold, calculated look in his eyes when he executed the takedown—all of it screamed danger. But the memory of his protective fervor, the speed with which he had appeared, and the honesty of his final demand outweighed the fear. He was exactly who you suspected: obsessive, dominating, and now, officially sanctioned by your own curiosity.

You took the wooden key charm out of your wallet and placed it on your bedside table. It was time to pay the price of admission.

You sank onto your bed, grabbed your phone, and opened the messaging app. You didn’t have his number memorized, but he had given you his contact information early in your “study sessions.” His name simply appeared as Yunho in your contacts.

You started typing, then deleted it. Coffee shop at 2? Too casual. My place tonight? Too forward.

He hadn’t asked for a date. He had asked for coordinates and explicit understanding.

You settled on a simple, unambiguous message. You chose a place known for its seclusion on campus grounds—the small, rarely used gazebo nestled deep in the botanical gardens—and a time when the campus would be mostly deserted.

To: Yunho

Botanical Gardens Gazebo. Monday, 7:30 PM. I want to see you.

You stared at the message for a full minute, your thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button. By sending this, you were crossing the line from being an observed subject to an active participant in his dark fantasy. You were inviting the wolf into the house.

You pressed send.

The phone immediately vibrated in your hand. He replied instantly. He was waiting.

From: Yunho

Perfect. I’ll be waiting for you to walk into my sightline.

The next day passed in a blur of nervous anticipation. You ignored Sana’s texts and spent the day trying to focus on assignments, but every thought circled back to the gazebo.

At 7:00 PM on Monday, you walked the familiar route toward the botanical gardens. The main campus was quiet, the usual throngs of students replaced by the sound of crickets and the rustle of leaves.

The path to the gazebo was winding and obscured by thick hedges. As you rounded the last corner, the small structure came into view. It was empty, bathed in the faint, yellowish glow of a distant ornamental lamppost.

You stopped at the entrance of the gazebo, your heart thumping against your ribs.

“Yunho?” you called out softly.

The answer didn’t come from the gazebo. It came from behind you.

“You’re thirty seconds late,” his voice drawled, quiet and amused.

You spun around. He was leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree fifty feet back along the path, perfectly concealed in the shadow, just as he had been that night by your apartment. He hadn’t been waiting in the gazebo; he had been watching you walk to the gazebo.

He walked toward you now, emerging from the dark, looking utterly dominant in a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans. There was no trace of the shy student left.

“I knew you’d come,” he said, stopping directly in front of you. The air around him felt charged with intensity.

“I kept my end of the arrangement,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Now, show me why you were so invested in my routine.”

He didn’t speak. He lifted his hand and reached past your shoulder, his fingers brushing the fabric of your jacket. You instinctively held your breath, expecting a kiss, a touch, or a forceful claim. Instead, he smoothly reached into the pocket of your jacket. He withdrew the small, wooden key charm.

“You brought the key,” he noted, his voice husky. “That’s a good sign. It means you understand what this is about.”

He held the key up, his eyes fixed on yours. “It’s not just about me watching you, Y/N. It’s about you letting me. It’s about the fact that you changed your routine, you noticed me noticing you, and instead of running, you gave me a seat at your table.”

He tossed the key lightly into the air and caught it. “My dirty intention is this: I want all the control that comes with knowing you the way I do. I want to be the one who decides when your schedule changes. I want to be the one who eliminates any threat that tries to interrupt your focus.”

He took a step closer, crowding your space. “I want to be your obsession, the way you have been mine.”

He reached out and gently pushed a strand of hair back from your face, his touch agonizingly slow. “I know you’re curious, or you wouldn’t have come. You want to know how far I’ll go.”

He leaned in, his lips hovering an inch from yours, and the words he spoke were a direct, filthy challenge.

“Open your eyes wide, Y/N. Look at me. I want to take you right here, in the place where nobody would ever think to look for the quiet architecture student and the brilliant economics major. I want you to feel what it’s like to be utterly exposed to the man who knows your life better than you do.”

You felt the darkness of his intent wash over you, a tidal wave of control and desire. He had waited for this moment, not for a moment of shared romance, but for a moment of complete, unvarnished surrender to his obsession.

You didn’t back down. You didn’t flinch. You met his hungry gaze and gave him the final, explicit understanding he needed.

“Show me, Yunho,” you whispered, the command dissolving the last barrier between you. “Show me everything.”

Yunho’s triumphant smile widened, sharp and undeniable. He didn’t waste another moment in the garden. He knew the terms had shifted; the public flirtation was over.

“The gazebo is amateur hour,” he said, his voice husky, filled with a sudden, rough impatience. “You deserve privacy for this. Complete focus. I didn’t spend weeks mastering your life just to fumble it under an ornamental lamp.”

He took your hand, pulling you out of the gazebo and back down the winding path. His grip was firm, radiating the coiled energy of a man in absolute control.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice catching slightly as you tried to keep pace.

“My car,” he stated simply. “It’s parked off-campus, where it can observe your apartment building without attracting notice.”

He led you through the dark, quiet walkways, his familiarity with the hidden campus perimeter uncanny. You didn’t doubt for a second that he knew every shadow, every blind spot, and every exit route.

A few minutes later, you were off the main university property, walking down a narrow side street lined with service vehicles. He stopped by a matte black sedan—unmarked, clean, and blending perfectly into the nighttime urban landscape. It wasn’t a flashy car; it was a ghost.

He opened the passenger door, his gaze demanding immediate entry. You slid inside. The interior was pristine, organized, and smelled faintly of leather and something clean—like ozone after a storm.

Yunho slipped into the driver’s seat. He didn’t start the engine. He simply turned his head to look at you, his eyes reflecting the dashboard lights, burning with suppressed intensity.

“Your place,” he stated. “I’ve been mapping it for weeks. Now I get to enter it with permission.”

He started the car, and the drive was silent, punctuated only by the low purr of the engine. He drove with focused precision, navigating the familiar route to your complex. Every turn, every light, was a path he had traveled dozens of times in your wake.

He pulled the car into a space across the street from your building, right where the light was dimmest—the same tactical positioning he always favored. He killed the engine, and the sudden silence was profound.

“We’re here,” you whispered.

“I know the code to the main door, and I know your unit number,” he informed you, his voice low and flat. “I know you prefer the deadbolt locked, but you often forget the chain. I know exactly how many steps it takes to get from your front door to your bedroom.”

The detailed knowledge, delivered in the quiet confines of the car, was thrillingly invasive.

He turned off the overhead interior light, plunging the cabin into deeper shadow. He reached across the console, his hand finding the back of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair, and he gently, firmly, pulled your head toward his.

“This is the messy part, Y/N,” he murmured against your mouth. “This isn’t about observation anymore. This is about control.”

His kiss was everything you expected: demanding, deep, and utterly possessive. It wasn’t soft; it was the kiss of a man claiming territory he had painstakingly surveyed. He tasted like cold night air and the sharp focus of his obsession.

He broke the kiss and opened your door. “Walk with me,” he commanded, his eyes blazing.

You obeyed.

The short walk across the street and into the building felt like a ceremonial procession. Yunho walked with the easy confidence of someone entirely familiar with the space. He quickly entered the door code and held the main entrance open for you.

You led him up the stairs, your hands shaking slightly as you unlocked your apartment door. You stepped aside, ushering the ghost from your routine into the heart of your privacy.

He entered your home without hesitation. His eyes swept across the living room—the couch you always sat on, the desk where you studied—not with curiosity, but with the confirming satisfaction of matching a map to the territory.

“The bedroom,” he stated.

You led him to the door. As you reached for the knob, his hand landed heavily on your lower back, a silent, powerful assertion of his lead. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

In the dim light filtering from the street, the room was exactly as you had left it—and exactly as he had undoubtedly imagined it. Your desk, the open curtain, the unmade bed.

He closed the door behind him, the finality of the latch clicking into place shattering the tense quiet. He didn’t rush. He pinned you against the door, his large frame entirely blocking the light. His hands framed your head on the wood, the quiet reverence he had once maintained shattered by the hungry look in his eyes.

“I knew the exact moment you were tired, the exact moment you were frustrated, the exact moment you were alone,” he whispered, his voice vibrating with the intensity of his long-held anticipation. “Now I get to know every single moment you spend in this room.”

He lowered his head, and the careful control he had maintained for weeks finally dissolved into the dirty, consuming passion you had sought to unearth. There were no more words of politeness, no more excuses of coincidence. Just the relentless, demanding force of the man who had finally seized his obsession.

He was here because you invited him, and he was taking control as his price.

The moment his control was absolute, you felt a strange, thrilling surge of power. You hadn’t surrendered out of weakness; you had invited him to a confrontation, and you intended to win the psychological war. As his hands framed your head against the cool wood of the door, his eyes dark with unleashed desire, you let a slow, utterly amused smile spread across your face.

“You’re finally here,” you murmured, your voice low and laced with genuine, reckless amusement.

You reached up, your fingers tangling into the soft, dark hair at his nape, reversing the pressure just slightly. His breath hitched, momentarily stunned by your immediate pivot from receptive to assertive. He was accustomed to total dominance, but you were reminding him that you were an active participant—the prize that had willingly walked into his trap.

“Did you map out this moment, too, Yunho?” you challenged, your voice breathless. “Did you sketch out the exact expression you wanted to see on my face when you finally stopped pretending?”

His initial shock faded, replaced by an even darker, more appreciative fire in his eyes. He recognized the challenge, and it only intensified his focus.

“Every line,” he confirmed, his voice rough. “But your defiance is a better detail than I could have drawn.”

You laughed—a short, sharp burst of sound that was full of mockery and satisfaction. It was the sound of someone whose biggest suspicion had just been confirmed and who was delighted by the chaos.

You tilted your head back, maintaining eye contact, and delivered the observation that dissolved the last shred of his ‘quiet boy’ facade.

“Tell me, Yunho,” you drawled, dragging his full name out slowly. “How can someone like you be so obsessed with me? A tall, handsome, pretty boy who is being a dirty, big, nasty stalker of mine, huh?”

The accusation, delivered with such intoxicating amusement, hit him like a physical blow. The words—dirty, big, nasty stalker—were the explicit acknowledgment of his secret life, and hearing them from your mouth, laced with desire instead of terror, was clearly a profound trigger.

He didn’t answer with words. He answered with action.

His hands moved from the door to your hips, gripping you with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions. He used his strength to lift you slightly, pressing your body completely against his, eliminating the last bit of physical space.

“You think this is just about observation?” he demanded, his voice husky. “It’s about collecting. You are the most beautiful, intricate pattern I have ever encountered, and I wanted to own every single piece of information.”

He captured your mouth again, the kiss now frantic, fueled by the intoxicating mix of your surrender and your challenge.

He drove you back across the room, the distance between the door and the bed melting away in a consuming blur. He didn’t lift you onto the bed; he brought you down onto the mattress, his body a heavy, solid weight immediately claiming the space above you.

“You laughed at me,” he murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to look at the amusement still flickering in your eyes. “You find me funny, Y/N?”

“I find you fascinating,” you corrected, your fingers tracing the sharp, cold lines of his jaw. “And I find this control you keep talking about very… interesting, educational.”

He let out a low, predatory sound—a mixture of a growl and a gasp—that demonstrated the precise effect your dominance was having on him. It was clear that this unexpected assertiveness was elevating his obsession.

“Then let me educate you on the true meaning of control,” he countered, his eyes dark with the promise of fulfilling every nasty intention he had held in the shadows. “You gave me access. You opened the door. Now, you’re mine to study, right here, in the one space I was forbidden to enter.”

He leaned down, burying his face against your neck, his lips finding a sensitive spot. “I told you I was invested. And the greatest investment deserves the longest, most careful study.”

He was staking his claim, finally transitioning from the quiet observer outside your window to the dark, possessive force inside your most private space, confirming the messy, beautiful reality of the relationship you had both secretly craved.

The game of shadows and secrets was officially over, replaced by the raw, demanding reality of their shared space. Yunho was no longer relying on carefully chosen words; his language was as direct and intimate as his actions.

He shifted his weight, pulling back just enough to look down at you, his eyes intensely focused, yet softened by the consuming heat of the moment.

“I’ve been trying to imagine what this room looked like at night,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rasp. He reached out and ran the back of his hand along the curve of your hip, a simple gesture that felt like a thorough exploration.

“But honestly, the reality is much better. Knowing I’m finally in here, where I know you spend all your private time…”

You felt a deep flush rise to your skin, the intimacy of his knowledge amplifying the thrill.

“And what else did you imagine about me when I was in this room, Yunho?” you pressed, enjoying the power of making him articulate the details of his long-held obsession.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “The worst kind of things,” he admitted, his breath warm and uneven. “I kept thinking about how you look when you’re completely relaxed. I knew you always showered after your evening library sessions. I used to imagine you walking from the bathroom, damp and warm.”

He nipped gently at your earlobe, sending a jolt down your body. “I wanted to be here to see it. And now I am. I want to know exactly how you feel when the brilliant, focused economics major finally lets everything go.”

You arched into his touch, the honesty of his desire compelling. “And what if I told you I imagined you, too?”

“Did you?” he asked, a triumphant sound in his voice. He reached down and smoothed the fabric of your jeans over your thigh, a possessive, claiming action.

“Did you imagine the quiet boy from the library being this nasty? Did you think about me waiting for you, thinking about getting my hands on you like this every single time I saw you walking down the street?”

“Every time,” you confessed, letting out a shaky breath. “It got harder to study knowing the gorgeous, dark-eyed boy who saw all my secrets was just sitting a few tables away, wanting to take me apart.”

He laughed, a rich, satisfied sound. “Good. Because I’m done being quiet. And I’m going to make sure that the next time you see me at the library, all you can think about is me being on top of you, right here.”

He moved his hands deliberately, undoing the button of your jeans with slow, painstaking concentration, watching your face as he did it.

“You’re going to be wrecked tomorrow morning,” he promised, his voice low and firm. “And every time you walk past my corner in the library, you're going to remember exactly how I made you feel—right down to the last, messy little detail.”

The shift was swift and decisive. Yunho moved with the practiced, confident efficiency of someone who had planned this exact sequence for weeks. His movements were precise, lacking any fumbling uncertainty—the hallmark of the meticulous observer.

He slid his hands down, one supporting the curve of your thigh, the other gliding to the center of your heat. His long, steady fingers found the delicate, swollen center of your desire, applying an immediate, focused pressure. He began to stroke, slow and deliberate, treating the action with the gravity of a complex ritual.

Your breath hitched, the sudden, sharp sensation slicing through the heady tension.

His eyes never left yours, his gaze heavy with triumph as he felt the immediate, physical proof of your desire. He watched the slight twitch in your jaw and the widening of your eyes, documenting every reaction.

He started to gather the moisture that was quickly surfacing, circling the slickness with a demanding rhythm.

“You love it when I touch you like this, don’t you?” he breathed, the question not a query but a statement of absolute knowledge, confirming his ability to pinpoint your core vulnerability.

“I…” You struggled to form a coherent thought, the sensation too intense to allow for a witty retort. You could only manage a hoarse whisper, driven by pure instinct. “I want your tongue inside me.”

The command, raw and primal, struck him exactly right. The confident smirk returned, darkening with a potent satisfaction. He had driven you past the point of intellectual sparring and into the realm of base need.

“A simple request,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “And I always fulfill your requests, now that they are mine to grant.”

He lowered his body, kneeling between your legs on the mattress. The position put you completely in command of his head, your fingers already reaching instinctively for his dark hair. He didn’t immediately plunge in. He held the focused rhythm on your center, gathering the last slick trails of moisture onto his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, tasting the proof of your arousal, his eyes locked on yours.

Then, with a final, deliberate movement that seemed to commit every ounce of his focused energy, he lowered his head.

The flat, warm expanse of his tongue grazed the delicate, eager skin, a shock of heat and texture that shattered the remaining control you possessed. He tasted you thoroughly, mapping the terrain he had only observed from a distance. You convulsed, your back arching off the mattress. Your hands instinctively buried themselves in his hair, gripping the thick strands as a desperate anchor against the storm.

“Fuck, Yunho,” you choked out, the admission a desperate plea. “I need you so bad.”

The sound of your desperate plea and the feel of your hands tight in his hair were the ultimate affirmation of his control. Yunho devoured the need in your voice, letting the intensity of the moment wash over him.

He deepened the contact, the meticulous study shifting into a consuming worship. He used his tongue and lips with an expert precision that suggested not only talent but also thorough, long-term fantasy planning. Every shift in pressure, every exploration of your inner heat, felt calibrated to dismantle the last vestiges of your composure.

You were no longer the calculated challenger; you were the subject fully immersed in the experience he had meticulously designed. You could only make choked sounds of pleasure, your fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair, pulling slightly to convey the urgency of your mounting climax.

He paused his rhythmic focus, his breath hot against your sensitized skin. He lifted his head just slightly, forcing you to acknowledge the power he held.

“You’re unraveling,” he noted, his voice thick with satisfied desire. “The routine is broken. That’s what I wanted to see.”

He didn’t wait for a response, plunging back down with renewed intensity. He applied a sustained, demanding pressure to the most sensitive point, pushing you further and faster toward the edge. You cried out, the sound swallowed by the pillow beneath your head, your hips bucking up against his face in an instinctual, desperate surrender. The feeling was a blinding rush, a total, beautiful collapse of all your careful boundaries.

As the aftershocks faded, you lay panting, utterly boneless, the reality of the quiet boy who had just brought you to the brink overwhelming your senses. Yunho lifted himself, his expression dark and possessive, a smear of your heat shining on his lower lip. He leaned in, his gaze burning with triumph.

“You look beautiful when your control breaks. You look beautiful when you’re like this,” he murmured, his voice thick with the evidence of his dirty intention fulfilled.

He pushed himself up, climbing over you onto the bed, his body solid and heavy. He was breathing hard, the exertion showing in the sharp angles of his collarbones and the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“That,” he stated, pinning your wrists gently to the pillow above your head, “was for the quiet boy who had to wait. Now, let’s see what the dirty, nasty stalker does.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. The sight of your flushed, desperate face was all the permission he required. With swift, economical movements—the same efficiency he used for a takedown or a complex drawing—Yunho stripped away his remaining clothes. The sight of his body, tall and lean and utterly dominant, was staggering.

He was back over you in an instant, positioning his weight with familiar, controlled precision. The final piece of his arsenal was revealed: long, thick, and perfectly rigid. He positioned himself at your core, his tip resting right in the messy, slick center of your arousal—the prize he had just collected.

He paused there, savoring the final, electric moment of anticipation. He looked directly into your eyes, his gaze heavy and possessive, his voice a low, demanding tease.

“Can you take me, my love?” he challenged, the pet name slipping out with natural, alarming ease, heavy with ownership. He pressed his weight slightly, testing your readiness. “Looks like you need to get prepped again—”

The suggestion of delay was unbearable, a final, cruel flourish of his control. You bucked your hips up against his, desperate to close the final, agonizing distance.

“No! No, please. I need you now!” The plea was ragged, raw, stripped of all artifice, giving him the ultimate confirmation of his power over you.

A powerful, conquering grin flashed across his face. He had won.

With a final, deep surge, Yunho drove himself into you, a sudden, powerful invasion that completely filled the space he had spent weeks observing and coveting. You cried out, a mixture of shock and sheer, overwhelming relief. He was solid, hot, and utterly consuming, the perfect counterpoint to the hollow anticipation of the last few weeks.

He paused, resting on his elbows, buried deep inside you. He didn’t move immediately, instead letting the heavy, beautiful weight of the moment settle, his dark eyes fixed entirely on yours.

“There,” he breathed, his voice thick with triumph, staring into your soul. “Now you know exactly what I was waiting for.”

The sheer physical sensation of him finally inside you was staggering, replacing the months of intense, calculated observation with a primal, undeniable connection. He was still, savoring the feeling of being completely interlocked, but you seized the moment, reclaiming the psychological edge you briefly lost.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, anchoring him to you, and looked up at him through heavy eyelids, a slow, deep smile spreading across your face—a smile of profound, satisfied command.

“Mmm, good boy,” you purred, the term ‘boy’ deliberately diminishing the fierce, controlled man above you, a delicious final piece of mockery. You raked your fingernails lightly down the tense, sweating muscle of his back.

“You’re a very patient boy for me. I—I am going to give—hah… a reward for you.”

The heavy sound of your pleasure and the unexpected praise made his eyes—already dark with passion—widen with an intense mixture of shock and arousal. He shifted slightly, the deep friction bringing a guttural groan from his chest.

“Yeah?” he managed, his voice strained with anticipation, his eyes searching yours for the nature of the prize. “What is it?”

You chuckled, a low, breathy sound that vibrated deep in your chest. You lifted your hips slightly, initiating the first, slow, claiming grind.

“Creampie,” you whispered, letting the word hang in the air, thick and filthy. “Milk me dry, Yunho. That’s my reward for being a good boy.”

The effect was instantaneous and electrifying. His breath hitched completely. His eyes widened further, snapping open in genuine, unfiltered excitement—a raw, exposed emotion that was more intimate than any of his confessions. The methodical predator was suddenly replaced by a deeply aroused man whose dark, nasty desires were being not just accepted but actively escalated.

He remained completely still for a moment, absorbing the magnitude of the proposition.

“A—are you on pills?” he asked, the question laced with a sudden, sharp, almost frantic concern for your safety, the methodical planner briefly overriding the demanding lover.

The flicker of care, the immediate return to planning, was endearing and utterly compelling.

“Of course, I am,” you confirmed, giving a firm squeeze with your inner thighs. “I didn’t invite my stalker into my house without prepping the house first, Yunho.”

The relief that washed over his features was palpable, quickly morphing back into profound, conquering excitement. He ducked his head, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy and uneven.

“Fuck. O—okay,” he agreed, the hesitation gone, replaced by a demanding, fervent energy.

The permission given, he finally unleashed the intensity he had been holding back. He pulled your legs higher onto his shoulders, tilting your pelvis up into a position of absolute submission and optimal access. The deep, heavy connection intensified immediately.

He began to move, slow at first, then building a steady, powerful rhythm. His strokes were deep, deliberate, and relentless, penetrating you with the same thoroughness he used to analyze your schedule. He moved like a man making up for lost time, his hands gripping your hips with fierce, demanding possession, dictating every angle, every thrust.

He leaned down, his mouth finding your neck, his teeth gently scraping your skin, a gesture of absolute claiming.

“You really are the most beautiful, most unpredictable person,” he confessed, the praise wrapped in the language of his obsession. “You just handed me the final, dirtiest secret. And I’m going to make sure this reward is one you’ll never forget.”

The promise fueled his movements. He drove into you with increasing speed and depth, chasing the climax he had earned with weeks of patience. You could only grip his shoulders, lost in the overwhelming surge of pleasure, fully immersed in the messy, intoxicating reality of being utterly possessed by the boy who had once only watched you from the shadows.

The initial surge of climax barely registered before Yunho was pulling back slightly, shifting his hips, and driving back into you with a consuming, demanding intensity. The energy in the room had transitioned from the thrill of transgression into a sustained, heavy rhythm of pure physical claim.

He was relentless, his movements deep and perfectly suited to the contours of your body, as if he had physically mapped this friction during his weeks of observation. The bed beneath you began to creak slightly, protesting the violent, passionate urgency of his possession.

Your breathing was ragged, mingling with his deep, strained groans. Sweat beaded on his temples and the taut lines of his shoulders, wetting the skin beneath his dark hair. You were both slick, glistening in the faint light filtering from the street—a beautiful, messy testament to the breakdown of their previous barriers.

He pulled back his head, staring down at you, his eyes blazing with an intoxicating mix of exertion and ownership.

“I told you I was invested,” he reminded you, his voice low and vibrating with effort. “And I don’t believe in half-measures. I waited so long for this access, Y/N. I’m going to make sure every nerve ending knows it was worth the patience.”

He drove into you again, the impact forceful and consuming. You cried out, clutching his back, your fingers digging into the muscle. He leaned down, whispering promises that cemented his dirty intentions, his voice rough with absolute desire.

“I’m gonna milk you dry, Y/N,” he promised, the words a raw, possessive threat. He increased the speed, pushing you past exhaustion into pure, frantic sensation. “I’ll make sure you won’t walk properly tomorrow. It will be better if I have you in my arms all day. My dick inside you all day.”

The fantasy was the ultimate act of control: reducing your physical autonomy to ensure your absolute dependence on him. The possessiveness was overwhelming, but in the heat of the moment, it was exactly what your reckless curiosity had craved.

The thought of being unable to walk, of being forced into his care, sent another wave of intense pleasure through you. You answered his threat with a desperate, guttural sound of affirmation, urging him faster, deeper.

He groaned, finally relinquishing the last vestiges of his control, driven entirely by the reward you promised. His pace became a feverish sprint, the sounds of your bodies colliding filling the small room, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air.

He drove in one last, profound thrust, his body tightening, and with a final, ragged shout—a sound of triumph and release—he flooded you completely, fulfilling the reward you had promised your good boy, pouring the heavy, hot evidence of his absolute claim deep inside you.

He collapsed onto your chest, heavy and breathing hard, his body drenched, his presence a warm, immovable weight. The creampie was complete.

The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the sound of your shared, labored breathing. He lifted his head one last time, his dark eyes looking down at your face, now softened by exhaustion and pleasure.

“My love,” he whispered, the possessive term ringing with finality. “This is just the first unscheduled study session.”

Yunho remained heavy on your chest, his presence a comforting, possessive anchor in the post-climax exhaustion. The air in the room was thick and humid, saturated with the evidence of their chaotic, intense coupling.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, the reality of the last few hours finally sinking in. The library ghost was a ferocious, demanding presence in your bed.

You nudged his shoulder gently. “Fuck study session,” you murmured, the exhaustion lending a rough edge to your voice. “You’re coming here for me, nothing else.”

He lifted his head, his dark eyes still hazy with lingering pleasure, but snapping back to awareness quickly. He didn’t deny the hunger but he did appreciate your blunt clarity.

“Mm,” he hummed, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated against your collarbone. “Straightforward, I see. You still refuse to give me any soft edges, even when you’re completely destroyed.”

He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, his gaze just as intense and consuming as it was when he was watching you from across the library. He reached up, his thumb tenderly wiping a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

“You’re right, of course,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost intimate. “The economics and the architecture are just camouflage. I was coming here for you. The study sessions were just the required pre-requisite for this final assignment.”

He lowered his head, pressing a lingering, possessive kiss to your lips. “And now that I have the key, and you’ve given me the code, I think we can dispense with the long walks home and the careful placement of shadows. Don’t you agree, Y/N?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He settled down, shifting his heavy, tired body until he was spooning you tightly, one arm thrown possessively across your stomach, his breath warm and slow against the back of your neck. He pulled the sheets higher, cocooning you both in the damp warmth.

“You know, you could have just introduced yourself in the cafeteria,” you whispered, a final, lazy challenge escaping your lips.

He chuckled—a low, satisfied sound that rumpled your hair. “And risk being just another batchmate? Where’s the fun in that? I needed to know your patterns first. I needed to know exactly how I could dismantle your control.”

He paused, pressing a light kiss to the sensitive skin behind your ear. “Besides, if I’d just said hello, I wouldn’t have gotten to hear you call me a ‘dirty, nasty stalker’ while I was inside you. That was the perfect reward.”

Glancing back to the screen of his computer, he continues typing, correctly assuming you will fall into your regular pattern and plop yourself on his desk any moment now.

It takes you three seconds to do exactly that as he speaks, “No, I didn’t. It’s almost as if I’m working right now,”

One of his favourite things to do is tease you, to have your nose scrunch in annoyance when he plays dumb on purpose, or when he pretends he doesn’t want you around. The secret he keeps locked up tight is that he wants you near him all the time, his hands itch with it. He notices you stick your tongue out at him from the corner of his eye, and he has to suppress the twitch of his lips. You’re back to your old self for only a moment before you seem to remember what it is you wanted to ask him.

“I have a date,”

It’s not a question, though it doesn’t really matter. The corner of Zayne’s brain that, eons ago, would have demanded he hammer his fists on his chest or pee on the desk to assert dominance takes over for a millisecond as he files through a dozen different scenarios which all seem wildly inappropriate for the news he’s just received. As usual, he manages to tame his base urges when it comes to you, and he nods, calm and cool as a cucumber.

Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve dated. Zayne has known you since he was eight, and you were six. It’s not like he hasn’t witnessed this before; for a long time the concept of you with other boys never bothered him. At least not until the two of you hit puberty and he started taking note of all the ways in which you were different; softer, sweeter, prettier. Since then, it’s been a part of your friendship he likes to ignore.

Except when you force him to confront it, that is.

“Very good,” He speaks around a sudden tightness in his throat, feigning sarcasm if only to distract by the sudden grip of panic on his chest, “I’m thrilled you decided to come to my place of work to inform me,”

“Zayne,” The way you whine his name has his thighs tensing under the desk, and he really wishes you wouldn’t do that. He mentally files that away for later too.

He sighs softly, taking his hands away from the keyboard and turning his body just enough so that you know you have his complete attention. As if you don’t have it all the time anyway.

“What is it?”

“I have a date,”

His hand clenches, “I heard,”

Inhaling deeply, you let out a breath like you’re about to confess something. The soft, pink flush on your cheeks deepens slightly and you start doing that thing again where you look anywhere but at him, “I wanted to ask if you would help me with something,”

“Anything,” He says, because it’s true. He almost wants to wince at how desperate to please you he is, but as usual, he stays neutral.

“I…ahh,” You bite your lip, and another year is shaved off of Zayne’s life, “I wanted to ask if you would teach me…hosjskkss,”

He frowns as you trail off, speaking the rest into your chest as you tilt your head down. Your cheeks are glowing pink now.

“What was that?”

“Teachmehowtokiss,” You respond, lifting your head slightly but still refusing to look at him, not that it matters. Zayne is convinced his physical form no longer exists and he’s now a pile of ash and glasses on the desk chair.

He swallows hard, needing the extra moisture in his mouth, speaking in the monotone of someone who’s just had a major brain injury, “You want me to teach you how to kiss,”

It takes a couple seconds, but you nod before squeaking and covering your face with your hands, speaking muffled through the sleeves of your hoodie, “I’ve never…ugh! This is so embarrassing. Maybe I should ask Caleb- “

“I’ll do it,” Zayne speaks so fast he almost leaps forward over the desk to stop the rest of that sentence from leaving your lips. He is selfish, and clearly has no regard for his own mental state, but like hell is he gonna let Caleb put his grubby paws on you.

You meet his gaze with wide, impossibly pretty eyes, and something throbs deep in Zayne’s gut. He thinks he might do just about anything to keep you looking at him like that.

“You mean it? You don’t think it’ll be…” You shrug, “weird?”

Weird is the last word Zayne would use to describe how kissing you would be, but he can’t think of any others right now, so he just shakes his head.

“It’ll be fine,” His voice is scratchy, and he clears it twice, just to have the words coming out sounding the same, “I get off work at seven. You can come over, or we could…”

He’s unsure where exactly you want to do this, but the prospect of kissing you in his office and then driving home with his cock hard as steel sounds unappealing.

“I’ll come over,” You say, voice a little dazed and your cheeks still pink, “see you later, Zayne,”

There’s a good few seconds between when you knock on Zayne’s door to when he opens it that you’re almost positive you’ve made a mistake.

Because really, what were you thinking? Second only to Caleb, Zayne is your oldest friend, and now you’re probably going to implode the friendship by locking lips with him. Of course, there’s no guarantee that you’ll have to actually kiss him to learn how to kiss, but it’s implied. And the implication is enough to have your stomach in knots.

Maybe Caleb would have been the better choice; a little more laid back, less likely to make a big deal out of the whole thing. Not that Zayne would hold it over you, or anything. The reason you’d asked him, stupidly, was because he’s a doctor. He’s good at removing emotions from certain situations. As if that matters at all…you swear it made sense in your head at the time, but now as Zayne swings open the door wearing a grey sweater and black sweatpants, you wonder if running is an option.

“Hey,” He says, his expression giving nothing away about whether or not he feels as awkward as you do. Sweat gathers at the base of your spine as you step inside, unconsciously inhaling that expensive cologne he wears; woodsy and addictive. He smells like a hot, rich man - which he is. Rich, anyway.

You’ve never really thought of Zayne as hot, more…devastatingly handsome. The kind of handsome that makes you think of princes in fairy tales, or the hot guys you see in k-dramas or something.

He closes the door and stands in the entryway, watching you from behind his glasses with a slight tilt to his head, “You okay?”

“Great. Never better,” You sound like an idiot, and you sweat again when Zayne’s lips tip up into a soft smile, his eyes getting that far away, dreamy look that makes you feel like a teenager around her crush.

Which obviously you’re not…you don’t have a crush, and you’re twenty-five.

Twenty-five and yet you still don’t know how to kiss.

Zayne takes your jacket, and like usual, you sit on the sofa, pulling your legs under you as you watch him move around the kitchen. He opens a cabinet, pulls out two glasses and brings them over, along with your usual bottle of wine. It’s tradition, routine, almost, and yet it makes you feel warm. Your stomach dips as he strolls over, so…big.

How had you never noticed how large he was? Sure, you noticed but you’ve never noticed. His build is large and yet he doesn’t appear bulky beneath his sweater, his collarbones jut just above the neckline and for an insane moment, your fingers tingle with the urge to touch them.

You stuff your hands beneath your thigh and keep them sandwiched there, unsure what to do with them for the time being.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Zayne asks, his voice soft as if always is, and for a second you forget all about the kissing lesson and just enjoy the company of your friend.

“Um, sure,”

He shifts a little, lips downturned before his eyes dart away, “Unless you wanted to get straight to the- “

“The movie is good for now,” You smile probably a little too widely at him, and you wonder if you look insane.

He levels you with a look, as if he sees through you, and it makes you want to squirm under his gaze, “We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, ___,”

He looks away before you do, moving to pour you a glass of red wine and you take it eagerly, as if it’s a lifeline. Surely after a glass you’ll feel a little less…like this. Jittery, achy, sweaty - as if there’s a thousand little feathers brushing your skin every time he glances your way.

This has never happened before, this awkward energy. With Zayne you’ve always felt safe, relaxed, and you never had to worry about whether or not your hair looks good, or if you have spinach in your teeth. He has always been a comfort blanket for you, but now with the thoughts of kissing on your mind, you can’t seem to relax. Your brain files through all the scenarios it can generate; will he kiss you soft? Slow? Will he put his hands on your face, or your waist, or in your hair? What does he normally do when he kisses women?

“When is the date?” Zayne asks, not looking at you and instead focusing on the tv, trying to find something mindless for the two of you to watch before you begin. His voice sounds scratchy, as if he’s coming down with something, but you get distracted once the movie starts and he sits back against the sofa, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression.

“Tomorrow night,” You reply. It’s a co-worker who asked you, a nice, good-looking guy who works in the office above yours. He offered to take you for food and it’s been so long since you dated, Simone convinced you to say yes, “We’re just getting food,”

Zayne nods, though he doesn’t look away, “So you’re already planning to kiss him? He must be quite the catch,” That odd look is still there in the depths of his eyes - moss green with a hint of amber.

“Wh- uh, yeah. Maybe, I don’t know,” You shrug, looking down into your wine, “I just think that it’s kinda embarrassing that I haven’t kissed anyone yet,”

“Nothing about you is embarrassing,” He replies so fast it catches you off guard, and when you glance up at him, the tips of his ears have gone pink. There’s a tension in his shoulders as he looks at you, almost easy to miss if you didn’t know him so well.

The two of you sink into a comfortable silence after that, both watching the movie and laughing when the girl on the plane starts insulting the air steward. After a while you’ve relaxed somewhat, only one glass into the wine, you’re back to your factory settings, awkwardness gone as you slouch into the sofa, your shoulder pressed against Zayne’s.

It’s when the character on the screen kisses the love interest before the credits roll that you remember why you came. You lift your head from where it had fallen against the sofa and you turn to find Zayne already looking at you, that strange look on his face again. Your lips roll inward as you look at him, your eyes flitting unwillingly from his mouth and back again twice before you look away, embarrassed.

Zayne’s hand reaches out to grasp yours, and his voice is rumbly and warm when he speaks, “Do you want to go?”

“No,” You swing your head around to face him, almost too fast, “I…ah, I’m just nervous,”

He keeps watching you for a moment longer before he shifts, turning so he’s facing you fully on the sofa, “It’s only me,”

“Yeah, but I’ve never kissed you,”

“You said you’ve never kissed anyone,” He tilts his head again, “Why don’t you take the lead? I’ll stay here like this,”

He remains still, not rigid, but relaxed. More relaxed than you feel as you mimic his posture, turning so you’re fully facing him. He’s backlit by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the golden summer sunset, and you feel an unfamiliar dip in your stomach again.

He’s watching you, cheeks a little rosy from the wine, and his lips are stained to match. You linger on them for a moment, licking the red wine taste off your own and wondering briefly if he will taste like you. You must be taking too long, because he shifts again, and a pillow finds its way into his lap. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and you feel as if you’re exposed.

The way Zayne is looking at you is nothing like any of the other times you’ve noticed him staring; his jaw is tense, eyes darting all over your face, he almost looks quietly angry, but you know that can’t be it.

“____?”

“Sorry,” You exhale softly, shuffling so you’re on your knees. It’s better this way - now you’re eye-to-eye with Zayne, though it makes that feeling in your stomach even worse.

Before you can think otherwise, you place your hands on his shoulders, briefly noting the way they tense and then relax. You mean to lean forward, but Zayne’s eyes have you feeling like a mouse caught in a trap

“Can you close your eyes?” You ask, and his lips twitch, but he does as you ask, his eyes sliding closed. His black lashes fan along his cheekbones, and you almost want to sigh wistfully - he really is handsome.

The second attempt is more successful without Zayne’s intense gaze, and you lean toward him, moving until your noses bump together and Zayne exhales softly against your lips.

There’s a sharp, warm press in your lower stomach, as if your body is just now realising what you’re doing. The feel of Zayne’s soft breaths against your lips is maddening; you’re hot all over, and it’s sudden, out of nowhere. The hands on his shoulder’s clench as your fingers dig in, and before you can chicken out, you’re pressing your lips to his.

He is going to explode, or come, either way it’s taking every ounce of restraint Zayne has to let you take the lead, to get used to him and this new, terrifying step in your friendship. His stomach drops like he’s on a rollercoaster, hands clenched over the pillow hiding his obvious erection that reared its head the moment he saw your pupils dilate.

Your lips are soft, warm as you press gently against him. He wishes kissing with his eyes open was socially acceptable because he hates that he can’t see you, that he can’t get a front row seat of you on his couch, hands gripping his shoulders, lips against his. For a long moment, you don’t move, you just stay like this, and Zayne can’t bring himself to complain. But, you tilt your head slightly, pushing your lips against his harder, and he feels his cock twitch impatiently.

Inexperience isn’t usually something that turns him on - frankly, the idea of deflowering someone has him coming out in a rash. It’s not that he thinks he’s bad at kissing, or sex, but the expectations put upon him are dizzying. He wants to make this kiss good for you, even while an animal part of him thrashes against its restraints, begging him to ruin you for any other man. His hands fist against the pillow in his crotch, and when you pull away, he almost groans at the loss of contact.

Zayne is the first to open his eyes, just a second before you, but it’s enough. Your lips aren’t well-kissed, not by his standards, but he can spot the signs of arousal a mile away. Your cheeks are flushed a gorgeous shade of pink, your lips even deeper, and when you let your tongue dart out to wet them just before opening your eyes, he feels a sharp punch of need deep in his stomach.

You exhale shakily against his lips, and he can feel his restraint fraying at the seams. He wants you so badly he feels as if he could come just from the way you’re gazing blearily at his lips, as if you’re drunk on him. It’s a maddening rush to his ego, to see you so undone after barely kissing him, and he can’t stop himself from lifting a hand, cupping your chin and brushing his thumb along your lower lip.

“Was that okay?” You ask him, voice thick with something he is too chicken-shit to name, for fear that he will actually pick you up and fuck you into his couch.

He swallows hard, licking the taste of your lip balm off his lips, “Y-yeah. It was,”

This is it, he thinks, this is all you wanted from him, and it’s more than enough. More than he ever expected when it came to you. Even a chaste, soft kiss is enough to give him material to jerk off to for the rest of the year like the desperate man you’ve turned him into. But the tender, hesitancy of the moment lasts only a few seconds before you speak again, obliterating his final shred of sanity.

“Can we do it again?”

He should say no. You have a date planned, you’re his best friend in the whole world, and he made peace long ago with the fact he was destined to want you from afar. The unrequited nature of his feelings and his desires have always been somewhat safe for him, something he can use to control himself around you, but to hear you ask him for more of his lips on yours awakens something hot and vicious in his gut.

He doesn’t really reply, too dumbstruck to speak, and you gaze up at him with dark eyes, dangerously eager eyes, your voice barely above a whisper, “Will you kiss me this time? Like you do with other women?”

The mere thought of it has the tip of his cock growing slick, need curling in his stomach, worming its way around the base of his spine as he tenses. But, he’s not as strong as he thought he was, because within two seconds he’s nodding, leaning in and groaning all in one breath, his lips catching yours in a real kiss. Your hands fist the material of his sweater, tugging him closer, and he loses it, brain splattered against his skull. Now, there is only you and him and this pulsing desire he has to tuck you against his body and make you feel just how bad he’s wanted you.

His hands find your soft waist, palming the dip and clutching hard enough for your t-shirt to rise up a little. The sliver of skin brushing against his pinky does insane things to his psyche, and he pulls you, knocking away the pillow in his lap and pressing you there instead. You gasp into his mouth and he wants to snarl into the kiss, wants to make you understand.

Do you feel how bad I need you? Can you feel how hot and hard and aching I am?

Your body is like heaven in his arms, and he suddenly realises he could die happy now, knowing intimately how the weight of you feels in his lap, pressing against his cock, knees on either side of his hips. A soft moan against his lips has him bucking up against you, thankful for your choice to wear a skirt so he has access to the warmest, wettest part of you instantly. He yearns, needs and wants like he’s never wanted anything. He wants to rake his nails up your thighs, push aside your underwear and run his fingers through the mess he hopes he’ll find there. The mess he put there, he realises, and he growls into the kiss at the thought.

“Zayne,” You whimper, whining like you did earlier in his office, and he can’t help but smile at the sound. He’s fucked his own hand to your voice more times than he wants to admit, and now he leaks against his sweatpants, drunk on the way you’re babbling in his arms, your lips wet from his spit and is tongue as it laves them, eagerly asking entrance into your mouth.

“Open for me, beautiful. Open your mouth for me,” Zayne’s voice is almost unrecognisable to his own ears, a soft, firm rumble. When you do as he asks, he lets his hands drift down to your hips, pushing and pulling you along the ridge in his pants as his tongue brushes yours.

It’s messy, and you’re not sure what you’re doing, that much is evident, but it doesn’t even matter. He wants every inch of you messy over him, wants to keep this lesson going until you leave his apartment with the knowledge of how Zayne kisses you, and no one else. He wants you to be as gone for him as he is for you, as he always has been.

You’re lost on him now, hips moving of their own accord, and Zayne thinks that if he can make you come, he will take that as his greatest accomplishment in life. Forget med school, forget every surgery he completed that others failed. All he cares about is the sounds falling from your lips, the way your fingers have threaded through his hair, the fact his apartment is filled with the sounds of your kisses, of your panting breaths, his deep groans as you rock against him. Nothing else matters.

His name falls from your lips again, like you’re asking for something, but you don’t know what. He pulls away from your slick, swollen lips only to run his tongue up your neck, relishing in the way you tremble against him.

“What is it, ___? What do you need?” He rasps against your ear, “You need me to make you come?”

You nod eagerly, clutching him tight enough that he feels flames roaring up his spine. He isn’t gonna last much longer with you riding him like this, and like hell is he gonna come without taking care of you first.

“Okay,” He breathes, winded and totally out of his depth. He’s never lost control like this, never had his hands shake with it, but he takes a deep, steadying breath, “Okay,”

His hand brushes your thigh and you sigh, the sound falling into a moan as you continue to roll your hips in circles, so hard that Zayne’s eyes roll back before he grips your skin, pushing up your skirt until he finds the spot he wants. You gasp, breath ragged where you kiss and lick his jaw, and he groans deep in his throat when he finds just what he’d hoped for.

“So fucking wet,” He murmurs, dazed and drunk off of you, “You got this wet from me kissing you, huh?” He knows damn well he was doing more than just kiss you, but he doesn’t correct himself. Instead, he palms your damp underwear, pressing against the material so he can feel the contours of your pussy. He uses his fingers to push the material aside, mouth watering when he drags his fingers through the center of you, “God, fuck,”

“Please,” You whisper, “Please, please -”

“Shh, beautiful,” He presses a soft kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, a polar opposite to the kisses he’d given you a moment ago, “I’ve got you, okay? Does it hurt?” He doesn’t know why he asks, maybe because he’s so hard beneath you that he’s beginning to see double.

“So bad,” You sob into his shoulder, rocking your hips against his fingers as he continues to explore you, avoiding the spot where you need him and just enjoying the wet, silky, warmth of you. When you whisper again, so soft he barely hears you begging him, he smiles, out of his mind with it. He wants you to beg, and so he fucks his fingers into your soft, pliant pussy until you cry out. “Oh, god! Oh, please, please - t-there, yes. Yes -”

“Holy fuck,” He murmurs as you tighten up on him, squeezing so hard he can hear the wet squelch as he attempts to carry on thrusting his middle and ring fingers into you, eager to feel it. He blearily wonders what you would feel like coming on his cock before he loses the battle against his oncoming orgasm, coming wetly against the material of his sweatpants. “Oh fuck, shit,”

You’re still shaking when he pulls his fingers out of you, your head laying on his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed the room get darker as the sun finally set, but now the two of you are alone in the glow of the tv, still stuck and waiting on the netflix homepage. The only sound in the room is your collective breathing, soft pants as you catch your breaths.

Zayne’s mind clears once the cloud of lust dissipates, and he feels a cold stab of fear deep in the centre of his chest. He’s ruined it, he thinks, he’s lost you forever. You’re going to leave and it’s going to be awkward, and why couldn’t he just keep his damn hands off of you -

“Zayne?” You whisper, breath ghosting over his collarbones.

He audibly swallows, closing his eyes in preparation for the words. We shouldn’t have done that, this was a mistake…

“Yes?”

You shuffle against him, like maybe your foot is falling to sleep in the awkward position you’re in, but you make no effort to move. When you do speak, your voice is shy, if a little hoarse, but oh, so sweet.

“You’re a really good kisser,”

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”