Incomplete Fics Im Hoping Get Finished

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You stared at the two men in your brother’s cluttered living room with a distinct sense of dread curling in your stomach.

Your brother, Beomgyu, at least had the decency to look sheepish, scratching the back of his head with a wince. “Look, Y/N, it’s just for a few days. His apartment’s getting fumigated. He’ll even sleep on the couch.”

The other man, Lee Heeseung, also known as the bane of your existence, leaned against the kitchen counter with an infuriatingly casual grace that had grated on your nerves for a decade. He offered a lazy, lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, Choi. I’ll try not to be too much of a nuisance.” The way he said your surname, as though it was a private joke between you two—which it was, a joke where you were always the goddamn punchline—made your teeth click together.

“You’ll try not to be a nuisance?” you repeated, your voice dangerously low. “Heeseung, the last time you ‘crashed’ here, you used my limited-edition shampoo as body wash and left the cap off so it all congealed into a disgusting gel.”

“It smelled pretty good by the end of it,” he shrugged, as if that justified the thirty-dollar waste. “And hey, I got confused. All your little bottles look the same.”

“And the time before that,” you continued, stepping further into the room, “you ‘accidentally’ ate the entire birthday cake I spent three hours baking for Mom’s surprise party.”

“In my defense, it was on the counter. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t up for grabs?” His tone was light, teasing, but his dark eyes watched you with a sharp, unnerving focus that had always felt like too much. When he did that, it always felt like he was seeing past the carefully constructed walls you’d built against him, and you hated it.

Beomgyu sighed, the peacekeeper as always. “Guys, come on. It’s three days. Four, max. Can we not do the whole snarling-at-each-other thing? We’re not kids anymore.”

But you felt like you were, all over again. In a way, you always would be whenever Heeseung was around. The history between the two of you was a live wire.

It had started when you were thirteen. Beomgyu, two years older and infinitely cooler, brought home his new best friend from school: Lee Heeseung, fifteen, all long limbs, sharp wit, and a quiet intensity that set him apart from Beomgyu’s more boisterous friends. You’d been a nerdy kid, predicted to present as an omega in the next couple of years.

But that was the thing—we’re all equal now, the societal mantra went. Alpha, Beta, Omega: they were all just biological quirks. True mates? Fairy tales for children. Your own parents were betas, wonderfully mundane and loving, who’d met at a library and bonded over a love of bad mystery novels. They’d raised you to believe your omega nature was just another facet of you, like your hair color, nothing to define your life. You didn’t use scent-blockers out of shame—no, it was more out of convenience, to keep public spaces neutral.

But Heeseung… Heeseung was an alpha, through and through, and as expected, he presented as one when you were 14. And he wasn’t just any alpha. He was the kind who made the whole “it doesn’t matter” philosophy feel like a flimsy lie. He carried his alpha energy not with the chest-thumping arrogance of stereotypes, but with a coiled, potent presence. It was in the way he commanded a room without saying a word, the way his gaze could feel like a physical weight, the subtle scent of bergamot and cedar that even the strongest blockers couldn’t quite conceal if you were standing close enough.

And he’d disliked you on sight.

Or so it seemed. Your first interaction was him looking down at the fantasy novel in your hands, his lip quirking. “Realm of the Moon Goddess? Isn’t that for kids?” he’d asked, not maliciously, but with a bored condescension that lit a fire in your thirteen-year-old soul.

“It’s about complex political dynamics in a matriarchal society,” you’d shot back, your voice trembling only a little.

“Sure it is,” he’d said, sharing a look with Beomgyu that clearly said, ‘Your sister is a weirdo.’

From there, it was a decade-long war. He was the arrogant, too-perfect golden boy, top of his class, star of the basketball team, effortlessly talented at everything he tried. You were the prickly, overly-sensitive little sister who was too smart for her own good and had a habit of pointing out his flaws with ruthless precision. You stole his homework answers just to change them to be wrong before he turned them in. He’d set your alarm clock two hours early on the day of a big exam. You’d argue about everything—music, books, the best way to make ramyeon. The hostility was familiar, almost comforting.

But…well, there were layers to it.

At seventeen, you’d tried to date. A nice beta from one of your AP classes asked you to the winter formal. You’d said yes. Two days later, he approached you at your locker, face pale. “I, uh… I think it’s best if we don’t go,” he’d stammered, not meeting your eyes. “Your um… friend? Heeseung? He had a talk with me, and—” his bottom lip had started to quiver. “I’m sorry.” Then he’d scurried away. You’d found Heeseung leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor, casually sipping on an iced coffee. “What did you do?” you’d demanded. “Nothing,” he’d said, his dark eyes glinting. “Just had a little chat with him.”

When you were nineteen, you brought an alpha from your university to a family barbecue. His name was Kai, and he seemed perfect on paper—smart, charming in a way that didn’t scream macho alpha bravado. You’d thought, maybe this time, maybe this was the one who wouldn’t make your instincts prickle or send Heeseung into one of his inexplicable moods. Kai even brought your mom flowers, which earned him points before the grill was even lit.

Heeseung, however, had other opinions.

He’d been home for the weekend, lounging in his usual spot on the patio, a beer in hand and a smirk that could cut glass. But the moment Kai walked through the gate, Heeseung’s easygoing demeanor shifted. His posture stiffened, his jaw tightened, and though he didn’t say a word, his presence became suffocating. His scent, usually so controlled, betrayed him, turning sour.

Kai tried to make conversation with him. “So, Heeseung, Y/N was telling me you’re a music producer. That must be intense.”

“It is,” Heeseung replied curtly, his eyes flicking to you as if daring you to intervene.

You’d rolled your eyes and dragged Kai away, determined not to let Heeseung ruin the day. But it was no use. By the time the burgers were served, Kai looked pale and uncomfortable. He excused himself early, claiming a sudden headache. You walked him to the gate, apologizing profusely.

“It’s not you,” he said, glancing over your shoulder toward the house where Heeseung stood watching like a sentinel. “It’s just… your brother’s friend. He’s…” Kai cleared his throat. “Intimidating. And I don’t think he likes me very much.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry. He’s just… like that, I guess.”

Later, you overheard Heeseung talking to Beomgyu in the kitchen, his voice a low, frustrated rumble. “He wasn’t right for her. Y/N deserves better, you know? Not some random guy.”

Beomgyu chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, big bad alpha protector. Who is right for her then? You?”

Heeseung hadn’t answered, and you hadn’t known how to take that.

The older the two of you grew, the more the simple dislike mutated. There were stolen, confusing moments where the animosity would crack. The time he found you crying in the backyard after your first real heartbreak at seventeen, not from a person, but from a rejection to your dream university. He’d said nothing, just sat beside you on the grass for an hour in silence, his bergamot and cedar scent strangely calming. The time you sprained your ankle at Beomgyu’s, and Heeseung, without a word, carried you all the way back to your dorm, his grip firm and careful, his jaw tense the entire way. You’d felt his heart hammering against your side, or maybe it was yours.

And then, there was The Scent ™.

It was the great, unspoken mystery of the last year. Heeseung had started talking about it with Beomgyu, and by extension, within your earshot, with a single-minded obsession that was completely unlike his usual detached self.

“It was at your gallery opening,” he’d say, his voice taking on a rare, almost reverent softness that made your skin prickle. “You remember? Last fall? I was by the installations near the back, and it just… hit me. Like jasmine and summer rain on concrete.”

You’d been frozen, listening from the hallway outside Beomgyu’s room. Jasmine and rain.

Your scent.

“I’ve never smelled anything like it,” Heeseung continued, frustration creeping into his tone. “It was—it just smelled like… my mate. I know how that sounds, Gyu. I know we’re supposed to think it’s all bullshit. But it was real. And it was gone as fast as it came. Like—I don’t know, whoever it was put their blocker back on or left the room, or something.”

Beomgyu laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Dude, you’re losing it. True mates? Come on. You’ve never believed in all that,” he’d snorted. “You probably smelled some fancy new air freshener the gallery was testing.”

“It wasn’t an air freshener,” Heeseung insisted, his voice low and intense. “It was a person. My person. And I’m going to find them.”

And you’d stand there, your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest, your own scent threatening to spike with panic. No. No, no, no. It was impossible. You’d slid down the wall, hand clamped over your mouth, remembering—

You were fourteen, Heeseung sixteen. He’d leaned over your shoulder to mock your homework, and his scent had washed over you. A bolt of electricity had lanced through you, a feeling of something so intense it stole your breath, but… you’d written it off as just a weird omega response to a potent alpha, just a fluke. That’s all it could’ve been, right? But now, hearing his words, you could see the truth assembling itself with terrifying clarity before your eyes. The pull that had always been there, the overt protectiveness Heeseung had towards you, the way your recent arguments had started feeling like a desperate, fucked-up form of foreplay…

Fuck, it had to be some sort of cosmic joke. Lee Heeseung, your personal nemesis, the man you’d spent half your life building a fortress of dislike against, was apparently your… mate? The one person biologically, primally, tuned to be your perfect match? You could have cried. It was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.

First, because it was Heeseung. Arrogant, insufferable, messy, condescending Heeseung.

Second, and more importantly, because he was Beomgyu’s best friend. His brother, in all but blood. The unspoken rule in your family, in any sane family, was clear: friends’ siblings were off-limits. It was a recipe for nuclear fallout. If things went bad—and with your history, how could they not?—it would shatter Beomgyu’s longest and dearest friendship and tear your family apart. You’d be the selfish little sister who seduced her brother’s best friend. He’d be the betraying friend who couldn’t keep it in his pants. The potential for ruin was catastrophic.

So you’d doubled down. You’d become colder, sharper, more hostile towards him. You made sure your scent-blockers were the strongest possible. You became, if possible, an even bigger pain in Heeseung’s ass, hoping to drive him so far away that the fragile, impossible thread of that scent in his memory would snap.

And now he was going to be sleeping on your couch for four days.

“Fine,” you bit out, the word tasting like ash. “But you touch my stuff, you breathe wrong, you so much as look at my food, I will castrate you with a rusty spoon.” you threatened. “And for the love of god, shower regularly. Your…” you sneered witheringly. “Alpha musk is overwhelming.”

“Crystal.” he smirked infuriatingly. “Wouldn’t dream of offending your delicate omega sensibilities, Choi.”

The designation in his mouth was another barb.

“Good,” you snapped, turning on your heel and marching to your room, slamming the door just hard enough to be satisfying, but not so hard that Beomgyu would lecture you.

Then you leaned against the door, your breath coming in short, quiet gasps. Jasmine and rain on hot concrete. You could still hear the awe in his voice from a year ago. And now there was a terrifying, traitorous curl of heat low in your belly that had nothing to do with anger.

The first day, you woke to the sound of someone Heeseung whistling off-key in the kitchen. The smell of burnt toast and overly strong coffee invaded your perfect sanctuary. You emerged from your room, dressed in your work-from-home attire—sweatpants and an oversized sweater—your scent-blockers freshly applied.

Heeseung was at the stove, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants. His back was to you, the defined lines of his shoulders and spine shifting as he attempted to flip a pancake. It landed half on the counter, half on the floor.

“Typical,” you muttered, heading straight for the coffee maker to salvage what you could.

He turned, a boyish grin on his face, completely unbothered by the mess or his state of undress. “Morning, sunshine! Sleep well? I tried to be quiet but the cabinet door kinda fell off when I was looking for a plate. It’s propped up now, though. Good as new.”

“It’s 7 AM,” you said, your voice flat. “Why are you shirtless?”

He shrugged, the movement fluid. “Got syrup on my shirt. It’s soaking. Don’t worry, I’m not offended if you stare.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“I’d rather stare at that pancake carcass on the floor.” You poured your coffee, deliberately keeping your gaze away from the expanse of his chest, the faint trail of dark hair that disappeared into his waistband. Your omega, usually a quiet, dormant thing, gave a faint, restless stir of awareness, recognition of an alpha in your space. It put your senses on alert.

“So, what’s the plan today, roomie?” he asked, scraping the failed pancake into the trash.

“I’m working. In my room. With the door closed. You are going to be quiet and not disturb me.”

“You got it, boss,” he said, giving you a mock salute. His bergamot-and-cedar scent, warm without the usual blocker-dulling, was already filling the small apartment. It wasn’t oppressive by any means, but it was everywhere. It seeped into the fabric of the couch, mixed with the smell of food, clung to the air. Your own scent, carefully locked-away, prickled beneath your skin in response desperately. 

You retreated to your room, shutting the door firmly. For a few hours, it worked. You focused on spreadsheets and video calls, the mundane routine a shield. But your body was betraying you. A low, steady warmth had taken up residence in your lower belly, unrelated to the coffee. Your skin felt hypersensitive; the brush of your sweater against your arms was a minor distraction, the seam of your sweatpants a faint, persistent annoyance. Pre-heat symptoms. Of course, you were familiar with them—they came sometimes, mild and manageable, triggered by stress or hormonal shifts. And having an unmated, virile alpha in your living space with his scent was the definition of a hormonal shift.

You tried to ignore it. Around noon, you heard the TV click on, the sound of some loud sports commentary filtering through the door. Then, the sound of him talking on the phone, his voice a low, animated rumble.

“—no way, man, I told you, the stats from the second half completely invalidate that argument… Yeah, well, your mom’s—oh, hey, gotta go, my warden is emerging for her lunch break.”

You opened your door to glare at him. He was sprawled on the couch, one arm behind his head, phone still in hand. He’d put a shirt on, thank god, a thin, worn grey cotton one that did little to hide the shape of him.

“I’m not a warden,” you said, marching to the kitchen.

“Prison guard, then. Room monitor. Supreme overlord of the apartment.”

“Just because you have the maturity of a frat boy who never graduated doesn’t mean you have to sound like one,” you shot back, pulling out leftover stir-fry from the fridge.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that did things to your stomach it had no business doing. “Aw, come on, Choi. You love it. Admit it, life is boring without me around to keep you on your toes.”

“Life is peaceful without you around,” you corrected, busying yourself with the microwave.

“So, Beomgyu’s got that big date tonight after work, huh?” Heeseung said, changing the subject. “The chef guy?”

“Mhm.” You didn’t turn around.

“He’s nervous. Called me three times from work about what flowers to bring. Like I’m some florist. I told him if he’s stressing that much, just bring a bouquet of cash. Everyone loves money.”

A surprised laugh burst out of you before you could stop it. You clamped your hand over your mouth. Heeseung’s silence behind you was palpable and pleased.

“See?” he said, his voice softer. “Not so bad, is it? A little civil conversation?”

You swallowed, the laugh still echoing in your chest. “It was a moment of weakness, Lee. Don’t get used to it.” You took your heated food and headed back to your room. “And remember, be quiet!”

The afternoon was worse. The warmth in your core was building, a slow, sweet ache. Your thoughts kept drifting from your work, snagging on inconsequential things: the memory of his bare back that morning, the way his laugh sounded, the intensity of the brown in his eyes when he wasn’t pissing you off. You found yourself listening for sounds of him—the creak of the floorboards, the tap running, the low murmur of his voice if he was on another call.

This is just biology, you told yourself sternly. Stupid, primitive omega biology reacting to an alpha in close quarters. It doesn’t mean anything.

But it did feel like something. It was a magnetic pull, and you were restless, shifting in your chair, finding excuses to get up and pace the few steps your room allowed.

At around 6 PM, you gave up on work. You needed a shower, something to cut through the scent of him that seemed to have permeated your very walls and the growing, needy feeling of your own impending heat. You gathered your things and moved quickly to the bathroom, locking the door. The hot water was a relief. You scrubbed your skin, washing away the day, then used a neutral, unscented bar of soap, avoiding anything that might trigger a more potent omega response. But as you dried off, the symptoms persisted. A faint, pleasant slickness that wasn’t from the shower. A tenderness in your breasts. That persistent, hungry warmth in your core.

You dressed in the softest, least restrictive clothes you owned: a thin, sleeveless camisole of pale silk and a pair of loose, cotton sleep shorts. You were brushing your teeth when you heard the crash.

It was loud, a shatter of glass followed by a solid thump and a sharp, pained hiss from Heeseung.

“What did you break now?” you called, padding into the living area.

Heeseung was by the sink, clutching his hand. A shattered glass lay in the basin. “It slipped,” he muttered, his face pale.

You saw the blood then, a bright red rivulet running down his palm. “Oh, for—come here.” Your medical instincts, honed from years of patching up a clumsy Beomgyu, took over. You grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink and pointed to a kitchen chair. “Sit.”

He obeyed, uncharacteristically silent. You pulled up another chair, sitting close as you took his hand. It was large, his fingers long and elegant, now marred by a nasty gash across the palm. You set to work, cleaning the cut with antiseptic wipes, completely focused and thorough, until—

A tremor.

There was a fine, uncontrollable shake running through his hand and up his arm, and his scent… changed. The bergamot-and-cedar deepened, warmed, becoming almost smoky. Alpha… distress?

Your head snapped up. You were close, so close you could see the gold flecks in his dark brown eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. His gaze was locked on you, not on his injury, and suddenly, you smelled it. Not just his scent…

Yours.

Your scent was rising from your own skin, reacting to his proximity, his pain, his attention. The shower had washed away the edges of your blocker’s effectiveness, fuck—why hadn’t you remembered?

You saw the exact moment it registered with him: his eyes, already dark, seemed to swallow all the light in the room, widening, then narrowing, his pupils blowing out. His nostrils flared, once, twice, and the tremor in his hand stopped, replaced by a sudden tension.

“Choi,” he breathed, the word barely a whisper, ragged and full of dawning, earth-shattering realization.

You froze, the antiseptic pad dangling from your fingers. No. No, no, no.

“That… scent…” His voice was rough, scraping over gravel. He leaned in, just an inch, inhaling slowly, deeply, right at the junction of your neck and shoulder where your scent gland lay beneath the patch. A low, involuntary sound rumbled from his chest, not quite a growl, but a visceral, hungry vibration that went straight to your core.

You should have shoved him away. You should have run. But you were paralyzed, caught in the gravity of his shock.

His uninjured hand came up, not to touch you, but to hover near your cheek, his fingers trembling. “It’s you,” he said, the words filled with devastating, terrifying awe. “All this time… it was you?”

The spell broke. You jerked back, the chair legs screeching on the floor. “No,” you said, but it was a weak denial, your voice shaking as badly as his hand had been. Your scent was everywhere now, a sweet, rain-soaked confession in the air.

He stood up slowly, looming over you.. The blood on his hand was forgotten. All his focus, that relentless, hunting focus he’d had for a year, was now laser-locked on you. “The gallery,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, piecing it all together. “You were there. You were wearing that blue dress. You spilled champagne on your wrist and went to the bathroom to wash it off… you must have taken your blocker off to clean it properly.”

You remembered. You’d been annoyed, worried the sticky sugar would attract insects. You’d scrubbed your wrist raw in the sink, the little patch peeling off from the moisture. You’d been in a hurry, exposed for maybe ninety seconds in a secluded hallway.

Ninety seconds. That’s all it took to derail your entire life.

His question hung between you, a guillotine blade waiting to drop.

“So the whole time, t was you?”

No. Lie. Run.

You stumbled back another step, your spine hitting the cool edge of the kitchen counter. “You’re confused,” you choked out, the words tasting like a pathetic, transparent falsehood. “The antiseptic. It probably smells like—like, um, like flowers or something. You’re concussed from the shock of the glass.”

He didn’t even blink. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance you’d created. His wounded hand hung at his side, blood dotting the linoleum, but his good hand came up again to hover beside your head, caging you against the counter. His scent was a raging storm now. It was overwhelming, a tidal wave that crashed against your senses, making your knees weak.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, a gravelly vibration that traveled straight down your spine. “Don’t insult us both by lying. I’ve been hunting this scent in my sleep for a year. I’d know it in a burning building. I’d know it on my deathbed, Y/N.” He leaned in, his nose brushing the air just beside your ear. You flinched, a full-body shudder wracking you. “It’s jasmine. After a summer rain.”

A whimper caught in your throat. You pressed your palms flat against the cold counter behind you, seeking an anchor. “Heeseung, please.”

“Why?” The word was a breath against your temple. “Why did you hide? All those times I talked about it right in front of you… with your brother—you just sat there, knowing?”

“Because it’s not real!” you burst out, pushing against his chest. Your hands met solid, unyielding muscle beneath his thin t-shirt. The contact was electric, a jolt that made you snatch your hands back as if burned. “It’s biology playing a stupid trick! It doesn’t mean anything! We live in apartments and pay taxes, for god’s sake! True mates are—are an olden-day concept for children’s stories!”

“It doesn’t mean anything?” Heeseung repeated, his voice dropping to a husky, disbelieving whisper. He didn’t retreat. Instead, he leaned in closer, his body a solid wall of heat that you felt through the thin cotton of your camisole. His breath fanned over your lips. “You feel this,” he said, his eyes darting between yours, searching for the lie, “this… thing between us, and you tell me it’s a trick?”

“It’s adrenaline,” you insisted, your own breathing shallow and rapid. Your chest rose and fell, the neckline of your camisole brushing against him with every gasp. “You’re bleeding. I’m panicking. It’s basic physiology.”

A low, humorless chuckle escaped him. “Right. Physiology.” His good hand finally touched you, not to restrain, but his fingertips grazed your bare arm, from your shoulder down to your wrist. The touch was feather-light, but it ignited a trail of fire under your skin. You jerked, a full-body flinch that had nothing to do with wanting to get away and everything to do with the sheer, overwhelming sensation of his hands on you.

“See?” you breathed, your voice trembling. “I don’t like that.”

“You sure about that?” he murmured, his eyes dark pools of intensity. His fingers traced back up, this time with more purpose, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your inner arm. A shudder you couldn’t suppress racked you, and a small, traitorous sound—a sigh, a moan, you didn’t know—escaped your parted lips.

Fuck.

You saw the flash of smug, hungry triumph in his eyes.

“Heeseung,” you whispered again, but it lacked all conviction.

“Can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice a rough caress. His head dipped, his lips now hovering a hair’s breadth from yours. You could feel the phantom pressure, the promise of a kiss that felt as inevitable as your next heartbeat. The air between the two of you was thick with the mingling of your scents—his thick bergamot-and-cedar, your jasmine-and-rain now laced with the sweet, unmistakable spike of arousal. You couldn’t hide it. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

“I hate you,” you gasped out.

“I know,” he said, and he sounded almost sad. “You’ve made that brilliantly clear for ten years. But you know what I think, Choi?” His nose brushed yours, the most intimate, non-kiss imaginable. “I think,” he murmured, his lips so close they moved against yours with the words, a ghost of a kiss that made your stomach clench, “that you don’t hate me at all. I think you’ve been at war with the same thing I have.”

You couldn’t breathe. His thumb stroked your arm again, a slow, deliberate caress that felt like it was branding you. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” he said simply, and finally, he closed the last, imperceptible gap.

His mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. His lips were firm, demanding, moving against yours with a hunger that stole the last of your resistance. A shocked, muffled sound escaped you, lost in the heat of his mouth. You should have pushed him away. You should have slapped him, screamed, done anything. But your body, traitorous and alive in a way it had never been, betrayed you utterly. Your hands, which had been flat against the counter, flew up of their own accord, fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his t-shirt to hold on as the world tilted on its axis. Your lips parted on a gasp, and he took the invitation, his tongue sweeping into your mouth hotly.

The taste of him flooded your senses, and it was familiar and alien all at once, a flavor you’d somehow known you’d been missing your whole life. A low groan vibrated from his chest into yours, and you echoed it, the sound weak and desperate.

He kissed you like a man starving, like he was trying to consume every argument, every biting remark, every stolen glance across a crowded room in the last couple of years. His good hand slid from your arm to cup the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, holding you firmly in place. His injured hand came up to rest on your hip.

The kiss broke, but only just. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing harsh, ragged gulps.

“See?” he panted, his voice wrecked. “Not hate.”

“Not true,” you retorted automatically, but before you could really think it through, you dragged his mouth back to yours.

This time, you kissed him back. You poured every ounce of that confused, furious energy into it. Your tongue met his, fierce and slick, and you bit his lower lip, a sharp, punishing nip, making him growl, answering with a deeper, more devouring kiss that made your head spin.

His hand on your hip slid lower, gripping the curve of your ass through the thin sleep shorts, pulling you flush against him. You felt him then, the hard length of him pressed against your stomach, and the evidence of his arousal, so blunt and physical, sent a fresh, liquid wave of heat between your own legs. You whimpered into his mouth, arching into him, your tits crushed against him.

“Fuck, Choi,” he groaned against your lips, his voice thick with a need that mirrored your own. “You’re driving me insane. You—hah—really have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

“You started it,” you accused breathlessly, dragging your mouth down to his jaw. “Talking about it… hunting for it… like some… mm, some tragic hero.” You punctuated each broken phrase with a kiss, a nip, along his stubbled jawline.

He threw his head back with a sharp hiss, giving you better access. “I was. I am. And I found you.” His hand left your hair, sliding down your back, under the hem of your camisole. His palm was hot, slightly rough, against the bare skin of your spine. You shivered violently. “Hiding in plain sight,” he murmured, his lips at your ear now, his teeth grazing the lobe. “My best friend’s infuriating, beautiful little sister.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you muttered, but you were rubbing yourself against the hard ridge of his erection, a fast, mindless grind that had him cursing softly.

“What should I call you then?” His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, cupping the bare flesh of your ass cheek. You jolted. “Y/N? Is that better?”

“Shut up.”

“Y/N,” he repeated against your mouth, the sound vibrating through your bones. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you’ve thought about it.”

His words were a challenge, a dare thrown down in the heat-drenched space between your bodies. You broke the kiss, gasping for air. “I’ve thought about strangling you,” you panted, your fingers still twisted in his shirt. “Daily.”

A dark, knowing smirk curved his kiss-swollen lips. “Yeah? Is that why you’re dripping for me, huh? Is that why your sweet little omega scent is screaming for me to bend you over and fuck you?”

You hated him. You hated the way he saw right through you, the way his words sent a fresh, slick pulse of heat between your thighs. You tried to shove him back, but your body refused the command, your hips instead canting forward, seeking the delicious friction of his length against you. “Shut up,” you repeated, your voice a broken whisper.

“Make me,” he taunted again, his voice dropping to a husky register that vibrated through your very bones. His good hand, still splayed on your ass, squeezed possessively. “Go on. Tell me to stop. Say the word, and I walk away right now. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes searching yours, giving you an out you didn’t want. You didn’t say the word. You just stared at him, your chest heaving, your lips parted, every frantic breath giving you away more and more.

The smirk sharpened into something more predatory. “Didn’t think so,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on yours again, swallowing your gasp.

This kiss was different. It was slower, deeper. He licked into your mouth, exploring you with a thoroughness that made your knees weak. His hands began to move, mapping your body through the thin fabric of your camisole, and he palmed your tit, his thumb finding your nipple and rubbing it into a hard, aching point. A sharp cry escaped you, muffled by his lips.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a wet, hot path down your jaw to your throat. “All those times,” he breathed against your fluttering pulse, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “All those guys you brought around…”

You whimpered, your head falling back against the cabinet. Your hands were in his hair now, clutching the dark, soft strands. “Wh-what about them?”

He bit down gently, not enough to mark, but enough to make you jump, a jolt of pure lust shooting through you. “Drove me fucking crazy,” he confessed, his voice a rough growl against your skin. “Seeing them look at you. Talk to you. Smile at you. That fucker Kai even brought your mom flowers. I wanted to rip his throat out with my teeth.”

Much to your disappointment, your omega preened at the violent jealousy in his voice. “You—you scared him off,” you accused, your voice trembling.

“Damn right I did.” He licked the spot he’d bitten. “He wasn’t good enough. None of them were.” His mouth moved lower, his lips closing over the thin silk covering your nipple. He sucked, hard, through the fabric, the damp heat and the rough friction of the wet material sending sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “You’re mine,” he said, the words vibrating against your sensitized flesh. “You always have been. You were just too stubborn to see it.”

You wanted to argue, to fight the words, but all you could do was moan, your back arching off the kitchen counter as his mouth worked you through the silk. The fabric was soaked, clinging to your tight nipple, and every pull of his lips, every scrape of his teeth, sent waves of desperate pleasure straight to your throbbing core.

His hand left your breast, sliding down your trembling stomach, over the thin waistband of your shorts. He didn’t hesitate. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic, delving through the curls, and found you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned against your breast, his voice muffled and ragged. “You’re fucking soaked. Is this all for me? All for your alpha?”

You couldn’t form words. His fingers slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen. He pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit, and your hips bucked violently off the counter, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.

“Answer me,” he demanded, his eyes blazing up at you. He rubbed slow, torturous circles. “Is this because of me?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, your head thrashing side to side. “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he purred, and the praise, in that cocky, teasing tone of his, made you clench around nothing. His fingers slid lower, one, then two, pressing against your entrance. “Always so fucking difficult with your words, but your body… your body doesn’t lie to me, does it, Choi?”

He pushed inside you, and you saw white. Your inner muscles fluttered, gripping him greedily. He was deep, his fingers long and clever, curling just right as he began to pump them slowly and maddeningly.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his mouth back at your ear, his breath hot. “That’s how perfectly you take me. You were fucking made for it. For me.”

“Sh-shut up,” you moaned, but you were grinding down on his hand, meeting every thrust, your hands fisting in his hair. “Give—hn—give me more.”

“More what?” he teased, adding a third finger, the stretch making you gasp. “Use your words, princess. You want my fingers? Or do you want something else?”

He scissored his fingers inside you, hitting a spot that made your vision blur. “Heeseung—!”

“That’s my name,” he said, his own breathing growing harsh. He was watching your face, drinking in every twitch, every desperate expression. “But it’s not an answer, baby. Tell me what you want.”

You were unraveling, the coil in your belly tightening to a painful, exquisite point. His fingers, his scent, his voice, it was all too much. Your omega was screaming, a frantic, pulsing need for him, for his claim, for his knot. The thought should have terrified you, but it only made you wetter.

“Your cock,” you blurted out. “I want your cock, you insufferable asshole. Now.”

He laughed at that, withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening, and brought them to his mouth. Then he sucked them clean, his eyes locked on yours, and you nearly came from the sight alone. “Fucking delicious,” he murmured. “Now, since you asked so nicely.”

In one swift motion, he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you off the counter. You yelped, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you the few stumbling steps to the living room couch. He fell back onto it, landing with a soft grunt, with you straddling his lap.

“You’re in charge,” he said roughly. His hands settled on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin. “Go on, show me how much you want it.”

You looked down at him, at his kiss-swollen lips, his flushed skin, the raging need in his eyes barely held in check. The bulge in his sweatpants was enormous, straining against the fabric. With trembling fingers, you tugged at the waistband, pulling them down just enough to free him.

He sprang out, thick and long, the head flushed a deep red and already beading with pre-cum. A shudder wracked you. You’d imagined what he’d look like, in dark, shameful moments during your heats, but the reality was… more. So much more.

“Good enough for you?” he taunted, but his voice was strained.

“It’ll do,” you shot back. You positioned yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. You sank down, just an inch, and both of you cried out. The stretch was immense, a burning, perfect fullness that left your heart hammering against your chest.

“Fuck,” Heeseung hissed, his head falling back against the couch, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips. “Slow down, baby, fuck, you’re so tight—”

But you were done with slow, done with waiting. With a low moan, you dropped your weight, sheathing him completely in one swift, brutal motion.

The sound he made was pure animal—a choked-off groan. You were full, so impossibly full, stretched to your limit around him. You stayed there, panting, adjusting to the sensation, your inner walls fluttering and clenching around him involuntarily. He groaned, his hips jerking up minutely.

“Ride me,” he commanded, his voice guttural. “Ride me, Y/N. Come on.”

You began to move. It was awkward at first, then instinct took over. You rose up until just the tip remained inside you, then sank back down, taking him deep. A rhythm found you, slow and rolling at first, then faster, driven by the building, screaming want in your core. Your hands braced on his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through his shirt.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his own hips meeting your downward strokes, driving even deeper. “Use me. Take what you need. You feel so fucking good, I can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t think.”

You were losing yourself in the overwhelming rush of it all—the relentless slap of your skin against his, the obscene, wet squelch of your pussy swallowing his thick cock over and over, his guttural groans vibrating through your core. His hands roamed possessively, squeezing the firm globes of your ass, fingers digging into your hips to guide your frantic pace, then sliding up to grope your tits through the thin, sweat-soaked camisole. With a rough tug, he yanked the damp fabric down, exposing your heaving breasts to the cool air. He surged forward, capturing a stiff nipple between his lips, sucking hard with a swirl of his tongue.

You cried out, the feeling of his hot mouth latching onto your sensitive peak and his cock spearing deep into your clenching heat shoving you perilously close to oblivion. Your thighs burned as you bounced on him, thighs flexing with each desperate rise and fall, your ass slapping down onto his lap in a hypnotic rhythm. Your pussy gripped him tighter with every descent, the slick drag of his veined shaft against your inner walls bring you closer and closer.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his head tipped back against the cushion, eyes slitted with pleasure as he watched you ride him. “Fucking look at you. All that fucking attitude, and now you’re just a dripping, desperate little thing for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” you gasped, but it was a weak protest, lost in the slap of skin and your own ragged breaths. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, changing the angle. He hissed, his cock hitting a spot deep inside that made you see stars. “Oh, god—“

“There it is,” he snarled, his grip tightening. “Right there. You found it. Fuck, Choi, just like that.” His hands slid up to your breasts, thumbing your hard, wet nipples. The sensation was almost too much, a sharp, sweet overstimulation that had you crying out. “You gonna come? Hmm? Gonna come all over my cock after all that big talk?”

You couldn’t answer. You were a mess of sensation—the stretch and burn of him filling you, the delicious friction on your clit with every grind, the possessive heat of his hands on your skin. Your scent, jasmine and rain, had gone heavy and sweet with vanilla and musk, saturating the air. His own scent was a wildfire of bergamot and cedar and pure, undiluted alpha.

His own control was fraying. You could see it in the tense cords of his neck, the way his jaw was clenched, the desperate, hungry rolls of his hips. He was holding back, letting you take your pleasure, but the alpha in him was straining at the leash.

“Heeseung,” you whimpered, your rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled, tight and unbearable, in your core. “I—I can’t—“

“Yes, you can,” he commanded, his voice rough. He sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you onto your back on the couch cushions in one swift, powerful motion. You yelped, the movement driving him even deeper, making you gasp. He was on top of you now, caging you in, his weight a delicious, crushing pressure. “You can take it. You’re gonna come for me. Say it.”

He began to fuck you in earnest, his thrusts deep, measured, and devastatingly accurate. Each one punched a broken sound from your throat. “Say it, Y/N,” he demanded, his lips against your ear.

“I’m gonna come,” you sobbed, the admission torn from you. “Fuck, Heeseung, I’m gonna—“

“That’s it,” he growled, his pace turning brutal. “Let go. Come on my cock. Show me.”

The world shattered. Your orgasm tore through you, and your back arched off the couch, a silent scream on your lips as your body clamped down on him in a series of ruthless, fluttering spasms. Pleasure, white-hot and endless, flooded every nerve ending, leaving you trembling and boneless beneath him.

He fucked you through it, his thrusts turning shallow and frantic as he chased his own peak. “So good, baby, so fucking tight,” he chanted, his voice ragged. “Gonna knot you. Gonna fill you up. You want it? You want my knot?”

Through the haze of your climax, his words registered. Knot. Your omega screamed yes, a frantic, inner howl of need. Your body, still convulsing with aftershocks, clenched around him eagerly, milking him, pulling him deeper. “Hngh—yeah,” you slurred, your mind foggy with pleasure. “Knot me. Do it, Heeseung, please.”

He let out a choked, guttural sound. His thrusts became erratic, then stopped, buried to the hilt. You felt him swell, the base of his cock thickening, expanding, locking him inside you. It was incredible, overwhelming, a fullness so complete it bordered on pain. With a final, shuddering groan, he came, his release hot and endless, flooding you in pulsing waves.

You could only hear the sound of your combined panting, the feel of his weight on you for a long while. But slowly, you came back to yourself. The rough fabric of the couch under your back. His heavy, warm weight. The dull, pleasant ache between your legs where he was still locked inside you. His knot was beginning to subside.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes glazed with satiation. He looked wrecked, beautiful. He brushed sweat-damp hair from your forehead. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word full of awe.

You were too spent for your usual barbs. You just stared up at him, your mind a sluggish, post-coital blank. Then, your eyes drifted to the side of his neck, to the strong, corded line of it. His scent gland.

You tilted your head, nuzzling into his throat. Your lips brushed over the spot where his scent was strongest, where his pulse thrummed steadily. You inhaled, and a low, needy whine escaped you.

He went very still. “Y/N…” His voice was a frail warning.

“You said I was yours,” you murmured against his skin. “Prove it.”

He shifted, trying to pull back to look at you, but the knot still held you together. “Baby, we’re… I don’t know about this. A bite is… it’s permanent.”

You felt a sharp, irrational sting of rejection. You pulled your head back, meeting his eyes. The fog of pleasure was receding, replaced by a sudden, vulnerable ache. “You don’t want to?” you whispered, insecurity flaring up inside you. “You hunted for me for a year, you just knotted me on my brother’s couch, but you don’t want to mate me?”

His eyes snapped back to yours, wide with shock. “What? No. Fuck, no, Y/N, that’s not it.” He shifted, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at your joined bodies. “I want to. God, you have no idea how much I want to sink my teeth into you right now and make sure every alpha on the fucking planet knows you’re mine.” The raw possessiveness in his voice made your stomach clench. “But… a mating bite? That’s not just… this.” He gestured weakly between your bodies. “That’s forever. That’s it. And we just… we just fucked on a couch after ten years of screaming at each other. We’re not… we might not be thinking straight.”

The logical part of your brain knew he was right. It was the sane, responsible thing to say. But the omega in you, the part that had just been thoroughly claimed and knotted by her alpha, the part that could still feel his seed inside her, didn’t give a single damn about logic. It wanted the claim. It wanted the finality. It wanted him, irrevocably.

A low, pathetic whine escaped your throat before you could stop it. You hated the sound, but you couldn’t help it. You nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his scent, your lips brushing over his own gland. “Please,” you breathed against his skin, the word barely audible.

He sighed. “Y/N…”

His tone pissed you off. “Don’t you dare talk down to me, Lee Heeseung,” you snapped, your voice gaining strength. “You don’t get to decide what I want or what state I’m in to want it. I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember,” You arched against him, feeling him twitch inside you as your inner walls clenched reflexively. “So either bite me, or get the hell off me and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

His eyes flashed, the alpha in him rising to the challenge in your tone. The possessiveness you’d seen earlier roared back to the surface, hotter and fiercer. “You don’t mean that,” he growled.

“Try me.”

The standoff lasted three heartbeats, and then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, lowering his head again.

This time, when his mouth found your throat, there was no hesitation. His tongue laved over your mating gland, the sensitive skin there prickling instantly under the wet heat. You moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Heeseung…”

“Last chance to tell me no,” he breathed, his teeth grazing the spot. A shiver of anticipation racked you.

“Do it,” you begged, the words a raw, honest plea. “Please.”

He bit down.

It wasn’t a gentle nip—it was a deep pressure that broke the skin. There was a sharp, bright pain that melted almost instantly into a wave of dizzying, overwhelming pleasure. It felt like a circuit completing, a final, missing piece slotting into place. A bolt surged through you, and he laved his tongue over the bite, soothing the sting.

Then he finally eased off you, his knot having subsided enough for him to slip out. The loss of him made you feel empty and cold, but he didn’t go far. He gathered you against his chest, turning so you were both on your sides, facing each other on the cramped couch. He tucked your head under his chin, his arms wrapping around you in a warm hold. He turned your face toward his and kissed you, deep and slow.

“All mine,” he breathed against your mouth.

But before you could answer, before you could even process the seismic shift in your universe, the sound of a key rattling in the front door lock cut through the air.

Click. Clack.

Your eyes, still locked with Heeseung’s, widened in identical, dawning horror.

Beomgyu’s cheerful, unsuspecting voice called out from the entryway. “Hey, losers! I’m back early. The date was a bust. Who wants takeout?”

for the anon who requested !!! ♡ i hope i did ur request justice - as i said this is my first time writing het omegaverse and even omegaverse as a whole i havent written in a while so HOPEFULLY it was okay 🥹 didn’t turn out exactly how i wanted it to but oh well 🚬 also the chef guy beomgyu was on a date with was soobin

JAKE SIM

when you hear that name you think of a walking std. even though he doesn’t have one. because at least he’s responsible enough to wrap it up and get checked at the student health center regularly.

per your friends of course.

you’ve always been in your bubble, throughout lower grade school, and now even in college. you liked your small group of friends. not being popular. not having all the attention on you.

you did well enough in school to get into this great university.

you opted to spend your weekends in the library or a cafe, reading, studying, or catching up on homework. while your friends had guys deep in them, you were deep in your homework.

today was like no other, saturday evening, library mainly empty, your text book spread out with words and number that made absolutely no sense to you.

your eyebrows furrowed to concentrate, your hand running through your hair in frustration.

why did you even have to take chemistry? this was stupid. you bit your lower lip, your pen fidgeting in between your fingers.

“need help?” that oh so familiar bright, but sultry voice asked from behind you.

you turned around to see jake with a lopped sided grin on his face. “no thank you,” you answered in a clipped tone. you rolled your eyes and turned back to the frustrating situation in front of you.

“oh come on! i can see you struggling,” jake says, pulling out the wooden chair from beside you, which once sat empty, was now occupied by him. he dropped his dark backpack in front of him, between his feet.

jake leaned over, his breath fanning against your cheek to get a closer look at the issue at hand. with a finger, he pointed and started to explain what you were doing wrong. he was only trying to help.

but you knew him. well his reputation at least. he’s probably telling you nonsense, just to sound smart. his end goal was probably to get between your legs.

“i said no thanks.” you repeated, voice laced with warning.

jake looked at you, startled. eyes wide. you finally met his gaze, taking in his features. fuck him for actually being handsome.

“oh, well,” jake stuttered. his shoulders sagged. “i’ll just leave you be then.” his gaze shifted to behind you, wanting to avoid your scrutinizing eyes.

jake quickly stood, grabbing his backpack and walking away from you. you didn’t even bother to keep your eyes on him, and went back to your studies.

by the entrance, jake’s friends, jay and sunghoon stood, happening to witness the encounter.

“tough crowd?” sunghoon teased.

“i was just wanting to help her!” jake defended. “i saw she was struggling.” he adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, as the three boys walked out into the fresh air.

“help her or get in her pants?” jay questioned his friend. jake stayed silent for a beat too long. jay laughed with a sigh. “ever thought maybe she’s not like the other girls and is fool proof when it comes to you?”

jake thought about it. since he first saw you he was drawn to you. but you never gave him the time of day. it was freshman orientation when he first saw you. before he even was given the reputation of the campus fuckboy and heartthrob. before he became the start soccer player for the university’s team.

he’s seen you at parties before. not many, but enough. at the time, either he never had the courage to go up to talk to you, or when he did, you were preoccupied by your friends, or by other men, or you had disappeared from his sight.

he’s even had a few classes with you—but he was never lucky enough to end up sitting by you or being partnered with you.

only a handful of times has he ever talked—or attempted to talk to you and it failed. usually your friends were around, trying to flirt with him, but he only had eyes for you. but your gaze never met his, always keeping your distance.

you didn’t fall for his smile, charm, sweet talk. none of it. you were truly either different, out of your mind, or he had the wrong body parts.

but per your friends who always talk about you around him and his friends, you were definitely into body parts he possessed.

“good luck with her man.” sunghoon patted jake’s back.

────۶ৎ──── ────۶ৎ────

heat crept to your cheeks, cringing inwardly as you looked at the grade on your chemistry exam.

“45%.” your voice wavering. maybe you didn’t want to be a veterinarian that bad?

you slammed the exam face down, disgusted by your lack of knowledge about the subject.

the professor tsked at the front of the room, and before dismissing, asked those who wanted to do better on the next to meet him at the front to sign up for a tutor.

you wasted no time, writing down your name, email, and phone number for a tutor to reach out to you.

the exam crumpled under your fist as you walked out the lecture hall, not watching where you were going, only to bump into a shoulder.

“oof, sorry!” you mumbled out an apology. you looked up seeing the pale skin of a handsome man. the same one that hangs out with jake sim.

park sunghoon.

“no worries,” he smiles, showing off his canines. park sunghoon was a handsome man. hell—all of jake’s friends were handsome. but their heads and egos were already big enough.

you were so focused on sunghoon, that you hadn’t noticed that your crumpled exam had fallen out of your hand.

making a mad dash out of the building, sunghoon watched you with a smile, then with a frown, looked down to the crumpled paper on the ground.

he opened it, seeing that it was a chemistry grade with your name. he took out his phone and sent a text to jake.

- group chat 02z -

hoon: jake, seems like your girl might need your help after all 😐. [attached one image]

jake: oof that grade 🥴 but say no more 😏

the next day in your history class, you received a text from an unknown number.

xxx-xxx-xxxx — hey. 👋 this is your tutor for chem for professor gillian. please let me know the time and day which works best for you for our first meeting. after that we can come up with a schedule that fits both our needs.

you — hi! i can meet tmr at the library at like 5ish?

xxx-xxx—xxxx: sounds good. i will book study room w45 on the fourth floor near west wing.

“imagine if your tutor, was like, hot.” your friend, yena exclaimed with a clap. you had met with your friends after class to grab some food at the dining hall.

you shrugged. “i’m trying to get my grade up, not find a good lay, yen.”

your other friend, stella gasped, “why not both?” you smiled and shook your head.

your third and final friend at the table smirked, “what if it’s jake sim?” anna gushes.

you looked at her with horror and confusion. “now why would jake sim be my tutor for chemistry?”

“because he’s smart?” stella says matter of factly.

you laughed harder, gasping for air. “oh please. not you both falling for the smart guy act.” you wiped fake tears, catching your breath. “he’s already tried to ‘help’ me once, seeing me struggle at the library.” you say, using your fingers for quotation marks around the word help. “i know his tactics.”

“but—,” anna began but you cut her off.

“no buts.” you say, and the three friends went quiet. if it was jake sim who would be tutoring you, you’d just have to find out for yourself.

which you did, because when you walked into the booked study room by your tutor, you saw jake sim sitting at the table comfortably.

“um excuse me! this room is taken.”

“you’re excused,” jake smirks. “and of course it’s taken, im the one who booked it.”

“liar!” you argued. you knew jake was desperate, but this desperate? you didn’t want to believe the jake sim—knew chemistry.

boy did he prove you wrong. he had the receipts—passed exams, quizzes, work, other tutoring gigs. the boy never got below an 88% on his stuff.

he was smart. a freaking genius. he showed you all his advance classes, his grades in there. proof of emails of his professors congratulating or praising him.

you sat there in silence. unmoving. jake kept a watchful eye on you. “can i tutor you now? i genuinely want to help.”

“what’s in it for you?” you raised a eyebrow.

“nothing. i just love teaching people about this subject. i get real nerdy about it.” jake chuckled softly, your to tongue ran over your teeth, not going unnoticed by jake.

“nerdy?” you deadpanned.

“nerdy.” he repeated, bright smile.

and once again, he proved just how nerdy he gets for this subject. his voice was animated the entire time talking and teaching you the basics you’d need. the foundation and fundamentals to build on. then he went on to explain your exam and why you got what you did wrong.

“how’d you get this?” your face askew, ripping the paper embarrassment from his hands.

“my friend found it by the trash in a lecture hall.”

you realized it had to be sunghoon. you had balled it up when you ran into him, and suddenly forgotten about it.

“no need to be embarrassed by it, angel. chemistry is a hard concept to grasp.”

you ignored the angel nickname. “but you get it just fine?”

jake shrugged. “been into it since i was young.” he ran a hand through his hair, the brown curls getting more unruly.

for the next hour or so, jake continued with the study session, and by the time you both were done for the night, it was almost 9 pm.

“well damn, 4 hours spent on chemistry?”

“time goes by fast when you’re having fun, huh?” jake laughed.

“maybe for you.” you teased, starting to pack up your bag. “should we set a schedule for our tutoring?”

“so you do want to see me again?”

you nodded. “well yeah, i need to pass this class for my pre-vet requirements.”

jake leaned back in his chair, his thumb running against his lower lip, before moisturizing said lips with his tongue. you couldn’t help but watch.

“since it’s not soccer season, i am pretty open. i have classes typically until 3 pm everyday,”

“and your weekends are spent parting and occupied by girls.” you finished.

“why don’t you come out to any parties?”

“not my scene.” you say. “anyways, how about monday, wednesdays, and thursdays? around same time—5ish?”

jake nodded in agreement. “i get you three times a week? lucky me.”

“you damn right lucky you, i don’t spend my precious time with just anyone, sim.”

────۶ৎ──── ────۶ৎ────

three weeks have passed since jake started tutoring and helping you in chemistry. that was 9 tutoring sessions. each lasting up to 4 hours with him.

you were starting to spend more time with fuckboy jake sim, than your own friends.

of course there were a few times where his friends would join—just for about an hour though. other interruptions came from girls who were dying for his attention.

there was one girl who successfully pulled him away for a good five minutes, and you were sure jake had either received a blow job from her or they had a quickie.

you didn’t mention it though. just gave him a glare.

but you were starting to tolerate him—even slightly like him. he was kind, efficient, easy going, accountable, and was capable enough to handle the subject.

you also came to learn jake sim was very adventurous, curious, confident , and sexy. and you weren’t just talking about his looks.

but him. the way he spoke. carried himself. his gestures. vocabulary. voice. that australian accent seemed stronger than before.

few times you had to squeeze your thighs together and mentally slap yourself.

“your exam is next week, on tuesday,” jake says, interrupting your thoughts.

your voice shook, “yeah,”

“no need to be nervous, angel. you’ve been doing great so far during our sessions. i’m positive you’re getting a minimum of a 80%.”

“not a 100%?”

“let’s be realistic here,”

you laughed deep in your belly. jake loved it. loved that you were finally opening up to him. enjoying his company just as much as he was enjoying yours.

“any celebratory ideas?”

you tapped your chin with your finger, “mhm, ice cream?”

“boring.” jake stuck out his tongue, thumbs down. “something more enjoyable.”

“buy myself new books?”

jake shook his head. “nope.” he then thought about it himself, “how about this—,”

“no.” you quickly cut him off.

“you didn’t even know what i was going to say!”

“you had that smile on your face sim. didn’t like it.” you crossed your arms.

“i was just gonna say, celebrate that good grade by coming to heeseung’s party on saturday? since the exam is on a tutoring day, we won’t have much to go over, other than seeing your results.”

you drew in a breath, ready to say no, but jake puckered his bottom lip with a pout, his eyes sad looking. your head cocked to the side, “is that the look you give girls when you want them in bed?”

“nah, i just have to smile and they drop their panties for me.”

────۶ৎ──── ────۶ৎ────

the exam came and went, and it was now thursday, results for the exam. your heart beat fast in your chest, like it was about explode.

your professor gave you a court smile, lying your exam face down. with trembling fingers you turned it over.

82%.

you nearly choked on your own spit. nearly stood up in the middle of the class, an excited scream treating to slip. but you contained the excitement. you looked forward to telling jake, seeing him, seeing him share your excitement.

then your heart dropped. you were actually looking forward to seeing jake. seeing him smile. sharing the joy of the intimate moment.

fuck you were screwed.

that evening you dragged your feet to the library, nervously playing with the strap of your backpack. jake was in his usual spot in the study room, typing on his laptop.

probably working on his essay that he had actually asked you to help him with for his creative writing elective course.

you knocked to not startle him, and he turned his head, a smile covering his face when he saw it was you and not another girl there to bother him for a quick hookup.

to jake, he may be a fuckboy, enjoy sex or whatever, but he absolutely hates when people interrupt him while he’s completing any school work.

sex and soccer is his outlets to let out that frustration, not his distractions.

you leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen, “how’s the essay coming?”

jake sighed, “i guess okay.” he mumbled feeling defeated. he shut his laptop but not before you could see the topic he was writing about.

“anyway, how’d the exam results go?” he asked twisting his body in his chair to face you, you still standing in your spot behind him.

you pretended to feel sad, defeated, a pout on your face. “you lied about wha grade i would get!”

jake’s face fell, “angel what happened? did you get nervous?” he quickly stood up, his height towering you, as he took the paper from your grip.

he looked at the red marker in confusion, then his mood lifted, heart leaping in his chest, a smile gleaming show off his perfect teeth.

you got a warm, fuzzy feeling. “told you; you lied about what grade you think i would get.”

without thinking, he pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around your neck, yours awkwardly around his waist. “so fucking proud of you angel.” he whispered against the side of your head, and kissed it.

again, your body received that warm, fuzzy feeling. you cleared your throat, carefully sliding from his embrace, heat creeping up your cheeks.

“oh, right,” you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, looking up to his gaze, his eyes full of something you couldn’t read. “again, thank you, jake.”

jake felt warmth bloom in his own chest, hearing you say his name. “anytime, angel.”

“who knew the popular soccer player and fuckboy would help me pass chem.”

jake smiled lopsided. “i will take that as a compliment.” he says. “and i look forward to seeing you at hee’s party.”

────۶ৎ──── ────۶ৎ────

that came quickly. quicker than you would like. your friends, yena, anna, and stella gathered at stella’s, getting ready for hee’s party.

black mini skirt (barely covering your ass). white cropped top. brown leather jacket on top. waist chain. black simple boots.

as you stared at your outfit, already missing your usual sweats, the girls gossiped about jake and his friends. gushing about how he is helping you pass chem.

gossiping at how you need to hook up.

your head whipped around, “don’t be stupid, stell.”

all three pouted. “the one girl jake shows any interest in, is the one rejecting him the most. sigh.” anna falls back on the bed.

“and don’t be dramatic, an.” you shook your head, adjusting the crop top and mini skirt, but it did nothing to help.

“do you guys think heeseung will like my outfit?” yena asks, twirling in her short red cocktail dress. v neck plunging.

“oh absolute, darling!” stella squealed. “you’re def hooking up with heeseung tonight!”

“and anna will definitely capture jay’s attention in her own jean mini skirt!” yena gleams.

“maybe i should try sinking my claws into sunghoon.” stella purrs.

you laugh, “go for it. i will not cockblock you all tonight. promise.”

you’d regret those words when you arrived, because as soon a yena saw heeseung, she ran over to him. not even 30 minutes in, jake had found you with his two friends, jay and sunghoon by his side.

them three, and you, stella and anna held conversations for another good 30 minutes. well, as much as you could between the drinking and loud music.

in a blink of an eye, anna had disappeared with jay to the dance floor, stella guiding sunghoon up the stairs leaving you and jake alone in the kitchen.

drumming your cup nervously, you tried to look anywhere but at jake. he looked too fine tonight—as usual. dark jeans, black hoodie, green jacket overtop. hair fluffy.

he looked so eatable. lick able. fuck why were you so horny?

“you okay?” jake asks, voice gentle. the way his hand gripped his own cup, you could see the vein in his forearm.

you felt as if you were sweating. you absentmindedly fiddled with the ring on your finger, both hands gripping the cup. “oh yeah, um, just don’t do well—around a crowd of unknown people.” you mumbled.

jake nodded realizing the anxiety you must be feeling. he softly grabbed your hand that was fiddling your ring, “follow me.” he ordered softly, and gently pulled you behind him to the back door and outside.

you suddenly felt as if you could breathe. “thanks, jake.” you smiled softly.

jake took a gulp of his drink, trying to calm himself down. you look absolutely beautiful in that mini skirt and top. an outfit he knew you wouldn’t originally wear. your thighs on display for him, and all he wanted to do was grip them. leave indents of his finger nails. be buried between them. kiss them. mark them up with his teeth and lips. he bet you taste so sweet. so soft.

he hadn’t realized he was staring until you cleared your throat. “eyes up here, sim.” you placed your fingers under his chin.

he smirked, “can’t help it angel. you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“just stunning?” you teased, bumping your arm with his.

“stunning. beautiful. gorgeous. delicious. yummy. fuckable.”

you clenched your thighs, “i get it.”

jake bit his lower lip. your gloss on your lips so shiny, calling for his lips. before he could stop, he was leaning in, “please don’t slap me, angel.” he mumbled before his lips softly pressed against yours.

his lips so soft. pillow like. marshmallow like. your lip gloss sticking to his own lips. one hand gripped the cup to the side, the other hand went to the nape of his neck, your fingers threading through the strands.

both his hands, arms, wrapped around your waist tightly. afraid to let you go. afraid he was just dreaming this.

soon, the kiss became sloppy, each fighting for control. one of jake’s hands went to grip your ass under your skirt, causing a whine to escape your lips. he took the opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth, his tongue finding yours.

dammit he was an excellent kisser.

it wasn’t until his hand on your ass, kept sliding up, gripped your waist that you pulled away. he chased for your lips, kissing you softly once more before resting his forehead against yours.

with a grin, he says “wow.” his lips now glossy from your lip gloss. pupils dilated, eyes hungry for need. want.

you swallowed realizing you just made out with the jake sim. and you liked it.

“jake—,”

before you could speak more, his lips found yours again. pushing your body against the back of the house, drink now forgotten as it lays on the ground. jake’s own drink disappeared from his grip, as now your ass was the focus of it.

you moaned his name. jake whined into the kiss, lifting your right leg up to hook around his waist, his jean covered boner resting perfectly against where you craved him most. a wet spot beginning to form.

your arms wrapped around his neck, as he continued his humping.

never did you think you’d be dry humping jake sim at a house party, outside, against the back of the house.

one of jake’s fingers crept up your bare thigh, so close to the wet patch, and where you needed him.

just as you were about to whine for him to touch you, you heard the most grated squeal of jake’s name coming out the back door.

you quickly pushed jake away, him nearly stumbling over his own feet.

“jakey, there you are!” it was chisa. one of jake’s known hookups. her long dark hair flowing with the wind, her looking prettier than ever.

you wiped the bottom of your lip in disgust and shame. disgust that you even let him touch you. shame that you fell for his charm.

“i need to go find my friends.” you mumbled, head down, arms crossed. not even sparing jake another glance, walking back into the party.

before leaving you heard jake say “chisa—,” but quickly tuned him out.

you made out with jake sim. you dry humped with jake sim. if it wasn’t for chisa, you were sure you would’ve let jake finger you. have sex with you against the house.

you quickly made your way into the house, and up the stairs, just needing to be alone. you’ve been to a house party of heeseung’s before, just it’s been a while.

memory serves yourself right, you found yourself in one of the bathrooms upstairs, shutting and locking the door behind you.

with frustration, your hands raked through your hair, down your face. what were you doing? jake was your tutor for goodness sakes.

pacing in the bathroom, your fingers picked at your bottom lip. how were things going to be normal after this? you needed jake. needed him if you wanted to pass chem.

a small knock at the door interrupted your spiraling, “just a minute!” you croaked out. looking at yourself in the mirror you took a deep breath. you had to get out of here.

unfortunately, the universe has other plans. when you unlocked the door and began to open it, you were pushed back, the door shutting once more and clicked indicating it was locked.

“jake, what are you—,”

you couldn’t finish that sentence as jake pulled you into another heated kiss, his left hand cupping your jaw.

“i wasn’t finished with you, angel.” he whispers against your lips, before his heavy lips were all over you. lips. back. collarbone.

your hand when to the back of his neck with a tight grip. “jake,” you moaned, head tilted back as he sucked on the sweet skin of your neck.

“my angel.” his free hand trailing up your bare leg, under your skirt. he wasted no time moving your panties to the side, his middle finger tracing your wet folds. “so wet for me, huh?”

your body rocked against his finger, thighs tightening around his hand between your legs. “more, jake, please.” you begged.

you were his angel indeed, as he ascended to heaven that very moment. he’s dreamt of this moment. having you moan his name, withering in pleasure.

he added a second finger, his thumb rubbing your clit. his fingers felt so good. as his paced picked up, your back dug into the counter top. your stomach began to tighten, realizing you were closer to coming. quite possibly the quickest orgasm you’ve had, ever.

jake could feel your body lock up, your hips rocking more, chasing your high. “that’s right my angel, fuck yourself on my fingers.”

you’re forehead dropped to his shoulder, as you clenched and unclenched, orgasm ripping from your body, a soft moan mixed with a yelp slipping from your lips.

jake continues to overstimulate you, your body jerking. you winced, “jake,” your voice breathless, only making jake harder in his pants.

jake lifted your head, clashing hip lips to yours. back still pressed against the counter, you felt jake’s fingers moving against you. he began unzipping his pants, pulling those and his boxers low enough to pull out his leaking cock. mushroom tip covered with precome and ready for you.

you looked down, breath hitching at the sheer size and thickness of jake. yeah, no wonder girls keep coming back to him for a fuck.

“spit on it.” jaje mutters, his deep voice shocking you. he’s always been sweet with you, but something with that tone when he said that had you nearly coming untouched.

you did as told, watching your salvia meet his head. you looked up, jake’s eyes heavy with lust. cock in his hand, your hands behind you gripping the bathroom counter, he teased your folds with the tip of his cock, a needy, and impatient whine falling from your lips.

“knew you wanted this, baby.” he sighs in content, and pushed the head in, followed by the rest of his length, stretching you.

“ah fuck, jake!” you gripped his shoulders, nails digging in his jacket.

“mhm, s’good for me. fit me so well.” jake mumbles softly in your ears, your right leg wrapped around his waist.

he pulled out to the tip, then slammed back in, a loud scream coming from your lips.

“pussy so tight baby, haven’t been fucked properly, huh?” jake’s mouth just kept spewing dirty praise as he rocked in and out, sounds of wet skin only to be heard. you were so wet, if you weren’t so fucked out with how jake was making you feel, you would for sure be embarrassed by the sounds coming from your mouth and your own body.

“jake—,”

“that’s it, keep moaning my name. let them know who’s making you feel this good.”

“you jake.”

“gonna come around my cock?” you nodded, and moaned even louder, hugging him tighter when he whined and moaned put your name. “making me feel so good, fuck. been thinking about this too long.”

the last sentence should have snapped you out of it, but you were to far gone. soon, your walls were clenching around jake’s cock, leg tightening around his waist, head thrown back.

“jake, yes, i’m gonna—,”

“come for me.” he growled, earning a second orgasm from you. whining when he pulled out, he stroked himself twice before coming on your pretty cunt and in your underwear.

breaths hot, bathroom reeking of sex, your leg finally moved down from his waist, wincing at the sticky substance in your underwear.

jake smiled, his hair a mess on top of his head, neck red, licking his lips. he tucked himself back in his pants. “you did so good.” he says with your name. he kissed you. tenderly.

what the fuck did you do?

been thinking about this too long.

his words repeat in your head. jake saw your furrowed brow, his palm resting against your cheek. “don’t think too much about it. let’s not overthink.”

he meant for it to be comforting, but instead you processed it as, ‘it was just a quick hookup, nothing more.’

“congrats jake, seems like you can add another name to your list.” you say, your voice laced with anger.

jake seemed flabbergasted. “what?” he went to grab your hands but you pulled away. you fixed your skirt, and patted down your hair.

“i’ll find a new tutor.” you say and opened the bathroom door, disappearing into the crowd, thankful no one was paying attention.

you walked home, telling yourself not to cry. you wouldn’t cry for him. and to think, all those study sessions, laughs, giggles, conversations, was real. to think you were stating to like him. more than an acquaintance. more than a friend.

the way he would look at you. talk to you. carry your bags. walk you to your place after a late night study session. it was all a joke and tactic to get in your pants.

a single tear slipped.

────۶ৎ──── ────۶ৎ────

you stuck to your word and found a new the. jake’s calls, texts, emails, and advancements going ignored. you told your friends what happened. they were happy you got laid, but felt for you for falling for jake.

“jay says jake’s a mess. why not hear him out?” anna says one night. after the party anna and jay definitely got a lot closer.

you thought about it that night before you agreed maybe you did need to hear him out.

you shouldn’t have listened.

you walked around the engineering building, hiding behind the wall when you heard your name slip from jake’s lips.

“why are you so upset man, where you trying to fuck her anyway?” you saw it was heeseung who said it. “by the way, don’t do that ever again, in my bathroom you freak.”

jake laughed. he laughed. “well yeah, i’ve been thinking about fucking her since i laid eyes on her.”

you turned around to walk away, not even wanting to hear the rest of the conversation.

that evening you were at the library, with your new tutor, matthew. he was smart, but you didn’t connect with him like jake. he saw you were struggling and decided to call it a night.

“but, it’s barely been two hours?”

“your mind is somewhere else. this session will do no good if you can’t focus.” he says, gathering the studying materials. “just give me a holler when you’re ready.”

you watched matthew walk away, nearly snapping your pencil in half because you were so consumed by jake sim.

you gave up, packing your own belongings and headed outside to walk home.

“how’s matthew at tutoring?” your soul nearly jumped out of your body hearing a deep voice from behind you on the dark path.

“shit jake! you can’t just be doing that to women!”

jake stalked closer, jaw tight, “i said, how’s matthew at tutoring?” his voice laced with venom—jealousy.

you gripped your strap on your bag. “he’s fine.”

“why did you find a new tutor? we were doing so well together.”

“you can cut the act jake. you got what you want from me. now you can easily move on to the next girl.”

“what—,”

“i hope you had your fun toying with me until someone better came along.” you tried to hold back your tears. “you know what really sucks about falling for a guy you know you're not right for? you fall anyway because you think he might turn out to be different.”

jake was breathless. speechless. you—you fell for him? “angel,” he reached for you but you stepped back.

“anyway, i’m done. i’ll figure out chemistry without you. goodbye jake.”

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 ฅᨐฅ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

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He squeezes harder, backing you up until the backs of your thighs hit the bed.

Your scowl deepens, biting back a sharp gasp when his hands grip your breasts, huge palms cupping them, thumbs dragging across your nipples. His lidded eyes dart to where your nipples perk up, breasts heaving up and down with your rapid breaths.

"You love when I handle you like this, don't you?" he murmurs, smirk playing on his lips. "Your mouth says one thing, but this..."

"Ah!" Naoya gives your nipples a sharp pinch, rolling them between his fingers until you're gasping out against your will, cunt dripping, making you fucking furious at yourself.

"Your body, she's beggin' for it, isn't she?" You scoff, shaking your head, body betraying you.

"You're delusional," his thigh presses between yours, hard muscles pressed firmly against your overheated cunt.

"Am I?" He lifts you like it's nothing, you barely manage to protest when he damn near tosses you on his bad with a soft bounce, the dark silk sheets cool against your skin, but the heat emanating from his body has you burning.

"You are fucking delusional, I don't want you for shit," he chuckles now, stripping away his pants in one quick slutty motion, his cock jutting out. You wish it wasn't so goddamn thick, leaking pre from his pretty tip when he glides back that bit of foreskin, his cock leaking on the bed.

"See something you like?"

"Not you," you swallow nervously as he leans back on his knees, panicked then. Surely a man like Naoya just shoves his cock in, and you're unfortunately a virgin due to your strict ass upbringing.

Should have fucked the guards or something first.

"Look at you. Legs spread, your cunt drooling and being messy," you roll your eyes, laying flat then.

"You just do it then, don't expect me to help you any," he glares once more, why does he care suddenly if you want it? Why does he want so badly for you to beg him?

His whole life women clamored to suck him off, eagerly let him take them whenever he wanted, then there's you, stiff and unmoving, but your body tells him all he needs to know. He knows damn well he could get you to cum for him.

"You're ready to be bred, aren't you? That is your duty, after all, your great honor."

"My great honor," you burst into laughter, earning his fingers around your throat again. "Ah, you like choking women? That tracks. Just stick it in I guess."

"What the..." He shoves you further up the bed, you wriggle just a bit, trying to get your bearings as he climbs over you, barring you with his arms on either side. "Insolent girl, you have no clue what an honor it is to be underneath me."

"Such an honor, god I'm so excited!" You're laughing even with his hand around your throat, even with his pressure. "I am not sucking you so get one of your little fans to do it."

"I don't need you on your knees," he murmurs, lips just a breath away from yours, tickling them, tasting like the sake he'd consumed at your wedding ceremony. For a moment you admit to yourself the choking is making you fuzzy, making you wetter with his weight on you.

But just a moment.

"So you gonna choke me out? Please do, I can sleep through this," he releases your throat but grips your chin instead when you catch a breath.

"I just need you under me, taking everything I give you," his words don't have the right to make you that wet. "Let me come inside your slutty little hole until you're swollen with my heir."

You say nothing, reaching down between you both to run your fingers down to your clit, running in circles to his angry gaze. "Prepping myself for this surely boring sex."

"Yeah?" He leans back a bit, watching you play with your cunt and biting back a moan. "You're real sure I can't make you come."

"I don't need to, just need it to not hurt," your fingers glide into your own hole and he's fucking dumbstruck.

"You're the sluttiest virgin I've heard of," your lips twitch with amusement. "Are you one?"

"I am, but doesn't mean I don't get off, mnh," you're so insolent, touching yourself and looking like that, as if to torture him. Naoya snatches your hand up, your eyes narrow at him. "Can I not get myself off?"

"Not allowed to touch what's mine without my permission," he leans down, his breath ghosting over your lips. "I told you, you'll learn your place."

"Maybe you should learn yours." You bite back a moan when two long fingers slip in your hole. "Don't bother, you won't do anything for me. Just put it in and come."

"You think your tiny, pathetic cunt can take all this cock? You're dumb too, huh?" You smack the fuck out of him, earning his psychotic grin when you accidentally split his lip open. "Aw, did I hurt your feelings?"

As he speaks he presses up on that spot, the one that has you blinded, whining out at the pressure, the stretch as he works them mean in slick walls. "F-fuck you."

"I'm going to," he moans when you grip him like that, so goddamn tight, dying to shove his cock inside. "And you're going to thank me for it."

"I'll n-never thank you for shit," he hits something that makes your eyes roll back, the squelching of your cunt loud in these rooms you must now share. "Fuck... stop being... stop being good at it you loser."

"Loser, me?" He glares and yanks his fingers out right before you cum, sucking them off and lapping his tongue greedily at the syrupy arousal coating them.

You didn't expect that.

You stare in shock, mouth parted, your eyes dilating when the sticky strings lap from his fingers to a stupidly long tongue, his cheeks hollowing when he sucks more of your juices off him. "Mmm, something wrong?"

"No," you look away, last thing you need is to find this asshole of a man hot. Your body is already pissing you off, when his fat tip lines with it, and he lays back over you.

"Open your mouth, pretty little slut."

"Fuck you, I'll bite your dumbass lip." He just pries your mouth open, spitting your own juices in your mouth, closing your jaw.

"Swallow, be good hmm? A good, dumb little girl for me."

"Oh fuck you," you shove him until he's falling off the bed, laughing then at the angry naked man on the floor. "Call me dumb one more time."

"You're a complete idiot, clearly," he stands as you do, your fists clenched, his hand comes to tangle in your hair. "Wifely duties mean nothing?"

"I said you could come inside, not talk shit and touch me," you shove him again, then smile, feigning innocence as a plan sinks into your brain of how to really piss him off. "Aw I really do want to suck y you, Naoya."

He grins. You're seeing reason, and god your mouth is pretty.

"Oh, why the switch?"

"I just um..." You giggle, faking it, kissing his lips and earning his moan. "Maybe I need a little guidance, I've never done it."

"I can be generous if you just learn how to serve," he shoves you down by your shoulders, you open your mouth eagerly, the sight of you down there ruining him. "There, listening, you're pretty when you listen."

You hate this man.

You can't wait to see the look on his face.

He shoves his cock in your mouth, salty pre dancing on your tongue - here's where you're not inexperienced and just lied to his pretentious ass. You can absolutely suck a dick, you'd snuck out with your boyfriend enough to have done this before, and you can take one all the way down your throat.

When you do it and gag on his cock he whimpers, so pathetic you actually get wet - but you'll never admit it. You hate this man, and anything you can do to pay him back is worth it, even kneeling and letting him think you want this.

He's so pathetic when he loses control, stammering and fucking your throat, his hands tangled in your hair tugging at the roots, tip gliding into that snug channel that's choking around him.

"Oh my f-fuck... this is what you're meant for, hah - to serve me, to take my cock, huh? Good little slut on her knees." He's lost now, just babbling nonsense, he's never felt something like this. "Do y-you have no gag reflex? You're s-so - fuck..."

Your nose brushes against his blond pubic hair, gagging around his length as he thickens, sensitive when you swallow, reflectively tightening.

"G-god you're so... you..." He is about to say some bullshit, what are you doing? He almost tugs you off so he doesn't praise you too much, which his dumb brain is about to.

That your eyes are pretty.

That you feel perfect.

That your cunt is on his tongue, mixing with copper where you split his lip open.

That he liked you smacking him.

"Stop, w-wanna breed you," he sucks in a breath when you keep bobbing, gliding your mouth around him, lips wrapping his length as you move. Your tongue doing wicked things that make him think there's no way you haven't done this. "Wanna... come inside that cunt, break you, make you learn my sh-shit..."

You suck harder and he gives up, fucking into your throat, balls smacking on your chin as drool spills down your lips and down them, heavy with his seed. He can't stop himself when he busts those white ropes into your mouth, pulling back with a hiss, suddenly so dizzy as you drain his balls he can hardly stand up.

You pull back with a messy wet pop, standing then and pressing him against a nightstand, until he's lower than you, bent over.

That's when you go to kiss him and spit his cum right in his mouth.

The fuck!?

You're laughing now like a psycho, wiping your mouth off and smirking at his shocked face. "Swallow, be a good boy."

"I swear to God," you're too busy laughing your ass off when he bends you over the bed, hand smacking the fuck out of your ass cheek. "I'll beat your slutty ass until you can't walk."

"You did it to me," you lick your lips and grin at him. "You didn't like it, Naoya? Swallowing your own - shit!"

He smacks you again, but damned if it doesn't feel good, mixed with the adrenaline of making him furious you're damn near sensitive. He smacks harder, tugging at your hair so hard it hurts. "You are the worst girl I've ever met. Horrible, bratty, slutty, sadistic."

"Aw, thank you," you bite back a whine when he smacks you even harder with a huge hand, pulling your hair back as he finally lets your ass get a break. "You compliment me so much dear husband."

"I hate you, utterly despise you," he grips your chin now, kissing you so you taste his cum again, mixed with the blood on his lip. "I'll go fuck every concubine I have, would you like that?"

"Less work for me, please do," he lets you go now, eyeing your ass littered with his hand prints, cock already back on hard.

You're a terrible, horrible bride, the worst thing he's ever heard of, spitting his release in his mouth, and turning around to just smile right at him. "You are nothing like your sister."

"No I am not," you clear your throat, bending over to grab your robe, slinging it over your shoulders. "Is there to be no consummation tonight?"

You hope you've disgusted him, but his cock is pulsing, making your eyes widen.

"Tonight you can stay in your room and think of how lucky you are to have me, and all day tomorrow, until you come to your fucking senses," you gasp when he dresses and storms out, locking the door with a loud click.

Well shit.

Naoya Zenin has locked you up.

You lean against the door and slide down, a satisfied smile on your face despite it all. You just made Naoya real mad.

Meanwhile he's later that night desperately jerking it to you again, cumming over and over until he's raw, picturing the moment you spit his own cum in his mouth.

What a terrible wife.

****

The door flew open at 7am sharp, K stepping out swiftly and offering you a nod. You handed him his coffee and both began your walk to the elevator; you always had to walk a little faster to keep up with his long strides.

As you both stepped into the elevator, tablet in hand, you pressed the button for the basement car park and began explaining what was on the agenda for the day.

"9am you have an interview with Talent Magazine. They'll be asking you about ranking as the number one tech company again. It will last approximately two hours. From 11am until 12pm, you'll have your own time in your office. 12pm, your father is coming in for a meeting-" a sigh escaped K's lips. Irritation obvious in the way his jaw briefly tightened.

Your eyes flickered from the screen in front of you to K's eyes, eyebrow raising slightly, "Do you want me to reschedule?" He didn't hold your gaze, just shaking his head before replying, "No, it's okay. Continue." Your focus went back to the screen, continuing to relay his schedule to him.

"I extended your lunch break for today, giving you until 3pm. Meetings with your father can be... unpredictable, so I allowed for some extra time. After that, you're attending the marketing sector's meeting to give your approval on some new ideas, which should finish up at around 5:30pm. I'll then drive you to the Royal Artisan for a planned dinner with one of your father's chosen marriage prospects. I will wait for you to finish and drive you home."

The doors to the elevators opened with a ding, K stepping out first and walking towards your car, the luxury car he gifted you after your first six months, stating, 'if you were driving him around, he needed to be comfortable.'

As you slid into the driver's seat, and K into the passenger seat, you packed your tablet into your bag and placed it on the backseat. K broke the silence before you started the car, "I almost thought the day had been saved with your consideration of my lunch break. But now I have the thought of having to meet a random woman I couldn't care less about, weighing me down." Another sigh escaped his lips, eyes fixed ahead of him.

The engine purred as you started the car. "I'll be waiting at the restaurant if you decide to end the meeting early." You spoke, trying to offer some professional comfort. You noticed a small smirk tug at K's lips, "I might have to take advantage of that."

If you could have, you would have rolled your eyes at him, feeling sorry for the woman who would have to put up with him this evening. K had always been reluctant to meet the women his father had chosen; He was reluctant to do anything his father wanted. Yet, he still took on the position of CEO at Te-K Interprises, still upheld the family legacy, still went to the meetings, the parties, the dinners, he did everything expected of him - he just had to make his father's blood boil alongside it all.

You didn't know why K acted this way towards his father, and you never dared to ask, always maintaining your professional boundaries. But there were times when you let your thoughts wander, you questioned his behaviour, questioned his personality, questioned him. Why was he so reluctant to marry? Why was he so blunt? So arrogant? So... distant from everybody?

The car ride to the company building was quiet, nothing different from the usual routine. K was lost in thought, staring out the window the entire time. He stepped out of the car first, striding towards the elevator, as you struggled to grab your belongings and keep up with him - he never looked behind, never checked - he was always looking ahead.

This time, the elevator ride was surrounded in a comfortable, recognizable silence between the two of you, reaching the top floor before the company came to life. K liked to arrive at his office early, before any of the staff had started to flood the floors below him, using the time to prepare himself for his day.

You walked slightly behind him as he entered his office, taking his coffee cup as he placed it on his desk, already empty. He sat down in his chair - deep breath in, deep breath out, clasping his hands together at the end - he was ready to start his day. You straightened your shoulders and asked the same question you asked every day, "Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?"

You prepared for a no, or a wave of his hand to signal he was fine, but instead he looked at you as if he was contemplating something before he gave you a response, "I want you to sit in on the meeting with my father."

Your eyes opened in shock momentarily, the idea of being in the presence of his father for more than a minute feeling foreign in your mind. You weren't sure why he asked you to do this, what would happen, but who were you to deny a professional request from your boss? You cleared your throat to regain your composure. "Noted. I'll add it to my calendar. Is that all?"

"That's all." He gave you a nod before his eyes fell to his computer screen. Nodding to yourself in understanding, you turned on your heel and exited his office, closing the door with a gentle click.

You sat down at your desk that was practically right next to his office, spacious and luxurious, giving the air of a hotel reception. No one saw K until they had gone through you, no one spoke to K until they had gone through you - you were the metaphorical gatekeeper to K and his office.

The hours between 8am and 9am were for preparation, both you and K using the hour to get ready for the day. Whether that be going over notes, personal schedules, emails, and more for the work ahead, or doing something to relax your mind before the start of another busy day.

You opened up your phone, typing a message to your friend in hopes she could ease your mind as it began to run through a million scenarios at once regarding the meeting you had to sit in on in just a few hours.

y/n: please tell me you're awake

yunjin: of course i'm awake yunjin: why what's up?

y/n: my boss asked me to sit in on a meeting with his father today and i'm freaking out

yunjin: you're talking about K, right?

y/n: yes

yunjin: the same K who always sends you off somewhere else when his father is around?

y/n: the one and only

yunjin: what the fuck? yunjin: is he okay? yunjin: wait, this is the first time you'll get a proper glimpse into his relationship with his dad yunjin: what if you learn some tragic backstory that explains K's arrogance? yunjin: you HAVE to give me all the details

y/n: yunjin that's not the point y/n: i cannot come up with a single answer as to why he wants me in that meeting

yunjin: moral support?

y/n: absolutely not

yunjin: maybe it's a business meeting that needs a note taker?

y/n: ... y/n: how did i not come to that conclusion

yunjin: because you've already been up for over 3 hours and are running on no more than 4 hours of sleep, and that's why i'm here yunjin: but seriously if you get any gossip, you've got to tell me

A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you locked your phone and placed it back in your bag, feeling calmer now that you had spoken with Yunjin, your best friend from back in high school. You opened up your computer to a Teams message from K.

CEO - Koga Yudai: Be in my office 5 minutes before my father arrives.

As the time approached 11:55am, the time K requested for you to be in his office, you finished up your small tasks and cleaned your desk. Placing your tablet under your arm, you took a few deep breaths before approaching his office door. You knocked once to alert K of your presence before entering his office for the second time of the day. His eyes immediately leaving his computer screen to capture yours. You stood by the door after closing it behind you, waiting for his instructions.

K stood from his chair and made his way towards the middle of the office, where a luxurious table sat, with two leather chairs on each side. He sat down in his usual spot, gesturing to the chair next to him for you to sit.

As you made your way over, one of your thoughts spilled from your brain and out of your mouth, "Will your father be okay with no one greeting him upon his arrival to this floor?"

K raised an eyebrow at you before answering, "I'm sure he'll be fine this once." You nodded in response, sitting down in the chair next to him, which was at a respectful distance, and placing your tablet in your lap.

You opened it up to get ready to take the meeting notes, but K's hand found the back of the tablet, slowly closing it again. You stared at your lap with wide eyes, K's fingers almost touching your thigh due to the size difference between his hand and your tablet. He spoke matter-of-factly, "You won't be needing that."

"What about the meeting notes?" You questioned, turning your head to now meet his gaze. He was already looking at you, his brown eyes softer than you've ever seen them, closer than you've ever seen them.

"I don't need you to take notes today, I just need you to go along with what I say."

You almost scoffed at his words, his arrogance shining through once again, and pushing on the buttons you worked so hard to keep calm. Instead, you nodded, slowly, unsure of what was going on inside his head. He whispered a quiet "good" into the air just as the door opened and his father stepped into the room.

You stood, bowing to him, while K stayed seated in his chair, shocking you slightly. You didn't raise your head until his father spoke to you, "Miss Y/N, I didn't know you'd be joining us."

Once again, you were confused, but maintained your composure, taking your seat and meeting the intimidating man's eyes, "Sir, it's a pleasure to see you again. I'm here at Mr. Yudai's request."

K stiffened at the use of that name, one he told you to stop using after your first day working for him. His jaw clenched slightly as his father didn't respond to you and instead turned his attention to him.

"Yudai. Why have you brought your assistant into this meeting?"

He sighed, head falling into his hand as his arm rested on the side of the chair, "As you know, my assistant has a name," he paused looking to you briefly before continuing, "And if I want Y/N to be with me during a meeting, that should be perfectly acceptable, shouldn't it?"

K's father shook his head at the attitude his son gave him, his fist clenching slightly. "Your attitude never fails to surprise me. Who would have thought a child given everything could be so ungrateful?"

You sat in silence, eyes in your lap, feeling uncomfortable in the growing tension of the room. K's father was glaring at the man next to you, and K? His head was still lying lazily in his hand, a small smirk spread across his face, no sign of respect present at all.

"Yes, Father, we all know I'm an ungrateful child. But that's not why you're here, is it?" He spoke, the fingers in his lap tapping idly along his thigh. "Can we get to the point?"

"My god boy," his father sighed, "This is exactly why all the prospects I've arranged for you have declined the marriage proposals."

"Maybe you just haven't offered them enough money?" K suggested with a smug tone.

His father's jaw tightened, anger starting to take over his facial features, but before he could speak again, K's voice took up the space. "You're here to talk about my future marriage, yes?"

"There is nothing else for me to discuss." His father sighed.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know an arrangement has been made." K continued, his head finally leaving his hand as he sat up straight for the first time since his father entered the room.

Your eyes were on him now, unaware that he had found someone. Wondering when he had the time to do so in the schedule you organised for him. Questioning how in the hell he managed to get someone to want to marry him.

"Really, my boy? That's wonderful news!" His father beamed, a smile beginning to spread across his face. "You must introduce her to the family."

"There's no need, you've already met," K began, slowly turning towards you. He reached for one of your hands in your lap, locking eyes with you before continuing, "I'm marrying Miss Y/N."

You have been to the gym more times than the library.

Not because you’re particularly athletic. No, God knows you’d rather nap. But it’s rather because of a certain six-foot Japanese guy named Nishimura Riki, who’s obsessed with having you watch him stretch before his basketball practice. Says it helps him focus better. Says you bring him luck to his games. Whatever it is, you are happy to indulge with his requests, if it means you get to have your free Baskin Robbins after his gym sessions.

And now, as the two of you walk down the pavement, hands brushing with each step, you’re brought back to three years ago—when Riki was still a head shorter, when his voice still had the childlike lilt to it, when he hadn’t gained all the mass and muscles he has now. The only thing that remains constant is this: his routine of dragging you to his stretching and practice sessions.

It still brings a smile to your face whenever you recall that moment, and Riki never fails to notice every time.

“You have that motherly sentimental smile on your face again,” he points out, eyeing you down like you were dirt on the ground, and you might as well be for how tall he is. “Whatchu thinking ‘bout?”

You roll your eyes. “Good old times, Ki. When you were less annoying and less tall.”

Riki snorts. “I’m always annoying. And taller than you.”

“Fuckass alpha genetics,” you grumble under your breath, the sharp end of your elbow meeting his ribs in a playful nudge. Riki lets out a loud hiss, draping his arm around your shoulders in a harsh tug.

“What’s got your panties twisted, my favourite girl?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I could’ve slept in instead of going to your alpha gym.”

“You love me too much to refuse me.”

You feel the air leave your lungs. That statement shouldn’t make your stomach twist like this, like you’re caught doing something you’re forbidden to. But if liking your childhood friend—your annoying, tall, and too-hot-for-his-own-good friend—is considered illegal, then by all means you’d rather serve your time in jail than admit it to him.

So you scoff, feigning annoyance as you shove his limbs off your body. Swinging your legs faster, you mutter something enough for his ears to hear, hiding the redness that blooms across your cheeks. “You know I only love your mom.”

“Yeah, but only for her sushi, though!” Riki retorts, chasing after your steps and catching up with you after a maximum of three long strides. Curse his long legs. “I know you’d marry into my family for her sushi.”

“I don’t plan on being a homewrecker. Konon is taken, and Misora is like my little sister.”

“Well, there is me.” There he goes again, making your heart stutter in your ribs, taking your breath away with words that might be simple to him but bring an entirely different meaning to you and your poor feelings. You bite your lip, refusing to answer. Riki takes it as a challenge.

“I’m the real deal, y’know?” Riki wiggles his eyebrows, hogging up your space like a fly, gauging your reaction with that smirk you know all too well. And fuck him for saying the truth. You really wish you could slap that shit-eating grin off his handsome face.

“What, for being an alpha?”

“Especially for being an alpha,” he replies, a cocky smirk adorning his plump lips, to which you just roll your eyes. 

He isn’t wrong, and that’s what you hate the most. Alphas are sought after; as a leader, as an heir, as a symbol of dominance and power. They’re at an advantage with everything, including their physique. You have never seen a short alpha; at least none is shorter than you are. Alphas dominate sports, finance and business, politics, education, and even medicines.

It’s hard to argue with Riki’s point of him being the real deal, when the very system you live in is the truth and proof to his claim.

People always want an alpha, and that fact will stay forever so long this system still exists. And it’s a bitter pill to swallow because you also belong to that category—not exactly because you need an alpha, but because a certain first love of yours is, unfortunately, an alpha.

Unfortunate, because alphas only want omegas as their mates.

Not betas. Not you.

And Nishimura Riki is not an exception to that equation.

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you almost missed the entrance to the gym, if not for Riki tugging your sleeve to bring you back to earth. You blink, look at the sign, and sigh.

“Tell me why I’m here again.”

Riki’s face lights up with a grin, dragging you to the entrance. “Because you’re my emotional support,” he jokes again, earning a glare from you.

His voice rumbles in a deep timbre when he chuckles, his other hand pushing the door open and instantly, the familiar chime of the bell greets you with a cold breeze from the built-in air-conditioners. 

Riki turns to you again, ruffling your hair affectionately, the same way he did when the both of you were eighteen; the same way he did when he was thirteen, begging you to wish him luck on his basketball match; the same way he did when you were eight, after you scraped your knees in the playground from a foul play.

“And because you’re a beta, you’re not affected by our pheromones.”

It’s a harmless reminder of your subgender, but it stings nonetheless. You give the receptionist a tight smile, hoping it doesn’t show the resentment you feel towards the flawed system, hoping the cracks from your own heart didn’t make its way into the lines of your mouth.

At first, you thought you were an anomaly to the system.

The doubt was inevitable when Riki presented at the ripe age of eighteen, and pretty much so did everybody else. You remember how lonely the classes were when Riki had to take two weeks off, and then the girl who sat in front of you did the same, and then the class president did so too, until there were only seven of you remaining in the class.

The appropriate age range to present is from sixteen to nineteen years old, but the most common one is definitely eighteen. So you told yourself to be patient and wait for your turn; that it might be you next day.

Then you hoped it’d be you next month.

Then you prayed it’d be you next year.

Then you wished the system never existed at all .

Because after three years, with you now turning twenty-one, the presentation never came. You told yourself it’s fine, it doesn’t exclude you from society because it just simply means that you’re a beta, right? Beta belongs to the subgenders too. But it’s hard to ignore the nagging voice of insecurity somewhere in your mind that keeps telling you how wrong everything is. It’s hard to ignore the changes when the changes happened so fast and so blatantly obvious—like the way Riki’s voice turned deeper, the way he grew into everything that an alpha is meant to be.

While you remained the same.

The poison seals its roots when you’re reminded of your family genetics—where every female of your bloodline was born an omega, someone who’s meant to be with an alpha, someone with a sweet and supposedly-alluring scent that you never get a whiff of. You feel like a tossed-aside rug, a forgotten scene from a movie. Hell, you even feel like an unknown city that keeps getting skipped in every world tour of your favourite boyband. 

Excluded, out of place, and awkward. Like a piece of puzzle that doesn’t belong. Like a wrong digit in an equation, where the existence of you brings a decimal-answer when people are looking for a whole number.

So with a reluctant resignation, one that you wished would never come, you accept your fate that you’re not an anomaly—you’re just normal. You’re just a beta. 

You’re just…not meant to be with Riki.

Perhaps you can try finding a beta that could fill the spot that Riki has. Jake Sim from chemical engineering is also a beta, and he is every bit a gorgeous man. But every time you attempt to look for someone else, someone who’s not over six feet tall, someone who’s not Japanese with features you memorise by heart—you feel your stomach sink with the urge to cry and throw up.

You want Riki. You only yearn for Riki, and it tears you apart that he is everything you want but can’t have.

It’s only morning, and you are already tormenting yourself with the thoughts of your unrequited love, your secret crush, your Nishimura Riki, Riki, Riki. You slump on the desk with a sigh, the lecturer’s high-pitched voice now a faraway island in your mind, earning a low chuckle from Jungwon, another alpha that you befriended on your first day here.

“You okay, Y/N?” 

You muffle a small ‘yeah’ and lift your head to face him, the action making you dizzy. You frown. “Just…a bit hungry. I skipped breakfast.”

Jungwon leans closer, lunch invitation heavy on his tongue, but stops mid-way. His nose scrunches, sniffing the air around you like a bunny.

“Uh, did you wear a new perfume?”

“What?” Sitting straight, you mimic his action and start smelling your clothes. “I don’t?”

Jungwon shifts in his seat, taking another whiff from the space around your neck before leaning back, a glint of amusement and curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“Well, you smell different. In a good way.”

“That’s because I wear Chanel number 5, duh,”  you say matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes to emphasise. Jungwon shakes his head.

“It’s not Chanel,” he moves closer again, and this time you actually retreat back from the sudden proximity. “You smell faintly like caramel. Like freshly baked cookies.”

“Okay, now you’re being creepy. I don’t smell like a bakery.”

Jungwon looks skeptical, watching you with that cat eyes of his, appearing contemplative and deep in thought before he shrugs and finally gives you some space. You breathe out in relief.

“Mhm. It’s about time you had a scent. Though yours is way too sweet for a beta.”

Your body seizes before your mind can catch up, every bone locking in place as you register his words. When you speak, your voice sounds foreign, even to you.

“I’m supposed to…have a scent?”

Jungwon tilts his head, not expecting that question from you. “Yeah? Everyone with a subgender should have one and can smell one. Can’t you smell me?”

No. The word is trapped behind your teeths, afraid to go out in fear of solidifying the truth that you were what you initially thought: an anomaly. Gulping down your nerves, you pretend to focus back on the lessons, though your lecturer’s voice is already drowned out by the loud thumping behind your ribs. 

Jungwon doesn’t buy it, though. That alpha is eyeing you, trying to catch even a tiny telltale of your true emotions.

You settle for a lie. “‘Course I can. You smell disgusting.”

That gets him to react. “Hey! I smell second best to Riki’s pheromones, for your information.” Jungwon gasps, scandalised, and kicks your legs under the table. You suck in a breath, your mind zeroing on the small fragment of his statement: Riki’s pheromones.

You leave the hall an hour later with your brain a whirlwind of panic and unanswered questions, of how much you regret not paying attention to any of your omegaverse classes, of how different you are—again—from the rest of the world, but now with a painful addition that you are also different from a normal beta, and of how Nishimura Riki is allegedly the best-smelling alpha of the century. 

The last thought is the loudest, if it’s not already obvious. But your insecurity seems relentless this time, because every time your brain wanders to how good Riki might smell like, it brings you back to the cold, harsh reality of your dysfunctioning senses. And that’s enough to push you off the edge.

The one-hour lecture was spent with you letting the weight of Jungwon’s words pressing into your mind. The concept of scent and subgenders aren’t foreign; not to everybody else but you. You know that alphas and omegas have a certain smell that tells each other apart. But you never knew that betas have one too.

Or they actually do. And it’s you who have none.

Fuck, why did you only sleep in those omegaverse classes in high school?

The distant voice of your omegaverse teacher nags at the back of your mind as you round the corner towards the library, forcing yourself to commit to another group discussion before you can retire and hide in your room after, but are blessed—or cursed—to see Riki instead. Your breath hitches, your steps halt.

The tall man is leaning against the wall with a laidback posture, one hand in the pocket of his sweats, scrolling his phone with a neutral boredom. Then, as if sensing your presence, he lifts his gaze, and lights up. 

Fuck him, honestly, in every literal and figurative way possible.

He always lights up every time he sees you, and you hate how much meaning it gives you. Like you’re the only sun in his dark universe; like you’re the only water in the middle of the desert when it probably means nothing to him.

“Y/N, c’mere!”

You force a relaxed posture and a small smile as you walk towards him. And then, without warning, Jungwon’s earlier words invade your mind again, and now your whole focus narrows down to the thoughts of the pheromones of the alpha standing in front of you, and the cruelty of your anatomy to decide that you don’t deserve to smell him.

Riki frowns when you get closer, noticing your slightly pale complexion. One of his arms hover, ready to pull you closer like usual. “You good? Did you see a ghost?”

And this time, you let him tug you, pulling you in like a strong whirlpool in the ocean and you are nothing more than a helpless boat, and you almost swore that you heard Riki sniff you. At the chance of standing in such close proximity with him, you dare yourself to nose the collar of his hoodie, inhaling his scent, dreading the nothingness that might come from it.

You hum, surprising even yourself when you can actually smell him. Clean musk, cedar, and sandalwood. He smells homey. But why couldn’t you smell this before? 

“You smell good. Is this your perfume?”

Riki laughs, though there is an edge to it .”What are you doing?”

Ignoring his question, you take a step closer, nosing at the fabric with newfound determination, unaware of the now-rigid posture of your best friend. Riki pushes your shoulders when you shift closer, holding you an arm’s length away from him in a swift motion. You blink, taken aback from the sudden shove, and scrunches your nose when you sense a spike in his scent.

You frown—your senses were never this sensitive.

Riki lets out a small chuckle after a moment of silence—and you can’t help but hear the faint tremble in it—then ruffles your hair. 

“That’s my pheromones, idiot, you know I don’t like wearing cologne. Did you just notice it now?”

Ah. His pheromones. 

So you can finally smell him.

You pause for a heartbeat before smiling. So I’m a normal beta, you think, feeling the relief washes over you, I can smell other people’s scents too. It might be a bit too late to notice these changes, but you’ll take anything that doesn’t label you as the exception to the system. Anything to fit in, anything that doesn’t point you towards the other end of society alone.

“With all that sweat you reek of? Yeah, I just noticed it now.” You retort, throwing him a teasing smile, stepping closer again to nudge his ribs like you always do. 

This time, the sharp inhale that Riki takes is unmistakable. He takes a hold of your wrist and brings it to his nose, sniffing at it like another bunny that reminds you so much of Jungwon just an hour ago.

“You smell…different,” Riki takes another whiff, “did you get too close to an omega?”

Your eyebrows knit. “No, that’s my scent.”

Riki’s expression mirrors yours. “But you never had a scent before.”

“I know, Jungwon also said it’s about time that I had a scent.”

“Jungwon?” Riki echoes, his voice clipped. “You let Jungwon scent you?”

You blink, mouth opening and closing at the sound of his sudden grim voice. “I—No? He didn’t scent me,” you don’t know where this feeling comes from, but the thought of Riki thinking that you were with another man, of upsetting him, makes your stomach drop. “He just sat too close just now. And he smelled me.”

You wince at how wrong it sounded.

Nothing else is spoken between the two of you, save for the distant chatter of passersby and the occasional sound of the library door opening and closing, letting people in and sending them out. You crane your neck to your silent best friend, his clenched jaw catching the hallway lights as he gathers his thoughts.

You’re about to say something to break the silence, but another deep voice calls out to Riki. You peek at his shoulders and see two of his basketball teammates—Heeseung and Jay—calling at him from behind. They wave when they notice your presence, and you wave back once before Riki moves to block your sight.

“I have practice until late. Don’t wait for me,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are heavy with something unsaid, giving you a gaze that sends shivers down your spine, slightly concealed by the fringes of his dark hair. You nod wordlessly, squeeze his arms goodbye, and watch him jog up to his friends, your mind a mess of everything that has just unfolded.

The day follows you home and into the evening shower, and the thoughts of your newly-discovered developed senses, of Riki, only stops when you put on your pajamas. Your favourite Kuromi set of wool pajamas, the one Riki bought from his last visit to Japan, suddenly sits wrongly on your skin.

It’s itchy and very uncomfortable, which is not what you felt when you wore it last week.

“What the fuck,” you curse, discarding the clothes in an instant. Standing half naked in your own bedroom, you inspect the fabric like a microscope to a cell sample. The fabric feels strange to your touch; it prickles like tiny needles that poke at your skin in an unsettling way. You drop the pajamas on your bed and start looking for another set to wear.

To your frustration, every piece of clothing that you touch doesn’t feel right. Too rough. Too itchy. Too irritating. It only stops when you find your long-forgotten satin nightwear—the one you shoved to the darkest corner of your wardrobe because of how tight it had become. You exhale, the exhaustion from the day pressing on your bones like a wet blanket, slipping on the only fabric that doesn’t feel like sandpaper on skin despite how tight it hugs your body despite yourself.

That night, you drift off to sleep and dream of a certain alpha with the most alluring pheromones, whispering secrets and oaths in messy sheets and slicked, tangled limbs.

The next morning, you wake up with a pulsing pain in your hips and lower abdomen. A groan escapes your lips as you search for your phone, checking the menstrual tracker with your eyes half-open. You are still two weeks away from the next cycle, but the pain is, if not more, merciless and unforgiving as ever. 

But deadlines and tests chase you even in your sleep, so you brave up and force yourself to campus, all pained limbs and sweaty forehead. The painkillers work nothing to numb the pain, and you don’t want to risk going into the ER to swallow another one. So you endure. Or at least, you try to.

“Good morning, Y/N,” comes Jungwon, sharing yet another class with you. But his voice is loud, too loud for the morning to be good, so you snap at him before you can stop it.

“Can you lower your voice? You’re too loud.”

Jungwon stuns into a silence, gaping at you with his mouth hanging open before a flash of annoyances crosses his face. “Dude, I talk normally? What’s so loud about me?”

“You’re being loud now.”

Jungwon throws his hands in the air and plops down with a huff, pursing his lips in protest and refusing to speak to you for the rest of the lecture in an act of tantrum. You don’t say anything either, too occupied with your own thoughts, too irritated by the sounds of pens gliding across papers, too itched by the blouse you’re wearing, to care. At the first sign of the class ending, you bolt out of the class, leaving behind Jungwon and his unheard complaints about how sensitive and snappy you have been.

Sensitive. You’re sensitive all over your body, your senses suddenly reaching a new level of concentration that makes everything feel unbearable and irritating. You ditch the next class and go home, grab a new set of pads on your way, send a ‘sorry’ text to Riki’s lunch invitation, and sleep the day away in silk and satin. You dream of Riki again, of how safe you feel in his arms, of how much you like it whenever he towers over you with his height. You toss and turn all night, then wake up more tired than before when the first sunlight hits.

Weary and exhausted than ever, you groan as the aching in your body returns, and, perhaps amplifies, like something inside you is shifting. Like someone is renovating your organs and rearranging everything into a new layout, into a new system you’re too afraid to find out.

“Fuck,” you peel off every layer of your clothing and make home in your bath tub, basking in the warmth of the running water. Your muscles finally relax, and for the past two days of your pre-menstrual symptoms, soaking in hot water seems to be the only thing that helps. Only a soak and an odorless soap, though—because recently, your favourite sakura blossom-scented body wash has smelled too acidic for you.

When you’re done, you walk out to your roommate, Wonyoung, sitting on your bed with a stack of clothes neatly placed by her thighs. She looks at you with a scrunched nose, wearing an expression akin to concern. You greet her with a small, tired smile.

“Hey, Y/N. I brought my cotton clothes for you, but are you sure you’re okay?” She stands up and walks closer to you, touching your arms gently. “You don’t look good. And your scent…you’re distressed, Y/N. You need a familiar scent to feel better.”

You give her another dry smile. “I’m okay. Just PMS-ing.”

Wonyoung looks at you like she wants to say something but holds back. She rubs a circle into your arms, and for the first time ever, you can smell her—a soft, gentle scent of jasmine and warm milk, like a milk tea you get from a Chinese store. You sigh and unknowingly lean into the omega’s touch.

“Go to the doctor if it gets worse, Y/N,” Wonyoung urges you with a worry-laced voice. You hum and nod absentmindedly, not registering her words fully until she adds, “I think this is something more than PMS.”

Your stomach churns at her words, feeling the uneasiness crawl its way back into your spine. You wave a dismissive hand at her, attempting to look fine when you’re everything but. “I’ll get better after a nap, I promise.”

Wonyoung purses her lips, then nods. With a few words of comfort, she leaves your room, throwing one last look of worry before the door shuts with a click. You grab one of her cotton pajamas, feeling the smooth fabric with a content sigh and slip it on.

The buzz from your phone cuts your train of thoughts. Your heart leaps at the sight of Riki’s name blaring on the screen, hands scrambling to pick it up on the third ring.

“Y/N?” Riki’s deep timbre greets your ears, and you feel the hair rise in your skin. “Hey, where have you been? Jungwon told me you skipped classes today.”

Gosh, how you missed his voice. Overlapping schedules, his tournament preparations, and your aching body have become the reason for your lack of Nishimura Riki for the past three days. Hearing his voice now tugs something at your heart, like you need to see him now. Like you need to hold him now.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Ki. I’m fine. Just a bit sore here and there, but it’s all good now,” you lie, because the last thing you want is for Riki to get worried about you and distracted from his practice. He can be a worrywart when he wants to be. 

“You sure? Then do you wanna watch my practice now?” he suggests, letting a heartbeat of silence settle between the both of you before he says again, this time with a quieter, almost-shy voice. “I kinda miss your nosy ass.”

That gets a laugh out of you. You, in fact, miss him a lot too. “Glad to know it’s mutual. But what do I get? It’s too cold for me outside.” It’s not even winter yet, but your current condition has been acting like it. You shiver just thinking about stepping out of the comfort of your warm apartment.

“I’ll treat you to some steak after, your highness. And don’t be silly, I have my hoodie with me now.”

Something unknown stirs inside of you at the mention of his hoodie. It’s like something asleep is finally waking up, and your head is dizzy with the thought of his hoodie, his scent, his presence, him, him, him. You hum as a reply, already reaching out to one of Wonyoung’s cotton blouses.

And that reminds you: “It better be cotton, Ki.”

The basketball court doesn’t change from the last time you stepped foot on it, which already feels like years ago with everything that went down between you and your body. Your gaze sweeps over two groups of male players stretching and warming up, looking for a certain dark-haired man. But you stop in your tracks when your nose senses something.

The court smells…weird. You can’t exactly pinpoint what produces that smell, but the source is apparent: it comes from those athletes scattered around the court. You inhale one more time and immediately feel your chest tightens, the urge to turn around and leave suddenly hits you like a truck.

Too lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice the shadow that suddenly looms over your figure until that person speaks.

“Y/N, right?”

You look up and instantly recognise him. Park Jongseong, or Jay, one of Riki’s closest friends from his ‘only-boys’ friend group. You give him a polite nod, noting his still-dry jersey and slightly messy hair. 

“Yes, that’s me.”

Jay’s lips curve into a boyish smile at that, and if it’s not for your huge, pathetic crush on Riki, you’d certainly let yourself fall for the handsome boy in front of you. “Riki’s gone to the locker room for a moment to grab something. Why don’t you sit at the bench first? We are about to start the friendly match soon.”

You agree without thinking, drifting further into the court like it’s routine. You’re a familiar face to them—the beta friend of Riki who always sits in the bleachers to watch him stretch and practice. You settle down on the bench at the furthest corner of the court, away from the buzz of alpha players and the smell that is getting pungent by the second, and closer to one of the goal hoops. Jay has gone to leave for a moment, but returns seconds later with a bottle of mineral water, condensed and wet.

“Have a drink first. He should be back soon.”

You receive it with a grateful smile. Riki always mentions how gentleman Jay is, especially towards the ladies. “Thank—”

“Yo, I already got her water.”

Riki strides in your direction, his voice playful but his expression hardens. He shoves Jay to the side, snatches the bottle given by him from your hand, and replaces it with another one. This time, the water bottle is still cold and wet from condensation, but is now wrapped by a few layers of tissues, just the way you like it. “Drink this instead.”

You beam at him. “Thanks, Riki.”

Beside him, Jay scoffs exaggeratedly. “I can’t believe you. Did it look like I was poisoning her?”

Riki doesn’t cast him a glance, his hands fast to untwist the bottle cap for you before you do, and miss the way heat makes its way on your cheeks. “You grabbed the wrong bottle.”

“Dude, they’re literally the same!”

“But did yours have tissues around it?” Riki shoots a brow up, and that makes Jay close his mouth. “Exactly. Now get lost, hyung.”

“Kids these days,” Jay mutters under his breath. He throws you another small smile before walking away with his rejected—or rather, discarded by Riki—mineral water. There is a triumphant smile on the younger’s face before he looks back at you already staring up at him.

Fuck, you probably look lovestruck. But you don’t find it in yourself to care in that moment.

Riki returns your gaze, his eyes trailing across your face before he ruffles your hair playfully. A giggle escapes your lips, trying to smack his hands away but Riki is always stronger than you. And that realisation makes something warm pool inside your belly.

“Is it still cold for you?” he asks, voice lowered and sounding almost intimate. You nod, willing yourself not to grin too wide when he drops his hoodie in your lap. It’s grey, bigger than your frame, and every inch of it smells like him. Like your Riki. “Wear this.”

The tension rolls off your body when you put it on, breathing in a lungful of his clean musk and sandalwood scent discreetly as Riki takes a seat beside you, his thigh brushing yours. For the first time in three days, the unknown force that’s been keeping you on edge quiets down, your chest lightens and your heart hums in contentment.

Safe. You feel safe. Riki has always been your safe space. But this time, you feel like you belong. Protected. You feel like you’ve been carrying the missing piece your whole life, and now it’s finally here.

“Better?” Riki muses from your side, watching you with an unreadable gaze, taking in the sight of your figure practically drowned in his way bigger hoodie. His jaw clenches, fingers twitching slightly before he forces his eyes back on you.

“Yes. Thank God it’s cotton, Ki,” you joke. Riki rolls his eyes. 

“You know I only wear cotton.”

“Nishimura Riki!”

From the center of the court, Lee Heeseung, the senior you know to be the team captain, calls for your best friend. He groans, shouting back a ‘coming!’ before glancing back at you.

“Just a few rounds of friendly match then I’m all yours, okay?”

Your heart stutters at that. Then, subtle like it’s meant to be a secret, you notice the way Riki freezes, his nose scrunching slightly at something he senses. When his eyes snap back to you, they’re darker now, heated and heavy with something he won’t say. The short exchange renders you breathless, your voice barely audible when you finally speak. 

“Yes. Okay.”

Riki lets his eyes linger on you for a moment before he nods. The warmth of his presence is instantly replaced with silence and coldness when he leaves to begin the match, and your heart deflates at his retreating figure. You grip the bench until knuckle-white, taking a deep breath to soothe your wailing heart, chest suddenly yearning for him to sit back on the bench with you.

“Get a fucking grip, Y/N,” you grit, head dizzy from Riki’s pheromones but your stomach is churning for no apparent reasons. “What the fuck is wrong with you lately?”

You decide to hyperfocus on the match commencing on the court to distract yourself from the confusing yet so consuming feelings that your mind and body have been going through lately. And it works for a while. You almost forgot how attractive Riki looks like when he’s on the court.

As if the universe had chosen him as the new gravity, every fibre of your being is drawn to him and him only. Your eyes follow his figure like a north-end of the magnet to the south, practically documenting his movement like a rolling camera. Riki moves like he dances; smooth and fluid, his reflexes against his opponent are faster than a venus flytrap. His boxy smile graces his features with every goal into the hoops, and you can’t help but let your heart flutter every time his eyes find yours with every point he scores.

You’re in love with Nishimura Riki. Your body knows it, your heart is no old news bearer to this. Heck, you think even your mom and Wonyoung know about this. Everyone does, except the person you love. Except Riki himself.

Loving him is so easy that it scares you sometimes. The hoodie presses on your skin like a symbol of his caring nature and a reminder of his platonic affection altogether.

You let yourself enjoy the match, the squeaking of sneakers against the floor becoming background noises. It’s a steady and peaceful match, or so you thought—until they start shouting. 

It’s a friendly match, but an alpha's nature of competitiveness knows no boundaries. Your eyes flick to the scoreboard, the gap between the teams decreasing with each goal.

“Get your shit together, Taesan!” Heeseung barks at someone near the hoop, posture stiff,  his booming voice makes your stomach twist. Soon, the air is condensed with adrenaline and rivalry, and before you know it, the palpable tension has already made its way into your head.

Your instincts kick-start at the heavy atmosphere, your nose twitching at the overwhelming pheromones that you sense. You gasp, the pain in your hips and abdomen resurfacing again, and this time you actually feel something shift inside. Your eyes widen in horror.

“Oh my God,” you clutch at the bench in desperation when you feel yourself falling. The floor catches you in a soft thud. 

Somewhere in the distance, Heeseung shouts at a mistake the second time, leaving your nerves more restless than before. Your vision blurs, ears ringing with a pitch that is nearly splitting your head open.

The pain, the cramps—they stab deeper, they pulse harder, they scream at you that nothing about this is related to your menstruation. You groan in pain. The pheromones spiking in the air are pressing into your lungs, making every exhale of oxygen a struggle, your head spinning like a planet losing its orbit. Somewhere at the centre of the court, everybody freezes, the ball bouncing away with no one to claim.

Heeseung halts mid-shout. “What the fuck,” he physically recoils at the scent wafting in the air, his nose wrinkling violently, “there’s an omega here?!”

The room holds its breath with him, with you, before heads snap in your direction. 

There, on the floor, you’re crouched down, noises of pain leaving your lips in breathless whispers. Your body is dotted with sweat, your temperature rising with each passing second, eyes wide and glassy. Oh God. Oh God. You clutch your stomach with a pained groan. What is happening to me?

It takes an alpha staggering towards you and a growl for all hells to break loose. Shouts come from every direction, Jay having to physically restrain one of their players from jumping on you. And among the chaos, there is one figure who stands still, a statue of anxiety and a pounding heart as his eyes locked on the outline of your body in his hoodie.

Another wail of pain leaves your lips and Riki finally snaps out of his trance. Without thinking, he’s already running towards you, snarling at another player who’s stepping in your direction and shoving him away with no care to the aftermath. 

He drops to his knees, angling his body to shield you from the raging alphas behind him. His hands hover, not knowing where to touch or if he should touch you at all.

“Y/N? Y/N, oh my God—what—” Riki chokes on the intense scent oozing from your neck, forcing restrain into his mind and body. His jaw clenches when he sees how pale you are, panic mixing with a strange desire to mark you. To claim you. He shakes his head.

“Riki,” you breathe out, rasp and breathless, shivering from the cold despite your warm body. “It hurts. It hurts…”

Riki’s breath stutters at his name on your lips. It does something violent to his chest, like his ribs are caving in around his heart.

“I know,” he says, voice hoarse, forcing it low despite the way his throat wants to tear itself open. He wraps the hoodie tighter around you, hands finally finding purchase at your arms, your waist—grounding, anchoring. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

You’re not. He knows that. He smells it—sharp, sweet, wrong. Too much for this place. Too much for you.

“Everyone back the fuck up,” Riki snarls over his shoulder, teeth clenched as another alpha so much as shifts closer. The sound doesn’t even feel like it comes from him; it’s deeper, rougher, edged with something feral that makes the surrounding players freeze mid-step.

Heeseung recovers first. “Clear the court. Now,” he barks, authority snapping through the haze. “Jay—help me.”

Jay’s already there, shoving bodies away, creating space with his broad frame. “Move. All of you. Unless you wanna get decked.”

Riki barely registers them. His world has narrowed to you—the way you’re trembling, the way your fingers fist weakly into his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

“It hurts,” you whimper again, forehead dropping against his chest. “Riki, it—”

“I know,” he repeats, softer now, forehead pressing briefly to your hair. His hands shake despite himself. “Don’t talk. Just—just breathe with me, okay? Look at me.”

Your unfocused eyes struggle to lift, but when they do and land on him, something in his chest breaks.

That’s it.

Decision made, instincts roaring.

“I’m taking her,” Riki says, already scooping you up carefully, one arm under your knees, the other braced tight around your back. “Someone call an ambulance. Now.”

No one argues.

As he carries you out of the court, ignoring the burning stares and the lingering pheromones that scrape at his skin, one thought pounds through his head, loud and unrelenting:

I should’ve known. I should’ve protected you.

Riki likes to think that he knows you best.

You have been a constant in his life. Someone less than a companion, more like a feature infused in his system. The vital foundation. Someone that brings out the sides of him that he refuses to show others.

Fifteen years ago, when his family first moved to South Korea, Riki had already expected a dull, boring life. A six-year-old with every knowledge of Japanese but none of Korean, Riki initially thought that his parents were set on making him a loner.

But then came you. Knocking on his door with that small, soft fist of yours, hiding behind your mom’s legs the way he hid behind his mom’s. The both of you shyly looked at each other, listening to your mothers promising friendship and comfort in language that Riki was yet to understand.

Ever since that day, Riki found his life in a foreign country becoming bearable. Bearable, because his next-door neighbour is also his seatmate at school. You have always been the smarter one between the two of you, diligently teaching him how to read, to write, to speak in Korean, with a childlike patience that only someone like you could have. 

Bearable, because his next-door neighbour was also a fierce kid, telling other kids off when they made fun of Riki’s accent. You were small, smaller than him, even, but the fire in your eyes when someone spoke badly of him made you seem bigger than the whole sky.

Bearable, because somewhere along the way; between nights of sneaking out and going home scolded, between every basketball match where your voice always sounded the loudest, between every petty fight and shared laughter during study sessions; Riki finally realised the way you have made home in his heart. 

The way his eyes find your smile first in every joke. The way he looks for your presence before every game, and every time he scores. The way his heart aches with you when you fall sick, wanting the pain to consume himself instead of you.

Nishimura Riki is in love with you. The world seems to know it—except you.

Riki indulged in it, acknowledged it with his heart and arms open, until the day of his alpha presentation came. It was the first time in his life being away from you, separated from your warmth and presence. He spent restless nights dreaming of you, his instincts flaring at him to run and barge into the house next door. 

The same way it does to him now.

Riki likes to think he knows you best, and that includes knowing that you’re a beta—a medical statement that broke his heart when he first found out about it because his mom is so adamant that he mates with an omega.

But now, as he stares at the text sent by your sister, Riki feels like everything he used to know about you dissipates, becoming the very air he inhales that makes his chest feel tighter and limbs heavier. It takes everything in him not to knock on your parents’ house, to force his way in, and cradle you in his arms the way his wolf tells him to.

future sister-in-law

y/n’s presenting as an omega

Two weeks went by in a blur. You drifted in and out of consciousness, your mom and your sister being the only thing you could remember from your fragmented memory. One time you were in the hospital. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your childhood room. Your body ached all over; it felt like your bones were shifting into a new spine. 

When the daze of anesthetics finally wears off, a new day has already begun.

And you discover the earth-shattering truth with a shudder. It’s not only the day that’s new.

You’re also, apparently, new.

An omega. You’re now an omega.

“A late presentation, though rare, can happen, and your daughter is one of the chosen ones.”

You don’t know how to make of it. You just nod along, thoughts scattered everywhere, nose catching up scents that weren’t there before—or they’ve always been, but your senses only allow you to detect them now. The blooming rose, fresh rain scent of your mom. The citrusy pheromone of the alpha-doctor sitting in front of you. You have come for another check-up, a detailed medical explanation that your doctor has insisted you to listen to when you’re finally stable.

Your chest tightens as the scents sharpen—and you suddenly understand why your family always looked at you like you were missing something.

It settles wrongly on your chest, like a frame hung in a crooked angle. You’ve been wanting this your whole life—to be able to detect scents, to not feel excluded from the women of your family, to have a chance at love with Riki. 

It’s not that you hate it. You just don’t know what to do with it yet.

“But that also means that you’re quite fragile for now until your first heat cycle comes,” the doctor speaks again, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gives you a reassuring smile, as if noticing your unfocused self. “And from the test results, it should come in very near time. Perhaps a week or two from now.” 

“So soon?” Your mom sits straighter in her seat, leaning closer to peek at whatever medical result on the paper he’s holding. The doctor nods.

“This can only happen to late-presenting omegas. And since her body had developed way past its due age, it can be very dangerous if she spent it alone. She needs an alpha for her first heat cycle.”

That, finally, grabs your attention. Your body stills, the words hanging in the air like guillotine waiting to fall.

“An alpha?” you repeat, sounding disbelieving. The doctor confirms with a hum.

“Yes, a familiar alpha. Based on the examination, it seems that your presentation was triggered by overwhelming and heavy pheromones of agitated alphas. I was informed that you were watching a basketball match before you fainted, correct?” You nod, failing to find your voice to answer. “Omegas are very responsive towards alphas pheromones, especially when those alphas are running on adrenaline and being very competitive.”

Oh. You recall the way Heeseung’s loud voice shook you to your core, finally finding an explanation to the way your body reacted. You shift in your seat, suddenly too aware of your surroundings.

“And to tie it back to your heat cycle, Y/N, are you close with any of those alphas?”

The guillotine finally falls, cutting your oxygen like a cruel punishment meant to kill. You visibly stiffen, a certain face flashing in your mind like a broken record.

It’s your mom who speaks first. “Yes, she is close with Nishimura Riki. He was at the court with her.”

A small smile grazes the doctor’s lips. “Then that may be the safest option. Perhaps he can help with your daughter’s heat, seeing as she has no exclusive partner now.”

The doctor’s words keep looping in your head like a tape stuck on repeat—an alpha…a familiar alpha…

And somehow, you end up outside the locker room, waiting.

Waiting for the one person who has always been your anchor, whether you deserved him or not.

Nishimura Riki.

He steps out of the locker room with his usual lazy confidence, but there is a tension in his shoulders now. His hair is damp from a post-game shower, curly and messy, framing his eyes like velvet curtains. As if he was a radar specialised to sense you, his nose twitches, and then his head snaps in your direction.

There is a brieft silence between the two of you. You raise your hand and wave, and that’s all it takes for Riki to stride towards you with long steps. He drops his bag on the floor, not caring where it lands, and pulls you into his arms.

“Riki—” Your greetings die in your throats, muffled by the soft fabric of his hoodie as he tightens his hold. His palm, big and warm, cradles the back of your head in a firm yet gentle grip. You relax into his embrace, clutching at his hoodie, feeling grounded in his scent. He smells like soap and his own pheromones, and in the quiet, familiar warmth of being engulfed by Riki, you silently admit that your best friend does smell the best.

“God, Y/N,” he whispers, breath fanning the shell of your ears, making your skin tingles, “do you want me to die from worry? No replies, no call back. God.”

Your lips curve into a small smile before you break the embrace, putting a distance between the two of you to look at his face. His handsome, pretty face that you’ve missed so much.

“I’m sorry, Ki. Things were pretty rough.”

Riki doesn’t say anything. His eyes, heavy with care and unspoken desire, rake over your features before he slowly nods.

“I know. I’ve been through it too. How are you now?”

You bite your bottom lip, letting yourself indulge in his caring nature. “I’m good now. A whole lot different, but good.”

Riki’s face relaxes into a relief before he slings an arm around your neck again, his habit that you’re used to now. “Great. Now let me treat you to that steak place, you can’t say no—”

“No, Riki.” You cut him off, and that stops him in his tracks. Riki looks at you in confusion when you detach yourself from him, putting his arm back to his side. You throw the locker room a nervous glance, before looking back at him.

“There’s something…I must tell you.”

Riki’s scent spikes. You feel it like a soft punch in your chest. 

“What is it?” he asks, voice too low, like he’s scared of what’s to come.

“I…you know I’m a late-presenting omega, right? The doctor says that I’m quite unstable now,” you swallow, fiddling with the edge of your sweater. The words are heavy on your tongue, like lead pressing on a mattress. 

 “My heat will come in a week, and…and I must spend it with an alpha to regulate myself back.”

Riki doesn’t move, and so do you. And in that moment, you feel it. The impending consequences that come from telling him the truth. But between losing a friendship with Riki, being denied from his company that’s caused by your unrequited love, and letting yourself into another person’s life, forever yearning for Riki but still remains his friend; you’ll always choose the latter.

Because you’ll have him, as whoever he is; as your friend, your unrequited love, your crush—than a stranger.

“Y/N—”

“I need Jay to be that alpha.”

His eyes darken. “What?” Riki tries to keep it calm, but his voice is low and tight. “What do you mean, Jay?”

You take a deep breath, suddenly feeling the walls too close to your skin. Across from you, Riki is staring with a sharp, heavy gaze, his eyes pleading for an explanation.

He takes a step closer. “Why Jay?”

“I—I mean, you always told me that Jay is a gentleman. And if you trust him so much, then I think…” your voice trails off when Riki takes another step, but you’re determined to stay rooted in your place. 

“You think you can trust him just because I do?” He continues for you, his voice now an octave lower. You swallow.

“Not just because you trust him,” you say, voice shaky. “Because… because he’s the only one I know who won’t take advantage of me.”

Riki’s jaw tightens. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to bite the words out of you.

“You think I would?” he snaps, then immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone.

His expression changes. Softer now, but still intense.

“I would never—”

You shake your head, too quickly. “No, Riki. That’s not what I mean. It’s just—” Your breath hitches, and your voice breaks. “You’re my best friend. I—We can’t. Best friends don’t do that.”

The words hit him like a strong wave, and it might as well be true from the way he falters in his stance slightly. You feel his distress before you smell it; burnt sandalwood and bitter musk, a telltale sign of his emotions. Your heart lurches in your throat, begging you to embrace and comfort the alpha in front of you.

But before you can do anything, Riki takes a step back first. He nods curtly, schooling his expression despite his scent. 

Then he speaks, voice low and clipped, like he’s swallowing a scream.

“Yeah. Best friends don’t.”

“Riki—”

“I’ll ask Jay about it,” he says, his voice sounding distant. Your heart breaks. “He’s a gentleman. He’ll be willing to help you.”

Without waiting for your reply, Riki turns around. He snatches his bag off the floor, posture rigid and tense as he walks away, leaving you behind with guilt clawing at your throat. Your legs weaken, and before you know it, you are back on the bench, clutching at your heart and feeling like you have broken something you shouldn’t.

riki ducky

jay agreed

You stare at the text, the last and only text you received from Riki since that fateful day at the locker room. He’s been avoiding you like a plague, keeping distance, and ignoring your texts and calls like you’re a desperate ex. You sigh. 

“I just—I don’t want to ruin our friendship! He’s the only alpha I want, but—” you run a hand through your hair. Wonyoung is slouching on the other end of the couch, listening to you like an unpaid therapist. “But does he want me?”

Wonyoung licks her popsicle and throws you a knowing look. “In my opinion, Y/N—you just need to go to his apartment. Trust me on this.”

You groan. “I just asked you that question! We don’t even know if he wants me!”

“Oh my God,” Wonyoung rolls her eyes, kicking at your thigh from where she’s sitting. “You guys are so insufferable and dramatic. Just go before I deliver you to him myself.”

“I’m not a parcel!”

“Just go!”

So, with reluctance and doubt scratching at your skin, you drag your feet to Riki’s apartment. It has been five days since he talked to you, and with your heat approaching fast, with your pre-heat symptoms wearing at your bones like a curse, you’re not sure if it’s the right idea to do so. He might kick you out. He might not even answer. Either way, it’ll be less embarrassing with no witnesses because Riki lives alone.

Stupid rich Japanese kid.

To your surprise, the door opens after the first ring, revealing a disheveled, messy Riki. His hair is tousled, like it’s been run by his fingers way too many times. His tank top sits snugly on his body, slightly crumpled and damp from sweat. His eyes, usually bright and lively, are now sharp and dark. You blink at him, taking in his unkempt figure swallowing the doorway with his height, before you finally ask:

“Can I come in?”

Riki opens the door wider like an invitation, letting you pass the threshold before closing it shut with a click. He lets you toe off your shoes, lets you lead him into the living room, lets you admire his furniture arrangement—though right now the space is untidy with unfolded clothes and discarded socks—but says nothing.

The hush between the two of you stretches, until Riki decides to break it, his voice low and grim.

“Why are you here? You should be with Jay.” 

There is a hint of bitterness in his tone, and the spike in his scent just proves it further. You take a step towards him, careful and slow, waiting for his permission. When Riki doesn’t move, when he doesn’t stop you; you take another step.

“Riki,” you start, hands raising to touch his arms but dropping them back. Riki only stares. “What’s wrong, Riki? You’ve been avoiding me.”

Riki doesn’t answer right away, a storm behind his eyes as he only stares at you with a blank face. But the twitch in his jaw doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m not avoiding you,” he mutters, a barely restrained voice that tugs at your heart. “Just busy.”

“You’re not even replying to me,” you speak again, hearing the crack in your voice. Riki stiffens, his hands clenching into fists. “It—It hurts, Riki. I don’t know why you can’t just talk to me.”

Riki says nothing. His mouth is a prison, staring at you like he’s figuring how to breathe again. His scent reaches you—clean musk and sandalwood—only now it feels heavier, like the fragrance has been pulled down by the weight of his emotions. The sandalwood smells faintly burnt, and the musk has a dull edge, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

And you hate it. You hate it so much that he’s been keeping things to himself. In another desperate attempt to get him talking, you tug at his wrist, the skin warm under your touch, but you flinch when Riki snatches his hand away. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, you stare at him with your heart in your throat.

Riki takes a step back, his mouth curling into a tight line. “Don’t touch me. I—I can’t deal with this right now.”

There is a jab of pain in your heart at his words, but you’re not backing down. Not now when the only person that you’re scared to lose is showing signs of slipping away. Not now when the wolf inside you is whimpering, agitated from Riki’s actions.

You have an idea where this is all coming from. Truly, you aren’t that stupid to not notice his distance right after you requested to spend your heat with Jay. If you have to point in one direction, you’d say that Riki has been acting like a jealous boyfriend. Surprisingly, that speculation doesn’t bother you. 

It’s the why that’s drilling into your mind, pulling you away from a good night’s sleep everyday. It’s the why that’s invading your thoughts, fraying every nerve in your system, keeping you hostage to your own overthinking.

Because admitting them will give you hope—and hope is a dangerous thing when you’re in love. Especially when it’s one-sided. Especially when it’s just you on the boat, drowning like a locked chest into the abyss when your lifeline, your Riki is walking away from the shore.

So you try to brave up. “Please, Riki. Don’t shut me out,” you exhale shakily, the words lodging in your throat, “if this is about me and Jay, you should just tell me.”

That seems to hit a spot. Riki scoffs, weaving his fingers through his already-messy hair, sounding disbelieving. “What, you think I’m jealous?”

Your eyes narrow, pulse racing in your ears. “It does seem like it.”

Riki returns your gaze, clicking his tongue, the one habit he does when he’s annoyed. “Don’t push it, Y/N,” he doesn’t hesitate his next words, eyes locked onto yours like he wants you to digest and understand them. “You can fuck Jay if you want. I couldn’t fucking care less about you.”

The words land like a slap, but it’s Riki who flinches. He stares at you, eyes widening, realisation dawning upon his features. But it’s too late. 

Your scent takes a sharp turn, burnt caramel filling the air. You stagger one step backwards, and Riki’s heart lurches when he sees your glassy eyes.

You swallow. “I see.”

“No,” Riki whispers, his wolf wailing in regret at the sight of your anguished, crumbled face, “fuck, Y/N. I—I didn’t mean that.”

You shake your head, a small, humourless laugh slipping past your lips like something is breaking. And it’s probably your heart. It’s definitely your heart. “It’s okay,” you say, too calmly. Too gently. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Riki’s chest tightens at that. At how quiet you suddenly are.

You turn away from him, movements stiff, deliberate, like if you move too fast, you’ll shatter. Each step you take feels heavy, your body screaming for you to get out before you embarrass yourself further. Before he sees you cry.

“Y/N, wait!” Riki reaches out instinctively, fingers grazing nothing but air as you slip past him.

You don’t look back. You can’t. Your throat burns, your vision blurring as you make your way toward the door. The apartment feels suffocating now, walls closing in, every trace of his scent pressing down on your lungs.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry for hoping. Sorry for loving him. Sorry for thinking you meant more.

The click of the door unlocking sounds painfully loud in the silence.

“Y/N.”

His voice cracks this time. Not sharp. Not defensive. It’s bare.

You pause, hand resting on the handle, shoulders trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. Your scent curls tighter, darker—burnt sugar and salt, grief bleeding into the air.

“I can’t stay here,” you say softly. “Not if that’s how you feel.”

The door opens a fraction before Riki’s hand slams against it, stopping it from opening any further.

You gasp, startled, heart leaping into your throat as his palm presses flat against the wood beside yours. He’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling like he’s been running after something he’s terrified to lose.

“I said I didn’t mean it,” he forces out, voice rough, desperate. “Don’t—don’t leave. Please.”

Slowly, you turn back to look at him.

Riki’s eyes are red-rimmed, frantic, his scent spiraling wildly—clean musk fractured, sandalwood raw and aching, like it’s been split open. He looks nothing like the composed alpha who pushed you away moments ago.

“I can’t let you walk out like this,” he says, quieter now, like a confession he’s been holding back for years. “Not because of something I said just to hurt you.”

His fingers curl against the door, knuckles white.

“Please,” Riki whispers. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Your lips tremble as the dam breaks. “Then why,” you sob, pushing at his chest weakly, “why would you say those things? Why would you push me away?”

Your hands feel useless against his broad body, like you’re trying to hold back a storm with nothing but your fingertips. Your breath comes out in ragged bursts, and you can’t stop the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. The air around you feels heavy, thick with the scent of him — sandalwood and something sharper, like his anger clinging to him even now.

“I know, I’m sorry, baby,” his voice is quiet, not at all budging from your soft hitting. It’s strange how calm he sounds when you feel like you’re breaking apart. He grabs your wrists, bringing them to his lips. His mouth is wet, trembling.

You pause.

His lips brush your skin again, a gentle pressure that feels almost reverent. It makes your heart twist, because you don’t know whether to feel comforted or crushed. You’re still shaking, still sobbing, still trying to understand how he could make you feel so safe and so hurt in the same breath.

“I care about you too much. So much that it drives me crazy.”

Riki finally looks up, his glassy eyes mirroring yours. The sandalwood now hangs bare in the air, stripped of any traces of pride. He looks smaller, like the weight of what he’s feeling is pressing him down.

“I’m so fucking jealous, Y/N. I—I can’t,” Riki swallows, closes his eyes in desperation, and then he drops.

He drops to his knees, and the sudden movement makes your breath hitch. His neck cranes to see you, like he needs to make sure you’re still there. His arms, pliant and strong, wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you in like you’re the only thing that keeps him from falling apart.

You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, fast and wild, matching your own. For a moment the world is just the two of you—his scent, his trembling breath, your tears—everything else fading until all that exists is the raw, aching truth between you.

Riki buries his nose into your stomach, the fabric dampens with his tears. “I’m sorry, so sorry, Y/N. Please, and this time I mean it, please don’t go to Jay.”

Your hands hover at your sides, not knowing where to place them. When you feel the muffled sob against your stomach, you finally let them drop into his hair, caressing the strands like you do a puppy. And right now, in this position and situation, Riki doesn’t seem less than one.

“Riki…” you whisper, soft and gentle.

“Please don’t go to Jay,” he pleads, looking up to you again, tears clinging to his lashes. Your heart clenches at the sight. “Please let me be your alpha. Please,” he confesses, gripping at your shirt like a lifeline.

“I only ever know to love you, Y/N,” he trembles like a dead leaf, his breath shaky, “And it kills me to even imagine you with someone that’s not me.”

Your lips part, your hands in his hair stilling.

I only ever know to love you, Y/N.

You don’t move at first. You think you don’t even breathe. You replay his words, re-reading the sentence in your mind as if scared the alphabets might rearrange themselves into something else—something that would call you out of your delusion.

But Riki, staring up at you earnestly, handing his heart over to you in his trembling palms, is not a delusion. He’s real. And he’s here, with you, saying words you only ever heard in your deepest fantasies.

You feel your shoulders sag a fraction, like something heavy just settled into place. 

“Riki, come here.” You tap slowly at his arms, willing yourself to hide your shaky voice. “You’ll hurt your knees, baby. Come here.”

“Come back to me.”

Riki obeys without thinking twice. His height towers over you, and when it used to feel like he’s as far to reach as he is physically from you; now it feels safe. It feels firm, grounded; a protection only he can give you. 

You cup his cheek, gazing into his eyes with a fondness you reserve only for him. The tears come back, but it’s not from pain anymore. There is a tinge of hurt still, from the words he carelessly threw to protect his pride. But his confession, your revelation, take priority now. It presses heavy on your tongue, begging to be let out, to escape from the misery of your unspoken feelings.

“Riki,” you start, almost breathless. “I love you, too.” 

Riki almost stops breathing, but you keep caressing his cheeks to remind him to. To remind him that it’s true. 

“I’ve always been. Even before I knew what it meant.”

Riki takes in a sharp breath before he lets himself lean into your touch. Pulling you into his arms, he buries his nose into your hair, inhaling lungfuls of your scent like a stray cat finally finding a home. You melt into his embrace, feeling every hard line of his body pressing into yours.

“I’m so sorry for feeling scared,” Riki whispers, still wet from tears, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship. You’re too precious to me, Y/N. I can’t risk that.”

You hum into his shoulders, taking in the way his scent becomes warmer, the sandalwood now is rid of its burnt edge. “I’m still hurt, but I get it. I was scared too, Ki. It’s the only reason why I asked for Jay.”

Apparently, Jay’s name serves as a trigger now. Riki breaks the hug and looks into your eyes, now dark with a desire waiting to be unleashed. He cups your jaw in a gentle manner, but the grip is firm.

“Will you let me take care of you?”

You nod, and when his face leans closer to yours, you let yourself get pulled in by the force of his affection; of the desire now curling and swirling in his eyes.

“Will you let me be your man?” he whispers, lips just a breath away from each other now. Riki noses your cheek with a tenderness akin to handling a glass. “Hm? Answer me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches. “Yes, Riki. Please take care of me.”

Riki’s eyes soften as he stares into your eyes before he finally lets his lips engulf yours. The kiss starts slow at first, careful and tender and wet, tethering on the new boundaries made after a line has been crossed, before it gets heated and needy. 

Riki kisses like a starved man, like your mouth is a well of water to quench his thirst. His hands now wander; gripping at your waist, squeezing at your hip, feeling your body with his rough, calloused hands like he’s trying to memorise you by touch.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, his body pressing into yours. He breaks the kiss, breath now ragged, and stares at you with a new level of depth that makes something inside you flutter. Your eyes are glassy and dazed, and Riki curses at himself for letting himself get carried away.

“I’m so sorry. Is your heat near?”

When you nod, Riki moves slightly, but your hands are faster, clamping around his arms like a pair of cuffs. “Where are you going?” there is a pout in your voice, and Riki near damn coos. “You said you’ll take care of me.”

Riki’s jaw clenches, his hands flexing at his sides, a barely contained desire that he tries so hard to control. “I—I want to, Y/N, trust me. But this—” he gestures at the both of you, trying to create words from air, “this will change everything about us. We can’t stay as just friends after this. And that’s a big thing, Y/N.”

Riki licks his lips, eyes flicking to yours in a brief glance before he looks to the floor again.

“I don’t want you to make hasty decisions or regret anything.”

Your chest swells at that, and you couldn’t help the grin that splits across your face. Rubbing into his arms in soothing circles, you can’t keep the love and affection from bleeding into your voice when you speak.

“I won’t regret anything with you, Riki.” You pause, watching the man before you earnestly. God, he’s so handsome. You smile. “I want to do this with you, Ki. I choose you. And I’ll have you so long you want to have me, too.”

Riki doesn’t move. His eyes search yours, looking for the faintest hint of discomfort and lies. But when all he can see is your eyes reflecting his love, he finally lets the tension off his shoulders.

“Okay,” Riki nods, wetting his lips once more. “Okay. I—thank you for that, Y/N, truly. I was about to kidnap you if you said no.”

You laugh at that, eyes wrinkling in joy, the tension easing up a bit. Riki touches your cheek, thumb brushing your tears slowly before letting go.

“Can you wait in my bedroom? I need to call your mom first. She needs to know that I’m about to eat her daughter alive.”

A rosy heat blooms across your face before you hit his shoulders playfully. Riki throws you a smirk, shrugging with nonchalance.

“What? Aren’t I a good future son-in-law?”

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but the wide grin you have betrays you completely. “Be quick, Ki. Don’t leave me for too long.”

“Oh, I will, baby. I’m a greedy man after all.”

Riki winks, and you groan. To save yourself from further embarrassment, you make a small run for his bedroom, feeling his eyes boring holes into your skull as you leave.

The living room seems to expand in your absence. Riki lets out a low, dark chuckle. He pockets his phone out of his sweatpants and makes a quick dial to your mother.

It’s just a brief call, with him letting your mother know what’s going to go down in less than forty-eight hours, listening to the relief in her voice when she realises it’s going to be him. After giving her his words of promises, Riki finally heads to his room.

The door creaks open and in an instant, a heavy, thick wave of vanilla scent washes over him. Riki staggers, gripping his phone in an attempt to recover from the smell of arousal practically dripping in the air.

His eyes find you on the bed, and the sight nearly takes his breath away.

There, perched on the bed, body slicked with sweat and completely naked, is you. You’re hugging his blanket to your nose, inhaling his pheromones, dizzy from his masculine, earthy sandalwood.

Your eyes meet his, glassy and dazed, drunk on hormones and heat.

“It’s hot, Riki,” there are wet noises coming from you, and only then does he realise that you have been fucking yourself on your fingers, using your own slick as lube. Riki feels his cock throb, eyes tranced on the way your hips move. “Smell so good, alpha, need you to fuck me.”

Your heat is here, and the trigger has been his own pheromones, which smells the strongest in his room. Riki curses under his breath, mentally slapping himself for overlooking the effects his pheromones over omega nearing their heat. He pushes the door close with his foot, not breaking eye contact with you as you moan, fingers moving faster.

Riki’s hold on his phone is knuckle-white, feeling the restraint leaving his body with every inhale of your intoxicating scent. 

“Alpha,” you pant, fisting at his blanket closer, and Riki swears he’s leaking precum. “Need you s’bad. Please.”

Riki wills himself to not jump on you, hands clenching and unclenching as he tries to steady his own breathing. 

It’s probably the hardest he’s ever tried.

Closing his eyes, he forces control into his system, chanting like a mantra that he’s here to help you with your heat, to make it less painful for you. That now it’s about you and not him, and Riki will pull the trigger himself if he ever touches you in any way that you don’t consent to.

Taking one last breath, Riki opens his eyes again. This time, there is a primal need lurking in his gaze, but it feels grounded and controlled. He circles the bed slowly, letting your noises greet his senses like music of sins. He puts his phone on the bedside and turns to face you, still not saying anything.

You scramble to kneel on the bed and pull him close by his waistband, fingers soaked and shaking. Your big, misty eyes peer at him through your lashes, practically begging him to take you.

“Riki, please.”

His rough palm cups your cheeks, breath getting shallow and short. 

“Please what, baby?” he finally speaks, low and sensual. You pout.

“Please fuck me, alpha.”

Riki groans and finally, finally, leans down and captures your mouth in a rough kiss. You sigh, tugging his hair as you deepen the kiss. Your teeth clash against his, his tongue licking into your mouth, pushing back your moans into your throat.

“Such a needy baby,” he rasps, grabbing your hips as he moves you to the center of the bed, manhandling you with ease. You bite your lips at the show of his strength. “Can’t even wait for me, hm? Should I just leave you with your fingers?”

You shake your head frantically, choking out a moan when Riki slides up his clothed knee against your folds. “No, please. Need your fingers. Need your cock, Riki.”

“Yeah?” Riki taunts, his eyes darkening as you hump your cunt on his knees, desperate for friction and release. He leans down, silver chain dangling cold against your hot skin, catching the shell of your ear with his teeth. 

“Tell me how much you need it, baby,” he purrs, leaving hot trails down the side of your throat. You tilt your head back, offering your neck like a meal. And what a fucking meal you are to him. “Tell me how badly you need my thick cock in your pussy right now.”

He sucks on the tender skin to leave a mark before moving to litter more of it on your skin. You mewl, gripping his shirt desperately.

“Need you to—ah—need your cock to fill me up,” you whimper, arching your back when Riki descends, closing his mouth around one of your nipples. He sucks on it like he does a lollipop, flicking his tongue at the perky nipple, his other hand kneading your other boob. “Need you to fuck me until I can’t think—ah! Riki!”

His finger finds your clit and flicks the nub, pressing and rolling it with a precision that has you choke on lust. “I’ll fuck you good baby,” he rasps, watching you with his sharp, dark eyes, capturing your expressions into his memory. His sweatpants tighten painfully. “But I need to prepare you first, hm?”

“No,” you sob, hips bucking into his touch. Riki’s eyes never leave yours, his arm still holding himself strong over your body. “I’m ready. Just fuck me, please.”

Riki coos and kisses your tear-stricken face. “I know, baby. You’re fucking soaked down there.” He groans, feeling another slick ooze out of your hole as if proving his point. Riki bites his lip. “But I don’t wanna hurt you—fuck, you’re grinding on my palm, baby.” Riki lets out a dark chuckle, letting you use his palm to get off. “So fucking greedy.”

You whine when he removes his hand, your hole clenching at nothing. Riki pulls your ankle to the edge of the bed, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he slowly kneels for the second time that night, his hot breath fanning on your weeping cunt.

He draws a lungful of your arousal and groans, the scent wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

Caramel and vanilla fill his lungs, and for a moment his whole body stills—like he’s been struck by how perfectly you’re made for him. Riki holds your gaze, refusing to look away when he licks a fat stripe on your folds.

“Oh!” Your hand flies to tug at his hair, a sob escaping your lips. Riki laps at your cunt again, humming at the sweet taste on his tongue, flicking that muscle between your slits before pressing onto your clit. You choke, squishing his head between your thighs.

“So good, alpha, feels so good,” you cry out, grinding on his tongue as he plays with your clit. “‘M close, gonna come, ah, ah—”

The orgasm jerks your entire body, your vision going white for a few seconds. But Riki doesn’t stop. His eyes are hooded as he drinks in your juice, lapping at your folds without wasting a single drop before he slips in his index finger.

Your body arches off the mattress. “Riki!” You scream, the stretch burns but it burns so fucking good. He slides in another digit, finger-fucking you through another orgasm, caressing and pressing the spongy walls with all the fervor of a hungry man. His tongue continues flicking your clit, the numb bundle of nerves sending a tingling sensation across your body.

Tears brim along your lashline, too drunk on lust and heat pheromones and overstimulation. “‘M close, Riki, ah,” you pull his hair, eliciting a groan that vibrates in your pussy. “Riki!”

Your second climax hits you in shockwaves. The man between your legs kitty-licks your pussy, letting you ride out your orgasm before he climbs onto your figure. His mouth and chin are wet from your slick, lips shining with sin and spit.

“You taste divine, my love,” he pops his fingers into his mouth and makes a show of his tongue swirling around his cum-coated digits, sucking on the remnants of your juice. You mewl. “I can eat you out forever.”

You watch him grin, still breathless from your previous orgasm. But the heat crawls back into your nerves and before you know it, you’re wet again, needy again. Riki knows it, of course he does. He settles himself between your legs, peeling off his drenched tank top.

Your mouth waters at his well-defined body. You’ve always known how hot your best friend is, especially after his alpha-presentation. He’s all muscles and sinful lines, sculpted by the Greek gods themselves. Riki knows he’s hot, and he never fails to show you that he knows; if his smirk is anything to go by.

“My baby’s been waiting for my cock, aren’t you?” His thumb grazes your bottom lip with a gentleness that clashes with the hunger in his eyes. You hum, feeling his eyes soften on you.

Riki leans down and gives you a soft, slow kiss. He pecks the tip of your nose before caressing your cheek with his. Inside, your omega purrs in satisfaction at the display of affection.

“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

You nod. Riki nudges your nose with his, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Use your mouth, baby.”

“Yes.” You breathe out, and your legs hook around his waist without thinking, pulling him closer. You grind your bare cunt against his clothed length, slow at first, then faster, as if you need to prove something to yourself. The fabric presses into you, and the friction sends a shock through your nerves. Riki groans, a disbelieving chuckle leaving his lips before he straightens up.

His eyes never leave you. “So impatient,” he sighs, his voice low and amused. 

He yanks his sweatpants and boxer off in one go, hissing when his cock springs free, rock-hard and rigid. You almost drool at the sight.

He’s big. Fuck, he’s too damn big.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” Riki grunts, stroking his cock in languid motions, slicked with his precum,  watching your face like a predator stalking its prey.

Your eyes stay glued to him, glazing over in a trance. You can’t stop staring, like you’re afraid to blink and lose the image.

“So big,” you murmur, your voice shaking.

Riki can’t help the triumphant smirk on his face, his alpha howling in pride.

“Too big, alpha, fuck.”

“I know,” he rasps, lining his cock against your entrance,“I don’t even know if it will fit.”

Then, with a single thrust, he slides in. You gasp, the sting blooming sharp and hot before melting into something dizzying, your stomach tightening as if it’s being pulled inward around him.

“But you will make it fucking fit.”

Riki pushes in inch by inch, noting every micro-expression of discomfort in your pretty face, your breath stuttering, hands gripping at him as the pressure curls low in your belly.

“Tell me if it hurts, love.”

“It hurts,” you croak, the words breaking apart on your tongue, wrapping your arms around his neck, mouth moving against mouth. “But it hurts so good, Riki.”

Riki kisses you through the pain, whispering comfort and praises into your ears, easing you into it. When he finally bottoms out, you almost sob again, the fullness stretching deep, heavy and overwhelming, heat pooling in your stomach until it feels like you can’t think past it.

“Still good?” Riki asks, jaw clenching at the feeling of your walls hugging his length. You nod, feeling the tension in your muscle unclench.

“Y-You can move now, Riki.”

Something dark glints in his eyes. “I can’t fucking move, baby,” he chuckles lowly, the sound torn and breathless, vibrating straight into you, “your pussy’s sucking me in.”

You moan at his crude words, your walls clenching around his dick. Riki lets out a curse before sliding out and thrusting back in with a snap of his hip. You scream, the sound sharp and unplanned, nails scratching his arms as your stomach clenches tight.

“S’tight, love,” he gives you another sharp thrust, hitting that sweet spot easily, breath mingling with yours. “Pussy so tiny, baby, fuck,” he growls into your ears. You nod, mind turning mushy from heat and pleasure. “Can you feel me deep inside your—fuck—tight cunt,” he pants, each word making your belly flutter helplessly, shoving his cock with a powerful thrust that has you seeing stars, “filling you up with my fat cock?”

“Yes!” you sob, voice cracking, breath hitching between syllables, wetting your face with another round of tears. The air smells of pheromones and sex, slicked bodies tangled in sheets. “More, more, more, please.”

“So fucking good to me,” Riki stares you down, eyes clouded with lust, drinking in the way your breasts jingle every time his hips meet yours. He moans. “You’re so beautiful, my pretty baby. Were you gonna let Jay see you like this?”

Your walls instinctively clench at the image, your stomach dropping hot and heavy, and Riki lets out a dark, wicked laugh at that. His gaze sharpens, his pace getting rougher and sharper as he looks at you with newly-lit fire in his eyes. 

“You’re so fucking shameless,” he spits.

You whine from his harsh words, but your body only responds more, slick pooling hotter between your legs. The shame digs into your ribs, but the need overrides it.

Riki’s jaw twitches.

“Were you gonna beg for his cock, huh? You think he can fuck you good like this?”

“No—Riki, no—only you—ah, oh God.”

His thrusts don’t slow. They become relentless, each one harder than the last, his hips snapping in a steady rhythm that leaves you breathless. Your moans bounce off the walls, high and broken, tangled with the wet sound of skin meeting skin, as you shake your head, shame and lust clawing at your throat.

Riki lifts your hips and grabs your ass, the new angle making you roll your eyes in pleasure. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the sound, but the sensation is too much.

“Yes, yes—there! Fuck, Riki, more, please,” you moan, high-pitched and broken, feeling the familiar rush inside your belly.

His breath comes out ragged, his body leaning forward like he’s trying to bury himself into you. The heat between you tightens, and you can feel the way his length presses deeper with each thrust.

“I’m never letting go, baby,” Riki pants, damp fringes framing his eyes, his thrust growing faster and sloppy. “This pussy is fucking mine.”

“‘M yours,” you slur, mind turning fuzzy from the feeling of his cock splitting you open. “I’m only—ah—yours!”

“That’s right, baby,” Riki growls, pressing into your hips with a bruising grip. His breath is frantic, his voice pitching into a higher tone. “You’re fucking mine, shit—I’m close.”

“Please give me your knot—ah!” You scream, begging for his knot and cum incoherently, drool trailing down your chin. A stuttered moan leaves your chest when Riki thumbs at your clit, bringing you closer to the edge. His bulge is growing inside you, and you shudder in anticipation for his knot.

“Take my fucking knot,” he grunts, and you nod, mind going hazy from being fucked dumb.

“Knot—give me your knot—alpha—I’m—close! Oh God, Riki!” His name tears off your throat in a shrill scream, drowning out Riki’s low, guttural growl as he comes with you. His cock inflates inside your belly, pumping into you full and stretched, riding out the waves before he collapses on top of you, careful not to let his weight crash over you.

“Hey,” Riki whispers after a pause, brushing your hair from your forehead, his heart clenching at the sight of your tears. “Baby, is it too much? You good?”

You let out a low hum, closing your eyes as Riki peppers your face with kisses. Your body feels heavy, pleasantly spent, limbs loose like you might melt straight into the mattress if he lets go.

“M’good,” you murmur, voice thick and sleepy. “Just… a lot.”

Riki exhales, something like relief softening his features. He shifts carefully, cautious of the knot still swelling inside your belly, adjusting the sheets around you both, one hand resting warm and steady on your waist like an anchor. “Yeah,” he whispers, brushing his thumb under your eye. “I figured.”

He stays like that—no rush, no urgency—just tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin, grounding you back into yourself. Every now and then, he presses a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, like he’s checking that you’re still here with him.

“You did so good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So brave.”

Your chest tightens at that, but this time it’s not overwhelming. It’s gentle. Safe. You shift closer, instinctively tucking yourself against him, and Riki immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you in without hesitation.

“I love you,” Riki whispers into your hair. The thrill and adrenaline finally die down, leaving behind small tingles of love and affection that makes your chest feel too small. You tighten your hold.

“I love you too, Riki,” you sigh, feeling another wave of heat coursing through your veins. Shit. You almost forgot that you’re in heat. Riki only laughs when he feels your hole pushing out more slick.

“My baby’s so horny, yeah?”

“It’s the heat!” You hide your face in his chest, cheeks burning, then peek one eye open at him. Riki’s starry eyes hold yours, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be but in your arms. You shy away. “Can we do another round? Please?”

He laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that warms up your chest. Planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, Riki meets your pleading eyes with a boxy grin.

“Of course we can, my love,” he murmurs, “anything for you.”

A comfortable silence falls over you like a weighted blanket. Riki rubs his nose against your scent gland, basking you in his warm sandalwood and clean musk, feeling you grow relaxed in his arms as you wait for the knot to deflate before you speak again.

“And can you actually bring me to that steak place after my heat ends?”

Riki snorts quietly. “Yeah,” he says, tightening his hold on you. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“Are you…talking to yourself?” the boy who was the cause of it all slowly crept behind your seat after entering your section.

You turned around, the creaking sound of your chair cringing at Jake’s ears. “I was talking to the heavens about how they should’ve kept me far away from you so I wouldn’t have to read this stupid book.”

Jake gasped, dramatic as always. “I’ll have you know, author Billy Binstein made me the man I am today.”

“Yeah, stupid name for a stupid guy; checks out.” A small chuckle escaped from your mouth as you turned back to your table, refreshing your inbox. “And bold of you to assume you’re a man.”

You rolled your eyes at him before turning around to open your newly unread emails. Truth be told, you were nowhere near finding a boyfriend right now.

Well, love was kind of distant to you. Scratch that—it was as far as it could get from you. If you could remember, you had that one time where a boy stared at you for too long—wait, no, that doesn’t count. Maybe the time where the senior at your school helped you pick your books up after you tripped over yourself. You hadn’t realised it, but you were a really big loser in high school; you were just glad Jake didn’t get to see this, or you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Maybe this was why you never took love seriously. How could you, when you never felt the taste of it? It wasn’t ever reachable, never real for you. Never the ones you used to see on the movie nights you had spent with Jaeyun; accidental bumps to love at first sight, slow kisses, slow dances in the rain. No, it was never those. You had deadlines, caffeine jitters, and chronic back pain.

Well, maybe that was why your life seemed so quiet. Until now, when your horrid coworker showed up.

Lee Heeseung.

Gosh, the name itself made your blood run cold. Joining the company on the same day as him was probably the worst trick that the universe could’ve played on you. Heeseung had this talent for driving you insane, making your eye twitch whenever you looked his way—not on purpose, of course! He made your heart race in all the wrong ways, your blood pressure increasing every day since he joined the company.

You hated his stupid remarks whenever you made a mistake, and how he swapped the ink in the printer just so you’d print the paper in the wrong colour for ten pages straight.

Jake says you’re just being dramatic, but he doesn’t know. He’s next on the hitlist, with Heeseung’s name being the very first written in big, bold letters. “Stop giving him a reaction,” he’d say, but then you see him giggling with your arch-nemesis as soon as something doesn’t go according to your plan.

Love was all white noise for you, flowing through one ear to another. But hatred—that all started when Lee Heeseung couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

And now you were here, praying that he wouldn’t tick you off today. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen—it was a flawless routine really: Heeseung drives you insane, and you go home all mad, starting to binge-eat whatever snack was in your fridge while you rant to your heart’s content to Jake, not sparing his poor ears for the whole night.

Just as you were about to go about your morning without the usual Heeseung chaos, an email chimed in your inbox.

From: Lee Heeseung Subject: Report Revision

You messed up the report. Again. Check page four before Jenn loses her shit. ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ — Yours sincerely, Lee Heeseung.

You were going to kill him.

You swore smoke was seeping through your ears. If Jake had turned back, he’d see a very red Y/N with an unavoidable eye twitch. This was great, you thought. With only five minutes left until the meeting with your boss, you had to somehow change the entire structure of page four and hope that your boss somehow missed the poorly attempted fix of one of the most important pages in the report.

Gosh, she was going to kill you before you could get to Heeseung.

You peeked over the top of your cubicle, your sharp glare meeting Heeseung’s unbothered face. The audacity of Lee Heeseung to not care—leaned back against his chair, all comfortable without a care in the world, his eyes closed as his pen tapped against the table in a soft rhythm. If you could calculate the correct angle and how much force you need, you could probably smack the stapler you had hanging around your table right on his head.

Maybe a knock right to the head would be what he needed to sort things out, make his brain actually start working.

“Unbelievable,” you murmured, sitting back down and looking at the mess of a report on your monitor.

You were going to lose it, trying to fix an impossible report right before you were going to get your head blasted by your freak of a boss—

“Heeseung, Y/N. My office. Now.” Jenn called you both from as she stepped out of her office.

The stern look on her face already knew you were taking two steps deep into your death. You groaned, cursing the timing of it all. Heeseung walked into the office cool and collected, like he didn’t just hand you over to Jenn so she could personally end you.

“Y/N, did you send over the report? It’s not in my inbox,” your boss said, refreshing her inbox as you both stepped into her spacious workspace.

“Jenn, we actually had to—”

She sighed. You were done for.

You weren't really sure if you listening to the rant that came after. You thought of all the different possibilities to murder Heeseung and get away with it.

You both got out of her sight before she unleashed her wrath upon you. You walked out of the room, clutching your file to your chest as Heeseung followed you.

“Someone needs anger management,” Heeseung mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You spun around, your sharp gaze meeting his smug smirk. “I wouldn’t if you did your work properly.”

“I’m just being efficient.” He shrugged, your words not fazing him.

“You’re being tacky and useless. I’ve never seen someone with a job act so jobless!” You groaned at his face, his smirk alone infuriating you. “You aren’t going to mess this up for me, Lee.”

His stupid smile faltered a bit; you finally got to him. Or so you hoped. Either way, you didn’t care.

“Yeah, well, stop breathing down my neck and I can actually get my work done.” Heeseung shot back. “No one wants an annoying pest for a coworker.”

That took it—before you knew it, you rolled your file and smacked him right on the head.

Heeseung gasped. “Did you just—you just smacked me!” He said, rubbing his head.

You rolled your eyes, knowing that couldn’t possibly hurt him since there was nothing in his skull.

“And I’d do it again.” It was your turn to smirk, scoffing at his pathetic state. “Next time, use that big head of yours to check the revisions correctly before being condescending.”

You turned on your heel to leave him standing there in disbelief. For a moment, you finally felt like you won. The thwack on the forehead only confirmed your victory. But Heeseung just stood there, watching you walk away like a loser who tried to process what just happened.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do other than get back to work and wallow in silence. It was stupid; but seeing that infuriating expression on your face made his heart race. He didn’t know why, and he’d never admit this in broad daylight, but he thrived on making you mad, on annoying you until you exploded, which was like every day, so you could say he hit the jackpot.

But right now, he just stood there, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. Without skipping a beat, your other half walked up to him—Jake wondered why he looked so out of it. Heeseung thanked the heavens that Jake didn’t see how you smacked him on the head while spewing an insult that sewed his mouth shut.

“What happened to you?” Jake asked, his eyes darting over Heeseung’s dazed face.

Heeseung blinked, opening his mouth only for the words to die down his throat. “Your best friend just beat the shit out of me.”

Jake tried to stop the smile tugging at his face, feeling bad that Heeseung got his ass beat. “Yeah, she’s crazy sometimes,” he said, trying not to snort in his face.

“You’re not slick, Jake.” Heeseung sighed while walking with him to his cubicle. “You’re a horrible friend if you could laugh at my state.”

“I didn’t!” Jake defended himself, acting like he wasn’t mentally laughing at the poor boy. “But that doesn’t matter. What you need is drinks. Let’s go out tonight! Clear your head.”

Heeseung plopped on his seat, leaning back. He hesitated for a moment before pushing all the thoughts out of his mind.

“Yeah, fuck it. I’m down.” He looked up at Jake, who had a massive grin on his face.

“You’re paying.” Heeseung only rolled his eyes at his friend’s cheap habits.

“How are you employed and still broke?” he muttered, looking back at his monitor; his inbox still open with your name on top.

Your name made his stomach flip; it felt uneasy. He wanted to erase the feeling completely, to rewrite the thoughts in his mind. And the only way he could do that was to mainline tequila; it was a Jake-guaranteed method, after all. But to think that his night would’ve started off easy. The moment he and Jake stepped foot into the bar, Jake dragged his arm along to the counter and asked the bartender for the strongest alcohol on the menu.

With either three or four shots laid on the table, Heeseung gulped at the headache he was about to have tomorrow. He loosened his tie and Jake sat down next to him, Jake already rolled his sleeves up; a true‑born alcoholic who took this very seriously.

“Come on! Bottoms up,” Jake announced, seeing Heeseung slumped against his seat. He handed the very first shot to his friend, wanting him to see nothing on his mind other than the pure vodka that burned every memory he had today.

Heeseung stared at the glass just for a moment before dunking it down. “That’s my boy!” Jake cheered as he followed Heeseung, taking a shot for himself too.

Heeseung winced, twitching at the sensation of the alcohol. And just like that he and Jake downed every drink that was available at the table. Heeseung didn’t care about how empty his wallet would be tomorrow or about the massive headache he was about to have; not with vodka shots clouding his mind.

“And this…” Jake slurred. “Is to another week of not getting fired from that hellhole!” He grinned at Heeseung, making the older smile at him too.

“Another week of dealing with that evil little gremlin,” Heeseung mumbled with a foolish smile; the burn didn’t even hit his throat now as he was used to the alcohol hitting his system. 

“He–hey!” the boy in front of Heeseung hiccupped. “That’s my friend you’re talking about. She’s not… she’s not that bad,” Jake said, swirling the drink in his hand.

“She almost killed me today, that witch!” Heeseung huffed. “How did you even become friends with her? She looks like she has a handmade weapon up her ass at all times.”

Jake snorted at the insult. “You get used to her, sooner or later.”

“That’s impossible.” Heeseung took a generous sip before spewing out words that his brain didn’t think much of. “She’s impossible.”

Heeseung glanced at Jake, who still had a small teasing smile on his face. “Yet, you’re still talking about her.”

The older boy shot him a glare but Jake kept that same smile on his face. “Come on now, don’t give me that look,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “You’ve been talking about her ever since we came to the bar.”

“That’s—that’s because she’s driving me insane! I’m surprised she hasn’t gotten me on a stretcher yet; better yet… I’m surprised she’s not on a stretcher yet.” Heeseung snapped, Jake, on the other hand, tried not to laugh.

But soon his smile faltered while Heeseung was still muttering words that he himself couldn’t comprehend.

“Uh, dude.” Jake nudged him. “Look who just came in.”

Heeseung followed Jake’s gaze and he swore right there; he instantly sobered up. There she was, the same person that walked out the door years ago: his ex, Park Seri. With the perfect dress hugging her body, with the perfect smile that complimented her lip gloss and the most perfect hair, she took slow strides into the bar.

Her friends left her to get a small drink and they met eyes. Never in a million years would Heeseung think he’d ever lock eyes with his past lover again. But here he was; Seri’s piercing eyes swallowing him whole.

He straightened his posture and whispered to the chestnut‑haired boy next to him, “What’s… what’s she doing here?”

Jake only sipped on his drink, hoping someone would call him to get him out of this sticky situation—heck, he even wished Jenn would call him to check if his reports were done so he could slide out of the bar easily.

“Jesus, the universe like… really hates you,” he muttered under his breath as he saw Seri walk towards Heeseung. “Maybe this is a punishment from above for you talking shit about Y/N.”

Heeseung shot him a sharp glare, but quickly pried his eyes off Jake and looked back at Seri, who was there now, right in front of him.

Seri, Park Seri. A name he hadn’t heard in years, a face that was a faint memory in his mind, was now standing in front of him. She was familiar but never enough to make him feel the heartbreak of it all, resting only in the back of his mind.

“Heeseung,” Seri greeted, her voice just like he remembered; with the same menacing venom laced in it. “It’s been so long since I saw you.”

“Seri,” Heeseung cleared his throat, his eyes not meeting hers. “It has been a long… time.”

“Hm, and you look good too!” the boy’s eyes widened as Seri’s hand slowly grazed his bicep, her gaze sultry and sly.

Jake nearly spat out his drink at the sight. Heeseung, on the other hand, tried to get out of her bitter grip. “Oh, yeah—you too.” His eyes wandered over to Jake in any hopes of help.

But the words that his eyes tried to tell were: you’re in this alone, man.

“You’re still shy, aren’t you?” Seri giggled, her eyes finding Heeseung’s again. She wasn’t much shorter than Heeseung, so she was closer than she thought. But the false sweetness laced in her voice made Heeseung wish he was miles away from her.

“You know I missed you,” her eyes gleamed with that same empty spark that Heeseung saw all those years ago. “How’s work? How is everyone?” she asked. Seri glanced at Jake for a second before returning her gaze to the taller boy.

“They’re good, everyone’s great!” he said with haste; if he continued this conversation any longer he was sure his head would burst.

“Good? Hm, I thought you would be struggling. You know, you hated deadlines.” She tilted her head with a smile, that same smile that left a mark in his heart, that same smile that made him hate her.

Heeseung’s brows furrowed as he tried to argue. “That was like one time I—”

Before Heeseung could continue, he was cut off by the boy next to him. As Jake placed his hand on his shoulder, he finally entered the conversation after Heeseung had pleaded with him multiple times with his eyes.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but he’s taken.” His voice wobbled with slight amusement that Heeseung could recognise from a mile away. “I don’t think she’d appreciate you getting comfortable with him.”

What now?

Lee Heeseung has a girlfriend?

The Lee Heeseung, who had been single for God knows how long, suddenly popped out with a girlfriend out of thin air.

The same Lee Heeseung who thinks procrastination is a man’s greatest strength and said that he’d rather file everyone’s tax reports in the office than fall in love again? Yes, that Heeseung. He has a love life now.

Jake ignored how Heeseung whipped his head towards Jake, his eyes wide as ever. Meanwhile Seri’s ears perked up as she slowly took her hand off his bicep. Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and glanced at Jake in panic. In the span of two minutes, he now had a girlfriend and had to create an entire backstory for this nameless girl Jake had put in Seri’s mind.

“You got a girlfriend now?” A smug little grin appeared on her face as she turned to look at Heeseung. “I never thought you’d get one… so soon. She must be great.”

Jake bit his lip before he would blurt out some name he had read in a comic before, but Heeseung’s eyes travelled to the boy next to him. It was like watching a play directed by Dumb and Dumber.

Jake’s eyes screamed one thing: speak up before I say something worse.

“Yeah–-yeah, she’s everything.” Heeseung flashed an awkward smile to Seri, his only problem in his mind was that he didn’t even know who he was talking about. 

“So…who’s the lucky girl?” Seri asked, tilting her head as her interest grew by the moment. 

Jake looked at Heeseung, Heeseung looked at Jake. The silence that followed after was painful. A bunch of buzz clouded Heeseung’s mind, random ideas swirling, how easy it would’ve been to just drop out of college and become a trophy husband so he wouldn’t have to deal with this or did they even exist? 

Blurry faces and hurried thoughts filled his mind before the buzz of the bar took over, and then–

“Y/N.”

Did he hear himself right?

Jake’s eyes widened as Seri’s smile faltered for a bit. And Heeseung? He swore his heart stopped just for a second, just enough to know what he just did, a mistake that would send him to his very grave. 

“She’s…my coworker.” He added as he saw that grimacing look behind those rehearsed smiles that Seri had. 

The girl only nodded as she put on a tight smile. “Well, I’m glad you have…a girlfriend. I’d love to meet her any time soon!” Her tone felt unusually sharp, maybe it was the sting that lasted—but that was impossible, Heeseung thought. How could she feel the heartbreak when she hurt him first?

Pushing the thoughts aside, Heeseung looked away, not being able to bear the look on Seri’s face. He wasn’t really sure if she was congratulating him or if she was two seconds away from beating him to pulp and getting herself on the news. 

But Jake, being the…Jake he was, had to obviously add more fuel to the fire. “Yeah, she’s great and they’re inseparable. Like a total power couple. Makes me sick to the stomach sometimes.” He let out a foolish laugh before gulping it down. 

Well, Heeseung was sick to the stomach as well.

Very. 

“Well, I’m happy for you, really.” She brushed off the invisible lint that was somewhere on her dress. “I’ll see you later, Lee.” And with that, she strutted off to find her friends. 

But Heeseung didn’t care where she went off to, maybe to a ditch for all he cared. He had way bigger fish to fry, and the cause of all his problems stood right next to him.  After giving Jake a long rant about everything he just went through in the span of ten minutes and not missing out on his big lecture, he checked his phone. Only to see his mom text him the last thing he needed to see right now.

Well, Seri just talked to me. You never told me you had a girlfriend, son! Bring her over this weekend, me and your father would love to meet her.

He blinked, did he see that right? 

Heeseung stopped in his tracks. Jake, who was a few steps ahead, glanced back, seeing Heeseung looking at his phone with wide eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, walking over to take a peek at his phone only to laugh straight at his face like he didn’t just cause this mess. 

“You’re laughing?” Heeseung looked at Jake in disbelief.

“She’s fast. Seri’s got a big mouth.” Jake said, trying to calm down from his fit of laughter. “She’s got Y/N meeting your mom before you could even ask her out! Dude, this is like peak comedy.” 

Heeseung groaned, if Jake came any closer he would’ve been a dead man. As he shoved his phone back into his pocket, his head pounded with something worse than a hangover. This is why he should’ve never listened to Jake–obviously getting drunk on a Thursday night would lead to the death of Lee Heeseung before he could even dig his way out. 

Jake’s silent chuckles added to his pathetic soundtrack to his horrible humiliation. “Nah, you gotta tell Y/N now, good luck with that, considering she doesn’t rip your head open when you tell her.” Jake patted him on the shoulder if it was any form of consolation.

He started to regret ever coming into this stupid bar with stupid Jake. What started as an evening of trying to forget his insufferable coworker led to him somehow dating her. He thought about tomorrow, how the conversation would flow out, how you would have him dead and buried by noon. 

But through the haze of his thoughts, he wondered why he had said your name. Not a fake name, not a name he would’ve found in a comic, it was yours. 

It was nothing, he tried to put it aside. Keyword: he tried. Heeseung knew deep down he couldn’t. Now, how the hell was he supposed to tell you that you were now his girlfriend in his parent's and ex's eyes...and also that you have to meet them this weekend.

He was fucked.

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Every step felt like an entire mile and every single breath you took got stuck in your throat as you tried your best to wrap your brain around it, and only a firm knock on your door made you snap out of your foggy helplessness, followed by Heeseung's calm, awfully attractive voice.

"Open up, Sugar. It's okay. It's just me, we're only gonna talk", he said calmly, your heart slamming against your rib cage as you reached for the doorknob with sweaty, trembling hands and when you opened it, your brain short circuited.

Because there he was; Lee Heeseung, standing at your door in just a crisp, white shirt and a pair of pair of slacks, blonde hair slicked back, expensive watch on his wrist and his ringed fingers massaging his hand.

"Sugar, deep breaths", Heeseung said as his gaze softened in concern, being met with the exact sight he'd been expecting because at the end of the day he knew you much better than you cared to admit.

You followed his demand and took a few deep breaths, his eyes roamed your face and then he nodded in approval, "good girl. May I come in?"

You nodded your head this time, awfully used to his praise because Heeseung had always been a, well, very vocal guy.

"I'm glad you and Chanie moved into these typa dorms instead of that stinky old two bed place you used to live in", Heeseung said as he casually walked down the hallway into the living room where he sat down and looked up at you, his gaze gentle and calm, his entire demeanour managing to calm you down as usual.

Heeseung looked up at where you were standing your cute little pyjama set, your eyes attentively roaming his face as you just took him in and he knew very well how much you'd probably been overthinking this.

"Sugar, are you acting like this because you're utterly horrified and never want to see me again? Or are you like this because you actually want me to teach you some stuff and take your virginity?"

Heeseung's words made your head spin the more he spoke and as you finally sat down on the couch across from him, you held your head, then tilted your head to the side.

"Come on, use those words for me. It's fi-"

"But it's not! It's not fine, Heeseung! You're Jaehyun's brother! We- We practically grew up together!" You interrupted him and just from the tone of your voice Heeseung knew it was the latter of his suggested suspicions which had made you gone crazy just a little.

"So? Hyun's gonna be fine, it's just sex", Heeseung replied oh so casually, making your eyes widen and your entire body burn.

"Don't say it like that!" You whined and covered your face with your hands, hiding from Heeseung's intense gaze.

"But that's what this would be. You want someone to take your virginity and teach you things, I don't want Sunghoon or anyone else to do it but I also don't want anything serious. So, it's done, nothing else to decide", Heeseung said and stared at you like he'd just come up with a masterpiece of a plan and your brows furrowed at the way he seemed so utterly happy with himself.

"But- But- Good gracious, stop fucking looking at me like that, Heeseung", you hissed and pushed his face away, making him chuckle and the more he watched you, the more he somehow wanted you.

"Sugar", he began and reached for your hand, engulfing it with his large ones as he caressed your wrist, "do you want this? Yeah? Say it, baby. Use your words with me, always."

You hesitated for a few seconds before you stared into Heeseung's dyes and eventually nodded, "yes, Seungie."

"Good girl", Heeseung smiled brightly, "now that's gonna be one of our rules, okay? If we do this, we do it right and properly. Number one, you will always use your words with me, no matter what. I want you to be loud and vocal, sweet girl", he continued and all you could do was nod, then quickly adding a 'Yes' to it.

"There we go, off to a good start", Heeseung raked his fingers through his hair and sighed, then looked back into your beautiful eyes but concentrated on the task at hand, "second rule: I want you to use a title for me that might not be up your alley, so we'll practice rule one really quick", you nodded at Heeseung and held your breath when his cheeks flushed gently before he continued to speak, "I want you to call me Daddy whenever it's just the two of us. Is that okay?"

Your heart skipped a beat, then it dropped form the center of your throat all the way down between your legs, your pussy clenching in utter despair at the mere thought of using a word so lewd and naughty for Heeseung and yet, you nodded because you were definitely not gonna deny him something lile this.

"Yes, it's okay", you said as your heart raced and Heeseung smiled, caressing your pulse point on your wrist with his thumb.

"Good girl, you're doing great, Sugar", Heeseung said, then cupped your cheek in his large hand, "we're exclusively seeing and fucking each other and no matter how badly I want to breed you, we will always use condoms", he continued and you tried your best to hear his every word and process it full, "I'm only gonna fuck you in a bed or one of our homes, I don't like fucking in pulic and I hate quickies. You'll understand why, soon enough."

Your eyes widened before you both bursted into laughter and the sound of Heeseung's made you realise that this was indeed the Lee Heeseung you'd always had a crush on and the one guy who'd been making you laugh since you were a tiny girl.

"I do like kissing and snuggles, cuddles and aftercare is a must and non negotiable even if it/'s just a very quick feedback, okay?"

"Okay", you replied and sighed, fidgeting with Heeseung's rings before he cupped your face again, making your gaze meet his,* "no strings attached. This is only sex, baby. But if, at one point, you begin catching feelings, you do what?"

Your lips stretched into a gentle smile before you finished his sentence,* "I always use my words."

"That's my good girl. Now, I have to go because I have to hesd to the airport, but I want you to think of things you want to try, what you wanna start off with and what you'd really rather not try", Heeseung got up on his feet, then bent down to kiss your forehead before he bent down to whisper in your ear, "and then I'm gonna make that pussy mine."

With those words, he simply told you to be safe and actually walked out, leaving you there, ruined panties, hardened nipples and those sweet little cramps you got when you knew you were awfully turned on. You weren't sure if this was a good idea but you were damn sure Heeseung was gonna make it feel like one.

A/N: again, i'm so sorry for making you guys wait!! tysm for all the lovely feedback and comments babies, you guys are the best! most written chapters for this smau will be shorter so I can get in more than just four or five! love you all 🍒🕊️☁️

asks ℘ reblogs ℘ comments always appreciated and welcomed !!

taglist (7/50) . . @julsforjulieni @sunnysidesins @astrohypen @vveebee @heelovesmeknot @jvngw0nlvr @illus1nists

The feeling of clarity in your eyes was still new, as was having more than two people wandering around a room that contained nothing more than an old mattress, leaks, and a rusty table.

Every time someone sat down at the table with you, you wondered if you had made the right choice. You replayed that night in your mind every second as if you were going to wake up at any moment and find that it had never happened.

Jongseong had gone to the dark room with someone else. It was no one you had seen before, so his name wasn't important enough to remember. He asked you several questions before proposing that you join him and the Park mafia to destroy your father together.

You noticed Jongseong's caution every time he talked about it. The battle he fought with himself between wanting revenge on the man who was doing all this, but at the same time protecting what little sanity you had left to deal with the situation, after all, he was still your father. Unfortunately, he would never cease to be so, even though –from the moment you learned everything – you wanted to stop being his daughter.

You wanted things to be simple and easy, to rip that surname from you and all the memories you shared with him.

“Miss Bohr?” the voice quickly pulled you out of your thoughts, making you blink a little faster before looking ahead. The smile that greeted you almost made you smile too, if it weren't for the melancholy that was sinking you deeper and deeper “We're going to dinner, would you like to join us?”

“Call me Y/n, please” you simply replied, seeing him nod slightly before continuing to stand there.

He was waiting for your answer, even if it was a no, so he could tell the boss that you didn't want to leave.

“I'll—” you sighed softly, shrinking a little more into the soft chair you had sat down in a while ago.

“Do you want to stay here? I can let boss know that you're not hungry,” he said for you, and your silent thanks came in the form of a slow nod.

The man turned and walked across the room until he reached the door, opened it, and disappeared from your field of vision, leaving you alone once again.

It wasn't that it had been bad, because that was how you had been staying for a long time. A few good months, to be exact. You heard Jongseong talking to some guys about completing a few months since he had kidnapped you, and you wanted to hold back the tears from counting the months since you learned the truth.

If it was fate to make you stop in a filthy room just to hear the truth about your father, so be it. But it was also making you think about a lot of things. About everything you had experienced up to that moment, the people who had passed through your life and simply disappeared… Did your father have anything to do with all that?

Once again, your thoughts were interrupted, this time by a knock on the door. You didn't bother to move a muscle, but muttered something to let them know they could come in. Unlike weeks ago, when they would enter that room without even identifying themselves, placing your meal there, and, if you were lucky, someone would just say hello.

Steady footsteps were the first thing to flood your ears as you silenced your thoughts to pay attention to what was happening around you. Your eyes quickly fixed on the figure of the man in front of you, looking a little more formal than any other time you had seen him. He was truly a sight to behold, breathtaking, but your body was empty of any energy to think about anything other than ending your father's disgusting legacy.

“Miss—”

“Y/n, please” you quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear that surname anymore. Not after everything had penetrated your brain even deeper, making you relive the past and how foolish you had been to never suspect anything.

He just shook his head, taking a few more steps until he was facing you, on the other side of the table. From that distance, you could see a little more of his details.

Black hair neatly styled with gel or whatever hair product he was using, giving a great view of his forehead. Down his face, tanned skin, and a straight nose. His lips were well-defined and thick, not fleshy, but large in a very beautiful way. You noticed a red line between his lower lip, perhaps a habit of his to bite there when he was nervous or impatient. You, for example, drummed your fingers anywhere – as you were doing on the wooden table at that moment.

“Y/n” he repeated and nodded, understanding why you wanted him to call you by your name. Noting, too, that this was the first time he had heard your name. Before, you were just Miss Bohr, without him bothering to look you up.

Your nod was almost at the same time as his, giving you more time to analyze him. If Park was saying something, you were definitely missing it. You were too focused on noticing the sharp line of his jaw, very well defined and elegant. Going down to his collarbones, which would have been almost exposed if it weren't for the black dress shirt he buttoned up to the second-to-last button.

Damn, you would have said to yourself, curious enough to try to see if he had more muscles under those clothes. If any other part of him was as defined as his jawline and lips.

“Jungwon told me you don't want to eat” was the only thing you caught after you stopped looking, trying to compose yourself for a moment as you adjusted in your chair.

“I don't—” you took a deep breath, “I'm just trying to take it all in, I just—”

“Join us” he interrupted, taking a few more steps to stand next to the table where you were sitting. If Park wanted to, he could take just one more step and stand right next to your chair. “It'll just be dinner, we won't talk about business or anything about our plan.”

His tone of voice was different this time; it seemed like he wanted to try to be a little calmer to convince you. You looked away at that moment, thinking about what you should do.

This time, most likely the meal would not be prepared by him – who proved to be a great cook making snacks for you – but by someone he trusted. More people would be at the table, so nothing could happen.

You shouldn't have that kind of thought about someone – an entire mafia – who wanted to help you and wanted your help to destroy your father. If you were going to die, it would have happened the second they put you in that filthy room.

“All right,” your gaze stopped wandering around the room, fixing on him again. For a brief moment, you saw a glimpse of a smile play on that man's cracked lips, and your heart raced. Even if it was only for a few seconds, unfortunately, it had happened.

“Come, I hope you like seafood.” he moved far enough away and raised his hand to you, waiting for you to accept the offer and get up with his help. Without thinking too much, your fingers slowly touched his, and there was a striking difference between the two of you. Your hands, even without all your moisturizers for so long, were soft and silky. His, on the other hand, were rough and firm, and yet he held you gently until you got up from the chair.

“Thank you, Mr. Park,” you also tried to smile, at least to show that you were trying to reciprocate a remnant of kindness that was still in him, despite everything that had happened.

He let go of your hand, stopping beside you to show that he would walk with you to where dinner was being served.

“My name is Jongseong” he said, “but since you let me call you Y/n, you can call me Jay.” He walked silently beside you after that, the only noise between you being your heels and the sound of his shoes against the floor.

And your head, which was still screaming for questions and answers from all sides.

You wanted to forget the feeling of your father's arms around your body when he found you. A forged message from a restricted number that the Park mafia sent, you were blindfolded and your hands gently tied by Jongseong, before he told you everything you should do while you were at home.

And that's what you did.

You let your father become more present and even more protective of you after the kidnapping, even though you were disgusted by his presence and how routine his affectionate touches – which repulsed you – had become. You also exchanged a few emails through an account Jaeyun had created, with an ID your father never dreamed was yours. Everything had been very well thought out before you wandered the corridors of the Bohr mansion.

Now that everything had been clarified, your father's true face, the real plans behind all that false talk that the Bohr mafia was a family, and that everyone loved him. You felt like throwing up.

“My peach pie” your father called you, making you look up with a calm tone of voice, but alert to your constant distractions. You looked at him and dropped your fork on your plate, not even touching the food. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine” your rehearsed response and low tone of voice were the biggest tricks to keep you from running out of there and going anywhere else.

“You haven't even touched your food,” he said again, the cutlery clinking as he slowly savored his dinner. “It's your favorite.”

Pasta with pesto sauce really was your favorite dish in the world when you remembered that your father taught you how to cook it after your mother mysteriously disappeared. Now you questioned everything that had happened up to that point… Had it really been mysterious? What about your friends who had gone to countries you had never even heard of on study trips? They had already graduated, for God's sake!

Had you been so naive as to believe that everything your father had said was really true? And why was a man who was almost your age, who had inherited his father's mafia empire – and who had kidnapped you – someone you trusted? Since he was the only one capable of showing you the whole truth, with proof after proof of how much of a lie you had been living until now.

“I'm a little tired, sorry… Dad” you didn't want to stutter when you called him dad. Even though he had done all that shit, calling him by his name would raise too much suspicion that something was going on, since you had always been a very affectionate daughter.

“Okay. How about you get some rest? I'll save the pasta for you later,” he smiled so sweetly, and it made your stomach churn. But still, you nodded in agreement and got up.

The steps to where he was sitting were the longest in a long time; your heart was racing, and you could swear you could hear it beating in your ears. Standing in front of your father, watching him calmly get up and still smiling, he hugged you as he always did. And it was completely strange and grotesque to know that that hug was once your haven, but at the same time, it was why so many people had suffered and why he had lied to you all that time.

I never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it.

Just guns, drugs, and a little fun for my employees.

It was a terrible world, but you couldn't do anything if you grew up in the middle of it. You knew what it was about, even though you didn't think your father's illicit and illegal activities were that macabre.

“Take care, my peach pie,” he said, kissing your forehead gently. You shuddered and swallowed the lump in your throat that was almost forming. “If you need anything, Dad will be in the office. You can call me anytime.”

You really could, whenever you wanted, even if he was in an important meeting. You could just walk in at any time and make your father give you the attention you needed… That's how you saw him before you knew everything. The Park mafia could be lying to drive you crazy and turn you against your father, that was your initial thought.

But what about when Jongseong showed you, with evidence, everything he was talking about? You still remember when you left that dark room for the first time, the burning in your eyes when he turned on the computer screen and explained what you could find. You also remember how he looked at you – with a certain concern – while you cried copiously because everything had become chaos in your life and in the way you saw your father.

You felt your whole body ache with exhaustion from so many thoughts over the last few weeks after you came home, living that double life and pretending you didn't know who Stephen Bohr really was.

The walk to your old room had never been so long as it was at that moment; your feet were hurting, and you wanted to cry – even though you had no more tears left for that. You took off your shoes as soon as you locked the bedroom door, allowing yourself to sigh heavily in your own company.

There was no noise inside the room, not even footsteps to be heard in the hallway outside your bedroom. For at least once since you returned, things seemed too quiet.

You walked around the room as if you were there for the first time. Memorizing every little thing you seemed to have forgotten, even the small details of handmade things you had made with your best friends at some point. Photos, paintings, and your bed. The piece of furniture you missed more than anything else in the world.

Throwing yourself onto the soft mattress and the fluffy, silky comforters, you sighed once more.

“I missed this so much,” you muttered softly, even though you were still alone, smelling the fabric softener that was always used. But your peace was short-lived, and you shuddered when you felt your cell phone vibrate in one of your pockets.

A curse word quickly escaped your mouth when the display showed an unknown caller, but you knew who it was.

Wondering whether to answer or not, your eyes darted between the flashing name and your surroundings, searching for something. But nothing could stop you at that moment.

“Hi,” you answered after a few rings, whispering for fear that someone might have decided to walk down the hallway where your room was at that moment.

“Hi, are you okay?” It was Jongseong's voice, unmistakable as it was when he spoke to you, but over the phone, it seemed even deeper and closer. As if he were there with you, speaking close to your ear, not through a device.

“I'm fine,” you replied after a while, holding back the urge to sigh once more as you fell back onto the bed, now with the phone in your hand. You thought about asking something, anything… But what would you ask? “Are you okay, too?”

You felt like an idiot, wanting to throw your cell phone away and never answer another call from him again. But Jongseong wasn't there to see how embarrassed you had become, let alone that your face had turned red when he simply agreed with a grunt.

“I'm trying, but nothing out of the ordinary” he replied, and the sound of footsteps on the other end of the line could be heard. He seemed to be pacing back and forth, calling out here and there – talking to his dogs, which you didn't even dare to mention, but which had never hurt you – as he tried to balance the conversation. “Has your father said anything?”

“Not yet,” you said. “Nothing we can do…” Your eyes scanned the ceiling of the room as you listened to him say and review what he had thought of with each call. It was as if Jongseong had a new idea every moment, but was too anxious to put it into practice, and nothing seemed to get done.

“Hey, wait,” suddenly something clicked in his mind. You were the daughter of a mobster and had just been released from your kidnapping, so… “We can't talk now.”

“What? Why, what's going on?” he asked, euphoric. “Y/n, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, it's just—” a pause. Your eyes scanned the room, with a very different feeling than when you were there for the first time. “I don't know if it's a good idea.”

“Say anything?” he asked. You just nodded in response. “Can we meet somewhere, then?” You nodded again, afraid to say anything and end up saying too much. “Okay, I'll text you the address. Meet me there in twenty minutes.”

Jongseong hung up as quickly as he had called. You felt a chill run down your spine, hugging the phone to your chest as you waited for his message telling you where to meet him.

The coffee looked cozy, with good, inviting lighting. And the smell was so good that it made your stomach growl. You were only there to talk to Jongseong, of course, but eating something would do you good. After all, you had refused your father's food, and getting him to let you go out without worrying was a necessary sacrifice.

“Would you like to order something?” he asked without taking his eyes off you, glancing between the menu on the table and a few people passing by in front of the café.

He chose the table furthest away, almost unseen by those arriving. Discretion was essential at that moment, and neither you nor he could be seen like that.

“Please,” you replied immediately, “I couldn't eat my father's food…”

You didn't need to say much; he understood you perfectly. Perhaps even more than he should when it came to your father.

Jongseong listened carefully to what you wanted from the menu, making sure to add extra chocolate to the waffles and get the larger cup of caramel coffee you had shown interest in. You smiled in gratitude, hoping he would order the same amount or even more. But seeing him settle for a coffee and a slice of toast, questions flooded your mind, but you knew he had to ask you things, too.

Like… Why didn't you want to talk on the phone? That was the big question in his eyes, and it remained there until the coffee orders arrived.

“Thank you,” he said to the waiter before the young man walked away, waving and turning his attention back to you. He didn't take his eyes off your every move, from picking up your drink to taking a bite of your chocolate-covered waffle. It was something bordering on concern; you could see it in the way his eyes studied you. Or how he looked for any sign of discomfort you might have if you didn't like the food or drink.

Jongseong's fingers nervously held the coffee cup as he watched you eat. And you, meanwhile, savored the sweet treat until you couldn't take another bite.

“Do you want to tell me why we had to come to a place to talk?” he asked after a moment of silence. Hearing the intonation in his voice would always be a surprise to you, although you remembered the first time you had heard it, it was completely different.

Your gaze left the dessert and hovered over the coffee, shifting slightly until Jongseong noticed that he was still looking at you. Perhaps he had never stopped looking.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure whether you should be so direct or simply ramble on until you could speak. But there was the man who had exposed your father in the worst possible scenario and yet spared you from something bad because he wanted your help.

You weren't naive enough to think that once he got what he wanted, he might actually kill you. But a small part of you believed that he wouldn't, that Jongseong would spare you because all the effort would be worth it in the end, and you wanted to believe that small part.

“Because I don't trust being in that environment,” you replied quietly, with some trepidation, but you chose to be direct. “Maybe my father has tapped my phone or something, so…”

“Good thinking, you're right,” Jongseong seemed slightly surprised. “I hadn't thought of that,” he said, still looking at you, looking away for a few seconds until the coffee cup sighed slightly.

The conversation went on for a while longer, with you telling him how you felt in that environment after you had returned. The feeling of being watched after you returned was overwhelming, even though your father showed little of it and had only doubled your security. That you had to lie on some occasions – like now – when you were going to meet a friend and wanted privacy, just so you could go out alone. But there was no guarantee that he hadn't put someone on you to watch you.

“Don't worry, I have three cars on this street watching us too, and Riki is taking care of the cameras on the block.” You should feel safe knowing that he was always three steps ahead of what you thought your father would be doing.

Jonseong was the kind of man who was in it and wasn't going to lose. He had already lost a lot, and this wasn't the time he was going to let the opportunity slip away.

You just agreed, feeling more and more suffocated by it all. A lying father, whom you discovered was worse than you thought. The man sitting across from you, close to your age or just a little older, was being as sensible as you had never been in your life, even though you knew what kind of world you lived in. Or thought you knew, exposing your father because of a kidnapping.

Things didn't make much sense, yet at the same time, they fit together perfectly, and that left you confused most of the time. In the same proportion that it made you want to continue with it.

“Y/n,” Jongseong's voice reverberated in your ears once again, pulling you out of the repetitive thoughts that haunted you at the same time. You raised your head to face him, noticing a glimpse of concern as he furrowed his brow to get a better look at you. “How about we meet at my house every time we need to talk about this?”

Your eyes were still staring at him. You wanted to sigh in surprise, but you didn't want to appear even more vulnerable than you already were.

“How are we going to do this?” Your voice came out low, but nothing compared to a whisper. He heard it very well.

Jongseong settled into his chair, paused to look around for a moment, and then sighed.

“I have meetings with my men three times a week to align everything we're planning at the moment,” he said, and you just nodded. “I can set aside a day for you to go there so we can talk in more detail about everything you've found out. That will give you time to gather some information or anything your father might let slip along the way.”

“And that way he won't suspect that I'm going out too much either,” you began to understand where Jongseong was going with all this. His idea was good; you understood perfectly why he had taken over his father's business.

“You'll be able to relax more by going out on the appointed day and time, without having to worry about us talking on the phone,” he continued. “That way, I don't have to call you or worry that your father has tapped your cell phone.”

His tone of voice was playful, even though the situation wasn't really that funny. But it allowed you to laugh a little as he accompanied you and… What a different sound. His laugh was light, even though his gaze conveyed a seriousness that sent shivers down your spine.

“All right, I accept your offer,” you finally said, after letting out a quick laugh while continuing to listen to him laugh. Jongseong composed himself, finished his coffee, and looked at you again.

“Great, let's decide on the days and times. I'll give you the address, and we'll meet every week, okay?”

You just nodded in agreement before starting a slightly lighter conversation, where you told him about your routine back home. He seemed concerned and looked for the best days – and the quietest ones – when your father wasn't keeping such a close eye on you. It was difficult after “returning” from a kidnapping, but it wasn't impossible to find a loophole.

It was all or nothing, and you both seemed increasingly willing to do it.

It was exhausting at first, trying to find an excuse to go out one day a week, for a few hours, without your father suspecting anything.

Your only idea – perhaps the most sensible one ever – was to say that you were starting therapy. It was something confidential, and no one could accompany you. You would need privacy, even to go to the supposed office, so your father and his men would grant you your wish to go alone.

After all, you had to pretend to cry and say you had nightmares about that dimly lit, smelly basement, so you would have to talk to someone other than armed men and your father.

Bullshit. That was exactly what you were doing every Thursday night at the Jongseong mansion.

In the early days, it seemed very strange. You were the only woman in that room, and the boys seemed hungry for every word that came out of your mouth, accompanied by your father's name. It wasn't that they wanted to make you uncomfortable, and you even felt relieved – and a little impressed – that Jongseong seemed to want to show that he was there to smooth things over when they got too much.

Like, for example, the exaggerated stares and glaring looks in your direction. At first, it bothered you; you felt disgusted and remembered that Bohr's blood ran through your veins. But at the same time, every time Jongseong called you or asked how you were feeling, it was as if your human side, unconnected to your father, spoke louder.

“Do you like Thai food?”

Your eyes quickly met those of the boy in front of you, always smiling. Jaeyun was the one who gave the orders when Jongseong got tired of talking. You talked to him first, apart from everyone else who exchanged a few words with you.

“I—yes, I do,” you increasingly wanted to not stutter, to pretend you were used to being around those boys. But the truth was that it could be a long time before you got used to it.

“Great, Riki and I ordered several dishes, and I forgot to ask if you liked them,” he said hurriedly, quickly walking to the other side of the room.

“Okay, so what's the news about your dad this week?” Jongseong stopped talking to Heeseung and Sunghoon, looking in your direction this time. You didn't want to move too much in that leather armchair because every noise made you feel like you were the center of attention. But at that moment, it was because everyone was looking in your direction.

Your throat seemed to dry up for a few seconds, Jongseong's serious – but not frightening – gaze keeping you in place. Jaeyun, even while talking to Riki across the room, nodded his head at you as if to say something. Maybe a word of encouragement. Sunghoon seemed indifferent, looking at you the same way he looked at the other guys while they were sorting things out. As for Heeseung, he looked like he wanted to cut you into pieces.

“He— Well—” You wanted to look away, not notice how Heeseung's forehead wrinkled every time you said something. Your voice seemed to bother him anyway.

“Come on, Bohr, get all the shit your father did out.”

“Heeseung,” Jongseong called him immediately, stopping him from insulting you at that moment. “We need to have a little chat outside.”

“What?” he almost yelled as he looked away from you to Jongseong.

“Sunghoon, you can gather the information for now. We'll be right back.”

He just got up and left without giving room for further conversation. If Heeseung didn't want to kill you before, now he seemed to want to do so and parade your body around. As if shouting to everyone that he was the one who would have done that.

The door slammed shut as he left, leaving you and the other three inside.

“Don't mind Heeseung, he's… quite temperamental,” Sunghoon said, stretching out on the two-seater sofa where he had been sitting with the boy a few seconds earlier.

A slow nod came from you, not knowing how to act at that moment. Jaeyun and Riki stopped talking about whatever it was and returned to the couches where they were sitting next to you and Sunghoon.

“Let's just give him some time…” Riki said.

You just nodded, looking at them as they waited for a response.

“My dad got a call yesterday for a meeting at the pier.” Your voice didn't falter as you thought it would; it was, on the contrary. It seemed like you were talking about an interesting subject, and from the look on the three in front of you, it really was happening. “He took two men with him. Peter and Angus, and these guys are—”

For a moment, you felt a lump in your throat, a memory hit you hard, and you felt like vomiting. Your eyes began to burn, and before you heard Sunghoon ask if you were okay, Jongseong's voice had already done so in his place.

“We only heard the end… Who are Peter and Angus?” he asked.

“They're disgusting guys that my dad takes to certain places, maybe that's the kind of thing you're after.” Your voice broke, and you tried to clear your throat, but without success. A small sob escaped your throat.

“Y/n,” Jongseong called you, his voice a little softer than you had heard before. “They—”

“With me? No, they never even tried, but…”

“But?” To your surprise, it was Heeseung who was encouraging you to speak this time. His tone was still harsh, but he didn't seem to want to kill you this time. Maybe curse you for generations to come, but not with as much hatred now.

“A memory came to me, and it made me nostalgic and afraid.”

“Want to share?” he continued to ask you.

You didn't want to miss the moment of seeing Heeseung in this small, civilized interaction with you, and you also felt your throat close even more as you tried to open your mouth to start talking.

When you realized it, your cheeks were wet, and the salty taste of tears only made you fall even more into reality.

It was a memory, and it hurt you deeply.

“My best friend rejected those two guys with all her might.” You swallowed your tears to start talking, but your broken voice revealed that there was more to come. “They never said anything while I was there, but she told me that they flirted with her every time they saw her at home. Luckily, I didn't leave her alone for a second because I knew every corner of that place.”

“So they never did anything to her? Not even to you?” Sunghoon asked.

“No” you gave a sad smile through your tears, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater to try to dry some of the tears that wouldn't stop falling. “Emma said she would cut their dicks off if anything happened.”

“Emma? What… Wait, did you say Emma?” Heeseung looked shocked. His eyes were wide like you had never seen before, and he looked not only scared but also in shock.

“Yes, I—” you paused, looking for other glances besides Heeseung's. Jongseong was just as shocked as his friend, while Jaeyun and Riki were static, the former opening and closing his mouth, wondering whether or not he should say something. “Did I say something wrong?”

Another pause, not as long as you thought it would be. Heeseung's sigh soon broke the silence.

“No, Y/n, you didn't.” his voice sounded a little weaker, but what shocked you was that, for the first time, he hadn't called you by your last name. Reminding you of the repugnance you had in carrying it. Heeseung seemed vulnerable and tried not to look at you, even though he still seemed shocked.

“We—” Jaeyun drew attention to himself, making everyone look at him. “Let's go get food. Who wants to come along?”

“I'll go,” Jongseong said. “That way I can see if my babies need anything.”

You couldn't tell the exact moment when everyone left the room, leaving only you and Heeseung. Fear began to consume you more than on the day you had been kidnapped. The guy who showed the most anger towards you was there, alone with you, inside a huge room that you didn't even know was soundproof.

“That… That woman you mentioned was—” he swallowed hard, “Your best friend? Really?”

Your sad smile was the first thing Heeseung saw when he looked up at you. Something inside him screamed pain and suffering; perhaps he had lost a best friend, too.

“Since the first day we met, actually,” you continued to smile, “Emma was my foundation in the midst of that madness. I miss her so much.”

Me too, it stuck in Heeseung's throat, ready to be said out loud. For a split second, he wanted to throw the Park family's plans out the window and tell you the whole truth about who Emma was, but at the same time, that could cause you to suffer just as much as they did. And you knowing about the shock regarding your father was punishment enough in Lee's view.

“We'll help you with that” might not have been the best choice of words, but Heeseung knew he had to say something. At least so as not to show so many unspoken feelings in front of you.

His nod silenced the rest of the conversation; nothing more needed to be said. So he also relaxed and stayed with his own thoughts and memories of Emma.

Like when Jaeyun first introduced her. At a business dinner, important mafia families were there; he would even venture to say that Bohr was there. Not with his daughter, he was too protective. But Jaeyun took Emma as company because he didn't want to feel alone and knew she would take care of him after seeing him drunk.

But she ended the night in Heeseung's car, and then listened to Jaeyun's tireless lecture on how his best friend was no good.

How wonderful that she didn't listen to him, Heeseung thought. Since that night, the two had become inseparable. United by a quiet love, even though both their lives were completely troubled. Emma brought all the calmness of a life that Heeseung wanted to have, and although it was far from reality, he saw his whole future with her. The family he wanted to build, the things he would leave behind just to live with that woman… Which were soon torn away as soon as she disappeared.

Stephen would pay for everything he had done to Emma. And as much as Heeseung wanted to feel all the anger towards the Bohr family, seeing you suffer from the disappearance of your best friend left him in pieces. You seemed as lost as they all were about her whereabouts, believing something your father had told you – a complete lie – just to make you believe that nothing had happened to her.

“Everything okay here?” Riki's voice snapped Heeseung out of his thoughts as he blinked rapidly and watched you settle down on the couch, controlling your breathing so you could calm down a little.

“The food took a while, but it still seems to be hot,” said Jaeyun.

“Hey,” the voice next to you quickly caught your attention. “I didn't know what you liked, so I took a little of everything.” Jongseong bent down in front of you, the plate between you as he looked in your direction.

“Let's eat,” Heeseung agreed, opening the bags and looking for cutlery and unwrapping the packages.

Meanwhile, you waited your turn, watching the boys as they took portions and filled their plates.

Your eyes searched for what was inside before turning to him, giving him a small, simple smile.

“Thanks, Jong—” he cleared his throat, “Jay. Thanks, Jay.”

With a satisfied smile, he slipped away to get another plate and sat down next to you in the other armchair.

The food was delicious, and the silence stretched on a little longer if it weren't for a few comments from Riki joking around with Heeseung. The two of them teased each other and made everyone more comfortable.

“What about your babies?” you asked after a while. The food was already finished, the drinks were half empty, and now Jaeyun was arguing with Riki about some method he used in the last operation for the Park family. That wasn't all that interesting.

Jongseong seemed to agree, because he looked relieved when you struck up a conversation. His eyes seemed to sparkle as he smiled and looked in your direction.

“Probably sleeping,” he shrugged. “Charlotte has been grumbling a lot these past few days, our vet is on vacation, and I can't trust people to get close to them like that.”

“It's really hard,” you agreed. “Have you tried anything?”

“Nothing yet,” he sighed. “I hope she just misses me. I'll go crazy if something happens to her.”

He was so sweet, it didn't even seem like he had threatened to feed you to his dogs a few days after you two had met. You would have laughed at the whole situation if the ringing of your phone hadn't made you freeze.

No one else would call you at that moment except your father, and unfortunately, when you picked up the phone, his name lit up on the screen like it was in a movie.

“Are you okay?” Jongseong asked, seeing that your expression had changed in a few seconds. But he quickly understood as soon as you managed to turn the phone screen around and point it at him. “Okay, quiet!” he tried to silence the others who were still arguing, even getting the attention of Heeseung, who was almost asleep on the couch.

“Answer it and put it on speaker” Riki asked, looking for something else in the room while you answered the call.

“Hi… Dad,” you felt a lump in your throat as you said that out loud, especially with pairs of eyes watching you intently. The eyes of people who knew your father well, even better than you did.

“Hi, my little princess. I decided to call you because we haven't spoken all day. Are you okay?”

Riki gave the thumbs up, and the improvised recording device on another device was already rolling. It would capture everything your father might let slip.

“Yes, I am,” you replied, a little embarrassed, not used to so many eyes staring at you while you talked on the phone. “When I left, you were in a meeting. I didn't want to disturb you.”

“Nonsense, my love, you never disturb me,” he laughed. Your stomach churned, and you saw Jongseong's face wrinkle even more. “Peter and Angus would be happy to see you. I was talking to them.”

Heeseung's fists clenched. Jongseong looked at him once.

“Business?” you asked.

“Yeah, you know how it is…” He paused briefly, fiddling with something on the other end of the line. You could tell it was pieces of paper being crumpled. “I met them yesterday, and today we made some things official, signed some papers, nothing too important.”

“All right…”

“And you, are you feeling okay going to therapy?” he asked.

“Yes—”

“Therapy?” The genuine doubt in Heeseung's voice didn't give him time to measure the sound; it just came out. And when he realized it, he quickly put his hands over his mouth. It was too late. The movement on the other end of the line and the murmurs coming from his father indicated that he had heard something.

“Are you with someone? Y/n, where are you? Tell me.” The serious tone on the other end of the line indicated frustration; he was starting to get nervous about the whole situation.

The indecision between ending the call, running away, and telling another lie to your father was tearing you apart. You looked at the boys who shared that space with you, and everyone except Riki, who was focused on recording, kept their eyes on you. Heeseung seemed the most genuinely shocked.

“Dad, I—” you bit your lip, uncertainty eating away at you internally until you started to feel like crying again. Everything would fall apart if it weren't for the guy coming towards you.

Heeseung looked concerned now, his shocked expression giving way to something more… understanding? You had never seen him like this towards you since this whole Park mafia plan began.

“Give me the phone” he hissed, without making a sound. You frowned, quickly shrinking back and pulling the device toward you. Heeseung was crazy; he would curse your father and sentence him to death that very day if he could. “Please give me the phone” he whispered a little louder now, approaching you and finally taking the device from your hand.

On the other end of the line, your father was still grumbling, sometimes shouting your name and saying all the swear words you didn't even know existed, just because of the slight anger that was beginning to consume him.

“Mr. Bohr?” Heeseung's voice changed tone completely. Jongseong held his breath and counted tirelessly to try not to lose his mind. What was that idiot doing? And the other question was: why had you allowed it? He would kill one of his best friends if the plan went wrong.

"Who am I talking to? What did you do to my daughter? I'll—”

“I'm Heeseung.” It wasn't risky to lie about his name; after all, her father didn't know him. His family had that in common with hers: keeping their children completely secret. He wanted Jongseong to have the same luck; seeing his friend take the lead in all of this sometimes tired him. It left him completely worried, but equally responsible for keeping him alive. “I'm your daughter's boyfriend.”

What the hell was that? That had been the reason Riki had taken his focus off the recording and swallowed the biggest curse of all.

Your eyes were shining with tears, but equally wide with that revelation. The guy had almost killed you and walked away humming, now he had literally lied to your father, saying he was dating you. Even your kidnapping had been less shocking than that.

“Oh” was the only thing your father said at that moment. More silent than before, he seemed to be fiddling with something. “She's not in therapy, is she?” he asked.

“Actually, she is. I came to accompany her” he tried to stay calm, looking at you the whole time. His gaze shifted to Jongseong, who had his fingers intertwined. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, nervousness taking over while Heeseung was still standing in front of him, talking to his father on the phone.

“Bring her home when you're done, then.” Your father seemed calmer, and you were able to breathe a little easier, but not completely, since the call was still ongoing. “I'll take this opportunity to meet you, too.”

“Okay,” Heeseung said, looking at his friend beside him, before everyone could hear the end of the call.

“See you soon, Heeseung.”

As soon as the call ended, he couldn't take his eyes off you. That glint conveyed all the feelings he had. Fear, anger, frustration. You were aware that Jongseong didn't like your father, but Heeseung was much worse.

And now no one knew how this story would unfold with him pretending to be his boyfriend to the guy he hated most in the world.

“Hey, what's this?” Emma's voice was soft, even though Heeseung knew she was angry at him for taking so long to show up.

“An apology” he pouted, handing her a small bouquet of lilies that she loved so much. The first flowers he heard her say she really liked. Since that day, Heeseung had made an effort to do everything he could to remind her how much his girlfriend loved lilies.

“I don't think that helps” she continued seriously, but softly, taking the small bouquet and turning her back to enter the house. He just followed her, looking around even though he knew that place like the back of his hand.

Heeseung watched Emma look for a container until she found a vase and filled it with water, taking the lilies out of the small package and dipping the stems to accommodate them there. As soon as she finished, she barely noticed that he had walked the steps that separated them until he was right in front of her. One of his hands went to her waist, while the other went to his girlfriend's face to brush away a few strands of hair.

“Maybe this will help.” The light touch of his lips melted away any negative feelings she might have had at that moment.

Emma knew the power her boyfriend had over her, and how Heeseung could magically make all her anger and frustration go away.

The kiss was slow, even though he missed her and wanted to show her everything he felt, but at the same time, he wanted to savor every inch of her mouth as he heard her sigh during the kiss.

“I hate it when you do that” she laughed against his mouth, followed by the boy's laughter before giving another kiss and pulling away.

“I hate it too, but I had no choice” he murmured, stepping away and walking around the kitchen counter. He let his girlfriend admire the flowers while he focused on taking off his coat, which was already weighing heavily on his body.

He just didn't count on that effort being too much. The painful thud after the mission made him groan loudly in pain, while Emma took her attention away from the flowers and looked at her boyfriend.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Damn. Now he would have to explain. She hated that her brother was involved in these things, and her boyfriend even more so. Emma didn't know what to do to warn them, so all she could do was accept it and live far away from it.

“I'm fine, I just—” He already regretted opening his mouth. Now he would have to explain.

Explain how his back was hurt, and how he had rolled on the floor with two guys to try to disarm one and not die while the other had almost stabbed him. Heeseung wanted to spare her those details.

“Did you and my brother get into trouble again?” she asked, looking at him with those bright eyes that he knew would be teary in a few seconds. Heeseung hurried, complaining even more about the pain from the urge to run to his girlfriend and hug her.

“Hey, no, it wasn't like that. We—”

“I hate these things, I hate you both for doing this.” They hated each other, too. Heeseung had had that conversation with Jaeyun so many times he had lost count.

“And I love you,” he whispered, hearing her sniffle softly. It was too late, Emma was already starting to cry, and he didn't want that. Kissing the top of his girlfriend's head, he whispered once more that he loved her. “I'm sorry for this, I love you, okay?”

He knew that saying he loved her wasn't a cure for her worry, not knowing if he would come back alive or without a scratch. Heeseung wanted to give her that kind of security; he wanted her to stay away from it, too, after all, Emma's whole life was in this environment that she hated.

But what he couldn't complain about was that his girlfriend always saw the good in everyone. Her brother, his brother, her best friend, who was the son of a mafia boss.

Heeseung just wanted Emma to never know what he really knew.

“Can I ask you something?” your voice cut through Heeseung's reverie like a knife. He quickly glanced in your direction, just nodding his head while keeping his eyes on you.

“Go ahead” he said, taking a sip of the wine your father had served him for the umpteenth time that night.

The fake relationship had gone well, and Heeseung had been visiting your house more often for the past two months. Your father really liked him. Meanwhile, the two of you were the perfect duo to get firsthand information on anything your father might let slip.

Jongseong was thrilled with all the information he was receiving, but at the same time, he seemed much more serious with Heeseung every time he came to tell him what had happened.

“Why do you always stop in front of that photo and stare at it for long minutes?” the question hit him hard. He only realized he was holding the picture frame because you had said so.

He cleared his throat, putting the picture back where he always took it. It was a photo of you with Emma and another boy, maybe a relative of yours or even a friend he didn't know very well. She was smiling so brightly, hugging you around the neck, while the boy next to you held a bottle of soda and a half-eaten sandwich in his other hand. You were laughing so happily that he didn't know how long he had been looking at it.

“I—” he began, not knowing how or what to say. Should he tell her about Emma? If she hadn't told her about him and the boys, why should he? It wasn't fair since she had a life away from bad things – you and this guy in the photo – while he and the others were her family. People who had made wrong choices, but who also did everything they could to keep her away from any harm.

“Do you know either of them?” your question made Heeseung let the air out of his lungs for a few seconds, coughing slowly before drinking all the wine in one gulp.

“I— No, I don't” he smiled without showing his teeth, placing the glass on the table in his room where you and he almost always sat to make plans and gather information. “Just… Seeing you and your friends happy,” he added.

“Yes, they mean everything to me,” you said with false enthusiasm, and he noticed it was always like that when you mentioned Emma's name or talked about your friendships. Longing prevented you from feeling completely happy, and he wouldn't blame you for that.

“My friends are everything to me, too.” Heeseung pulled out a chair to sit down, watching you walk over to your bed and sit on the edge. Your glass had no alcohol in it, and he always teased you about how, living in an environment with Stephen Bohr, it was impossible for you not to drink a drop of alcohol. “I think I would be able to give my life for them.”

“Intense” you laughed, and so did he, but your eyes rolled to the photo where Heeseung was stuck minutes before. “But I would also die for the two of them.”

He never regretted anything that had happened in his life, but at that moment, seeing you talk that way about Emma, Heeseung felt a little guilty for treating you the way he did. After all, that summed up your father, not you.

“Do you want to tell me about them?”

“About my friends?” You raised your eyebrows, but smiled anyway. That subject would bring back good memories and make you smile, taking away the urge to cry when you thought about the two of them and how much you missed them.

“Sure,” he said, smiling weakly. “I just want you to promise me that we'll go downstairs to get more wine, you'll drink with me, and you'll tell me whatever you want.”

You laughed.

“Deal, let's go” rolling your eyes, you saw Heeseung get up from his chair and walk towards you. He held out his hand to you, helping you up from the bed so you could walk with him out of that room.

The trail of blood leading from the handcuffed boy to where Jongseong stood was quite striking. He had that characteristic smile his friends nicknamed “diabolical” even those close to him were afraid when they saw him like that.

He gripped the brass knuckles between his fingers, striking the man's shattered jaw once more with his fist.

“Damn it” he muttered when he heard the boy groan in pain again, chuckling slightly as the torture device fell to the ground. Park's fingers were already throbbing from the force with which he was gripping them.

The dripping blood seemed like music to his ears, even more so after the sobs that followed. He didn't know why, but something inside him ignited each time he held the terrified gaze before him.

“Have you thought about whether you're going to open your mouth to speak or not?” He asked, glancing around and gesturing to one of the men who worked for the Park mafia. The young man quickly arrived with an old cloth for the boss to wipe his hand, staining the fabric with a reddish color as soon as he held it.

“I— I already said—” he struggled to speak, everything hurt, and he was still spitting up a good amount of blood while wondering if he was alive or if it was a mirage of fate making him open his mouth, which he could barely manage.

Jongseong moved forward again, but couldn't complete the journey, feeling Sunghoon's body collide with his in the middle of the path.

“Dude, that's enough,” he said quietly, loud enough for his friend to hear, while seeing him completely distraught. He looked at Sunghoon, not understanding the reason for the interruption, opening his mouth to protest or use the card he hated – saying he was the boss – but the other knew him well enough for that, intervening before anything happened, “You already gave him what he deserved.”

“No, he still hasn’t said anything” Jongseong tried, and once again, Sunghoon stopped him.

“I can take over from here; you go upstairs” he said.

“I won’t, and don’t make me say—”

He just rolled his eyes as his friend stepped aside and stood in the corner of the room, allowing Sunghoon to proceed with whatever he wanted to do.

Then he turned around, spinning on his heels and facing the man – or what was left of him – as he watched him writhing in a pool of blood. A few things made Sunghoon’s stomach churn, and one of them was the people Jongseong treated with such rage, leaving them alive before doing anything else.

He grabbed the chair from the nearest corner, dragging the furniture until it was a considerable distance from the other, without stepping on the blood and without getting too close.

“I think we need to talk” he said, calmer than Jongseong had been speaking to the boy who was there earlier. The shock was great, the tone different from what he was used to minutes before.

“I already said—” he spat out a little more blood, remaining motionless for a few seconds. Sunghoon raised his hand to help him at least sit up straight. “I already said I don’t know anything” he spoke slowly, a little paused, which was all he could manage. Without pain or grumbling.

Sunghoon nodded, looking to the corner of the room and seeing Jongseong run a hand through his hair and then over his chin, impatiently. He looked back at the boy in front of him.

“We’ve been monitoring you and your colleague for a few months” he began, leaning forward afterward, “And we know what you’re doing.”

For the first time, he fell silent; even the groans of pain and the spitting of blood had ceased. He stared at Sunghoon as best he could, his swollen eye still half-open and his vision slightly blurry.

“If you hand over Stephen’s scheme, nothing bad will happen to you” he continued, looking at Jongseong and then at the man again. “We promise.”

Silence settled in the room for a while. The man seemed to ponder what he was about to say while Sunghoon waited, and the other man in the corner of the room was already consumed by impatience.

Jongseong seemed to hear the ticking of the clock in his head while the man showed no sign of saying anything at all.

“That’s enough!” he shouted from the corner of the room, walking to the huge metal door and throwing it open. The noise nearly deafened the two who were there. Even though he was used to it, Sunghoon flinched at the sound as he watched his friend take action. “Bring me whoever is hungriest. Now.”

Just like that. Without much explanation.

The loud barking made the man, still frightened, shrink even further in his chair. Soon Jongseong appeared with a dog hanging on a leash, its eyes fixed on the man and barking incessantly.

“Didn’t they give you lunch today, champ?” he smiled at the dog, who seemed angry at the unfamiliar presence. “This is Hunter,” he introduced the dog as if it were human. Approaching the man and Sunghoon, the ferocious animal practically freed itself from the leash. The strength with which Park held it was unwavering, but at the same time, he loosened his grip slightly so that the dog could almost threaten to escape.

“Jay,” Sunghoon called a little louder over the sound of Hunter’s barking, rising from his chair as he looked at his friend. “Seriously, stop.”

His hands gripped the leash tightly, pulling Hunter in a silent command to stop, and so it was done. The dog stayed by his side as trained, looking at him without moving, unless Jongseong asked.

Sunghoon took a deep breath, smelling the scent of blood and urine in the air. It was embarrassing to bring someone to that point, but he knew that what the guy had done didn’t even compare to what was happening. But they needed him alive; only then could they gather information.

“So you—”

“I’ll tell you everything I know, just please…” he cried, begged, almost screamed, “Just don’t kill me.”

“Now we’re starting to understand each other” Jongseong smiled, gently patting Hunter’s head while forcing a smile at the desperate man in front of Sunghoon.

“Just… ask” he stammered, still crying from the effects of everything that was happening at that moment. “I’ll answer everything, anything.”

Sunghoon looked towards his friend, his smile seemingly serene. As if he hadn’t, minutes before, been ready to let his dog rip the man’s hand off and tear it apart. He sighed falsely, as if that information was the best thing he’d heard in years.

“Great” Park then took a step forward, looking at Hunter and then at the seated man who was looking back at him. “We’re waiting, Angus.”

“Sex toys,” say Lara and Joshua in unison.

You scowl at them.

Vernon slings an arm around your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll get yours this time.”

You angle your head to look at him, big puppy eyes and a fake smile of adoration. “Wow, I always wanted a sugar daddy.”

“I still think you two behave super weird for exes,” says Seungcheol, scrolling through his phone looking for a new spot, even though you’ll end up in the same restaurant down the street you always go to. 

“It’s not a relationship if you break up at sixteen and you’re both still virgins afterwards,” you say.

“I wasn’t a virgin,” insists Vernon. 

You roll your eyes. “Half a handjob doesn’t count, loser.”

Lara makes a face. “Half a handjob?”

“Well my wrist got tired,” you explain.

“I’m so glad I didn’t know either of you back then,” she says, and you shove at her shoulder.

Seungcheol sighs, locking his phone. “Nancy’s?”

There’s a series of enthused nods as if it would’ve been anywhere else, and the group moves over to the door to start putting on their shoes. 

“Uhh–” starts Lara, watching you slip on your flats. “Don’t you need to change first?”

“Oh–” you say, looking down at your Moomin pyjamas. “You know this is your fault for staging an intervention before noon on a Sunday, right?”

Your friends all start complaining at you over each other, until you’re retreating with your hands raised into your bedroom and telling them to go ahead without you while you change. “I’ll meet you there in ten, order me the usual?”

Not long after you can hear the front door click closed, and you’re digging through your drawers to find that one skirt that’ll go nice with your new boots, but there’s a quiet noise of movement from the other room. Your hands still on your clothes.

“Who’s here?” you shout.

“Just me,” Vernon calls from the other room, and you relax. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m not lending you my car again,” you say, pulling the skirt out victorious. “Aren’t the Yankees paying you good money now? Buy your own.”

“No, I don’t– yes, they are but– why do you still have a car in the city–” he starts and it makes you laugh because he almost sounds– nervous? 

Vernon is hardly ever nervous around you. Once– when you were fifteen and, after nine years of friendship, he asked if you’d go to the movies with him. Very sweet. You watched The Scorpion King 3. Another time, in his bedroom while his parents were out, and it was awkward for like a whole week afterwards. Funny in hindsight, agonising at the time. And that one time four years ago when he borrowed your car and returned it with a scratch in the bumper. He nearly cried and promised to have it fixed when he had the money, even though there was a huge dent of your own doing right next to it. A year later, he was signed to the Yankees and he made good on his word and then some, had the bumper and the driver door (that you’d damaged while opening it onto a lamppost) replaced.

“I’m sorta seeing someone,” he says.

“Okay?” you say, confused, as you’re pulling the skirt on one-handed and trying to find the good brand of tights that don’t have a ladder in with the other. “You want my approval or something?”

You can tell his expression just from the way he sighs and you suppress your laugh. 

“Can we just talk face to face?” He complains. “It’s weird through a wall.”

“Not unless you want an eyeful of my tits and I’m guessing your new girlfriend won’t like that.”

“She’s not my girlfriend– uh– she’s kind of married.” 

You gasp while shrugging on your big turtleneck sweater. “Vernon–”

“She’s in the middle of a divorce, but it’d be messy if word got out.”

“Do I know her?” There’s a long pause. “Dude, is she famous?”

“Um. No,” he says. “But her husband is my teammate.”

You whistle low. “Jesus Christ. Are you the reason they broke up?”

“No,” he’s quick to say. “But it won’t look that way from the outside. They’re still trying to keep their split out of the press for the kid’s sake–” Your mind whirls. Stepdad Vernon is not something you ever would’ve pictured for him. Especially not stepdad to his own teammate's kid. “–so we’re dialing things down for a little while. Someone caught wind and she’d worried it’ll be picked up by the press. Says we should date other people.” 

You’re still wondering when he got so messy, putting in your earrings and smoothing your hands over your hair, when your brain catches up. “So what’s this got to do with me?” There’s yet another long pause. You can hear the way the floorboards creak under his feet. “Vernon?”

“Can we– fuck this is so embarrasing– can we pretend to date for a bit? Play it up for the media?”

Your hands still again. “For how long?”

“Just until after they announce they’re divorcing.”

You give yourself a once over in the mirror before you leave the room, trying to imagine yourself as Vernon’s pretend girlfriend. If you’d go together. If it’d even be believable. You don’t buy it yourself.

Vernon looks at you with an unusual unease when you step back into the room. Opens his mouth to speak and struggles to find the words, but he should know better than to feel that way around you. All these years being friends, you’ve been there through each other's biggest mistakes and the ugliest relationships and you’ve seen each other when you’re puking up the remnants of the night into a trashcan on the street. If anyone’s going to judge him, it’s not going to be you. 

“I can make it worth your while?” he says at last.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, as if adding to your lore isn’t enough of an incentive. 

“I could pay off your cards.”

You blink at him stupidly. “What? Vernon, that’s a crazy amount of money.”

Vernon laughs. “Last week you heard me talking about buying my parents a house in the Hamptons.”

“Yeah but that's your parents.”

He shrugs. “So what? You’ve basically been in my life for the same amount of time.”

“Oh sure,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Making friends with you in the hopes of being able to hang out in your cool treehouse is totally equal to birthing and raising you.”

He laughs again, and you’re staring at him like he’s insane.

“Seriously,” he says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Hand me my phone real quick?”

Vernon tosses it to you, snorts when you struggle to catch it. “What are you doing?”

“Looking up how much you’re being paid that you’re able to call twenty-four grand not a big d–” You’re cut off by your own gasp, staring hard at your phone as if your eyes are deceiving you. “Well, yeah okay. That makes sense.”

You make your way over to flop on the couch, head tipped back on the wall, and Vernon sits slowly next to you. 

“How would this work then?” you ask. “Do we have an announcement or get photographs done or what?”

“I think a soft launch kind of vibe would be better.” Vernon leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Maybe we just hang out together and let people see and draw their own conclusions.”

You laugh. “We hang out all the time anyway, and we’ve been photographed together before.” 

The screenshot was printed as a magnet and it’s on Joshua's fridge, the five of you in the park eating cake. Vernon Chwe and friends celebrate after he was signed in the biggest deal of the year was the caption on some gossip page. The funny thing was it was a celebratory picnic for Joshua's breakup with his horrid boyfriend, i.e. the worst person on earth.

“I meant like, just us two.” He sighs, rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Holding hands or something.” 

Your lip curls into a sardonic smile, put on your best valley girl accent. “Oh my God, guys, Vernon Chwe wants to hold my hand.”

He knocks your shoulder with his. “Can you be serious about anything?”

“You wouldn’t be friends with me if I were.” You suck in a breath, closing your eyes. “You’re really gonna pay off my debt?”

In contrast to your initial words, it’s a moment of rare vulnerability for you. It’s only recently that you’ve told your friends about it. The debt has been looming over your head for a while, tangled up in poor, frenzied (and costly) decisions, and you’ve been at a loss for what to do to curb your shopping addiction. Therapy has proved little help so far, though Lara did suggest that your current therapist has less than ideal reviews as of late, and maybe it’s time to find a new one. She probably has a point. 

This morning’s intervention was your friend's attempt to help, and though you resent having the decision taken out of your hands, you do appreciate their concern. 

“I can do it right now,” Vernon says. “Is that a yes?” 

“Throw in tickets to a couple of games and I’ll do it. I wanna see Giancarlo Stanton’s dump truck up close.”

“Wowww.” Vernon laughs. “You know I would’ve got you tickets any time, right?”

“Sure, but it’s way more fun to barter for it.” 

Vernon rolls his eyes. “Two games.”

Your smile stretches wide. “Four.”

“Three.”

“Sold!” you cheer. 

And then he’s grinning at you, and you him, and he’s saying, “Thanks, I really appreciate this.”

You wave him off. “You wanna text the guys and tell them we’ll be late?”

He digs out his phone from his pocket. “Sure. Why?”

“If I’m gonna hold your hand down the street then I need to put on make-up and that’s gonna take another fifteen minutes.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Ugh, your hand is so clammy,” you complain.

“Shut up, oh my God.”

The walk has been… eventful. You’re no stranger to being caught in tourists' photographs in New York City, or random Tiktokers asking you questions on the street with a phone pushed in your space. What are you listening to and tell us where you got your outfit and what do you make and how much is your rent type of questions. But it’s different, holding hands with Vernon and strolling down the street has passersby widening their eyes, taking covert (but still painfully obvious) photos of the pair of you, and two people who stopped him to ask for signatures, eyes not so subtly sliding over to you, and then down to your interlocked fingers. 

Vernon hasn’t had many serious girlfriends since his career took off. There was one in college, they were together for a couple of years, but once he got signed they didn’t really have much time for each other. You suppose that this must be something of a novelty for his fans.

And it’s only when you walk into Nancy’s, Vernon holding the door for you to step through, and your friends stare at you open mouthed from the centre of the room, that you realise you hadn’t decided if you were going to tell them it’s all pretend. 

Vernon takes that decision away from you, because he’s letting go of your hand just to slip his own around your waist, and you have to swallow down your laugh at the incredulous look on Lara and Joshua’s faces, and the elated one on Seungcheol's. 

“I told y'all,” he all but shouts, and they have to shush him when other diners turn to stare. Vernon guides you over to the table, and you ignore Lara’s pointed expression.

There’s a moment of quiet when Vernon’s hand slips over the back of yours on the table, and says, like an afterthought, “Oh by the way, we’re dating now.”

Lara gapes, Seunghcheol looks smug. Joshua asks, “What happened in the last thirty minutes?”

“Well, after you left we made out sloppy style and I gave him the rest of that handjob,” you deadpan. 

“Riiiiiight,” says Lara. “I have another question– what the fuck?”

Vernon keeps his expression measured. “You see, Lara, when two people like each other very very much–”

“Were they this awful in high school?” Lara interrupts to ask Joshua.

“Oh–" says Joshua, head tilted and eyes narrowing at you. "Like way worse.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Joshua, Lara, and Seungcheol stayed the rest of the afternoon, which turned into ordering pizza for dinner and watching some shitty movie that Seungcheol chose. He fell asleep halfway through, and Lara and Joshua kept sending sidelong glances toward you and Vernon, hands clasped next to you on the couch. It took forever for them to leave, but Vernon stayed behind solely to give the impression he was staying the night. Now you’re washing the dishes and Vernon is drying, and you say– “So are we seeing each other afterwards?”

Vernon’s already got you tickets for Friday’s game, Yankees vs Blue Jays. You and a friend. You’ve just asked (a very enthusiastic) Seokmin from work, since he’s into baseball and won’t grill you as much as your other friends. 

“It might take me an hour to get away,” he says.

“That’s fine, you can come meet me and Seokmin somewhere whenever you finish up?”

Vernon nods. “Sure.”

“Should we go over how we’re gonna act in front of people? I can’t hold your hand for four hours again. I’m gonna get carpal tunnel syndrome.”

There’s a brief pause before he says– “You could put your hand on my leg? Like while we’re sitting next to each other.”

You nod, trying to picture what else would seem natural. “Okay, yeah. And you could touch my ass when we hug. I’ll call you a pervert and slap your hand away to really sell it.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “What about kissing? Are we public kissers?”

“We were,” you say, but you wonder how much of that is because you are, and because Vernon went along with it. Joshua would be suspicious if you suddenly weren’t, though you suppose he won’t be with you on Friday, so what does it matter? “We could just do a little hello kiss. A peck.”

“Got it.”

“What do you wanna tell people about how we got together?”

“Maybe we just stick close to the truth? We used to go out and we decided to give it another shot.”

“Borrring.”

Vernon chuckles. “You choose then. I don’t care.” 

You hum while you think. “What iffffff– you’ve been desperately in love with me all these years and never thought you’d have another chance, until the other day, when I wore the same perfume I had when we were together, and you just had to confess your undying love for me, and then made out for ages and got carried away and we fucked on right there on the floor.”

“Sounds fake–” he mumbles, and you splash him with water from your scrubbing brush. “Hey!”

“Let me be the main character for once,” you complain, going back to scrubbing off a stubborn stain on the pan. “I’ve never dated someone famous before.”

Vernon rolls his eyes. “You’re always the main char–”

“Anyway–” you cut him off. “That’s the story and I’m gonna tell Seokmin tomorrow so you’re beholden to it.”

“Fine. But you’re telling the story if we’re ever asked.”

You grin. “Deal.” You hand over the pan to Vernon, and dry your hands, moving over to lean against the counter. He passes you the dried pan back, to slot in the cupboard above your head, then he straightens the cloth over the handle of the drawer. “So how long are we doing this for?”

“Uh– ”

“Well, when are they gonna tell people about their divorce?”

“Rachel seemed to think it’ll be a month,” he says. Rachel. You try to picture her, conjuring up an image of a brunette, slip of a thing, with full lips and round eyes. Not that Vernon has a physical type beyond ‘pretty’. She’s probably funny though, witty and sharp, and a little softness under the surface. He likes people who make him laugh. “But if it’s longer, would you mind?”

You hum, thoughtful. “Damn, over a month without sex? Without a real date?”

Vernon laughs, shaking his head. “No one said you had to stop dating.”

“Dude–” you say, seriously. “If I'm publicly dating you, I’m not hooking up with someone else just to be outed as a cheater. I’m not trying to be trash-talked in a shitty magazine. Anything written about me should be good enough to hang on my mom’s fridge.”

There’s a moment of quiet and Vernon looks at the ceiling, his brows knitting together. Slowly, he says, “I didn’t think of that.”

You shrug. “It’s fine, I could do with a break from dating anyway.” You’ll get your money’s worth out of the treasure trove in your nightstand, at least. “Especially after the last guy I dated.”

Vernon moves over and flops down on the couch. A little odd, considering you thought he’d be heading home, but whatever. “Which guy?”

“The hedge fund guy.”

He frowns. “Did I meet him?”

You shake your head. “Nah. The others only met him twice, and you were somewhere on the west coast.” You move to sit down next to him, and say, “He was, like, really into feet. And normally I wouldn’t mind that but I caught him sniffing my dirty socks, had one in his pocket to take home and everything, and that weirded me out. The sneaking around part, I mean. If you wanna sniff my shit just ask, man.”

 Vernon grimaces. “Yeah, that’s– you really know how to pick them.”

“Careful,” you say, smirking. “I picked you once too.” He smiles, a little fond, opens his mouth to speak and then falters. “What is it?”

 “Are you sure about this?” he asks. “What we’re doing?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the p. “You already paid off my cards, dude. I can hardly pay you back now. Promise me one thing though– we’ll ‘break up’ in a chill way?”

Vernon looks at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“This thing has to end at some point so you and your real girlfriend–”

“Not my girlfriend,” he interrupts, but you carry on anyway.

“–can be together. And I don’t wanna be forever known as the girl Vernon Chwe cheated on. Like we should still be able to hang out without everyone thinking I’m a wet blanket and you’re an asshole life ruiner.”

He thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “That’s fair, yeah.”

He hums, eyes cast up in thought. “After we’re done I could set you up with one of the guys? I know some you might like.”

“God no,” you laugh. “Having my two-time ex boyfriend hooking me up with someone is so embarrassing. Let me catch my own fish.”

Vernon stares at you. “You have the weirdest expressions sometimes.”

“That is an expression, dummy.” You flick the TV back on. “You wanna watch something else before you go?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Is that a new purse?”

“Uh– no.”  

You’re taking your lunch break in the park, since your Wednesday schedule lines up nicely with Lara’s and Joshua’s. 

“It is,” says Lara, grabbing it from the bench. “Where’d you get the money?”

Without a minimum monthly payment to worry about anymore, you figured you deserved a little treat, but you forgot to account for your eagle eyed fashionista friend.

So you roll your eyes, picking at your food. “My parents got me gift cards for my birthday.”

Lara’s eyes narrow. “Your birthday was months ago.”

“Yeah! Well! It had no expiration!”

“You’re so full of shit,” she says flatly, tossing the purse back onto the bench. “You said your mom gave you a book and your dad forgot until three days later.”

You give her your sweetest, most innocent smile. “Wow, you really remember everything I tell you. That’s so cute.”

“Don’t try to deflect,” Lara says, leaning forward. “You’re not supposed to be spending money, remember? Intervention? No cards? Ringing any bells?”

You jab your fork into a bit of cucumber and pop it into your mouth before answering, “My parents came through a week later, after I put on the waterworks. I didn’t spend borrowed money.”

There’s a moment of silence while Lara considers this. “But why would you wait this long to spend your gift cards?”

You open your mouth to invent another excuse, but a familiar voice cuts through the chatter of the park.

“Hey, look who’s found time for us,” says Joshua, strolling toward the bench with a carrier of iced coffees. 

He passes one to Lara before plopping down beside you, and you take yours from the carrier, replying with a sharp “It’s been four days, asshole.”

“You’ve been avoiding us, though. The group chat has never been this quiet.”

You scowl at him. “Since when do you even check the group chat?” Joshua smiles wide and faux-innocent, so you give him the finger. 

“So, what are you doing on Friday? We’re thinking of hitting that new karaoke place near Bryant Park.”

“Can’t,” you say, trying to hide your disappointment. “I’ve got Vernon’s game.”

There’s a beat of silence, an exchanged look between your friends, before Lara says, “You’re going to that?”

“Uh, yeah? We’re girlfriend-boyfriend. Why wouldn’t I?”

Joshua chuckles, sipping his coffee. “We were talking yesterday, and it’s kinda weird that nothing’s changed.”

You laugh. “I feel like I should be offended?”

“When you’re into someone you’re disgusting to be around. Even with Vernon, in school it was, like–” Joshua stretches out his arms. “–this huge thing. But this time–” he shrugs. “–you’re exactly the same except you’re holding hands.”

“We just mean you’re not…” Lara trails off. “You’re not very couple-y. Like, at all. Not even an Instagram story.”

You frown. “We’re very couple-y when we’re on our own. We have natural chemistry, you know?”

“Natural chemistry but you didn’t kiss even once on Sunday.” Lara gives you a pointed look. “We’ve seen you with your exes, remember?”

“Please. Vernon’s not into PDA’s–” You’re interrupted with a scoff from Joshua and you work to keep your expression schooled into something casual. “–now, and I respect that. Besides, if I kissed him he’d get a semi in like three seconds, and none of you want that.”

“Yeah.” Joshua grimaces. “Yeah, no I don’t wanna see that.”

You throw a bit of chicken at him. It lands on his shirt and he brushes it off onto the floor. He leans back, still eyeing you with that knowing look– the one that says he knows when you’re full of shit.

“Just saying,” Joshua says, going back to his food. “We don’t mind if you want to be real around us.”

You wave him off, but it's true, what they say. You’ve always lacked subtlety in every area of life. When you’re with someone you have no inclination to hide your feelings about them from your friends, and your soft launches are everyone else’s hard launch. All day, you overthink the situation, until you’re finally in the privacy of your own home, when you text Vernon.

You [18:42] the gang is Skeptical of Us

nonie [18:54] wdym

You [18:56] they said we’re not couple-y enough

nonie [18:57] ok? 

nonie [18:57] do they want us to make out in front of them or wat

You [18:57] no. shua doesn’t want to see ur semi 🫶

nonie [18:57] bro

You [18:57] speaking from past experience ofc

nonie [18:57] i was a teenager….

You [18:57] yeah well what’s changed?

nonie [18:58] uhhhh i don’t have a crush on you anymore

You [18:58] nonie you wound me

He hearts the message and you snort.

You [18:58] what are we gonna do around our friends?

nonie [18:59] idk. pet names or some shit 🤢

nonie [18:59] we could cuddle for next movie night 

nonie [18:59] you can sit in my lap or something

You [18:59] ok 🤢 promise you won’t get hard?

nonie [18:59] fuck off omg bro

You [19:00] ily2 💘 You [19:00] are you free? we need to take pictures for instagram to get lara and joshua off my back

nonie [19:01] gimme an hour

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Your elevator’s making that sound again,” says Vernon, kicking off his shoes after letting himself into your apartment.

“Dude, I keep telling you to take the stairs.”

“You live on the fifth floor.”

You laugh. “Aren’t you an athlete?” 

“Shut up,” he says, and it only makes you laugh harder. “So– I hung out with Cheol yesterday and he asked me to convince you to let him get someone’s number. Someone from work–” 

“Eleanor, yeah, he’s been horny for her since my birthday party.”

“Whatever,” grumbles Vernon, flopping onto your couch. “The point is he believes this is real.”

“Well, duh–” you agree, sinking into the space beside him. “He was always gonna. Lara is easily swayed. It’s Joshua we need to fool the most.”

Vernon’s mouth flattens. “You really think he doesn’t believe us?”

“You do?”

Vernon runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should lay it on a little thicker around them?”

You make a face. “I don’t see why we had to lie to them at all.”

He shrugs. “I dunno. I figured it’d be easier if we’re not keeping track of who knows what. Immersion, or whatever.”

“Immersion smimmersion,” you mock. “Don’t you think it’ll fuck up the dynamics?”

It’s his turn to make a face. “We’re not actually dating, y’know? After this we’ll just go back to being friends.”

You sigh. Diving into situations headfirst has always been an issue for you, and only when the ripples keep spreading is when you have second thoughts. Joshua has known you both the longest, your parents being best friends, and Vernon’s next door neighbour elementary through high school. He has (so he says) painfully vivid memories of you making out in the treehouse, by the lockers, on the bleachers, or leaning over the fence at the field. You haven’t thought of it in years. Vernon’s clumsy hand up your shirt, your fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, your cherry gloss smeared over his lips. Joshua has known you through every partner, through every break-up, through every messy situationship. He knows you love fiercely, and with everything you have, and he knows Vernon doesn’t commit to just anyone, how he fixates on his person.

“There’s no way he’s gonna buy this if we’re not all in,” you say, chewing on your lip. 

“So– what do you wanna do?” he asks, tipping his head back against the wall. 

You pause a hair’s breadth too long, and Vernon raises an eyebrow. 

“Should we– ugh– like… Kiss?”

The eyebrow doesn’t move. “Like pecks or actual making out?” Vernon’s laugh comes out sharp at your reaction. “Did you just gag?”

You scoff as you shove at him. “Believe it or not the appeal of kissing you has somewhat dimmed over the past decade.” 

“Yeah well–” he says, rubbing his shoulder. A pause from him, this time. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and back up. “Should we practice now? I will if you will.”

You freeze. He’s staring at you with something like earnestness in his expression, and a whispered “What?” falls from your mouth. 

“I don’t mind if you still have garlic breath. I can handle it.” 

You’re suddenly in enemy territory. “So brave, Vernon, you’re a real fucking pioneer,” you snap.

But then he’s tugging you into his space by the crook of your elbow, leaning closer, and you– you just gape, but are you letting him?

It’s only when the corners of his mouth tug upwards that you realise he’s dicking you around. The sound you make is halfway between a laugh and a choke, and Vernon's mouth spreads into a triumphant grin. “Can’t believe you fell for that.”

You huff a laugh and cross your arms over your middle, an embarrassed heat flaring in your chest. “Your acting has gotten better,” you offer begrudgingly.

Vernon stretches, lets out a yawn. “All that media training finally paid off.”

You hum your disgruntled agreement, and Vernon looks at you again.

“Don’t say you actually wanted to…” His smug bravado slips away with the end of his sentence. 

Here’s your chance. With your middle finger you trace circles into the fabric of the couch in the small gap between you. Your nervous tell, clocked immediately by those who know you, by Vernon. You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. “Practicing isn’t such a bad idea. If we need to really sell it, at some point. For credibility.”

Vernon shifts in his seat, twists his body to face you, and there’s a lick of tension running down your spine. “So that’s what this is? Credibility? Not because you want to kiss me?” 

“What if it’s both?” It’s infinitesimal, but you catch it, the way he sucks in a breath. “Well,” you say, and you look up at him, make your eyes big and sincere. “Are we doing this or are we gonna sit here and spiral?”

He wipes his hands on his jeans. A pink flush creeping up over his ears. “You wouldn’t–”

“I would–” you argue. “Kiss me.”

“Kiss me first,” Vernon counters, jutting out his chin.

You lean in closer. “You kiss me first–”

“No you kiss me–”

“You kiss m–” 

And then he’s in your space, a hand on your thigh and you’re jolting back, bashing your head on the wall. “Oh!” 

“Uh–” 

You both freeze. 

“You really thought I meant it,” you say quietly, a jubilant smile slowly spreading across your face.

Vernon scoffs and looks away. “Please–”

“You did!”

“I was calling your bluff,” he argues. His hand is still on your leg.

“Uh-huh, are you sure about that? Get your dirty dickbeater off of me.” 

Vernon jerks his hand back into his lap, and you grin at the flush creeping up his neck. Let it never be said you won’t match his freak. He shifts over, leaves a bigger gap between your legs, and grabs the phone from the table. 

“Are we gonna take some pictures or what?” 

“Sure,” you say, watching the easy expression he’s wearing. You never could tell what’s really going on inside his head. “How should we do this?”

Vernon’s tongue skims the edge of his teeth while he thinks. “Soft launch, yeah? Put on a movie you’d watch with someone you like and sit closer.”

You load Netflix, finding that old movie with Hugh Grant that you were supposed to watch with the last guy, while Vernon heads over to the kitchen to pour some popcorn in a bowl. He sets it down on the table. It still looks a little off. Too perfect. 

“Should we get drinks or something? I have wine.”

Vernon shakes his head. “I don’t drink during the season.”

Right. Of course. “Hot chocolate, then?”

“You trying to knock me out?”

“It’s eight PM,” you say. “If hot chocolate is enough to sedate you then the Yankees have a problem.”

He snorts and nods toward the cupboard, and you stand up to help. “You got marshmallows?”

“Obviously.”

You fetch the powdered chocolate and marshmallows while Vernon digs around your fridge. Pulls out the milk and a pan to heat it on the stove like he’s fully at home. Come to think of it, you can’t remember the last time you hung out at his place. Any get-together is either at your apartment, or Joshua’s. Lara has unfortunate roommates, and Seungcheol’s place would simply burst if more than three people tried to sit down in there. Vernon has more space, and it’s nicer, and it comes with the luxury of a working elevator and a doorman– and the last time you saw it was when he gave you all a tour right after he got the keys. 

“Hey– why don’t we ever hang out at your place?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, his mouth falling flat. “I like it here better.”

You lay out two mugs– your favourite, yellow ditsy florals and thick ceramic, and one for Vernon, a Supernatural mug left here years ago by an old boyfriend.

Vernon’s lip curls in distaste. “That one sucks. Can I have the green one of those instead?” he says, pointing at your mug. 

You laugh, putting it back in the cupboard and pulling out the matching one. “I didn’t know you were so against the Winchesters.”

Vernon hums. “You know, a real girlfriend would’ve memorised which one I liked by now.”

You narrow your eyes as he fills the mugs. “And a real boyfriend wouldn’t put marshmallows in before the milk.”

“They melt better.”

“That’s anti-aesthetic propaganda.”

When you settle back onto the couch, the screen glowing too bright in the dim room, Vernon slides a fraction closer, shoulder brushing yours. And it’s… fine. Not totally abnormal. You’ve been squished together on couches before, but this is– it’s different. After a minute, he shifts a little closer again, and drapes an arm along the back of the couch behind you. Not touching, but it’s there. You wonder if you’re supposed to lean against him, or something, reminding yourself it’s only weird because the touch is intentionally boyfriend without intent to go further.

“This okay?” he asks, bumping your knee with his.

“Wow,” you say. “Look at you asking consent to knock our knees together.”

“Shut up.” You feel him relax beside you, sinking into the cushions, thigh pressing against yours. The opening credits roll. Hugh Grant’s face appears, doing that thing where he looks charmingly inconvenienced by life.

“God,” Vernon mutters. “He always looks like someone just told him his stocks are crashing.”

“Be nice,” you say. “He’s my emotional support British man.”

“Isn’t he into BDSM?”

“I don’t know, why do you know that?” You laugh, and turn to look at him. Vernon’s got that disarming sideways smile on his face. 

“You’re all stiff,” he says, tapping your shoulder. “Relax.”

“Yeah, well–” you start. “Aren’t we supposed to be taking a photo? Why are we basically cuddling?”

“You’re not even touching me. I’m creating the impression of intimacy,” he insists, reaching forward to take a sip of his drink. When he sits back, his arm goes back around you, resting on your shoulder this time and gently tugging you in. “C’mon– it’s play pretend.”

You sigh, exaggerated, and lean back just enough that your arm rests against his side. It’s subtle. Plausible. Something a girlfriend would do without even thinking about it.

“This is so stupid,” you say quietly.

“Uh-huh,” he agrees.

Vernon plucks your phone from your lap, and opens the camera. Takes a snap of the movie playing, the matching mugs, your jean-clad thighs pressed against each other. 

“Put your hand on my leg– no, the other hand.” 

You place your hand just so, your pinky brushing the inner seam. His thigh tenses for a fraction of a second. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s fine.”

“Joshua’s gonna zoom in on this,” you say quietly. “Enhance. Analyze.”

“Uh-huh,” Vernon replies, almost absentminded, as he takes more photos from slightly different angles.

“Seungcheol’s gonna eat it up.”

“He already thinks I’m in love with you,” Vernon replies. 

You snort. “He’s a romantic.”

Vernon hums, noncommittal, eyes still on your phone screen, taking more pictures. “Or deluded.”

The silence stretches, until he’s dropping your phone back into your lap and shifting away saying, “That should be enough, do your thing with the GIFs.”

“Wait wait, come back. I need a selfie.”

Vernon raises an eyebrow, but he settles back into place anyway. “What happened to the soft launch?”

“I meant just me, idiot. Whenever I’m soft launching I post a selfie while I’m hugging them– you never noticed?”

He swallows, looks at the TV. “Uh– no? I guess I don’t look at Instagram much.” 

You tilt your head, because you’re pretty sure it’s his most used app, given how many reels he sends the group chat. 

90s Hugh Grant says something charming and Vernon scoffs.

“I don’t get why everyone loves him.”

“He has cardigan appeal.”

He glances down at you, mouth quirking. “You like cardigans?”

“I like emotionally unavailable men in knitwear, and ready-to-move-in-with-me women in leather jackets,” you say. “It’s a real problem.”

He laughs softly, and his arm drops around you again, casual enough to make it feel like it’s supposed to be there. You do your best to let yourself relax into him, tuck your head into his shoulder, and you bring up your phone. You take a few photos, making sure Vernon’s face is just out of frame, but a sliver of his neck is visible, as is the hand on your shoulder. You shift a little closer, press your side into his. Snap a couple more. He smells really good. Something faintly peppery and warm.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “You’re doing great. Very believable.”

“Mhm. You done? I should go.”

There’s a small twinge of disappointment in your gut, having sort of assumed he’d want to finish the movie with you, but you push yourself up and out from under his touch. “Yeah, I’m done. You got plans tonight?”

Vernon shakes his head. “Just an early start.” He stands and heads over to the door. “Got practice.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” you say, as he’s slipping on his shoes. 

“You’ll tell the guys I stayed the night?” 

You shrug. “If it comes up.” It’d be strange to offer tidbits like that up unprompted. “See ya.”

A little later, after you’ve posted the selfie and one of the pictures Vernon took to your close friends stories with some pixelated love heart gifs, you’re doing your skincare before bed, when Vernon texts you. 

nonie [22:09] forgot to ask stance on other PDAs?

You [22:10] ✅: holding hands, affectionate touch (waist/leg/arm), cheek/mouth kisses You [22:10] ❓: making out, hand on butt You [22:10] 🚫: hand on tit, neck kisses, forehead kisses 

nonie [22:11] forehead kisses?

You [22:12] solely reserved for ✨Actually In Love✨ people

nonie [22:12] noted

You [22:14] is your girlfriend cool with all of this?

nonie [22:14] she’s not my girlfriend

Your fingers hover over the screen. You should’ve asked more questions about them. About her. Vernon’s not a bad guy. He doesn’t cheat– not that this would be cheating– what you mean to say is that he’s not someone who hurts people. 

You [22:15] do you love her?

nonie [22:15] we were just fucking around

You [22:15] not what i asked

The three dots appear and disappear in quick succession, but in the end, Vernon doesn’t reply with an answer to that.

nonie [22:18] still on for friday?

You [22:20] yeah duh. like i said. wanna see giancarlo’s dumpy 😍

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

On Friday morning, Vernon groans into the receiver when he picks up the phone.

“Rude,” you say, with a tsk. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“What’s rude is calling me before nine,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “What’s up?”

“I’m at the salon,” you say. “Thought you could pick my nail colour for tonight.”

There’s a pause and it sounds like he’s sitting up. “What?”

“I figured I should look nice for my first public appearance as your secret girlfriend so I’m having my nails done.”

“Okaaaaaay,” he says. “But why are you asking me?”

“Dude, this is boyfriend privilege. Bonus points because I can tell the guys you paid for my nails.”

“Am I paying for your nails?”

“No, obviously not,” you say. “But what does that matter? Pick a colour, dude, Angie’s waiting.”

“Navy and white.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you’d pick your team colours, oh my God.”

“How much are your nails?”

“Don’t you start too. Lara’s already been on at me for the bag all week–”

“Just tell me,” he interrupts.

You groan and tip your head forward, and Angie reprimands you wordlessly for moving too much with a tap to your hand. “Sorry, Angie,” you say, sweetly. “How much for these?”

“Do you want nail art?”

“Mmmm,” you say, thinking out loud. “Yeah, make them pretty.”

“One-eighty.”

“D’you hear that?”

“Yup,” he says. 

There’s a long pause. 

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” you ask. “Where’s my scolding?”

“Call Lara for that–” he says, muffled around a loud yawn. “Going back to sleep.” 

“Sleep tight, princess,” you coo into the phone. “See you tonight.”

He clicks off and after a minute you get a notification from Venmo–

Vernon paid you $250

And then a text– 

nonie [08:57] make sure angie gets a tip

You flush. It’s one thing to pay off your debt in exchange for a favour, or like, buying you a coffee or whatever, but paying for your luxuries is different. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s just Vernon.

You [08:57] vernon You [08:57] you don’t need to do that

nonie [08:58] get my jersey number too

Is it bad that you don’t know it? Yeah, you think, yeah it’s pretty bad. So you angle your phone closer to your body as you google his number. 

“Angie,” you say after a moment. “Can you put a ninety-eight on my ring fingers?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re late, unfortunately. Got stuck in traffic and in the end you had to abandon your car and take the subway. You make it to your seats by the time they’re in the third or fourth inning. The stadium hums with that familiar buzz of energy, and the low rumbling thunder of thousands of hopeful voices layered together. The Blue Jays are batting, and Vernon’s out on the mound, stretching his shoulders, so composed in front of this sea of people.

You’re in the Legends Suite with Seokmin from work– who you'd invited mostly because he loves baseball, but also because he doesn’t know Vernon, and won’t call you out on your lack of changed behaviour around him. Ever since you picked him up, Seokmin’s been alternating between inhaling food and asking too many questions. How’d you meet (school. You went to school with the Yankees pitcher??) and how’d you get together (he never stopped loving me. You dated the Yankees pitcher twice??) and can you score me tickets to another game? 

“Holy shit,” Seokmin says, leaning over the railing. “You weren’t kidding about these seats. You can practically smell the sweat off the players.”

“Gross.” You take a sip of your drink. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He shoots you a grin. “I already tagged you in a story promising you my firstborn.” Then, his gaze flicks toward the field. “Your boyfriend’s getting started by the way.”

You follow his line of sight– Vernon standing tall on the mound, glove at his chin, eyes trained on the batter. The crowd’s already cheering, cameras flashing. He’s completely in his element, calm and unreadable, and you’re brought hurtling back to when you were kids, and you were dragged along to all his games. Moral support he’d called it. You always said he just wanted to prove he had a girlfriend to the other guys.

“Yup,” you say. “There he is.”

He winds up, throws– the sharp crack of the bat sending a foul ball sailing into the stands. The crowd erupts in cheers and groans. You clap politely next to Seokmin, who yells loud, and you know you made the right choice bringing him. He is as perfectly dramatic as is necessary for these sorts of things. 

Vernon turns back toward the dugout for a moment, eyes scanning the stands. Then, quick as anything, he lifts a hand, gives the smallest wave in your direction. No smile, no theatrics, just a flicker of acknowledgment. You wave back, both hands high above your head, smiling huge. It’s hard to see his expression clearly, but you swear you see him huff a laugh.

Seokmin coos. “Aw, lovebirds.”

You knock his arm, eyes back on the field. “Shh, I’m watching the game.” A moment passes before you lean closer, voice low. “Okay, but can we talk about Giancarlo Stanton’s ass for a second?”

Seokmin nearly snorts out his beer through his nose. 

“That thing’s insane,” you say. “It should have its own insurance policy ala Regina George’s hair.”

He’s laughing so hard he has to put his drink down. “You shouldn’t objectify men’s bodies like that y’know.”

“I’m not reducing him to his body parts, Seokmin. I’m sure he’s a fine person with or without an ass that could be seen from the International Space Station.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

At the start of the next inning, your throat already growing hoarse, Seokmin nudges you with his elbow. “Hey, see that guy just over there? That’s Mingyu Kim. He nearly broke the home run record last season. Dude’s insane, you’ve gotta watch him.”

“Mingyu?” you repeat, scanning the field. “Which one?”

“The tall one. Coming up to bat now, number six.”

You spot him easily– stupid tall, broad shoulders under the pinstripe jersey, helmet casting shadow over his eyes. His blinding smile flashes on the jumbotron for a split second when he catches a line drive and takes off fast. You lean forward, appraising. “Okay, wow, he’s hot. Good arms.”

Seokmin whips his head toward you, scandalized. “You can’t say that!”

You laugh, caught off guard. “Why not?”

“Because your boyfriend is right there playing for the same team!” he says.

“He’s not–” you start, but Seokmin’s confused expression cuts you off. You flounder for a moment. “I mean– it’s not that serious. Yet.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Not that serious? You’re sitting in the Legends Suite with his number painted on your damn nails.”

You instinctively fold your hands in your lap as if that’ll hide the proof. “Okay, first of all, the nails are for team spirit.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “Team spirit and romantic subtext.”

You give him your best poker face. “You just want me married off so you can stop hearing about my dating horror stories.

“Maybe,” he says, grinning. “But if Vernon looks up here again and sees you drooling over Mingyu Kim, ESPN can call me for the inside scoop.”

You laugh. “Relax. I’ll keep it in my pants.”

Seokmin shakes his head, muttering, “Yeah right.”

“Okay, fiiiiiine, I’ll stop talking about asses I’m lusting after.”

“Good call, Mrs. Chwe.”

You throw popcorn at him, but Seokmin just grins. 

Another inning later, and down on the field Vernon steps back onto the mound, glove raised, focused like you haven’t seen him in years. The camera pans close, and you’re struck by how he looks almost the same as he did all those years ago. You almost feel guilty for not having been to one of his games since he first made it big, that one time all your friends got tickets to celebrate him, and when he found out you were all there he flushed red faced and embarrassed. Made you think you were encroaching, or something, and you figured if he wanted any of you there, he’d simply ask. Of course he never did. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You [22:04] congratulations!!!!!

nonie [22:29] we literally lost

You [22:29] but you looked great! 

nonie [22:29] that sure takes the sting away, thanks

You [22:30] we’re gonna go get dinner and drinks, are you still coming?

nonie [22:31] yeh i can leave in 20

You [22:32] i’ll drop you our location

The bar is just far enough away from the stadium that it’s not crowded with people who came straight from the game, a conscious choice, so Vernon hopefully won’t be mobbed by fans as soon as he walks in. It’s loud in that comfortable, Friday night kind of way– everyone buzzing to be free from work, the clatter of bottles, music turned up just loud enough to make you lean in to talk. You and Seokmin have commandeered a corner booth, a pitcher almost already gone, plates of fries and sliders scattered across the table. You’re warmed through and light, the world pleasantly soft around the edges, when Vernon turns up.

He’s fresh out of the shower– hair still a little damp, skin flushed and scrubbed clean, hoodie hanging loose over sweatpants, cap pulled low over his face. The faint scent of his soap cuts through the beer and fried food as he slides into the booth beside you, hip bumping yours, and kisses your cheek. Feels so alien you have to cover your laugh in your drink, and he kicks you gently under the table.

“You two look like trouble,” he says, voice low, reaching out to shake your friend’s hand. “Hey, it’s Seokmin? Right?”

“That’s me.” Seokmin beams, taking his hand. “And she’s the one who’s trouble. You missed her speech.”

“Speech?” Vernon asks, one eyebrow raised.

“She made me toast to your ‘heroic defeat,’” Seokmin slurs. “And then– then she told the bartender you were the love of her life.”

You gasp, slapping his arm. “Stop making things up!”

“Alright, fine, that last part I embellished,” he says, laughing. “It happened in my heart.”

Vernon’s trying not to smile, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “I’m not the love of your life?”

“Hmmm no,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “I’m starting to think Mingyu Kim might be instead.”

Vernon clicks his tongue. “We’ve been dating for five minutes and you’re already trying to leave me for my teammate?”

“I don’t even know the guy,” you huff, but you’re smiling too. “Wanna introduce me?”

“You’re drunk,” Seokmin says, leaning in with an accusatory finger.

You lift your glass. “And lustful!”

He laughs, pouring himself more beer while Vernon just shakes his head, leaning back and flagging down a waitress. He doesn’t order a drink– just water and something to eat– but he doesn’t seem to mind the chaos of you and Seokmin. Vernon is consistently himself– relaxed and casual and quietly bemused. It’s partly why you’ve stuck close all these years, even after you broke up. Vernon is dependable, not in a physical sense, since he’s away with work so often, but in a way everyone knows he’ll always be himself, that even when he’s a famous superstar he’s still the same Vernon you met when you were four years old.

You talk about the game, about Giancarlo Stanton’s ass again (Seokmin nearly chokes on a fry), about how Vernon goes everywhere in tracksuits and doesn’t own enough Hot Guy clothes and you’re gonna have to bring him shopping. Vernon wonders aloud if someone with a shopping addiction should even be allowed in Nordstrom, and you complain about needing a fix. 

(He gives in easily, promises to let you take him shopping the next time he has a full day off.)

The more you drink, the closer you lean– head on his shoulder, your hand brushing his arm when you laugh. He doesn’t flinch away, maybe because this isn’t completely out of the ordinary, because he knows you grow more affectionate with everyone when you drink. What’s unusual is Vernon leaning into it, to be wrapping his arm comfortably around your waist instead of your shoulder, to be tipping his head against yours when you rest against him. Leaning into the bit is going so easy with him. 

At some point, Seokmin pulls out his phone. “Okay, group selfie time, before she passes out.”

You pout. “I’m not gonna–”

He ignores you, turning around and stretching his arm out. You and Vernon lean in to squeeze into the frame, your cheek pressed against his. Seokmin’s smile is big and bright, you’re beaming, and Vernon is as cool as ever, a neutral expression, one arm wrapped around your middle, hand resting easy on your hip.

“Perfect,” Seokmin says, checking the photo. “Very cute. You’re all moon eyed.”

You pull a face and Vernon huffs out a quiet laugh.

“I’m serious,” Seokmin says, putting his phone down. “You’re like, annoyingly good looking together.”

You smile, too fuzzy to process it fully. “S’easy when you’ve been friends forever,” you say, just for something to fill the gap. 

The night drifts on until your eyes start drooping, and your words blur together. You’ve half-finished another drink, your cheek back on his shoulder, mumbling something about ordering more fries, when Seokmin stands.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” he says. “You gonna get her home?”

Vernon looks up, one arm still around you as he nods. “Yeah, dude. I’ve got her.”

Seokmin smiles lazily. “Good to meet you, dude. Thanks for the tickets.”

“Any time,” Vernon says, genuinely.

He waits until Seokmin’s gone before looking down at you. You’re barely awake. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, ever so gentle. “Let’s get you home.”

You hum something unintelligible and let him help you up, his arm steady around your waist as he guides you through the noise of the bar, out into the cool night air. You lean into him without thinking, head tipping against his shoulder again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cab smells faintly of lemon cleaner and lingering stale smoke. Vernon gives the driver your address, then settles back into the seat. You’re slumped against the door for all of thirty seconds before you tilt toward him, your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Your hoodie’s soft,” you mumble.

He hums in response, looking out the window. Streetlights flash over your reflection, over your glassy eyes and your smudged eyeliner. You look comfortable. 

“Hey,” you say slowly, shifting against him. You press one of your hands into his. “Look.”

He blinks. “What am I looking at?”

“M’nails,” you slur proudly, wiggling your fingers. The light catches on the polish, navy and white pinstripes, the tiny, chrome 98 glinting in the passing lights.

Vernon catches your wrist lightly, turning your hand this way and that to see. “Very cool,” he says, all casual, though there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You smile wide and pleased, and flop back against him again. “You didn’t even notice them earlier.”

“I was a little busy pitching,” he laughs.

“I meant at the bar,” you murmur, pouting. “Thanks for paying for them. Don’t do that again.”

He exhales another laugh through his nose. The driver’s watching you through the mirror, trying not to, but the stolen glances keep coming– subtle, curious. Vernon’s used to people watching him. Normally it’d make him sit up a bit straighter, would make him consider how close you are, and how your hair brushes his jaw when you move. But you’re supposed to be together, so he leans in, doesn’t press your hand back into your own lap like he feels he should, keeps his fingers loosely curled around yours. 

You tilt your head up toward him, voice gone a little hoarse. “Tell me about her.”

He frowns. “Who?”

“Your girlfriend,” you murmur. “You don’t talk about her. I wanna know what she’s like.”

Vernon catches the driver’s gaze flick up again in the rearview mirror, the obvious spark of interest in his eyes. He looks down at you– flushed cheeks, soft mouth, utterly oblivious– and clears his throat.

“You’re my girlfriend, dumbass,” he says under his breath.

You shake your head, slow and unaware. “No, no, Rachel. I wanna know who’s got you so fucked up you’re playing pretend with me.”

He swallows. He hasn’t seen Rachel since she said she wanted to take a break, encouraging him to be seen dating other people while she navigates her divorce. And now he’s got to keep up the pretence of being with you just so he doesn’t blow up her life. Max doesn’t know, and though Vernon doesn’t care much for this particular guy who just so happens to be on his team, he doesn’t want to cause unnecessary tension for everyone else. So instead of a few stolen hours at her place in the middle of the night, his contact with her has been reduced to a few texts, and one, brief phone call last week. 

The driver’s eyes lift again. Vernon holds them for a few seconds, just enough to make the man look away, then he turns back to you.

“It’s complicated,” he says under his breath, tone gentler now. “Let’s not do that right now.”

You blink at him, confused but already losing focus, your head lolling back onto his shoulder. “You’re so private, Nonie,” you murmur, the words slurred with exhaustion and too much alcohol. 

He lets out a quiet laugh– fond, almost inaudible– and shifts just enough so you’re comfortable against him. The city slides by outside, all blur and colour and motion. You’re asleep before you even hit the bridge. Vernon watches the lights play over your face, and he doesn’t say anything else, just keeps his eyes on you until the cab slows in front of your building.

It’s an effort to get you balanced enough to walk into the elevator, but he manages, and you slump against the mirrored wall, fogging it with your breath, as he presses the 5 button and you’re both lurched upwards with a wretched sound.

“Ugh– we’re not s’posed to use the elevator,” you protest, eyes half closed. “Gonna get stuck.”

Vernon braces himself against the wall as it jolts again. “If you think I can carry you up five flights of stairs, you’re deluded.”

You snort. “I coulda made it.”

The corner of Vernon’s mouth quirks. “You can barely stand.” 

The elevator shudders to a halt, a couple of inches above the floor, so he’s careful as he walks you out. He hooks your arm around his shoulder and halfway drags your stumbling feet to your door, then roots in your bag for your keys as best he can while you lean against him.

He can feel the warmth of your breath on his neck as you murmur, “sorry, Nonie.” 

“It’s no big deal. Not like you make a habit of it.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You wake to the faint murmur of Vernon’s voice– quiet and low, coming from the other room. Your head aches in a slow, dull throb, and your mouth tastes rancid, like stale beer and grease. It takes a few moments for your surroundings to make sense: your bed, on top of the sheets in your clothes from last night, a thin blanket draped over your legs, the light too bright through the blinds.

You blink away the sleep, and sit up slowly, stretching your tender body. The smell of the night is still on you, and you haven’t felt this gross in years. You find your phone in your jacket pocket on the floor, and you’re going through your notifications– mostly comments on Seokmin’s photos that you’ve been tagged in from last night. 

seokmin you hung out with vernon chwe??? Who’s the girl? - that’s his gf - - Me when I lie - - -they’ve been spotted together a few times! - - - - And yet they’ve got no photos of each other on their profiles except for group ones

Vernon’s voice rises, still quiet but now clear enough to make out. You freeze, your phone forgotten in your hands. There’s a sound of admonishment from him while he listens to whoever’s on the other end. 

“Listen,” he’s saying. “I told you already, I just crashed on her couch. She was so drunk I didn’t wanna leave her to choke if she–”

Another long pause. 

And his answer comes out frustrated. It takes you aback. “It’s not like that,” he says. “Rachel, you remember me seeing other people was your idea, don’t you? You know I only wanted to date you, and she’s my best friend, I figured this would be better than actually dating someone–”

He’s interrupted again, and his tone changes– a little firmer. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to hook up before the news is out–”

Your chest goes tight. Is she jealous of you? This isn’t even real. You glance toward the doorway. His back is turned, one hand on the kitchen counter, phone pressed to his ear. There’s tension in his shoulders, and in the quiet way he breathes before he speaks again.

“Yeah,” he says, turning. “It’s just a temporary measure.”

You cast your eyes away before he can catch you looking. It’s not like you didn’t figure they were still a thing, it’s just surprising to hear she’s worried about his relationship with you. Surely he would have already told her that this is just a favour, just pretend, one friend helping out another in exchange for… well. For money. 

When he wraps up the call you stand a little too quickly. Makes you dizzy, so you rub your eyes as you try to shake it off. He looks up when you walk in, face smoothing out into something neutral. 

“Hey! You’re awake.”

You nod. “Yeah. Sorry– I, uh,” you rasp. “I didn’t mean to get so wasted.”

He shrugs, pushing his phone into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. You were out like a light before the cab even stopped.”

You manage a small laugh, though it comes out tight. “Sounds like me.”

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t.”

He studies you for a beat, appraising you with careful eyes, Instead of calling you out, he nods toward the counter. “Coffee’s there.”

“Thanks,” you say, and you pour yourself a cup. 

“Okay. I’m gonna drink this and head out. Got a game this afternoon.”

“Should I come? For like, moral support or whatever.”

Vernon looks at you softly. “Could you cope with the noise with that headache?”

“No,” you admit, wincing. “Probably not.”

“Then nah, don’t worry about it. If you’re free in three weeks, I’ll fly you out for the weekend. Figure we should be more public by then.” 

“Sounds good.” You smile. “Where are we going?”

“Miami.”

You whistle low. “Nice. Will Mingyu Kim be there?”

Vernon laughs out loud. “New rule. You can’t flirt with my teammates while we’re together.”

“He’s so hot though.” You purse your lips in a sulk. “What if he’s the love of my life?”

“Please,” he scoffs. “You fall half in love with every guy you meet.” 

“I’m a romantic, Vernon,” you say pointedly. “It’s like you don’t even want me to find a sexy, rich husband.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder tight and he’s all warm against your side. “Sure I do. Just pick someone else, yeah?”

You ignore him, rolling your eyes, and you take a sip of your coffee.

“By the way, could you not laugh when I kiss your cheek? Kinda gives the game away.”

The memory of last night swirls. “In my defence,” you start. “I was wildly unprepared. You should give me a three minute warning if you’re gonna kiss me.”

Vernon raises an eyebrow. “You never needed a warning before.”

“We were actually dating then,” you explain. “And you never kissed my cheek anyway.”

“Only ‘cause you wanted to make out all the time. Freak.”

You gape at him. “Never heard you complain about that once, asshole.” 

He shrugs, all easy nonchalance. “Yeah, well, you were a good kisser.”

Hm. So was he, now that you think about it. There was this once time at school, a behind the bikeshed moment–

“I still am a good kisser, actually,” you point out, deflecting yourself from the thought of kissing Vernon. “Not that you’d know.”

He grins. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your first fake date takes place on a Tuesday. Vernon brings you to the movies, and you give him shit for being a one trick pony. But it’s nice. Kind of reminiscent of when you were kids. He gets the tickets and the popcorn, you get the drinks, and he holds the door for you on your way through to the screen. He’s picked a good spot, near the back but not too close to the teenage couple who’ll spend the whole movie loudly making out. It’s fairly full already, and there’s a few double takes when you and Vernon step past, his cap pulled low in a faux-attempt at wanting to go about unnoticed, his hand casually pressed to the small of your back.

“We’re in the couple seats,” he says under his breath, nodding toward the aisle of two-seaters.

“You’re committing so hard to the bit,” you whisper back. 

The lights dim halfway through the previews, and you start rummaging in your purse. Vernon glances over. “What are you doing?”

You offer him a guilty half-smile for a second before pulling out a crinkled bag, the scent of cheese immediately filling the air around you.

“Did you–” he breaks off, whisper-laughing. “You brought Taco Bell to the movies?”

“I didn’t have dinner yet!” you hiss, tearing open a wrapper. “Besides, I got one for you too.” You hand him a barely-warm quesadilla like it’s a gift.

He stares at it, then at you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Now eat, quick, before they kick us out,” you whisper, taking a huge bite. 

He shakes his head, still smiling as he unwraps his own quesadilla. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be helping my reputation, you’re really testing me.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not grateful,” you mumble around a large mouthful.

The movie starts, and for a while, you’re content– chewing, laughing quietly at each other when his hand accidentally brushes yours reaching for napkins. Then, after your food wrappers are tossed back into your purse, his hand lands warm and heavy on your thigh.

You startle, nearly dropping your drink. “What are you doing?” you hiss, shoving him lightly. “We’re in the dark, dumbass, no one’s gonna see that.”

“Thought it’d look convincing.”

“Yeah, to the soot sprites maybe,” you whisper back. “If you wanna sell it, put your arm around me instead.”

He draws his hand back, an embarrassed flush already pink on his ears, even in the dark. There’s a quiet beat, then his hand slides across the back of your seat, and settles over your shoulder. His fingers skim lightly over your collarbone before going still.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

You keep your eyes on the screen. “Perfect,” you whisper, voice low. “Now pretend you actually like me.”

He chuckles quietly, a low, warm sound. “Bro, that part’s easy.” You pull a face, ready with a comeback, but he tacks on– “You know, ‘cause you’re like, my best friend.”

“Liar,” you scoff. “Seungcheol’s your bestie.”

“Nope. Cheol’s never seen me vomit, but you have.”

“Ah, right, of course. Forgot that was the benchmark.”

“Mhm.” 

You glance over, but he’s looking straight ahead, face lit in flickers of blue and gold from the movie. Turning back to the screen, you whisper. “That means Lara’s my best friend, then. She’s held my hair back more often than you.” You catch his smile out of the corner of your eye, and his thumb moves absently against your shoulder, barely there strokes. After a little while, the movie starts getting good, and you almost forget it’s there.

Three whole hours and too much popcorn later, you’re back out in the night. Vernon lives in the other direction but he says he’s walking you home anyway. 

“So what did you think?”

“It was good. Long though. And nowhere near as good as There Will Be Blood.” You hum in thought. “You know what the problem is, I’m sick of Leonardo DiCaprio.”

Vernon gapes. “He’s one of the best actors of our time!”

“Yeah, well so what when he’s obsessed with barely legal women?” you retort. “Lets talk about how Hollywood is propping up another fifty year old creep! Besides, his face pisses me off.”

“You know people say I look like him?”

You laugh loud. “They do not! Are you serious?”

“They do,” he insists, smile curling his lips. “Go online right now and you’ll see.”

“Bullshit,” you say, pulling out your phone to type vernon chwe leonardo dicaprio into the search bar. “Oh. Huh. Wow, people are really convinced.” You look back up at your friend, who’s standing close enough to peer at your screen too, and so you reach up, take his chin in your hand and angle his face in different directions. “I sort of see it. You look like a much nicer person though. Less sinister. Good eyebrows.”

A smile tugs at his lips, eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Less sinister and good eyebrows? Maybe I should put it on my wikipedia page.”

You laugh, knocking into his shoulder lightly. “Put it on the back of your baseball card instead.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile lingers as the two of you fall into step again. The city hums around you with the sound of traffic, someone playing saxophone down the block, a couple arguing outside a bodega. It’s unseasonably chilly enough that you have to tug your thin jacket around yourself a little tighter, and Vernon looks over at you. Serves you right for choosing style over function.

“Cold?” he asks.

You shrug. “A little. It’s not so bad.”

“Want my hoodie?”

“You think I’m gonna ruin this look with that? No way.”

Without a word he shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. Then after a beat, he just slips his hand into yours and tugs it into his coat pocket, his fingers curling loosely around your knuckles. Casually considerate and completely unnecessary.

“You’re getting really into character,” you tease.

“I’m committed to the bit,” he says, an echo of your earlier words, eyes on the sidewalk. “Practicing my method acting.”

“Keep going like this and soon enough you’ll be Leonardo’s semi-lookalike protégé.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him, and you think about how easy this all feels, walking home like this hand in hand. You wonder how Rachel must feel, knowing this is what he’s up to while she’s dealing with her divorce. You know the whole dating other people thing was her idea, but you wonder if she even wanted that at all. Maybe she just wanted Vernon to put up a little fight. You’re growing curious about how it started with them two, but that’s a conversation to have behind closed doors, not out in the street for anyone to hear.

When you reach your building, you stop at the front steps, turning to face him, batting your eyelashes big and fake. “Thanks for walking me home, fake boyfriend.”

“Of course,” he says. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

“A terrible one.”

He nods, mock-serious. “Can’t have that in the tabloids.” He steps back. “Text me when you’re inside, okay?”

“Sure thing, DiCaprio.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face as he starts backing away. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you call after him, grinning as he rolls his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets.

You watch him go until he turns the corner, then you unlock the door, walk past the rickety elevator in favour of the stairs, and when you reach your door on the fifth floor, your phone vibrates.

It’s Vernon, a screenshot of a grainy, dark photo he’s been tagged in on Instagram by one of his fans– the two of you in the movie theatre. You can’t see it completely, but with the angle his arm is at, it looks like it was taken during the brief moment his hand was on your leg. 

nonie [22:19] told you it’d look convincing

You snort as you unlock the door.

You [22:20] tOlD yOu It’D lOoK cOnViNcInG

nonie [22:20] your 12 years old

You [22:20] my 12 years old what?

nonie [22:20] lets break up

You [22:20] ok but im keeping the money 

Before bed, you upload a picture to your close friends stories again– your ticket stubs, a glimpse of Vernon’s hand holding the popcorn, blurry in the background.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s sort of fun, being Vernon’s pretend girl. Not just because he’s paid off all your debt (bar your student loan) and you can breathe deeply again, but because you love to have a story, and though you can’t tell this one yet, it’ll be great for the retirement home when everyone thinks you’re senile. People are starting to gossip. 

You haven’t done this in years, hung out together on a regular basis, just one on one. Sure, you’ll occasionally meet for coffee or go out for a drink, but it’s never been intentionally just you. The invitation was always offered to the group, and if no one else could make it, it’s no big deal. So you’d just wear whatever you had on, not bother with make-up if you weren’t already wearing any. It’s just Vernon. But now, with the whole pretense to keep up, and the possibility of being caught in pictures, you’re putting in a little– okay– a lot of effort. 

It’s Thursday night, and Vernon is taking you to some hole in the wall pizza place. He meets you off the subway, kisses your cheek (again) and this time your eyes don’t bulge out your head. He tells you he likes your outfit (a baby blue sundress), and you know it’s only for show, but you twirl anyway, laugh out loud when he rolls his eyes. 

The hole in the wall is exactly the kind of place you’d expect Vernon to find– tucked away in a narrow alleyway that smells like heaven instead of trash, the queue full of people like him who know the city like the back of their hand. The slices are huge, you order two pepperoni, and one with goats cheese and shallots to split, and a hot honey dip. 

It’s the kind of evening that makes everything look soft and romantic. Everything tinted a little orange with the setting sun, wisps of clouds float overhead, the kind of warm haze that makes everyone look so flushed and warm and pretty. The park isn’t so busy at this hour, but there’s couples not totally unlike you and Vernon (but they’re real, at least) sitting together and talking the evening away, and small groups of friends, one of which are sitting on the grass, playing gentle music from a bluetooth speaker. You take a seat on the edge of the fountain, folding your legs, and Vernon does the same opposite, setting the food between you. 

“So,” you start, plucking off a piece of pepperoni and popping it in your mouth. “It’s Seungcheol’s thirtieth next week. Joshua’s hosting a party.”

Vernon tears a bite off his slice and nods. “Yeah. Big milestone. Are you going?”

“We, you mean,” you correct. “You know he’ll sulk like a toddler for weeks if you don’t show up.”

He shrugs, all easy and unbothered. “I’ll come if I’m back in time. I’m playing in Philly that afternoon.”

You pout, mock-upset. “You have to come. I can’t be trusted to answer all the inevitable questions about our fake relationship. You know I’ll make up something stupid.”

He gives you a pointed look. “You’re supposed to drop the fake part when you’re in public, remember?”

“Like anyone’s close enough to hear.” You roll your eyes. “Our insane chemistry is visible from afar though, no need to worry.”

He holds your gaze for a moment– until you look away. “Do you think people are buying it?”

“Us?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe.” You sigh, tilting your head to watch someone cycle past with a little dog in the basket. You’ve been checking online for your names for the past week, but they’ve come up with nothing solid. That’s what these public outings are about– hoping you’ll be seen together, casual enough to be believable. Vernon had suggested a pap walk for today instead, but you’d told him they look too obvious. Celebrities should be caught in a casual moment in a shitty zoomed-in-photograph for it to be believable. “The gossip sites are debating whether we’re friends or more. They’re saying it’s cause you’re in loads of my instagram posts but only group ones. And someone uploaded our yearbook photos with Joshua, so it's like 'are they just besties?'”

“What about our friends?”

“I dunno. We haven’t hung out with them enough lately.”

“How so?”

You give him a pointed look. “You ducked out of movie night–”

“Practice ran late, it’s hardly ducking out.” 

“And I had to skip lunch yesterday because a client wouldn’t stop yapping,” you say, taking another bite of your food. “So you’re gonna come, right? Don’t leave me alone with the wolves.”

“You mean our best friends in the whole world?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He sighs. “I’ll see if I can get a flight instead of the bus.”

“Sucks to be the environment, but yay!”

“Yay!” he echoes sarcastically, and you wipe your greasy fingers down his face and he shouts out in disgust, drawing curious looks from people nearby. “Eurgh, the fuck is wrong with you?”

You fall back, laughing so hard your stomach hurts as Vernon scrubs at his face with a napkin. God he’s helpless, he’s missed at least three spots. You sit back up, fighting your laughter back down, and take the napkin from his hands. “Here– oh don’t look at me like that, I’m not gonna do anything.” 

He eyes you with suspicion but lets you clean him off anyway, his skin warm under your touch. Reminds you of when he’d let you practice eyeshadow on him when you were teenagers, under strict instruction that you Don’t Tell The Guys. He’s always been good like that. Occasionally, rarely even, you wonder what it would’ve been like had you not broken up, if you’d have been one of the high school couples that made it all the way to your first divorce by the age of twenty-seven. 

You toss the crumpled napkin into your empty tray between you and lean back on your hands, smiling at the picture you’ve made of him– faint pink on his cheeks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“There,” you say. “You’re all pretty again.”

“I’m always pretty,” he grumbles.

“Okay, true,” you concede. “Now you’re pizza-commercial pretty. The guy who gets the last slice because he’s charming and good at throwing a ball and everyone likes him.”

He laughs quietly, ducking his head as if embarrassed by the compliment, even though it was mostly a joke. “Did I ever tell you you’re annoying?”

“You knew that going in,” you say. “Are we gonna split this or what?”

Vernon tears the pizza in half, offers you the slightly bigger one. You take a bite and lick your fingers clean. “Mm, s’really good,” you murmur, and Vernon nods.

The light’s fading now, the sky turning peachy pink, the fountain’s surface rippling with movement and dappled reflections of the setting sun. A little breeze kicks up, teasing the hem of your sundress against your knees. Vernon stretches out his legs, dangling them over the edge of the fountain and you settle into a comfortable quiet while you finish the rest of the food. 

“This has been nice,” you say when you’re done and the empty trays are stacked. “Good fake date.” 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. “I am to please.”

“Ahh, Vernon,” you say, stretching out the kink in your back. “You’re the fake boyfriend of my dreams.” Vernon raises an eyebrow and you laugh. “What?”

“Nothing… I just–I’m curious what your dream boyfriend is like? Everyone you’ve dated has been so…”

“Different?” 

“I was gonna say weird but–”

“Include yourself in that statement, idiot,” you chuckle.

“Seriously though,” he says. “What kind of person do you want?”

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“C’mon. Tell me.”

This is part of the problem. You’ve never known what you want. Ever since you were a kid, things have been temporary, a fleeting moment. Your hobbies, your interests, your celebrity crushes, the clothes you wear, the music you play, the paint on your bedroom walls, your parents' marriage, your jobs– and yes, your relationships. The only thing that’s stayed rock solid, throughout it all, are your friends. 

You sigh. 

“I want someone steady. Someone who isn’t gonna get freaked out by the things I say and disappear. I want boring but fun and dependable but spontaneous and someone who’s funny but doesn’t care that I’m funnier than them. And hot. With a really good ass.”

Vernon looks at you, a little sad, a little like he wants to laugh. “So you want the moon?”

“Semantics,” you say with a shrug.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Lara calls only a few minutes after you get home. 

“Girl– your Instagram is going crazy.”

Oh. You’d turned notifications off ever since you started soft launching Vernon on your stories. “What do you mean?” 

“You have like– thousands more followers.”

You scramble to put her on speaker and load instagram. Eleven-thousand, no… now twel– thirteen thousand. You close the app before you vomit. 

“I guess someone saw us?”

“Duh,” says Lara. “Vernon’s been tagged in a bunch of stuff.”

You get a text from Vernon at that very moment–

nonie [20:53] u seen this?

He includes a link to a DeuxMoi post. A grainy photo of you and Vernon, sitting by the fountain, you eating your pizza, him beaming at you– captioned Sunset Date for Yankees Pitcher and Mystery Woman.

“Jesus– they could’ve taken a better picture,” you complain.

Lara just laughs, and the conversation moves on quickly, but you load Instagram again the moment the call ends, and watch your followers steadily climb. You had considered that you’d become someone people were interested in by sheer association with Vernon, and it’s not like you hate having more followers, but now you’re looking at your (many) DMs, and there lies emboldened chats from your parents, and that’s something you hadn’t anticipated.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you so much for reading! taglist will be added on the next reblog.

to those who read the teaser, thank you soooooooooo much for your patience– a lot happened in my personal life between then and now, but at least the fic is written!

all interaction is appreciated more than you could know, so if you liked this chapter, please consider reblogging with any thoughts to help get this fic seen outside my following!

part 2 is coming next saturday!