steph

The bass of another noise song thrums through the floorboards, up through the soles of your shoes, and resonates deep in your chest where the alcohol has already made a warm little home for itself. The frat house is in a state of its standard party disaster—red solo cups scattered across every available surface, bodies pressed together in the living room that's been converted into a makeshift dance floor, the sharp mix of spilled beer and cologne and sweat weaving through the air in various equally sickening combinations. Somewhere in the back, someone's started a celebratory chant that keeps getting louder and then dissolving into laughter before it can really take off.

You're not paying attention to any of it, you're occupied with something else. With someone else.

Mingyu's lap is warm beneath you, his thighs solid and familiar, one of his big hands splayed across the small of your back while the other rests on the meat of your hip, fingers dimpling the soft flesh there. His mouth is hot and eager against yours, tasting like the cheap beer he's been nursing for the past hour, and you let yourself melt into it because Mingyu kisses the way he fucks—enthusiastic, a little sloppy and breathtakingly effective. His tongue slides against yours and you make a soft sound into his mouth, your fingers threading through his damp hair, still wet from the post-game shower.

"You were so good out there," you murmur against his lips, pulling back just far enough to speak, your breath fanning across his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and he chases your lips with that increasingly more horny desperation, immediately cutting you off before you manage to finish what you were saying. "Watched you the whole time. That tackle in the second half? You looked so hot and strong. Had me clenching in the stands." Distantly, you think that if you weren't a little drunk you'd cringe at your own words right now but since you're slightly intoxicated saying something like this feels easy and right.

He groans, low and wrecked, his grip on your hip tightening. "You can't just say shit like that."

"I can," you tell him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. "I can say whatever I want. You know why?"

"Why?" His voice is strained.

"Because in about twenty minutes, you're gonna find us somewhere private, and you're gonna bend me over, and I'm gonna let you fuck me so hard you forget your own name." You nip at his earlobe, soothing the sting with a flick of your tongue. "That's your reward for winning. You earned it, big boy."

Mingyu makes a sound that's halfway between a whimper and a growl, both hands now gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him, and you can feel him getting hard beneath you, the thick line of his cock pressing up against your clothed cunt. You roll your hips just to hear him curse, and he does, a strangled oh fuck that makes you grin.

This is easy. This is comfortable. Mingyu's been on your roster since the middle of your second year, and he's never once made it complicated. He's gorgeous and he knows it, tall and broad with a swimmer's build that's been beefed up by rugby, and he fucks with the kind of athletic stamina that leaves you bow-legged and stupid. But he also knows the rules. He doesn't get jealous, doesn't get territorial, doesn't look at you like he's thinking about keeping you.

Unlike—

"There you are."

The voice cuts through the bass and the noise and the fog of arousal like a blade through silk. Deep. Rough at the edges. Punctuated by that quiet authority of his that makes your spine straighten instinctively, your body responding before your brain can catch up.

You know that voice. You know it in your bones, in the wet heat already starting to pool between your thighs in Pavlovian response, in the way your heart kicks against your ribs like it's trying to break free.

Mingyu's hands loosen on your ass. Not because he's scared—Mingyu's not scared of anyone, even if it's his team captain—but because he knows the rules too. The unspoken ones. He knows what that voice means when it's directed at you.

You turn your head.

Seungcheol is standing in the doorway of the living room, and he's already changed out of his rugby kit into gray sweatpants and a team bomber jacket that does practically nothing to hide how broad his shoulders are or how built he is in general. If anything it only accentuates the fact. His hair is still damp, pushed back off his forehead, and there's a flush high on his cheeks—from the game, from the adrenaline, from the victory still singing in his blood. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, as if he's been looking for you and came straight here the second he could.

His eyes find yours and something in them flickers. Something dark and hungry and possessive that makes your cunt clench around nothing in response.

"Cheol," you say, and your voice comes out steady and a little bored, just like you intended, despite feeling anything but bored in this moment. "Hell of a game."

He doesn't acknowledge the words. His gaze drops to where you're sitting in Mingyu's lap, to Mingyu's hands on your hips, to the way your lip gloss is smeared from kissing someone who isn't him. His jaw tightens. The muscle there jumps.

"Up," he says. Not to Mingyu. To you.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm a little busy."

"You're done being busy." He takes a step into the room, and people move out of his way without seeming to realize they're doing it. He has that effect. "Come here."

Mingyu sighs behind you, but it's more resigned than annoyed. "Just go," he murmurs, giving your hip a soft pat. "You know how he gets." You turn to look at the guy and there's a small teasing smirk on his face.

"I don't belong to him," you say, and you're not sure if you're reminding Mingyu or yourself.

"Could've fooled me," Mingyu mutters, but there's no bitterness to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, gentlemanly despite everything, and helps you slide off his lap. "Rain check?"

"Of course," you tell him with an easy smile.

Then Seungcheol's hand is wrapping around your wrist—not hard, he never grabs you hard enough to hurt or scare, but firm enough that you know you're not getting away—and he's pulling you through the crowd, past the dancers and the drinkers and the people who pretend not to sneak glances, up the stairs, down the hall, into one of the bedrooms that's mercifully unoccupied.

The door clicks shut behind you. The music muffles to a dull throb and your ears ring a little with the newfound silence.

And then you're being pressed up against the door, Seungcheol's body a wall of heat against your back, his breath hot and uneven against the curve of your neck. His hands find your waist, your hips, your stomach, like he's reacquainting himself with the geography of your body even though it's only been three days since the last time he had you.

"Could smell you throughout the whole house," he rasps against your ear, and the words send a bolt of pure lightning straight to your clit. "That perfume you wear. The one like cherry and rum. Knew you were here before I even saw you."

"Good nose," you attempt something sassy, but your voice is already going breathy, your body already starting to soften and yield the way it only ever does for him. You briefly register your hips pushing backwards, into him. And you don't care to stop yourself from it.

"Good nothing." His teeth graze your earlobe, nipping. "I just know you. You know what else I know?" You hum in response, playing along as if intrigued. "I know the way you smell when you're worked up. And you were worked up, weren't you? Sitting on Mingyu's lap like a pretty little slut, grinding on him, getting him hard."

"He earned it," you say, and it's supposed to come out defiant but lands a lot closer to needy because you are a sucker for degradation when it comes from him. Always so sweet, it makes you feel fuzzy even when you just think about it.

Seungcheol's laugh is dark and low, rumbling through his chest and into your back. "Oh, did he?"

"He won the game."

"And what about me?" His hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, and stops just beneath the swell of your breasts. "I was on that field too. I scored two tries. I bled for that win." His lips brush the shell of your ear. "What do I get?"

You swallow hard. Your thighs press together, seeking friction, seeking relief. "Depends on what you want."

"You know what I want." His hand moves higher, finally cupping your breast through your top, his thumb finding your nipple even through layers of fabric and pressing down just hard enough to make your breath catch. "I want your mouth. Want to fuck that pretty throat until you're crying, until you can't talk, until the only thing you remember how to do is swallow."

Your knees buckle. He catches you easily, arm banding around your waist, and you can feel him—all of him—pressed against your ass. The thick, heavy line of his cock is already hard, already straining against his sweatpants, and you can feel the heat of it through both layers of fabric like a brand.

"Fuck,” you breathe.

"Yeah," he agrees, and spins you around to face him.

God, he's beautiful. It hits you every time, this stupid, gut-punch of a realization that you never quite get used to despite the fact that your roster is full of gorgeous men. No one hits like that. His eyes are dark and liquid, those big brown eyes with lashes so long they cast shadows on his cheekbones, and they're looking at you like you're something precious and something filthy all at once. His lips are parted, plump and pink and slightly wet, and when he smiles—just a little, just the corner of his mouth quirking up—his dimple appears like a secret.

"Missed you," he says, softer now, and it makes your chest ache.

"It's been three days."

"Three days too long." He cups your face in both hands, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and tilts your head up. "You been good?"

You know what he's asking. You know what he means. And a part of you wants to lie, wants to tell him that you've been a perfect little angel, that you haven't let anyone else touch you, that you're his, just his, only his.

But that's not the game you play. That's not the arrangement you have with him or anyone else for that matter.

"Been busy," you say instead, and watch his eyes darken. It brings you its own special kind of masochistic satisfaction.

"Busy," he repeats, flat.

"Jihoon on Thursday. Soonyoung yesterday morning." You hold his gaze, defiant and terrified in equal measure. "They're on the roster too, Cheol. Remember?"

Something flickers in his expression—something that looks a lot like hurt and a lot like jealousy—but it's gone as fast as it appears, replaced by that dark, possessive heat that makes your cunt drip.

"Then I better remind you why I'm at the top of that list," he says, and drops to his knees.

You don't have time to process the sight of him there, on his knees for you, looking up at you with those burning eyes—because his hands are already rucking up your skirt, pushing it up around your waist, and his mouth is pressing hot and open-mouthed against the damp cotton of your panties.

"Cheol—"

"Shh." His breath is warm through the fabric. "Let me take care of you first. Let me taste you. Then I'm gonna fuck your throat until you forget Soonyoung's name and everyone else's except mine."

His tongue presses flat against your clothed cunt, and you moan, head thumping back against the door. Your hips cant against his face, frustrated that there's some sort of barrier between his mouth and you.

This is how it always goes with him, how it's been going since the end of your second year, when you finally collided with him at a party not unlike this one, when you'd already built some reputation and he'd already heard the rumours. Neither of you had been prepared for the way your bodies would fit together like puzzle pieces.

Before that night, you'd known of him, obviously. Everyone knew the rugby team, and Seungcheol was the captain—loud and commanding on the field, quieter off it, with a cute laugh that didn't match his build and a dimpled smile that made you want to do stupid things. You'd seen him around campus, exchanged pleasantries, maybe flirted a little the way you flirted with everyone. But you'd never hooked up with him, partly because your paths didn't cross that way and partly because something in your gut had whispered to wait.

Waiting had been the right call. By the time you finally got your hands on each other, the tension had been stretched so tight it snapped like a rubber band, and you'd spent three hours in his dorm room doing things that still made even you blush when you thought about them too hard. And there weren't many things left that could make you blush anymore.

The difference was that Seungcheol hadn't been satisfied with one night. He'd come back for more. And more. And more. Unlike all your other hookups who followed your lead and showed up or engaged with you only on your demand.

So, somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being just another name on your roster and started being something else. Something you allowed in your content, something you kept allowing more than you allowed anyone else.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans against you, pulling your panties to the side and swiping his tongue through your folds. The sensation is electric and sweet, and your hips buck against his face without your permission. "Taste so fucking good. Always taste so good."

"Cheol, please—"

"Hmm?" He looks up at you, chin glistening with your wetness, and the sight is so obscene it makes your brain short-circuit. "Use your words, baby."

"Please—fuck, your mouth—"

"My mouth what?" He's teasing now, the bastard, pressing soft little kisses to your inner thigh, your mons, everywhere except where you need him. "Tell me."

"Eat me out," you breathe, dignity abandoned. "Please, Cheol, please eat my pussy, I need your tongue, need you to make me come—"

"Good girl." And then his mouth is on you, tongue plunging into your hole and nose pressing against your clit, and you gasp.

He eats pussy like he's starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger. His tongue is thick and clever, alternating between fucking into your tight opening and flattening against your clit, and his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open and steady, pressing you against his face like he wants to crawl inside you.

You're babbling, you realize in a brief blink of clarity. Strings of praise and profanity falling from your lips between whimpers and mewls. "So good, so good, your tongue is so fucking good, Cheol, right there, please don't stop, please—"

Seungcheol doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train—sudden and utterly beyond your control, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head and your fingers fist in his hair and you come with a broken cry that gets swallowed by the bass still thumping through the house.

He works you through it, gentler now, laving at your oversensitive clit until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away. Only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at you with eyes that are practically black as he licks your juices clean off of it.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his feet.

"One?" You're still catching your breath, still trembling with aftershocks, and he's looking at you like he hasn't even started. In your haze you've totally forgotten what he said he wanted you to do for him.

"One." He cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, tugging it down until your mouth obediently falls open. "Now it's my turn. On your knees, baby. Show me you still know how to worship this cock."

You sink to your knees before he finishes that sentence.

The carpet is scratchy against your skin, but you barely pay attention. Which is fixed on the way he's pulling down his sweatpants, freeing his cock, and there it is—a solid length of thick, flushed, leaking cock, curving slightly upward, the head an angry purple-red that looks almost painful. His balls hang heavy beneath, swaying as he strokes himself once, twice, smearing precum down the shaft.

"You remember this?" he asks, and his voice has gone gravel-rough. Half a step forward and Seungcheol is slapping the thick meat of his cock against your face. They are soft, almost gentle slaps that make you lean in and try to nuzzle, brain going offline on his musky scent. "Remember how it feels? How it stretches your throat? How it makes you choke?"

"Yes," you whisper, and feel your mouth watering, saliva pooling under your tongue. Your eyes are glued to his cock and you barely restrain yourself from trying to follow it and catch with your mouth. "Yes, I remember."

"Then show me."

You don't make him wait. You lean forward and press a kiss to the tip, as gentle and reverent as ever, tasting the salt-bitter tang of his precum. His breath hitches. You do it again, and again, pressing soft kisses up and down his shaft, nuzzling into the thick thatch of hair at the base, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and soap and that unique musk that you have no other description for than just him, and it makes your head spin the more you focus on it. You can probably get off on that alone.

"Stop teasing," he grits out, but his hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle, so gentle. Even though you wouldn't mind if he just grabbed your head to steady it and started face fucking you in earnest.

You look up at him through your lashes, make sure he's watching, and then you open your mouth and take him in.

The first inch is easy. The second makes your jaw stretch. By the third, you're breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, letting muscle memory take over. You've done this enough times—with him, with others—that your body knows what to do even when your brain has gone hazy and dumb with want.

"Fuck," he breathes, and his hips jerk forward just a little, just enough to push another inch past your lips. "That's it. That's my good girl. Taking me so well."

You hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Your tongue works the underside of his shaft, tracing and massaging the thick vein that runs from base to tip, and your hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They're heavy, full, and you can't help but imagine how much cum he's got stored up in just three days he hasn't seen you, how much he's going to pump down your throat.

It makes you moan again—the image you drew in your head—and you almost want to whimper and whine but you have a mouth full of cock and instead you just take him deeper, desperate to swallow him whole, to get more of him the only way you know how.

"Been thinking about this all game," he tells you, voice strained. "Couldn't focus during the second half. Kept looking for you in the stands. Kept thinking about your mouth."

You pull back until just the tip rests on your tongue, breath heavy, and then you sink down again, taking him even further this time, until he nudges the back of your throat and your gag reflex flutters. You push past it, breathe through it, and then you're swallowing around him and his cock is buried to the hilt and your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, cushioned with the bush of hairs there.

"Oh, fuck—" His hips buck, involuntary, and you choke but don't pull away. "Sorry, sorry, baby, you just—you feel so fucking good, I can't—"

You reach up and grab his hand, guide it to the back of your head, and press down.

He gets the message.

His grip tightens in your hair, and then he's fucking your throat in earnest, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's just shy of brutal. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds your own mouth is making—the slurping, the gagging, the choking, the slick slide of his cock through your spit-slick lips—and it's filthy, it's degrading, it's the most liberating thing you've ever experienced. To be reduced to this. No thoughts, no responsibilities, just sucking fat delicious cock.

"Look at you," he grunts, staring down at you with something like awe. "Taking all of it. Taking my dick like you were made for it. No one— no one sucks cock like you do. No one. Fucking— made for this. My perfect little cocksucker."

Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and your mascara is probably ruined, and your throat is going to be raw tomorrow, and you don't care. You don't care about anything except the substantial weight of him on your tongue, the stretch of your lips around his girth, the way his breathing is getting ragged and uneven.

"Gonna cum," he warns, and tries to pull back. "Baby, I'm gonna—"

You grab his hips and pull him closer, taking him so deep your throat constricts around him, and he breaks.

The first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat, hot, thick and bitter, and you swallow on reflex, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking through tears. The second fills your mouth, and the third, and he's groaning like he's dying, like you're killing him, like you're giving him something no one else ever has. His hips jerk through the aftershocks, pumping more and more cum into your waiting mouth, and you take it all, swallow it all, until he's finally, finally still.

He pulls out slowly, and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Your throat feels used, bruised, incredible. Your jaw aches. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and cum, and you've never felt more beautiful. You'd go for another round all over again this very minute if you could.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes, and then he's hauling you to your feet and kissing you, deep and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's trying to taste himself on your tongue. "You're insane. You're fucking perfect. I'm not done with you yet."

"I know," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked, barely a hoarse whisper. "You said something about my tits?"

His responding grin is sharp and hungry. "Take off your top."

You do. Your bra follows, and then your bare breasts are swinging free, heavy and round with puffy inverted nipples that are already aching tight from arousal. Seungcheol stares at them like a man possessed, and then his hands are on you, cupping the weight of them, thumbs circling your nipples until they pop out and he can pinch them between his fingers.

"Love your tits," he murmurs, bending to take one in his mouth and suck on it. His tongue is hot and wet, laving at the sensitive bud, and you moan, arching into him. "Love how big they are. Love how they bounce when I fuck you. Love how pretty your nipples are." He says that in the brief pauses he takes, alternating between the two breasts.

"Cheol—"

"Lie down on the bed." He pulls back, giving your nipple one last lick. "On your back. I want to watch them move while I fuck them."

You scramble to obey, positioning yourself on the edge of the mattress, and he follows, straddling your ribcage. His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your spit, and he strokes it back to full stiffness while he looks down at you.

"Hold them together for me."

You cup your breasts in both hands, pressing them together to create a deep, soft channel. He groans at the sight, and then he's slotting his cock between them, the head peeking out from the top of your cleavage.

"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, and starts to thrust.

The slide is slick from your spit and his cum, and he picks up a rhythm quickly, hips rocking as he fucks the valley of your breasts. His cock drags against your sternum, the head brushing your chin with every thrust, and you tilt your head down to lick at it each time it appears.

"Yeah, that's it," he pants. "Tongue out. Want you to taste me every time."

You obey, sticking your tongue out so the tip of his cock drags across it with every stroke. The angle is awkward and your neck is going to ache later, but the look on his face is worth it—eyes glazed, mouth slack, a flush spreading down from his cheeks to his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt.

"Gonna paint your tits," Seungcheol warns, pace quickening. "Gonna cover them in my cum. Mark you up so everyone knows you're mine."

The possessive growl in his voice makes you moan, and the vibration travels through your chest and into his cock. He curses, hips stuttering, and then he's coming again—ropes of white streaking across your breasts, your collarbones, the lower part of your face. He milks himself through it, groaning, until every last drop is dripping down your skin.

You drop your head back onto the mattress and you wipe your face with your fingers. Cleaning most of the mess only to lick it all from your fingers. Seungcheol collapses beside you on the bed, chest heaving, and for a moment the only sound is both of you gasping for air.

Then he turns his head to look at you, and his expression is soft, so soft, softer than it has any right to be. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and his fingers linger on your cheek.

"Hey," he says.

“Hey,” you croak back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just—give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need." He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'll get something to clean you up."

He disappears into the ensuite bathroom, and you lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his cum cool on your skin where you didn't wipe it. Your throat is raw, your jaw aches, your cunt is still throbbing with renewed need. And your chest aches in a completely different way. Which has nothing to do with the physical.

You push the feeling down. You're good at that.

When he comes back, it's with a wad of rough brown paper towels, the cheap kind that feel like tree bark against your skin, but he's somewhat dampened them under the tap and his touch is so fucking gentle as he cleans you up that you barely notice the difference. "Sorry," he murmurs, swiping carefully across your chest, your chin and anywhere else he sees that needs cleaning. "No actual towels. Fucking animals." He says it with so much genuine irritation that you laugh, and he looks up at you with that dimple and that soft, soft gaze, and your heart does the little summersault again.

"I'll survive," you manage.

"You will." He tosses the paper towels into a bin by the desk, then stands there, half-dishevelled, looking at you with his sweats slung low on his hips, showing the band of his boxers where his t-shirt rode up, and that possessive heat still simmering in his eyes. "We should go back down. It's still early, and the boys'll give me shit if I hog you all night."

You raise an eyebrow, even as you're reaching for your discarded clothes. "Since when do you care about that?"

"Since I'm the captain." He shrugs, unrepentant. "Gotta show my face. But—" He steps close, fingers catching your wrist, pulling you up against his chest the second your shirt is back on. His mouth finds your temple, lips warm and soft. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're with me tonight. Okay?"

The words shouldn't affect you but you feel the smouldering warmth spill through your body, heating you up from within. If he told you to drop down and fawn and do a puppy pose you would. You swallow. "Okay."

"Good girl." He says it like praise, low and private even though no one else can hear you in this room, and it makes your stomach flip even as you roll your eyes.

You both finish making yourselves look somewhat presentable. He helps you smooth down your skirt, his knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in a way that's more intimate than half the things you've ever done with other people. Then his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he's leading you out of the room and down the stairs back into the controlled disaster of the party.

The bass hits you again, still throbbing through the house, but it's mellowed a little as the night's gone on. It couldn't have been that long and yet people are drunker now, looser, the dance floor more of a tangle of bodies than it was before. The air is thick with beer and sweat and the faint sickly-sweet smell of someone's vape or multiple of them—it's hard to tell. Seungcheol doesn't pause. He threads through the crowd with the same quiet authority he has on the pitch, and like always people just sort of move for him, and because you're with him, they move for you too.

He heads straight for the back corner where the rugby team has claimed a cluster of battered couches and a low coffee table covered in cups and bottles. Mingyu's there, sprawled out with his long legs taking up way too much space, laughing at something Seokmin just said. Seokmin is leaning forward, beer in hand, cheeks flushed from alcohol and the residual high of the win. Joshua's perched on the arm of the couch, drink held delicately between two fingers, smiling his serene, knowing smile and thinking about something else and distant, judging by the slightly absent look on his face. Chan is on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling through his phone but looking up when he sees you approach.

"There they are!" Seokmin crows, arms spreading wide like he's welcoming royalty. "Captain! And his—" He catches Seungcheol's eye, and whatever word he was about to say dies on his tongue. "—guest. His very special guest."

Mingyu snorts, raising his cup in a lazy salute. "Took your time? We were taking bets on whether you'd come back down at all."

"Put your money away," Seungcheol says, easy but with an edge that says conversation over. He pulls you onto one of the couches—a worn leather thing that groans under both your weight—and situates you directly in his lap, his arm banding around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he does it all the time. Like he has every right.

And maybe he does, because no one bats an eye. Mingyu just grins knowingly and takes a sip of his drink. Seokmin launches back into whatever story he was telling, something about a questionable call in the first half. Joshua offers you a faint, warm smile that you really don't want to read into so you don't. Chan goes back to his phone.

And because no one gives any big reactions you just let yourself relax into Seungcheol's chest. His thumb starts tracing slow circles on the jut of your hip, a steady, grounding rhythm. Every so often, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your temple, your hair, the shell of your ear, murmuring things only you can hear.

"You okay?"

"Mhm."

"Warm enough? Want my bomber?"

"I'm fine, Cheol."

"Need water? You should drink some water."

"You're not my mum."

"Doesn't mean I can't take care of you." He says it so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that you don't have a retort, only feel your heart clench painfully tight in your chest.

The conversation around you ebbs and flows. Seungcheol is fully present in it—laughing at Seokmin's jokes, debriefing a specific play with Mingyu that devolves into good-natured bickering because the two like to act like an old married couple, teasing Chan about his post-game ritual of eating an entire pizza by himself and then recalling that one time the youngest almost fought Seokmin when the latter accidentally took a slice. He's easygoing and he's exactly the kind of captain the boys respect because he leads with warmth, not fear. But he also knows where the line is. When one of the boys makes a joke that's a little too crude about a cheerleader, Seungcheol gives him a look—just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tilt of his chin—and the teammate immediately backtracks, hands up. "Joking, joking. Sorry, Cheol!"

"Mm," Seungcheol says, and the conversation moves on.

Through all of it, his attention keeps circling back to you. His hand never stops moving—stroking your hip, your thigh, the small of your back. He keeps checking in, his lips brushing your ear as he asks, "Still good?" and "Need anything?" and, when you start to flag, "You want to get out of here?" The last one is said with genuine concern, his voice dropping to a register meant only for you.

You shake your head, but your body betrays you. You're slumping heavier against him, your head finding the hollow of his shoulder. The bass is starting to feel less like music and more like an indistinguishable noise causing a headache. The chatter of the team is still warm and funny, but you're not following it anymore. Your eyelids are heavy.

"You're falling asleep," Seungcheol murmurs, amused and tender all at once.

'''M not."

"You are." He shifts, adjusting you more securely against his chest. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. "Alright. Time to go."

He says it to you, but the team hears it too. Seokmin starts to protest. "Already? It's not even—" but Seungcheol just glances at him, and the protest dies. Mingyu waves a lazy goodbye, a smirk on his lips. "See you, man. Take care of her."

"Don't drink too much on the weekends. I expect you all on the clock for Monday practice," Seungcheol says sternly, and it's not a throwaway. It's a legit threat. You've heard the boys complain in the past about him making them do various exercises till failure for punishments.

He stands, lifting you with him like you are weightless, and you barely have the energy to be embarrassed. Your legs are jelly, your mind foggy. You manage a vague wave to the group, and then Seungcheol is steering you out of the frat house, into the cool night air, one arm wrapped solidly around your waist.

He takes you home. His car smells like his cologne and an old air freshener shaped like a pine tree, and he keeps the radio low as he drives, his free hand resting on your thigh. At red lights, he glances over at you, and you're too tired to hide the way you're looking at him whenever your eyes are not too heavy to do so.

Your apartment is quiet when you stumble inside. You're barely upright, and Seungcheol doesn't ask if you want him to stay. He just does. He guides you to the bathroom, and there, under the harsh white light that takes some of that sleepiness away, he turns to you with a comically determined focus, considering the task at hand.

"Tell me what to do," he says, gesturing at your face. "Makeup. How do I not mess this up?"

Your chest clenches and if you were a little more drunk and a little less restrained, you'd definitely start bawling your eyes out.

Instead, you point him to the micellar water on the counter, the cotton pads in the drawer. He soaks a pad, and you sit on the closed toilet lid as he kneels in front of you—kneels, like it's nothing, like it's exactly where he wants to be—and carefully, wipes the ruined mascara from under your eyes, the smudged lipstick from the corners of your mouth. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and he's so fucking gentle and adorable it makes your throat tight and your lips twitch with a hint of a laugh.

"There," he says when he's done, sitting back on his heels and inspecting his work. "Good?"

"Yeah." Your voice is a rasp as you turn to examine his work in the mirror. "Good."

Seungcheol helps you undress next. He's done it before, but this time it feels different somehow—more intentional? You're not sure.

He unclasps your bra with practiced ease—and you let out a heavy sigh of relief,—presses a kiss to your collarbone before he strips down to his boxers, and you're both standing there in the dim light of your bedroom, skin to skin, nothing between you but the cool air and the warmth of your skin.

He pulls you into bed. You curl into him instantly, seeking warmth in the still-cold sheets, your head on his chest, his big strong arms wrapped around you. You're both still warm from the party, from each other, and the heat of his bare skin against yours is the most comforting thing you've ever felt.

Seungcheol's heartbeat is steady under your ear. His hand traces lazy shapes on your spine that make your eyes feel heavier with every curl and swirl.

"Sleep," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

And you do. With a deep sigh, your heavy eyes close and you immediately drift off.

You wake up to sunlight and the weight of him. He's still curled around you, his body a wall of heat along your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face half-buried in your hair, warm breath fanning quietly against your scalp. It sends weak shivers along your spine the moment your brain focuses on this little detail. And there's something else already—of course there is—the thick press of his morning wood against the curve of your ass, insistent even through his boxers.

Sometimes you think that the two of you should actually be separated and never allowed to interact ever again. There's always a high risk of turning into two horny bunnies and never leaving the bed.

But the thought drifts away as easily as it came in and you shift, just a little, and Seungcheol groans, low and sleep-rough. "Mm. Baby?"

"Morning," you murmur, pressing back against him deliberately. His hips twitch in response, a reflexive grind that makes your cunt pulse with want. You're already getting wet, you realize. Already aching. There's really no preamble with him. There never is.

"Fuck," he breathes, more awake now. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. It isn't surprising anymore, considering how many times he's been down there by now. He rubs slow circles, and you gasp, your hips bucking into his touch. "So wet already. How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." You turn in his arms to face him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded but bright, the brown of them almost gold in the morning light. You kiss him, soft at first, lazy. Your hands are resting on his pecs, sliding lower to his stomach and then over to his soft sides. The kiss gets deeper, with your tongue sliding against his as his palms rest on the swell of your ass instead, squeezing you repeatedly like a stress ball, and you know you're bound to have light bruises after some especially passionate grabs. Then his hand glides to the front again, fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, and you whimper into his mouth.

"Want you on top," he says against your lips. "Want to watch you take what you need."

"Hmm, is that so?"

There's no world in which you say no to that. You push Seungcheol onto his back and straddle his hips, your knees bracketing his thighs. He's already shoving his boxers down, freeing his cock, and it's just as thick and flushed and perfect as it was last night. Even better now that you can see it in broad daylight. You lean forward and spit into your palm—just a quick, filthy little motion—and reach down between your legs to wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking him once, twice, smearing the spit and his own leaking precum down the length.

"Fuck," he groans, head pressing back into the pillow. "You're so hot. So fucking hot."

You shift your panties to the side—can't even be bothered to take them off—and position him at your entrance. The first push is slow, a delicious stretch that makes both of you moan. Your cunt swallows him inch by inch, fluttering and squeezing and adjusting to his girth, and by the time he's seated inside you to the root, you're trembling, your clit throbbing where it's pressed against his pubic bone.

"There you go," he murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight, massaging soothing circles into the soft flesh there. "Take your time, baby. Ride me however you want. Use me."

You start to move. It's slow at first, a leisurely grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle flex under your palms, and he stares up at you with his half-lidded doe eyes like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The sunlight catches his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the pretty flush blooming on his cheeks, the way his plump lips part on every exhale.

"You feel so good," you whisper, and the words come out wrecked already. "So deep like this. Fill me up so perfect."

"Made for my cock," he agrees, and there's no arrogance in it, just awe. "This cunt was fucking made for me. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are, taking all of it."

You feel your face heat up in your cheeks and ears. Every time you think you're way beyond getting flustered upon receiving compliments there's Seungcheol with his seemingly personal mission of proving you wrong and successfully making you feel like the shy high school girl everyone made you to be.

You pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, and the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room—slick and obscene, your arousal dripping down around the base of his cock. He's so deep that every thrust punches a moan from your throat, and you're not quiet, you've never been quiet with him, especially not in the confines of your apartment. The bed frame creaks in rhythm with your movements. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Love your tits bouncing like that," he grunts, eyes entranced on your chest. "Love watching them move when you ride me. Fuck, you're a dream. A fucking dream."

You feel tingles run through your body and rush all into your cunt, making you clench on Seungcheol's dick with a pathetic mewl that escapes before you can stop it.

Seungcheol moans and before another would leaves his mouth you lean down to kiss him, and the change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you gasp into his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, messy and hungry, and he fucks up into you now, meeting your rhythm with sharp little thrusts that make your vision go white at the edges. One of his hands leaves your hip and snakes between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight, perfect circles.

"That's it," he pants against your lips. "Want you to come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me. Can you do that, baby? Can you come for me?"

You can. You are. The combination of his cock driving into you and his thumb on your clit and the way he's looking at you—like you're everything, like you're the only thing—sends you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

"Good girl," he rasps. "My good fucking girl. Gonna fill you up now, okay? Gonna cum inside you. Want it?"

"Yes," you gasp, still trembling. "Please, Cheol, please fill me up—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's thrusting up into you in quick, desperate strokes, chasing his own release. You can feel him swelling, pulsing, and then he's coming, hot and thick, painting your walls with his cum. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—makes you moan again, clenching around him to milk every last drop.

He collapses back against the mattress, chest heaving, and you slump forward onto him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. You lie there for a long moment, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you, his seed slowly starting to leak out around it.

"Fuck," he finally says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Good morning to me."

You laugh, breathless and boneless, and he wraps his big arms around you and holds you tight.

The shower is a necessity after that. You stumble into the bathroom together, and he insists on washing your hair—sure fingers massaging shampoo into your scalp with a thoroughness that makes you want to melt. You return the favour, soaping up his broad back, tracing the lines of muscle, the bruises from the game that are already starting to purple on his ribs. You kiss every one of them. He pulls you under the spray and kisses you back until you're both completely out of breath and the water runs lukewarm.

Later, dressed in clean clothes that somehow smell like you and him all mixed together (no you don't have a drawer dedicated specifically to his stuff), you walk to the little cafe two blocks from your apartment. It's a Sunday, and the streets are quieter, the air crisp and clean. He holds your hand the whole way. His thumb strokes over your knuckles, and it's such a small thing, but it makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to look closer at.

At the cafe, you get a table by the window. Seungcheol orders a black coffee and a sandwich from their breakfast menu; you get a sweet latte with a syrup and a croissant that flakes all over the table whenever you as much as pick it up from its plate. He steals bites of your pastry and makes exaggerated sounds of approval. You steal a sip of his coffee in retaliation and grimace at the bitterness, audibly judging him for his beverage choices. He laughs, and the sound of it is so bright, so easy, that you feel something loosen in your chest.

You don't think about Monday. You don't think about your roster, or your own rules, or the way this whole thing is supposed to work according to them. You don't let yourself focus on the fact that you've never let anyone stay the night like this, never let anyone wash your hair and clean your face and hold your hand on a Sunday morning like it's the most natural thing in the world. You will have the time to think about it later, to reprimand yourself for it. But it's not now.

You just sit there, across from Seungcheol, your ankle pressed against his under the table, and you let yourself have this.

One more morning. One more slow, golden morning where he looks at you with his shiny boba eyes like you're something rare like the eighth wonder of the world, and you let him, and the world doesn't end.

It can hurt later, you tell yourself. The hurt will come—it always does. But right now, he's smiling at you with a flake of croissant stuck to his lip, and you're reaching across the table to wipe it away, and he's catching your hand and pressing a kiss right to the centre of your palm, lips soft and smooth after you threatened him into using your lip balm, and none of the rest of it matters.

And that's enough. For now, it's enough.

Monday can wait.

Monday morning starts with a text from Seungcheol.

It arrives while you're still half-asleep, face-down in your pillow, one arm flung out across the cold expanse of mattress where he'd been lying thirty-something hours ago. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you grope for it blindly, squinting at the screen through eyelids that feel like they've been glued shut.

hope you got home okay. forgot to text yesterday. still thinking bout that croissant.

There's a pause, then a second message: actually you. mostly you.

You stare at it for too long. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you type out you're such a dork before deleting it, then miss you already before deleting that too, your face heating against the pillow even though no one's around to witness it. Eventually you settle on the safest option, the one that doesn't betray the way your pulse has picked up just from seeing his name on your screen.

Your coffee choices are atrocious.

His response comes almost immediately: brutal. i'm wounded.

Dramatic.

ouch, another wound:(

You don't answer that. You put the phone down and press your face into the pillow and try very hard not to think about the way he'd looked at you at that cafe, sun catching the gold in his eyes, his ankle hooked around yours beneath the table like he couldn't stand even that small of a physical distance. You try not to think about the kiss he'd given you when you'd parted—soft and lingering in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones like you were something fragile and precious. "See you later," he'd said, and it hadn't sounded like a request. It had sounded like a promise.

You'd walked away from him with your heart pounding and your stomach in knots, and you'd spent all of Sunday afternoon telling yourself it was fine, it was nothing, it was just breakfast. People have breakfast. People who fuck each other regularly can absolutely have breakfast without it meaning anything.

Except you'd let him wash your hair. Except he'd held your hand the whole walk there and the whole walk back. Except you'd sat there with pastry flakes on your fingers and coffee on your breath and you'd felt a door crack open inside you, the one you'd spent years reinforcing to be locked permanently.

Monday can wait, you'd told yourself on Sunday evening, curled up in bed that still smelled like him. Monday can wait.

Monday, as it turns out, has other plans.

Your first class is Cognitive Psych at nine, and you barely make it on time, sliding into your usual seat near the back with your hair still damp from a rushed shower and your coffee clutched like a lifeline. The lecture hall is one of those big, tiered rooms with creaky seats and inadequate heating, and Professor Hitcher is already droning on about working memory models by the time you get your notebook out. You try to focus with all your might. But your brain keeps drifting back to Sunday morning—the warmth of Seungcheol's hand around yours, the way he'd laughed with his whole chest when you'd gotten powdered sugar on your nose, the way he'd wiped it off with the pad of his thumb and then licked the sugar off his own skin without breaking eye contact.

You're so lost in the memory that you almost miss the notification that pops up on your laptop screen. A Discord message, from the unofficial uni server you're in just like the rest of the university because everyone is hungry for juicy gossip.

so apparently someone saw that camgirl with choi seungcheol at that cafe yesterday morning?? like holding hands and everything??

Your stomach drops.

You close the notification and try to pretend you didn't see it, but the damage is already done. Your phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. By the time the lecture ends, you've got seven messages across three different platforms, all variations on the same theme: Is it true??? Are you and Seungcheol actually DATING???

You don't answer any of them. You shove your laptop into your bag and power-walk out of the lecture hall, head down, earbuds in, dodging the curious glances of the girls who sit two rows ahead of you and always whisper when you walk past.

It's not that you're surprised, exactly. Campus gossip moves at the speed of light, and you've always been a favourite topic. The girl who fucks like a man. The girl who doesn't catch feelings. The girl who's slept with half the rugby team and still walks around with her head held high like she hasn't noticed—or doesn't care—that most of the women on campus treat her like a contagion. You're a fascinating specimen to them. A cautionary tale and a fantasy and a threat all rolled into one.

You've heard the whispers before. You've perfected the art of ignoring them.

But this time it's different. This is Seungcheol, and that makes it feel personal in a way you can't afford it to be.

The quad is bustling when you cross it, students streaming between buildings in that mid-morning rush that always feels vaguely chaotic. You keep your head down, but you can still feel the looks—some curious, some hostile, some just... speculative. A girl from one of your classes catches your eye and immediately looks away, her mouth tightening. Two cheerleaders huddle near the fountain, and one of them elbows the other as you pass, her voice carrying just enough for you to catch: "...seriously, what does he see in her?"

Your jaw tightens. You don't break stride.

This is the part they never understand. The part you've stopped trying to explain. You didn't set out to be the campus villain, didn't wake up one day and decide to become the girl that other girls warned their boyfriends about. You just... refused to be ashamed. Refused to apologise for wanting what you wanted, for taking what was offered, for enjoying sex the way men have always been allowed to enjoy it without consequence. And somewhere along the way, that refusal had calcified into a reputation, and the reputation had calcified into a persona, and now you're the slut, the threat, the cautionary tale—and it's easier to lean into it than to fight it. Easier to pretend you don't care than to admit that sometimes the isolation gnaws at you like hunger.

You'd had friends, once. Back in first year, before everything. Girls who'd invited you to study groups and coffee dates and nights out, who'd shared their make up with you and borrowed your clothes and told you their secrets. But one by one, they'd drifted away. Sometimes it was gradual—a slow cooling, texts left on read, invitations that stopped coming. Sometimes it was abrupt: a boyfriend who'd looked at you a little too long, a rumour that he'd been seen talking to you at a party, an accusation you hadn't even known you were defending yourself against.

The thing is, you've never fucked a taken man. Never. It's a line you've drawn in permanent marker, a rule you've never even been tempted to break. But it doesn't matter. The possibility is enough. The idea of you is enough. You're the stress test for every relationship on campus, and most women decide it's easier to cut you out than to trust their partners not to fail or to blame them for failing.

So you'd built something else. Something stranger and lonelier and, in its own weird way, functional. A network of men who knew the rules and respected them, who didn't ask for more than you were willing to give. Your roster. It was supposed to be simple. Transactional. Safe.

Only two of them had ever slipped past those defences and become something else entirely.

You find Wonwoo and Minghao in the library exactly where they always are at this time on a Monday—the big table in the south corner, near the windows, with a clear sightline to the door that Wonwoo insists helps him concentrate and Minghao insists is just his control issues manifesting. Wonwoo is already buried in a book, his glasses perched on his nose and his posture so perfect it makes your spine ache in sympathy. Minghao is sprawled in the chair beside him, scrolling through his phone with the elegant disinterest that only he can pull off, his silver earrings catching the light every time he moves.

They look up in unison when you approach, and their expressions shift into something that makes you immediately suspicious. It is especially infuriating that Wonwoo haven't even lifted his eyes from the book.

"No," you say, dropping your bag onto the table and slumping into the chair across from them. "Whatever you're about to say, no."

"We haven't said anything," Minghao points out, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.

"You're making a face."

"I'm not making a face."

"You're absolutely making a face," Wonwoo confirms while still reading. "But to be fair, you're also making a face. It's the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a Seungcheol face."

"You definitely do," Minghao says, setting down his phone and leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand. You scowl but his eyes are sharp and knowing, dark and amused in a way that makes you want to squirm. "It's very specific. Equal parts horny and emotionally constipated. You've been wearing it since you walked in."

"I hate you both."

"You love us," Wonwoo says, and finally closes his book, marking his page with one of those little sticky tabs he carries in his bag. "We're the only ones who'll study with you and not try to get in your pants."

"Jihoon studies with me."

"Jihoon studies with you and then gets in your pants."

"That's—" You pause, and your mouth twitches despite yourself. "Fair, actually."

Minghao laughs—his laugh is a low, elegant sound that rings soothingly in the space between you three—and leans back in his chair. The late afternoon sun slants through the window behind him, catching the sharp angles of his face, the delicate line of his collarbones where his shirt hangs open. He's beautiful, objectively speaking—all fine bone structure and dancer's grace—and you'd tried to sleep with him a few times, early on, before you'd figured out that he was looking for something different from what you were offering. It had been good, because sex with Minghao is always good, but it had also been... quiet. Tender in a way that made your skin itch. Afterwards, he'd looked at you with those perceptive eyes and said, "You don't actually want this from me, do you?" and you'd been so startled by the accuracy of it that you'd laughed and felt a heavy rock drop off your shoulders.

Wonwoo had been similar. A single night, a year and a half ago, after a party where you'd both drunk too much and talked too little. You'd woken up in his bed with a pounding headache and a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder, a glass of water pressed into your palm, and a soft voice saying, "We don't have to do this again. But I'd still like to be your friend, if you want that."

You'd cried in front of him. Right in his bed, tears leaking down your cheeks before you could stop them, because he'd offered friendship without conditions and you'd realised, in that moment, how desperately starved for it you were. That happened exactly around the period of time when all your girl friends peaked in massively withdrawing and the new ones already heard too much to take you in without prejudice.

They've been your people ever since. The only two who see past the persona to the person underneath. The only two who call you on your bullshit and save you a seat at the library and don't look at you like you're either a threat or a conquest.

Which is why you know, with a sinking certainty, that they're not going to let this Seungcheol thing go.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to sink a ship. "Sunday morning."

Your stomach tightens. "What about it?"

"Interesting choice of cafe," Wonwoo observes, his voice dry as old paper. "Very public. Very... date-appropriate."

"It wasn't a date."

"Right." Minghao nods sagely. "You just happened to be holding hands with Choi Seungcheol over croissants at ten in the morning on a Sunday. So platonic and casual."

"We were hungry." You can hear how defensive you sound, and you hate it. "We'd just—we'd been at the party the night before, we crashed at mine, and in the morning we were hungry. It's not a big deal."

"The party where he dragged you away from Mingyu like a caveman claiming his territory," Wonwoo says, still in that same mild, unbothered tone. "I saw that, by the way. Everyone saw that. Mingyu complained about it for ten minutes."

"Mingyu's fine."

"Mingyu's very fine," Minghao agrees. "But that's not really the point. The point is that you went from caveman-territory-claiming to hand-holding-breakfast in less than twelve hours, and you're sitting here telling us it's nothing."

"It is nothing." You grab your notebook out of your bag with more force than necessary, flipping it open to a random page. "It's just sex. It's always been just sex. Breakfast doesn't change that."

"Doesn't it?" Minghao's voice is softer now, less teasing. He's looking at you with something that might be concern, and that's so much worse than the mockery. "Because you let him stay the night. You let him take you to breakfast. You held his hand in public, where anyone could see. Those are not things you do with casual hookups. Those are things you do with someone you're—"

"Don't," you warn, your voice coming out louder sharper than you intended. "Don't say it."

Wonwoo and Minghao exchange a glance—one of those silent, loaded looks they've perfected over years of friendship—and you want to throw your highlighters at both of them.

"Look," Wonwoo says, gentler, more careful. "We're not trying to push. You know we're not. But we've been watching you circle this thing with Seungcheol for almost a year now, and you've never looked at anyone the way you look at him. Not even close."

You stare down at your notebook. Your pen has left a small ink blot on the corner of the page, bleeding outward.

"He's different," you admit in a whisper, and the words feel like pulling teeth raw. "I don't know why. I don't know what it is. But he just... he gets under my skin. And I hate it. I hate how much I—" You cut yourself off abruptly, swallow hard. "I hate how much I think about him when he's not there. I hate that I keep breaking my own rules for him without even meaning to. I hate that the idea of him with someone else makes me feel like I'm going to crawl out of my own body."

There's a pause. The library hums around you—the distant click of keyboards, the rustle of pages turning, someone coughing softly a few aisles over.

"That sounds a lot like feelings," Minghao says, but his voice is kind.

"It's terrifying," you murmur.

Wonwoo reaches across the table and puts his hand over yours. His fingers are cool and dry, and the simple, platonic comfort of the gesture makes your throat ache.

"You're allowed to be scared," he says. "You're allowed to want things, too. They're not mutually exclusive."

You don't have an answer to that. So you just sit there, your hand under Wonwoo's, your chest full of something too big to name, and let yourself be scared.

Minghao breaks the silence first, his voice light but measured. "For what it's worth, I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. I've known him for a while—we were in that ethics seminar together last semester, remember?—and he's not the type. He's disgustingly earnest, actually. It's a little off-putting."

You snort despite yourself, a wet, half-laughing sound. "Earnest?"

"Painfully so. He talked about responsibility and integrity for fifteen minutes straight during one discussion and the professor had to cut him off. It was very intense. Very captain-of-the-rugby-team energy."

"He scored two tries on Saturday," Wonwoo adds, withdrawing his hand and picking his book back up like the conversation hasn't just peeled back several layers of your emotional skin. "I don't know anything about rugby, but apparently that's impressive. Soonyoung mentioned it at least four times."

"Soonyoung mentions everything at least four times."

"True."

You look between them—Wonwoo with his glasses and his steady presence, Minghao with his sharp eyes and sharper wit—and something in your chest unclenches, just a little. This is what you'd been missing, in those days when your friends had peeled away one by one. This easy, uncomplicated affection. This space where you don't have to perform, don't have to pretend, don't have to be the persona you've built like armour around yourself.

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"For what?" Minghao asks, eyebrows raising.

"For not—" You gesture vaguely. "For not treating me like I'm contagious."

Something flickers across Minghao's expression, there and gone. "Yeah, well. We've seen how people treat you. It's bullshit."

"It's not entirely unearned," you admit. "I know what my reputation is."

"Your reputation," Wonwoo says glued to his book once more, "is largely the result of a double standard that neither me nor Hao subscribe to. You're a woman who enjoys the healthy pleasures of life and refuses to apologise for it. That doesn't make you dangerous. It makes you honest and real. The fact that most people can't handle that says more about them and the society we live in than it does about you."

You stare at him. He turns a page.

"That's—" You blink rapidly, your eyes suddenly stinging.

"It's just logic," he interferes, but the tips of his ears have gone slightly pink.

Minghao is watching you with something soft and knowing in his eyes. "You've got good people around you no matter what type of relationship you have with them," he says. "Seungcheol. Soonyoung. Jihoon. Even Mingyu, in his own himbo way. The others. You built something that works for you, and you found people who respect it. That's more than most people manage."

"It's not exactly traditional."

"Since when have you ever wanted to be traditional?"

You don't have an answer for that. You've never wanted to be traditional. Okay, at least not since you figured out the world assigned you a role and it wasn't what you wanted for yourself. Ever since then you've never wanted to be the girl who gets the picture-perfect white picket fence and the monogamous fairytale and the happily ever after (even though you don't really mind that last one, who does in their right mind?). You've just wanted to be free. To want what you want without shame, to take pleasure where you find it, to owe nothing to anyone except what you choose to give.

But Seungcheol—Seungcheol makes you want things you never thought you'd want again willingly. Makes you dream about Sunday mornings and hand-holding and someone to come home to. Makes you wonder if maybe the fairytale isn't the trap you always thought it was. Maybe it's just... a story. A story you get to write yourself, in your own way, with whoever you choose.

The thought is so terrifying you have to physically shake your head to dislodge it.

"Okay," you say, and your voice comes out steady while you feel everything tremble inside. "Enough feelings. I have a cognitive psych exam on Friday and I've retained approximately nothing from this morning's lecture because I was too busy dodging stares and whispers about my alleged date."

"Alleged," Minghao repeats, arching an eyebrow, his tone so unimpressed and dry you suddenly want to take a sip of water.

"Alleged."

"Sure." He pulls his notes toward him, but his smile is knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You're about to fire back with something defensive once again when Wonwoo, who apparently got disracted to watch you and Minghao talk, pushes his glasses up his nose and opens his book again. "Start with Baddeley's working memory model," he says, and his voice has returned to its usual dry, academic tone, not without a hint of humor though. He lets you off the hook, even if it's just for now. "Central executive, phonological loop, visuospatial sketchpad. You're welcome."

You flip him off, but you're smiling, and when you finally bend your head over your notes and start to actually study, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest has loosened into something almost bearable.

Monday is still Monday. The whispers are still out there, spreading like ripples in a pond, and you know you're going to have to face them eventually. You're going to have to figure out what you're doing with Seungcheol, what you want, what you're willing to risk.

But first, the cognitive psych exam.

The messages from Seungcheol stop on Wednesday.

There is no fight or a slip up you can point to. They just... stop. Tuesday morning you'd woken up to a photo of a very disgruntled pigeon on the quad with the caption this is me when you're not around, and you'd laughed into your pillow, kicking your feet under the blanket, the sound of your giggle bright and unguarded in the quiet of your apartment. You'd typed back tragic, and he'd sent a string of crying emojis, and that had been that. Wednesday you'd sent him something about a professor with an absurd combover, and he'd replied LMAO six hours later, and you'd stared at those four letters for longer than you'd ever admit, trying not to admit to the growing unease twisting your stomach in knots as you kept waiting for the follow up that never came. Thursday was radio silence. By Friday morning you've stopped checking your phone every ten minutes, and the disappointment has settled into something dull and familiar—a low-grade ache at the base of your sternum, easy to ignore if you don't breathe too deep.

You expected it when you allowed yourself the weakness of letting him in closer than you usually have. You knew what you were signing up for.

You want to laugh, remembering Hao's words from Monday. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. Disgustingly earnest, he'd said. Painfully so. You'd let yourself believe it, just a little. You'd let yourself unclench, open a crack more, imagine that maybe this time it could be different. Even though this is exactly how almost every week went about for the past several months. Only this time you allowed yourself this weakness. And now you're paying for it.

Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.

Friday afternoon finds you walking across campus toward the athletic complex, your bag slung over one shoulder and a half-formed plan in your head. Your subscribers are getting restless—the comments on your last video with Seungcheol have become something of a monument to collective thirst, hundreds of messages demanding Daddy's return, speculating about your relationship, leaving increasingly unhinged declarations of devotion. You'd posted a short clip from your archives on Tuesday night to tide them over—Seungcheol's face out of frame as he fucked you from behind with you in a puppy pose, just the sound of his grunts and the sight of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt—but that kind of content has a shelf life, and you're running out of it. You need fresh material to stock up on. You need him.

Or you did. Before he stopped texting. Before the silence stretched longer and longer.

Now you just need to ask, because asking is practical, because content is content and business is business, and you're not going to let whatever this is—this hurt, this disappointment, this thing you refuse to give name to—interfere with your personal little empire you've built. If he says yes, you'll film. If he says no, you'll figure something else out. Simple and transactional. Exactly the way it's supposed to be.

The rugby pitch is at the far end of the athletic complex, and practice must have just ended because there's a stream of players heading toward the locker rooms, sweaty and grass-stained and loud with the particular brand of masculine energy that comes from an hour of what you sincerely consider to be just sanctioned violence. You scan the crowd for Seungcheol's familiar bulk, his captain's armband, the way he carries himself with that easy authority that makes people unconsciously move out of his way.

You don't see him on the pitch. You don't see him near the benches.

You do see him, eventually, around the side of the building near the parking lot, pressed up against the brick wall with a girl's legs wrapped around his waist.

The first thing you register is his hands. One is tangled in her ponytail—blonde, glossy, the kind of sleek high ponytail that cheerleaders favor—playing with the hair-tie and the other is halfway up her skirt, fingers dimpling the bare skin of her thigh, and even from twenty meters away you can see the way his hips are grinding against her, the way she's moaning into his mouth, the way his tongue is so far down her throat it's a public indecency charge waiting to happen.

The second thing you register is that you can't breathe and your heart may have stopped beating entirely.

It's not like a punch. A punch would be quick, clean, a sharp burst of pain that fades. This is something else—something that creeps in like cold water, starting at your crown and sliding down your spine and pooling in your stomach until you're sick with it. Your vision goes dark at the edges. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to sting. And somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the hurt, a hot and ugly rage ignites in your chest like a match struck against a rough surface.

You think about Minghao's words again. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

Fucking hilarious.

You should walk away. That's what a rational person would do—turn around, go home, nurse your wounds in private, and compose a very firm and very unbothered text about how you won't be needing his services anymore, thank you very much. You should be the bigger person. You should be unbothered, icy, the version of yourself that doesn't care about anyone or anything.

But you've never been rational when it comes to him. And you've never been good at walking away.

So instead, you start walking toward them.

Your footsteps are measured, unhurried, audible against the pavement with a rhythm that announces your approach before your voice does. The girl notices you first—her eyes flutter open, widen, and she makes a muffled sound against Seungcheol's mouth that's more surprise than pleasure. She pulls back, her face flushed and her lip gloss thoroughly ruined, and you allow yourself the brief satisfaction of watching her expression shift from dazed to confused to something that looks a lot like apprehension.

She's young, you realize. A first-year, probably. You can tell by the freshness of her face, the way it's still a little round and naive, the way she still has that deer-in-headlights look that upperclassmen lose somewhere around the middle of second year. She's pretty in a conventional way—big eyes, pouty lips, the kind of body that looks good in a cheerleading uniform—and she's looking at you like she's not sure whether to be scared or defiant.

Seungcheol, still oblivious, has his face buried in her neck. "Mm, don't stop," he mutters, and his voice is rough with arousal, the same voice he uses with you, the same voice that's murmured good girl and let me take care of you and missed you against your skin in the dark.

The sound of it makes your stomach lurch.

"Busy, are we?" you say, and your voice comes out light, almost pleasant, with just the faintest edge of something sharp and deadly beneath it.

Seungcheol's head snaps up so fast you you're surprised he doesn't break his neck.

The look on his face would be almost comical under different circumstances—shock, then recognition, then something that flickers dangerously close to guilt before it's smothered by a mask of composure. He pulls his hand out from under the girl's skirt so fast it's like he's been burned, and the girl makes a small, confused noise, her legs sliding down from around his waist until her feet touch the ground.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is strained. "Didn't—didn't know you were coming by."

"Obviously." You let your gaze slide from his face to the girl and back again, unhurried, assessing. Then you give the girl a once-over—deliberate, slow, the kind of look that makes people feel like they're being measured and found wanting. She shrinks back a little, her hand coming up to wipe at her smeared mouth, and you feel a savage little spike of satisfaction at how easily she folds. "So. This is who you've been busy with all week?"

Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "It's not—"

"Relax, Cheol." You wave a hand, the picture of breezy indifference. "I'm not here to cause a scene. I just came to ask you a question." You pause, letting the silence stretch, watching the muscle in his jaw jump the way it always does when he's uncomfortable and tense. "But I can see you're... occupied."

The girl looks between the two of you, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?" she asks, and her voice is higher than you expected, a little breathy. She's looking at Seungcheol with a proprietary tilt to her head that makes your molars grind together.

"No one important," you say before Seungcheol can answer, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost satisfying. "Just a friend. We do some work together." You let the word work hang in the air, loaded with innuendo, and the girl's eyes narrow slightly. Adorable.

"I was going to ask if you were free to film this weekend," you continue, directing your words at Seungcheol with the kind of casual professionalism you'd probably use with a business associate if you had any business to begin with. "My subscribers are getting antsy. They miss seeing you. The comments on our last video are frankly obscene." You smile, a sharp little curve of your lips that doesn't reach your eyes. "But I can see your schedule's pretty full."

Seungcheol opens his mouth, closes it. His hands are hanging awkwardly at his sides now, and he looks like a man who's been caught with his pants down—which, metaphorically speaking, he has. "I can—we can talk about this later."

"Oh, don't worry about it." You shrug, another gesture deliberately careless. "I'll find someone else. Mingyu's been asking to be in a video for ages, you know that. He's got the stamina for it… and the subscribers love a fresh face. Maybe it's time I give him what he's been wanting."

Something in Seungcheol's expression goes rigid. His eyes darken, and you can see the possessive thing that lives inside him stirring, the territorial caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu's lap at the party and pressed you against a door and told you you were his. Perfect. Let him choke on it.

"Mingyu," he repeats, flat.

"Yeah." You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "He's got a great body. Nice cock, too. The viewers would eat him up." You let your gaze drift back to the cheerleader, who's now standing there with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out why this random girl is talking to the guy she was just making out with about another guy's cock. You can't help a humourless smirk creeping in at the thought. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to... this." You gesture vaguely between them. "Enjoy your freshman, Cheol. Hope she's worth the crick in your neck."

The girl's mouth drops open indignantly. "Excuse me—"

"Have a good weekend," you say, and your smile is all teeth. Then you turn on your heel and walk away through the parking lot, your boots clicking against the pavement, your back straight, your head held high.

You don't look back. You don't let yourself. But you can feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning a hole between your shoulder blades, and you hope—viciously, childishly—that his erection has completely wilted and he's going to spend the rest of the evening trying to explain to a confused freshman why some random girl just talked to him about filming sex content.

You hope she asks questions he can't answer. You hope she realizes she's just a stand-in, a placeholder, a warm body he grabbed because he apparently thought you weren't available and he couldn't handle the silence any more than you could. You hope he goes home alone and jerks off to the memory of your mouth on his cock and feels like absolute shit about it.

But mostly, you hope the sick, hollow feeling in your stomach goes away before you have to be around other people.

It doesn't.

By the time you get back to your apartment, the triumph of your little performance has curdled into something darker. The rage is still there, simmering beneath your skin, but underneath it is hurt—raw and throbbing and so much bigger than you want it to be. You slam the door behind you, drop your bag on the floor, and stand in the middle of your living room with your hands shaking and your chest heaving and your eyes stinging with tears you refuse to let fall.

This is why you don't do feelings. This is exactly why. Feelings make you stupid and vulnerable and they give people the power to hurt you, and Seungcheol had promised—he'd fucking promised, hadn't he? I'm not going anywhere. I've got you. Liar. They're all liars in the end when you give them the upper hand.

You pull out your phone and scroll to your contacts with hands that are still trembling. You don't let yourself think. You just press the call button.

Soonyoung picks up on the second ring. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, and his voice is warm and easy, the way it always is. "What's up?"

"You free right now?"

"For you? Always." There's a pause, and then his voice shifts, dropping into something lower, more interested. "What do you need?"

"Bring Jihoon."

Another pause, longer this time. "Both of us?"

"Both of you. My place. Thirty minutes."

He doesn't ask if you're okay, and you're grateful for it. Soonyoung has always been good at reading a room, good at knowing when to push and when to let things lie. He just says, "We'll be there," and hangs up.

You toss your phone onto the couch and start undressing.

By the time they arrive, you've stripped down to a matching set of dark red lingerie—sheer lace that frames your tits nicely and a thong that barely covers anything—and you've lit a quite few candles in your bedroom and put on music, something low and thrumming with bass. You've also poured yourself a drink and you've downed half of it before the knock comes.

You open the door, and Soonyoung's eyes go dark the second he sees you. "Fuck, bunny. You look—"

"I know," you say, and pull him inside by the front of his shirt.

Jihoon is right behind him, quieter, his dark eyes sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle as his eyebrows climb up in surprise. You barely get the door closed before Soonyoung's mouth is on your neck and Jihoon's hands are on your hips, sandwiching you between two warm, eager bodies.

"Someone's worked up," Jihoon murmurs against your shoulder, his voice low and knowing. "Rough week?"

"Don't want to talk." You turn your head and catch his mouth with yours, kissing him hard enough to bruise. "Just want to get fucked. Can you do that for me?"

"We can do that. We can do anything you want us to," Soonyoung says, and his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong and finding your clit with practiced accuracy. You gasp into Jihoon's mouth, your hips bucking forward. "Fuck, she's getting wet already."

"Always so eager for us," Jihoon agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "That's what we love about you, gorgeous. No games. Just tell us what you need."

"Need both of you. Need to not think. Need to feel so full I can't breathe."

They exchange a glance over your shoulder—something quick and unreadable—and then Soonyoung is spinning you around and walking you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving your neck, his hands working at the clasp of your bra. Jihoon follows, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and by the time your back hits the mattress, all three of you are naked and the air is thick with the heat of skin and the sharp, musky scent of arousal.

Soonyoung settles between your thighs first, draping your legs over his shoulders and looking down at your cunt with something approaching reverence. "Prettiest pussy," he purrs, running a finger through your folds and watching the way you glisten in the candle- and lamplight. "Look at how wet you are, bunny. This all for us?"

"Yes," you gasp. "All for you."

It's not a lie. It's just not the whole truth. But that's not what tonight is about.

Soonyoung lowers his mouth to your soft pussy, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your back arching off the mattress, and then Jihoon is straddling your chest, his cock thick and flushed and already leaking, tapping against your lips.

"Open up," he says, and his voice is rough but not unkind. "Want to feel that pretty throat."

You open your mouth and take him in.

The stretch is immediate and familiar, your jaw adjusting to his girth as he slides past your lips and over your tongue. You breathe through your nose and relax your throat the way you've learned to do, and he groans, his hips twitching forward just enough to push another inch deeper.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth so fucking good. So wet. So warm."

You can't answer—your throat is too full—but you moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Below you, Soonyoung is eating you out like he's starving, going all ravenous, his tongue plunging into your hole and then flicking up to your clit, alternating between broad, flat licks and sharp, targeted flicks that make your hips jerk against his face. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pulses his tongue against it, and the dual sensation of his mouth on your cunt and Jihoon's cock in your throat is so overwhelming that your brain starts to go hazy at the edges.

"There we go," Jihoon murmurs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. "There's that glassy look. That's what we want, isn't it? No thoughts. Just our cocks. Just how good we make you feel."

You hum around him, and he groans.

"Gonna fuck your throat now," he warns. "Tap my thigh if it's too much."

He doesn't wait for a response. His fingers thread into your hair, and then he's thrusting into your mouth in deep, steady strokes, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every push. You gag around him, spit pooling and spilling from the corners of your mouth, and he groans like it's the hottest thing he's ever observed.

"Fuck, yes. Take it. Take all of it. Such a good little cocksucker."

Soonyoung pulls his mouth off your cunt just long enough to say, "She's dripping, Jihoon. Absolutely fucking soaked. You should see her pussy—it's clenching around nothing. She needs to be filled."

"Then fill her," Jihoon grunts, still fucking your mouth. "She's got three holes for a reason."

Soonyoung doesn't need to be told twice. He gets up to sit on his knees and positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He's gets himself slick with your wetness and his own spit, and when he pushes in, the stretch is so perfect it makes you keen around Jihoon's cock even with your mouth full.

"Fuuuuck," Soonyoung groans, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. "So tight. So fucking tight, bunny. This cunt was made for us."

He starts to move, and the rhythm is brutal-hard, fast strokes that drive the air from your lungs and make your tits bounce with every impact. Jihoon is still fucking your throat, and they find a tempo together, one thrusting into your cunt while the other pulls out of your mouth, so there's never a moment when you're not full. The wet, obscene sounds of your body fill the room—the slick squelch of your pussy getting pounded, the wet gagging of your throat, the sharp slap of skin against skin.

Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and runs down your cheeks. Your mascara is definitely ruined. Your cunt is making sounds that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to feel embarrassment, but you don't—you've gone somewhere else entirely, somewhere where the only things that exist are the two cocks using your body and the music still thrumming through the apartment and the desperate, animal need to be used until you can't think anymore.

"Switch," Jihoon says abruptly, pulling out of your mouth. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and before you can catch your breath, they're maneuvering you like a doll—Soonyoung rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him, Jihoon positioning himself behind you.

"Both holes," Soonyoung says, looking up at you with eyes that are practically black. "Think you can take us both, bunny? Think you can take my cock in that pretty cunt and Jihoon's in that tight little ass?"

"Yes," you gasp, scrambling with disoriented hands to present your tight puckered hole. "Yes, fuck, please—"

"Please what?" Jihoon's voice is rough in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, the hard length of his cock sliding between your ass cheeks. "Use your words, gorgeous. Tell us what you want."

"Want both of you. Want to be stuffed. Want to be so full I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember my own fucking name—"

"Good girl," Soonyoung growls, and pulls you down onto his cock.

The stretch is exquisite—deeper than before, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white and fuzzy. You're still adjusting to him when you feel Jihoon's fingers at your other entrance, slick with lube you didn't even see him grab from your nightstand drawer—probably too busy processing Soonyoung's dick impaling you,—working you open with careful, practiced pressure. One finger, then two, stretching your tight ring of muscle until you're gasping and pushing back against his hand.

"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is strained from watching you take his fingers while your pussy is already stretched on another cock.

"Ready."

He lines himself up with your anus and pushes in.

The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is indescribable—a fullness so complete it borders on pain but it's exactly what you wished for, two thick cocks separated by only a thin wall of muscle, moving inside you in counterpoint. You're spilling nonsence, you realize, strings of profanity and praise and broken moans falling from your lips. "Fuck, fuck, so full, so good, both of you, ah—please don't stop, don't ever stop—"

"Never gonna stop," Soonyoung grunts, thrusting up into you. "Gonna fuck this cunt forever. Gonna fill you up so good, bunny, gonna pump you so full of cum it's dripping out of you."

"Want that," you gasp. "Want your cum. Want both of you to cum inside me—"

"Fuck," Jihoon grits out, and starts moving faster, his hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy slaps. Soonyoung matches his pace, and they're both pounding into you now, two cocks filling you completely, and your orgasm is building at the base of your spine like a scorching hot tidal wave, gathering force, unstoppable.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Gonna come, please, please let me come—"

"Come for us, bunny," Soonyoung grunts, and reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers. "Come on our cocks. Show us how good we make you feel."

You shatter.

The orgasm is violent—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on Soonyoung's cock and your ass clenching around Jihoon's in spasms so intense you can't breathe, can't see, can't do anything except scream yourself hoarse as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you exactly the way you wished it would.

They fuck you through it, relentless, and then Jihoon is groaning and burying himself deep, his cock pulsing as he pumps his load into your ass—hot and thick, filling you up, and the sensation of it tips you into another orgasm, smaller but no less devastating. Soonyoung follows a moment later, his hips snapping up into you as he comes with a guttural roar, his cum flooding your pussy in thick, hot spurts that you can feel painting your walls.

For a long moment, none of you move. You're sandwiched between them, still impaled on both cocks, your body trembling with aftershocks, your holes dripping with their cum. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and ruined makeup, and your throat is raw, and your jaw aches, and you feel...

Empty.

The moment your mind clears enough for a thought this realization hits you like a cold wave. You're lying there, filled in every possible way, soaked in sweat and cum and spit, and you feel absolutely, utterly hollow. Worse than before. Worse than when you saw him with that cheerleader, worse than when the messages stopped, worse than anything you've felt in a very long time.

Because it didn't work. None of it worked. Even with two cocks inside you, even with two sets of hands on your body, even with two voices praising you and two loads of cum warming you from the inside—you couldn't truly stop thinking about him. About Seungcheol. About the way his eyes had gone dark and possessive when you'd mentioned Mingyu. About the way he'd looked at you like you were the only person in the room at the party. About the way he washed your hair on Sunday morning while taking a shower with you. Everything is just a broken record in your head, spinning on repeat.

You blink, and a tear slides down your temple and into your hair. It startles you and you almost forget to take a breath.

"Hey," Soonyoung says, and his voice is soft now, post-coital and gentle. He reaches up and wipes the tear away with his thumb. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. That's not what you invited them for.

They pull out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of cum sliding down your thighs. Jihoon disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth, and he cleans you up with the same quiet efficiency he's always had about him, touch careful, eyes unreadable.

"We'll head out," he says when he's done, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Unless you want us to stay."

"No," you say, too quickly. And then reach for them to compensate for it. Both take your hands, hold you with reassuring touches. "No, I'm good. Thank you. Both of you."

Soonyoung looks at you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. Then he nods and pulls on his clothes. "Text us if you need anything, bunny."

"Will do."

They leave, and the door clicks shut behind them, and you're alone.

The apartment is suddenly too quiet. The pretty candles have burned down to stubs, and the music has stopped somewhere along the way, and the only sounds are your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. You lie there in your bed, naked and sore and sticky with the remnants of someone else's pleasure, and you stare at the ceiling and you try very, very hard not to cry.

It doesn't work.

The tears come hot and fast, leaking from the corners of your eyes and dripping into your hair, and you don't even have the energy to wipe them away. You just lie there and let them fall, let the sobs build in your chest until they're shaking your whole body, ugly and uncontrollable and nothing like the poised, unbothered persona you've spent three years perfecting.

You think about Sunday morning. The cafe. His hand around yours. The way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were something precious.

You think about his messages—the pigeon, the crying emojis, the mostly you—and the way they'd dried up like a river in a drought, leaving nothing behind but silence.

You think about his hands on that cheerleader, his mouth on her neck, and the way it had felt like being gutted alive.

You think about Minghao's words. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

You were right to be scared. You were right to keep your distance. You were right to build those walls, to keep everyone at arm's length, to never let anyone close enough to leave a mark.

Because look at what just happened. You let him in—just a crack, just a tiny crack—and now you're bleeding.

You curl onto your side and press your face into the pillow that still smells faintly of his shampoo, and you let yourself be pathetic, just for tonight. Tomorrow you'll put the persona back on. Tomorrow you'll be the campus slut, the heartbreaker, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care. Tomorrow you'll film content with Mingyu or Soonyoung or whoever the fuck you want, and you'll moan and fuck and smile for the camera and for the whole world around, and you'll pretend that Seungcheol is just another name on your roster. The way he's supposed to be.

But tonight, you're just a girl with a broken heart she didn't even think she had anymore, crying into a pillow that still smells faintly like the boy who broke it.

The text from Seungcheol comes maybe an hour after you've finished crying, maybe two. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand while you're still curled in bed, still naked, still sticky with the cooling remnants of Soonyoung and Jihoon's cum drying on your thighs. You're too weak to force yourself into shower and for once in a lifetime you can't bring yourself to care.

can we talk?

You stare at the screen until it goes dark. Your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw and somewhere deep in your chest, something that was already cracked splits a little further.

You don't answer.

The second text comes Saturday morning.

i know you're pissed. i get it. just let me explain.

You're sitting at your kitchen counter, nursing a coffee that's gone cold, wearing an old t-shirt finally having taken the shower that brought you back to feeling human even if just a bit. You read the message three times. The first time, your stomach clenches. The second time, your eyes sting. The third time, something hardens inside you—a callus forming over the wound, protective and necessary.

You type back: Nothing to explain. You're free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. We never said otherwise.

His response is immediate, like he's been waiting by his phone: can we please just talk in person?

Busy this weekend. Maybe another time.

You don't say what you're busy with. You let him imagine it. Let him picture you with Mingyu, with Soonyoung, with anyone else on your roster who isn't him. Petty? Maybe. Cruel? Probably. But the image of his hands on that cheerleader is still burned into the back of your eyelids, and you're not above making him choke on the same thing he fed you. In fact, you are right on that level.

He sends a few more messages over the next couple of days. i miss you. Read, no reply. can i see you? Read, no reply. please, baby. Read, and the baby sends a spike of something hot and sharp through your ribs, but you still don't answer.

By Monday, your responses have settled into a rhythm of sanitised politeness. When he texts how was your weekend, you reply Fine, busy with stuff and nothing more. When he sends thinking about you, you leave it on read for six hours and then respond with Hope practice is going well like he's a colleague you vaguely tolerate. The messages are so neutral and so utterly bloodless—exactly the way they used to be, back before he'd carved out a space inside you that you didn't know you'd given him. Back when he was just another name on a list, just another warm body, just another cock to chase your pleasure with and send on his way. Actually, scratch that! Back then you had it in you to be sincerely friendly and flirty, to be pleasant. Now it's just hollow.

You're trying to go back to that easiness. You're trying so fucking hard.

It's not working.

The thing nobody tells you about letting someone in is that once they're in, you can't just evict them without causing a deep wound on your heart. They leave things behind—memories, habits, reminders. You catch yourself reaching for your phone to send him a stupid meme and then remembering. You catch yourself thinking Seungcheol would laugh at this and then remembering. You catch yourself waking up in the middle of the night with your hand stretched out toward the empty side of the bed, and the cold sheets under your palm feel like a rebuke.

But you don't text him when you get the urge. You don't call even when you really want to. You don't let yourself crack, because cracking is what got you here in the first place, bleeding out from a wound you'd handed him the knife to make.

Instead, you work.

Tuesday afternoon finds you in your bedroom with the lighting adjusted and the camera rolling and Mingyu's head between your thighs, his big hands gripping your hips hard enough to dimple the flesh, his tongue working your cunt with enthusiasm so strong it borders on devotional. You're propped up against your pillows, legs draped over his broad shoulders, one hand fisted in his dark hair while the other grips the sheets.

"Fuck, Gyu," you gasp, and your hips roll against his face without your permission. You know he loves that type of evidential validation mixed with verbal. "Your mouth—fuck, your mouth is so good—"

He hums against your clit, pleased, and the vibration sends a bolt of electricity straight up your spine, making you arch. His tongue is thick and relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that cover your entire cunt and sharp flicks against your swollen bud, working it in ways you never thought were possible, and he's got two fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot on your inner wall with insistent accuracy. The wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy and his fingers inside it fill the room—obscene and slurping and squelching and perfect for the camera angled at the foot of the bed.

"Taste so fucking good," he groans, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. His chin is glistening with your wetness, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks up at you through his lashes with those eager puppy eyes that have always made you feel like the center of the universe. "Could eat this cunt forever. Swear to god."

"Don't stop," you whimper, grinding down against his face. "Please yes, more of—yes yes yes, fuck, Gyu, I'm so close—"

He doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and stroking his tongue against it while his fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, and the orgasm hits you in a sudden savage wave that makes your back arch off the mattress and your thighs clamp around his head. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming around his fingers, and he works you through it with gentle laps of his tongue until you're twitching and whimpering and pushing at his forehead with whines and pitiful helpless giggles.

"Fuck," you breathe, chest heaving, shaking with breathless laughs. "Okay. Okay, your turn."

Mingyu grins up at you, his mouth still wet with you, and crawls up your body with the kind of athletic grace that always makes your stomach flip. He's so fucking big—broad shoulders and thick arms and a chest that blocks out the light when he hovers over you—and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and his voice has gone rough with want.

"Want to ride you," you tell him, pushing at his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. "Want to watch your face when you fill me up."

He groans, low and wrecked, his cock twitching against his stomach where it's lying thick and flushed and already leaking. You swing a leg over his hips and position yourself above him, your hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him to your entrance. He's frankly bigger than Seungcheol—not as girthy maybe, but he's longer and still really thick, and that combination makes your jaw and throat ache just looking at it—and when you sink down onto him, the stretch is so intense you have to pause halfway, your breath catching in your throat.

"Easy," Mingyu murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight to support your weight. "Take your time, pretty. Don't hurt yourself."

"I can take it," you say competitively, and push down the rest of the way.

The sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, his head pressing back into the pillow, the tendons in his neck standing out. You brace your hands on his chest—solid muscle and warm skin that looks even hotter with his natural tan—and start to move, a slow grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.

"Hell, fucking hell," he breathes, staring up at you with glazed eyes. "You're so tight. So wet. How are you always so fucking wet?"

"Maybe you just bring it out of me," you say with a sly wink, and pick up the pace.

The rhythm builds quickly—faster, harder, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bedframe beneath you. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and Mingyu reaches up to cup them, thumbs circling your nipples and pinching them between his fingers until they pop out of their hiding. The dual sensation of his cock driving into you and his hands on your chest makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering for just a moment before you find it again.

"Love your curves," he grunts. "Love touching them. You're so soft and pretty, beautiful."

"Gyu—"

"Gonna come," he warns, his hips starting to buck up into you, meeting your rhythm with desperate little thrusts. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you gasp. "Cum inside me. Want to feel it."

Mingyu groans, and then he's surging up, one arm banding around your waist to pull you tight against him as he buries himself deep and comes. His cock pulses inside you so tanglibly it makes you gasp in surprise—you can never get used to that. He's flooding your cunt with hot thick cum, and the sensation of it—the warmth spreading through your belly, the way he's groaning against your shoulder like you've broken him—sends you over the edge for a second time, your cunt clamping down around his shaft and milking him through the aftershocks.

You slump against his chest, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the bruising grip he'd had on your hip a moment ago. His arms are big and warm and they wrap around you so nicely you feel yourself drift away a little.

"Good?" he asks, and there's something soft in his voice.

"Yeah," you say. "Really good."

And it was. It was good. Mingyu is always good—enthusiastic and eager and athletic in ways that leave you with jelly legs. But as you lie there, sweaty and sated and full of his cum, you can't help but notice that the hollow ache in your chest hasn't gone anywhere. It's still there, nestled behind your sternum like a stone, and no amount of orgasms seems to dislodge it.

Mingyu stays for a bit—helps you clean up, raids your fridge and yaps about his sister being a pain in his ass lately, presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves—and you let him, because Mingyu is easy and uncomplicated and he's never once looked at you like he's thinking about keeping you. But after he's gone, the apartment is too quiet yet again, and you find yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over Seungcheol's contact. It's instinct to reach of him at this point. And you're going to have a hell of a time unrooting it.

So you don't text him. You open your filming schedule instead and start filling in slots that were initially all reserved to him and him alone.

Wednesday is Soonyoung. You film a scene with him in the morning—him fucking you over your desk while the natural light streams through the window, his hips slamming against your ass with a rhythm that's part dancer's precision and part animal hunger—and then you save the footage to your hard drive without posting it. You're not sure yet what you're going to do with all this content. You just know you need to keep making it, keep stocking up, keep yourself busy enough that you don't have time to think about anything else.

"You're different today," Soonyoung says afterward, when you're both lying on your bed, cooling down. His head is propped on his hand and he's looking at you with those sharp eyes that always see more than you want them to.

"Different how?"

"I don't know." He reaches out and traces a finger down your arm, light and idle. "Quieter. More... focused."

"I'm always focused during filming, you just don't know because you never filmed with me."

"I see." He pauses, and you can feel the question coming before he asks it. "Is this about Seungcheol?"

Your jaw tightens, you can't keep the defensiveness out of your voice and you can't meet his eyes either. "Why would it be about Seungcheol?"

Soonyoung shrugs, but his gaze is still too knowing. "Word gets around. Jihoon talks to Mingyu who talks to Seungcheol, and Minghao mentioned something about you and Cheol having a thing, and then Cheol showed up to practice on Monday looking like someone kicked his puppy, and now you're filming with me on a Wednesday afternoon instead of him." He ticks the points off on his fingers and you feel increasingly more embarrassed and defensive. "I'm not stupid."

"There's no thing," you say, and your voice comes out flatter than you'd like. You know it gives you away. But with Soonyoung anything can give you away, the guy has that sixth sense on max stats. "We hook up. He hooks up with someone else, I go through my roster like I always did. That's the end of it. Nothing special. I just needed content and he was busy, so I figured I'd remember that I actually have options."

"Mhm." Soonyoung doesn't look convinced. "And how's that working out for you?"

You don't answer. Just huff in irritation and roll onto your side, facing away from him petulantly, and after a moment he sighs and presses a kiss to your shoulder and gets up to leave.

Thursday is Jihoon, quieter and more intense, his dark eyes tracking your every movement as you ride him on the couch, your hands braced on his shoulders and your head thrown back, doing your best angles for the camera. He doesn't talk as much as the others—Jihoon has always been more about action than words—but when he does speak, it's measured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back.

"You're using me," he says, and it's not an accusation. Just an observation.

Your rhythm stutters. "What?"

"Using me. Using Soonyoung. Using Mingyu." His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you back into motion. "You're trying to fuck something out of your system. I get it. Just... be careful, okay? Whatever it is, don't let it eat you alive."

You stare down at him, at his steady gaze and the unexpected gentleness in his voice, and for a moment you want to tell him everything—the breakfast, the cheerleader, the way Seungcheol's messages had stopped and then started again, the way you can't close your eyes without seeing his face. But that's not what Jihoon is here for. That's not the arrangement you have.

So instead you take a mental note to cut this little moment from the footage later and then lean down and kiss him, hard and desperate, and you fuck him until neither of you can think anymore, and when he comes inside you—thick and hot, his groan muffled against your throat—you let the sensation drown out everything else for a few blessed seconds.

Afterwards, you add his footage to the growing folder on your hard drive. You still don't know if you'll post any of it.

Friday morning, you meet Wonwoo and Minghao at the campus coffee shop—it is cramped and small, tucked between the library and the humanities building, with exposed brick interior and stylish mismatched chairs and the constant hiss of the coffee machine. It's early, the sun is still watery and pale through the windows, and you're on your second almond latte by the time they both arrive.

Minghao slides into the seat across from you with that fluid grace that always makes you feel vaguely graceless in comparison. Wonwoo settles beside him, more reserved, setting his coffee down with the careful precision of someone who's never spilled or knocked off a thing in his life.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to fill a novel.

"So," you echo, and take a pointed sip of your latte, aiming for something nonchalant and lazy.

"We heard," Wonwoo says, and his voice is mild but his eyes are sharp behind his glasses. He begins to list off, matching your vibe. "About last week. Soonyoung and Jihoon. Then this Tuesday with Mingyu… and Wednesday with Soonyoung, and Thursday with… Jihoon again, I believe."

"Ah." You set your cup down, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "That."

"Yeah, that." Minghao leans forward, his chin propped on his hand. "Care to tell us what happened? Because last we talked, you were doing the emotional constipation dance about Seungcheol, and now suddenly you're having threesomes like it's second year again."

You shrug, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of brittle. "Nothing to tell. I wanted to film content, Seungcheol was busy, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon instead. And Mingyu, he wanted to be in one of my videos for a long time now anyway. It's not a big deal."

"Seungcheol was busy," Wonwoo repeats, and his tone is dryer than the Sahara.

"Apparently."

"Busy with what?"

"I don't know, Wonwoo. I didn't ask." You pick up your almond milk latte again, more for something to do with your hands than because you actually want more caffeine. "Look, it doesn't matter. The point is that I remembered I have options. I've got a whole roster of people who are more than willing to help me out, and I don't need to wait around for one guy to make time for me. That's the whole point of the roster. That's literally why I built it."

Minghao and Wonwoo exchange a glance—another one of those silent, loaded looks that you've come to recognise as their wordless way of saying she's full of shit. You hate when they do it in front of you.

"You saw him with someone else, didn't you," Minghao says. It's not a question.

Your jaw tightens. "Who told you?"

"No one. I'm just good at guessing." He tilts his head, his earrings catching the light. "Also, you're doing that thing where you pretend you don't care, but you're gripping your cup so hard your knuckles are white."

You look down. Your knuckles are, indeed, white. You force your fingers to relax.

"It's fine," you say, sounding so much steadier than you feel. You're almost proud of it. "We weren't exclusive. We were never exclusive. He can fuck whoever he wants. I can fuck whoever I want. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."

"Except that's not how it's been working," Wonwoo says quietly. "Not for months. You stopped seeing most of your roster. He stopped seeing anyone but you. You were spending weekends together and holding hands in cafes and—"

"And none of that meant anything," you cut in, sharper than you intended to allow yourself to. "Clearly. Because the second he thought I wasn't available, he found a freshman cheerleader to stick his tongue down her throat. Which is fine. It's totally fine. I'm not upset about it."

"You're definitely upset about it," Minghao says.

"I'm not."

"You're doing the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a—" Your back goes stiff and your voice begins to raise and you immediately stop, exhale hard through your nose. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I was upset. I was upset for like, a few hours. And then I got over it, because I remembered that I don't do relationships and I don't do feelings and I don't need some guy to validate my existence. It was just a good reminder of that, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon, and Mingyu because I wanted to have a good time, and I had a good time, and that's the end of it. Can we please talk about something else now?"

There's a pause. Minghao is looking at you with something that's equal parts exasperation and affection, and Wonwoo is doing that thing where he pushes his glasses up his nose and says nothing but somehow communicates everything.

"You know it's okay to be hurt, right?" Wonwoo says eventually. "You're allowed to have feelings. You're allowed to want things. Pretending you don't isn't going to make it hurt less."

"It'll make it hurt less than the alternative."

"The alternative being... what? Actually admitting you care about him?"

"Admitting I care about him and then getting my heart broken when he inevitably gets bored or finds someone better or decides I'm not worth the hassle." The words come out before you can think better of it, ugly and honest in a way you haven't let yourself be all week. "That's how it goes. That's how it always goes. People leave. People get tired of you. People decide you're too much work or too much drama or too much whatever, and they leave. And I'm not—I can't—"

Your voice cracks. You stop, swallow hard, and stare at the dregs of your latte like they might contain the answers to the universe. No crying in public, no crying in public, no crying in public no crying in—

Minghao's hand covers yours on the table. His fingers are cool and soft, the rings on them pressing into your skin.

"He's not your bullies from middle school," he says quietly. "He's not your fake friends from high school or the ones who left when you started becoming more of yourself and less of what everyone thought you should be. He's not any of the people who hurt you before. He's Seungcheol. And I told you—he's disgustingly earnest. He's probably been moping all week."

"Then why did he stop texting me?" The question comes out smaller than you want it to, more vulnerable. "Why did he just—disappear for days and then I find him with someone else?"

"I don't know," Minghao admits. "But I think maybe you should ask him instead of trying to fuck the hurt away."

You pull your hand out from under his and cross your arms. "I'm not trying to fuck the hurt away. I'm filming content. It's what I do. My subscribers have been asking for variety."

"Uh huh." Wonwoo's tone is still bone-dry. He's so unimpressed with your antics you begin to feel remotely embarrassed. "And the fact that you've filmed with three different people in the past week and posted none of it?"

"I'm stocking up."

"You're avoiding."

"I'm not."

"You're a mess," Minghao says, but his voice is fond. "A complete and total mess. And we love you anyway."

You want to argue. You want to tell them they're wrong, that you're fine, that you're in complete control of your life and your emotions and your roster. But the words won't come, because they're not wrong, and you're so tired of pretending you're not exhausted.

"If he knows about Friday," you say instead, quieter, "if Soonyoung and Jihoon talked and Mingyu talked and everyone talked... Seungcheol knows too, doesn't he."

"Probably," Wonwoo says. "That group gossips worse than a knitting circle."

Something flickers in your chest—grim satisfaction, maybe, or something darker. You think about Seungcheol hearing about your threesome or any later encounter. You think about him picturing you with Soonyoung and Jihoon. You think about the possessive, territorial thing that lives inside him, the caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu and pressed you against a door and told you you were his.

You want to let him choke on it. Let him feel even a fraction of what you felt when you saw his hands on that cheerleader.

But the satisfaction curdles almost as soon as it arrives, leaving behind the same hollow ache that's been living in your chest since Friday afternoon. It doesn't feel like victory. It just feels like more of the same emptiness, dressed up in different clothes.

You leave the coffee shop with a promise to actually study this weekend instead of just doing it for the sake of distraction and you walk back to your apartment through the thin autumn sunshine, your hands shoved in your pockets and your head full of noise.

That night, you film a solo scene with your favourite vibrator, and you come twice with your face pressed into the pillow that still somehow smells like Seungcheol, and when you're done you lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling and try very hard not to think about anything at all.

By the end of the next week, you've stockpiled enough content to keep your subscribers happy for a few months on end. Solo scenes, paired scenes, one threesome footage that you still haven't decided whether to post or delete entirely. Your hard drive is full, your body is sore in ways that should be satisfying, and you're still waking up every morning with the same dull ache behind your sternum, the same reflexive reach for your phone, the same disappointment when the only messages are from people who aren't him.

You're handling it. You're fine. You're the campus gooner dream, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care about anyone or anything, and you've got a roster full of gorgeous men who are more than happy to fill whatever role you need them to fill.

But at night, when the camera is off and the only thing in your bed is the memory of his arms around you, you press your face into that stupid pillow and you breathe in the fading scent of his shampoo and perfume and you wonder if he's thinking about you too.

You don't text him. You don't call. You don't crack.

But you want to. God, you want to.

And that's the worst part of all.

You've been live for forty-three minutes when the apartment door opens.

The stream started simple enough—you, your bedroom, the soft amber glow of the ring light you've positioned just off-frame, and the familiar hum of arousal building slow and honey-thick in your lower belly. You'd announced the stream on Twitter an hour before going live, a casual "come keep me company tonight?" with a photo of yourself in the black lace set that always drives your subscribers feral, the one with the filthy cutouts that frame your nipples and leave very little to the imagination. By the time you hit "Start Streaming," you'd already amassed a waiting room of nearly two thousand people, their usernames scrolling past in a blur of anticipation.

Now that number has swelled past five thousand, the chat flying at a pace that makes it nearly impossible to read individual messages, and you're sprawled across your bed in a pose that's equal parts lazy and calculated—propped against your pillows, legs spread just enough to show the damp spot darkening the centre of your panties, one hand trailing idly up and down your stomach while you read comments aloud in the breathy, teasing voice that's become your signature.

"Is that new lingerie? It's so pretty on you." You read it with a small, pleased smile, tilting your head toward the camera. "It's not new, actually. Had this set for a while. Just don't wear it often because—" you pluck at the waistband of your thong, letting it snap back against your hip, “—it's a pain to take off and put on. Too many little straps." A pause, a knowing glance at the lens. "But I figured you guys were worth the effort."

The chat explodes with heart emojis and flame emojis and a flood of tips that make your phone buzz on the nightstand. You let your smile curve wider, genuine despite yourself, because this part never gets old—the rush of being wanted, the validation of knowing thousands of people are getting off to you right now, the power of it.

"Let's see," you murmur, scrolling through the comments with your free hand. "What else are we talking about tonight?"

"Posted the new guy video finally I see"

"Ah, yeah." You stretch, arching your back just enough to make your tits press against the lace, and catch the way your nipples are already tightening beneath the fabric. "Posted that one on Tuesday. You guys seemed to like it—the views went kind of insane, actually. What did you think?"

A cascade of responses floods the chat. "He's so big" / "New daddy??" / "Where's the original daddy tho" / "Love seeing you with new people" / "When is Seungcheol coming back????" / "No one fucks you like he does" / "are you two still together??"

The mention of his name lands like a papercut—small, sharp, surprisingly painful. You've gotten better at not reacting, but you still feel the way your smile tightens at the corners, the way your hand pauses mid-stroke on your stomach. You've been seeing his name in the comments all week, ever since the Mingyu video dropped. Some of your viewers are obsessively loyal to him, the way people get attached to characters in a show they've been watching for months, and they've been demanding to know when he's coming back, why you're filming with other people, whether something happened between you.

You can't tell them the truth. You can barely admit the truth to yourself.

"We're mixing things up," you say, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere luckily close enough. "I was starting to feel like my content was getting a little stale, you know? Same angles, same faces. Figured variety would be good for everyone." You let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing over the damp spot on your panties, and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Mingyu was fun, right? He's got great energy. And there's someone else who's been wanting to film for ages, so you might see him soon too, we already recorded some stuff."

"But what about Seungcheol??" / "We miss daddy" / "Is he still on the roster or what" / "You two were so hot together please say he's coming back"

Your jaw tightens. You keep your expression pleasant through sheer force of will help of god. "Seungcheol's great," you say, and you feel like you swallowed some sludge and now the remnants of it won't wash off your tongue. "We're still... we're still friends. He's just busy with rugby stuff. You know how it is." You shrug, a little too casual. "I'm not his only priority. He's got a lot going on."

You don't say he's got a freshman cheerleader to keep him occupied. You don't say he stopped texting me after the best weekend of my life and then I caught him with his hand up someone else's skirt. And you certainly don't say I can't close my eyes without seeing his face and I hate him for it and I miss him so much I feel like I'm drowning.

You just smile, and reach for the vibrator on your nightstand, and say, "Anyway. Enough about boys who aren't here. Let's talk about what we're actually going to do tonight."

The chat, mercifully, lets you redirect. Questions pour in—"Are you going to use the pink one?" / "Please ride the dildo we never see you ride it anymore :(" / "Show us how wet you are first" / "Can you talk about what you think about when you touch yourself"—and you let yourself sink back into the performance, the familiar rhythm of teasing and pleasing and giving them just enough to keep them begging for more.

You're forty minutes in when it happens.

You've worked yourself up slowly, deliberately, drawing it out because you know the anticipation drives your tips up. Your panties are soaked through now, the dark lace glistening with wetness and clinging to your cunt, and you've pushed the cups of your bra down so your tits spill over the top, your nipples hard and sensitive from the cool air of the bedroom. You've got the vibrator pressed against your inner thigh, not quite where you need it, and you're reading a particularly unhinged comment about what someone wants to do to you while you trace lazy circles on your clit through the fabric.

"Someone's feeling creative tonight," you're saying through a chuckle, your voice a little breathier than it was before, a little more genuine. "This one says they want to—"

The apartment door opens.

You hear it clearly over the music—the click of the lock disengaging, the soft creak of hinges, the heavy footsteps in your entryway, the door shutting closed—and your entire body goes rigid. Your heart lurches into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system before your brain has time to catch up, and for one wild, stupid second you think someone's breaking in—

And then you remember.

The key.

Your key. The spare you'd given him months ago, in a moment of trust you'd never quite been able to bring yourself to revoke, not even during the worst of the silence. The key he's never used without asking before, because Seungcheol, for all his possessive caveman tendencies, has always been careful about your boundaries. Has always been respectful. Has always waited for you to invite him in.

Until now, apparently.

Your head snaps toward the bedroom doorway just as he appears in it—broad and solid and so fucking familiar it makes your chest ache. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair is damp, pushed back off his forehead like he just showered. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, like he ran here, like he saw your notification and didn't stop to think before coming over.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes sweep over you—sprawled on the bed in your ruined lingerie, vibrator in hand, five thousand people watching—with an expression that's equal parts hunger and something softer that looks terrifyingly like hope.

"Started without me," he says, and his voice is casual, almost lazy, but you can hear the tension underneath it. "That's cold, baby."

You glare at him.

You don't mean to. You know, on some distant rational level, that you should be performing right now—should be pasting on a smile, feigning pleasant surprise, playing the role of the girl who's delighted her favourite co-star has shown up unannounced. But your body reacts before your brain can intervene, and the look you throw him is pure venom, scorching and clawing and full of every single thing you've been choking on for the past weeks.

The chat notices.

"LMAOOO THAT LOOK" / "she's PISSED" / "wait is there drama??" / "omg did they break up???" / "She looks like she wants to murder him" / "DADDY'S BACK THOUGH" / "DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY"

You don't read any of it. Your eyes are locked on Seungcheol, and he's staring right back at you, and the air between you is so thick with unspoken things you could cut it with a knife and still choke on it. His jaw tightens at your glare—he saw it, he definitely saw it—but he doesn't flinch. Doesn't retreat. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed with that easy, rolling gait that's always made your mouth water, and your traitorous cunt clenches around nothing even as your hands itch to curl into fists.

"What are you doing here," you say, and it comes out flat, barely a question.

"Saw you were live." He settles onto the edge of the bed like he belongs there, like he's never left, like the past three weeks haven't happened. His eyes flick to the camera, then back to you, and his mouth curves into that half-smile that makes his dimple appear. "Thought I'd keep you company. You don't mind, do you?"

You mind. You mind so fucking much. But he's already turning to the camera, already addressing your audience with the ease of someone who knows exactly how much they love him, and you're trapped—because if you tell him to leave now, if you cause a scene on camera, the questions will never stop. The speculation will explode. Every single person watching will know something is wrong, and the carefully constructed narrative you've been maintaining—we're still friends, he's just busy, nothing happened—will crumble like wet paper.

"Of course not," you manage, and your voice is almost steady. Almost. "Wasn't expecting you, that's all."

"That's the point of a surprise." He leans closer, close enough that you can smell him—soap and something woodsy, the cologne he's worn as long as you've known him—and your stomach flips. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, and the gentleness of it makes your throat tight. "Missed you," he murmurs low enough that the camera might not catch it.

You want to bite his hand. You want to press your face into his palm and cry. You want to scream at him until your voice gives out and then kiss him until neither of you can breathe.

You do none of those things. You just hold his gaze, and let him see the hurt still simmering there, and say nothing.

The chat, oblivious to the nuances of your silent standoff, is losing its collective mind.

"THE WAY HE TOUCHED HER FACE" / "i'm literally crying they're so cute" / "MISSED YOU 😭😭😭" / "He's so down bad for her look at those eyes" / "Why does she look like she's about to cry though" / "maybe she's just emotional" / "DADDY CAME HOME" / "fuck her already PLEASE" / 'I'm throwing money at the screen TAKE IT" / "someone tipped $100 Imaoooooo"

Seungcheol glances at the chat scrolling on the monitor positioned just off-camera, and his smile widens. "You guys are really excited, huh? Been a while since I was on one of these."

A fresh explosion of caps-lock and emojis. He reads a few aloud, his voice dropping into that lower register he uses when he's playing up the Daddy persona for the audience—"We missed you, Daddy", "Please never leave again", "The content hasn't been the same without you”—and you watch him work with a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration. He's good at this. He's always been good at this. The persona fits him like a second skin, and the viewers eat it up, and somewhere beneath the anger you remember that the first time you ever filmed together, he'd been so nervous his hands had shaken. He'd hidden it well, but you'd felt the tremor in his fingers when he'd touched you, and you'd thought—Oh. He's not just doing this for the camera experience. He actually wants it for me.

You'd been so naive. So willing to believe.

“—right, baby?" Seungcheol's voice cuts through your thoughts, and you blink, realizing he's asked you a question you didn't hear.

"What?"

"I said, you've been having fun without me, haven't you? New videos. New faces." His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes are dark and serious, searching your face for something you're not sure you want him to find. "Mingyu, huh? That's who you replaced me with?"

"I didn't replace you." It comes out colder than you intended, and you see his expression flicker—hurt, maybe, or guilt, or both. You force yourself to soften, to remember the camera, to remember the thousands of people watching this exchange with bated breath. "I told everyone earlier. I'm just mixing things up. Variety is good for content."

"Variety." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "Right."

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded, the kind of silence that makes the chat go wild with speculation. You need to do something—need to take control of the situation before it spirals into territory you can't recover from—so you do the only thing you can think of. You reach for him.

Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, and you pull him toward you with more force than necessary, your mouth crashing against his in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. He makes a sound of surprise against your mouth, his hands coming up to grip your hips, and then he's kissing you back just as hard, just as desperate, the familiar slide of his tongue against yours sending a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. And you feel the unwanted relief of something tight loosening in your chest just enough to allow you an easier breath.

The chat goes absolutely feral.

"FUCK YES" / "FINALLYYYYY" / "That was so aggressive Imaooooo" / "she's marking her territory" / "THE TENSION WAS INSANE" / "I'm so hard rn" / "look at the way he grabbed her" / "they're literally made for each other" / "DADDY IS HOME"

Your entire world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the solid weight of his body pressing you back against the pillows, the way his hands are already sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts where they're still spilling out of your bra. He kisses you like he's starving, like you're the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger, and you hate how much you've missed this, hate how your body responds to him on instinct, hate that even now—even after everything—your thighs are falling open to make room for him as he leans you backwards onto the mattress and your hips are rocking up to meet the bulge already straining against his sweatpants.

But you don't relax into it the way you usually do. You can't. Every time you start to soften, to yield, your brain supplies an image—his hand under that cheerleader's skirt, his mouth on her neck, his voice rough with arousal as he told her don't stop—and the rage spikes fresh and hot in your chest, and your fingers curl into claws against his back.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving. "Baby—"

"Don't." You don't know what you're warning him against. Don't apologize. Don't explain. Don't pretend nothing happened. You just know you can't hear his voice say your name right now without shattering.

His jaw tightens, but he nods, just barely. "Okay." He kisses your forehead, soft and careful, and it makes your eyes sting. "Okay. Whatever you need."

What you need is for him to hurt the way you've been hurting. What you need is for him to understand what he did to you. What you need is for him to hold you and never let go and promise that he'll never, ever put his hands on someone else again.

You can't say any of that. So instead you kiss him again, and this time you bite his lower lip. Hard.

He hisses, his whole body tensing, and you taste copper—the bright, metallic tang of blood welling up where your teeth broke the delicate skin. His doe eyes fly open, dark and shocked, but he doesn't pull away. Doesn't push you off. Just stares at you with something that looks almost like understanding, his tongue darting out to touch the small wound, smearing red across his lip.

"Okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I deserve that."

You don't answer. You just sink your nails into his back and drag them down, hard enough to leave raised red lines that' probably bruise by morning, and he groans—a low, wrecked sound that's half pain and half pleasure—and buries his face in your neck.

"Whatever you need," he repeats against your skin, and his voice is ragged now, strained with something that sounds a lot like guilt. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You want to scream at him. You left! You stopped texting. You had your hands all over some freshman bitch with a ponytail and you didn't even think about me! But the words won't come, stuck somewhere between your throat and your tongue, so instead you dig your nails in harder and feel the way his muscles jump beneath his skin, and you tell yourself this is enough. This is revenge. This is you hurting him the way he hurt you.

It doesn't feel like revenge. It just feels like more of the same hollow ache masterfully masked yet again.

"Okay is it just me or is this really intense" / "She's literally clawing him up" / "the way he's just taking it though" / "what the hell happened between them" / "I feel like I'm watching something private" / "this is hotter than any porn or sex scene i've ever watched or read" / "the tension is INSANE" / "why am i crying"

Seungcheol lifts his head from your neck and looks at you. His lip is still bleeding, a small bead of red welling up and threatening to drip down his chin right before he licks it off, and his back is on fire from the scratches you've carved into it, and his eyes are so soft, so impossibly tender, that it makes your chest crack open.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words are barely a whisper, meant only for you. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I was stupid and scared and I fucked up, and I know you're angry, and you have every right to be angry, but please—please just let me—"

"Stop." Your voice comes out broken, cracking in the middle. "Don't. I can't—"

"You can." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and the gesture is so familiar, so achingly tender, that your eyes flood with tears. But you stubbornly refuse to let them fall. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything. You built this whole life from nothing, you made yourself into exactly who you wanted to be, and you don't need anyone, and I love that about you. I love everything about you. I love the way you laugh and the way you get excited when you eat good food and the way you get competitive about getting stupid little facts exactly right and the way you frown when you're focused and so many other little things. I love you. I've loved you since the first time you let me stay the night, and I was too scared to say it because I didn't think you'd want to hear it, because I thought I was just a name on your list, just a warm body, just someone you'd get bored of eventually—"

"You stopped texting me," you choke out, and the tears are falling now, hot and fast, tracking mascara down your cheeks. "You stopped texting me and then I saw you with her, I saw your hands on her, I saw—"

"I know." His voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I was scared. Sunday was—Sunday was the best day of my life, and then Monday you went back to being casual, and I thought—l thought that after all it meant nothing to you. I thought I meant nothing to you. And I just—I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted to stop hurting for five minutes. She was there, and she was easy, and she wasn't you, and I couldn't even—" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "I didn't sleep with her. I couldn't. You left and I stopped. I felt sick. Because she wasn't you. No one is you."

You stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving. "You didn't sleep with her?"

"No." Seungcheol shakes his head, emphatic, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. "No, baby, I didn't. I couldn't. The whole time I was just thinking about you. About how much I wished it was you. About how I'd ruined everything with you because I was too fucking scared to just openly tell you how I felt." He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for almost a year. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and I know you've got your rules and your roster and your whole thing about not catching feelings, and if you don't want me like that, if you just want this to be sex, l'll take whatever you'll give me. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel it. Not after Sunday. Not after I got to have you like that and then I thought l'd lost you."

The chat is going absolutely berserk at this point.

"OH MY GOD" / "HE'S IN LOVE WITH HER" / "THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER WITNESSED" / "I'M LITERALLY SOBBING" / "HE DIDNT SLEEP WITH THE OTHER GIRL" / "what other girl????" / "SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE LORE" / "she's crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "CONFESSION ON LIVE CAMERA" / "this is better than a drama" / "I'm screen recording this for posterity" / "THEY'RE SO IN LOVE IT HURTS" / "look at the way he's holding her face" / "DADDY IS GONE THIS IS JUST A MAN IN LOVE" / "$500 tip HOLY SHIT"

You don't see any of it. Your world has narrowed to the man above you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wet and earnest and terrified. The man who washed your hair and held your hand and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the centre of the universe. The man who hurt you, yes, but who's hurting too—who's been hurting this whole time, just as lost and scared and stupid as you've been.

"You love me," you whisper, tasting the words.

"I love you," he confirms, and his voice breaks on the last word. "I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much I did the dumbest thing I've ever done because I thought you didn't love me back. And if you don't—if you can't—l understand. But needed you to know. I needed to say it out loud, at least once, even if it's in front of five thousand strangers."

A wet, hiccuping laugh escapes your throat. You glance at the monitor. "Six thousand. And climbing."

He blinks, then turns to look at it too. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, fuck."

"Yeah." You reach up and wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, smearing mascara across your knuckles and your cheeks. "We just did this on camera."

"We really did."

"Everyone saw."

"No doubt."

You should probably be mortified and scrambling to shut off the stream, to salvage some shred of privacy, to reclaim control of a situation that's spiralled completely out of your hands. But instead, you just feel... lighter. Like something that's been pressing on your chest for two weeks has finally lifted, and you can breathe again, really breathe, for the first time in days.

"I love you too," you say, and it's so scary to confess to it that your gut twists in a knot. "I've loved you for—I don't even know how long. It just happened and when I noticed it was already too late. I was just too scared to say it. I thought if I said it, you'd leave."

"I'm not leaving." His voice is fierce, almost angry and his big arms wrap tighter around you, as if you could escape. "I'm not everyone. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that on Sunday, and I meant it. I've got you. I'm always going to have you, if you'll let me. And I'm sorry that I made you doubt it but I'm not going anywhere anymore, just say the word."

"Even when I'm a disaster?"

"Especially when you're a disaster." He kisses your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose. "I love the disaster. I love the mess. I love all of it. I love you."

The chat, which you've been ignoring for several minutes now, is still scrolling at a pace that makes it totally unreadable now.

"THEY SAID I LOVE YOU" / "I'M CRYING IN THE CLUB RN" / "this is the most unhinged livestream i've ever watched and i've been subbed for 2 years" / "FROM CLAWING HIM UP TO LOVE CONFESSIONS" / "the emotional whiplash" / "SO ARE THEY TOGETHER NOW???" / "ask her to be your girlfriend COWARD" / "We just witnessed history" / "someone please tell me they're recording this" / "I'm never going to recover from this" / "BEST LIVESTREAM OF ALL TIME"

Seungcheol glances at the monitor and snorts at something he catches there. "They're telling me to ask you to be my girlfriend."

"Well," you say, and your voice is still watery but there's a smile tugging at your lips now, small and tentative but real, "are you going to?"

He looks back at you, and the expression on his face is so open, so hopeful, so overflowing with love—his baby cow eyes staring at you so intently—that it makes your heart stutter. "Will you? Be my girlfriend? For real this time? No roster, no rules, no pretending we're just casual?"

"Yes." The response comes out before you can overthink it, before you can second-guess, before the fear can creep back in and steal your voice. "Yes, Cheol. I want to be yours. I've wanted to be yours for a while, I just didn't have the courage."

The smile that breaks across his face is so bright it nearly blinds you. His dimples appear like a secret, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he looks so genuinely, incandescently happy with that gummy smile of his that it makes your chest ache in the best possible way and you can't help a responding smile that finds its way to your lips.

"She said yes," he announces to your viewers, like it's a victory, like he's just won the championship and the world cup all at once. "Did you hear that? She said yes!"

The chat erupts.

"SHE SAID YES" / "WE HEARD WE ALL HEARD" / "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE" / "CONGRATULATIONS DADDY YOU DID IT" / "from toxic situationship to marriage in one livestream" / "I'm throwing a virtual wedding RIGHT NOW" / "FINALLY OMFG" / "the slow burn paid off y'all" / "I've been subscribed for 18 months and this is the most satisfying conclusion I could have imagined" / "they're both crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "SOMEONE CLIP THAT" / "this is going to go viral omg"

You laugh, and Seungcheol laughs with you, and then he's kissing you again—soft this time, gentle, mindful of his split lip—and you're melting into him the way you always do, the way you only ever do for him.

"We should probably," you murmur against his mouth, "acknowledge the fact that we just trauma-dumped our entire relationship drama in front of six thousand people."

"Seven thousand now actually," he corrects, and his voice is sheepish but still giddy. "And I think there's more coming in."

"Oh my god."

"It's fine." He kisses the corner of your mouth, then pulls back to look at the camera. "Hey, everyone. Thanks for witnessing my emotional breakdown, I guess. Sorry it wasn't sexier."

"Speak for yourself," you mutter loud enough for the stream to catch, and he laughs again, that bright boyish laugh that makes your heart do backflips and somersaults.

The chat, predictably, disagrees with his assessment.

"This was the sexiest thing I've ever seen and it wasn't even sex" / "emotional vulnerability IS sexy" / "you apologized and confessed your feelings that's better than porn" / "We still want to see you fuck though" / "yeah don't think you're off the hook" / "now that you're officially together give us the makeup sex" / "MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX"

Seungcheol reads the last few comments and raises an eyebrow at you. "They have a point."

You roll your eyes, but the heat is already starting to pool in your belly again, slow and sweet, accelerated by this dopamine rush you just unleashed onto yourselves, your body remembering that you were worked up before all of this started and Seungcheol is still here, still solid and warm and now he's also yours, finally fully all yours. "You're insatiable."

"For you? Always." He kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. "But if you want to stop the stream, we can. Whatever you want."

You consider it. Your makeup is ruined, your emotions are raw, and you've just exposed the most vulnerable parts of your relationship to an audience of thousands. The sensible thing would be to end the stream, crawl under the covers with him, and figure out the rest in private.

But then you look at him—his swollen lip, his flushed cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters—and you think, fuck it. You've never been very good at being sensible anyway.

"Let's give them what they want," you tell him, and your voice comes out husky. "If I am going all in then it's all in."

His eyes darken. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You reach for the hem of his hoodie and tug it upward until he's forced to take it off and throw it somewhere on the floor, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, some fresh bruises from the drills, the fresh red scratches you've just carved into his back. Fuck you missed him like that so much. The urge to crawl under his skin and curl there is gnawing at your sanity. "Show them how you love me. Show them you're mine."

"I'm yours," he agrees, and his voice is a growl now, rough with renewed want. "Always been yours. Always will be."

He captures your mouth in another kiss, and this one is different—deeper, hungrier, the apology and the confession giving way to something more primal and soothingly familiar. His hands find your hips and pull you against him, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath his sweatpants, pressing insistently against your thigh. Your cunt throbs in response, already soaked, already aching for him, and you moan into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair that already dried up.

The chat, which has been demanding makeup sex for the past ten minutes, gets exactly what it asked for.

Seungcheol strips you out of your lingerie with reverent hands, his mouth following every inch of newly exposed skin—your shoulders, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the sensitive undersides where his tongue traces patterns that make you shiver. He takes his time with your nipples, sucking them out of their shy inverted state until they're hard and pebbled and glistening with his spit, and you arch into his mouth with breathy gasps and tiny needy mewls that the camera definitely picks up.

"Love your tits," he murmurs against your skin, and the words are familiar, a call-back to every other time he's said them, but tonight they land differently. Tonight they feel like a premise to something so much bigger than just an arrangement. "Love how responsive you are. Love how you moan for me."

"Cheol—"

"Shh." He kisses down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you how much I missed you."

He settles between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and looks at your cunt with the kind of reverent hunger that always makes your breath catch. You're dripping, your folds slick and puffy and flushed, your clit a hard little pearl peeking out from its hood, begging for attention. He runs a finger through your wetness, spreading it around, and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes fluttering closed like he's tasting the sweetest syrup on earth.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Missed this. Missed your taste. Missed the way you get so wet for me."

"Then stop talking and eat my pussy," you manage, and your voice is wrecked already, barely a whisper even though you aimed for something more smug and commanding. Still, it doesn't fail to make him get to work.

Seungcheol grins, feral and sharp. "Yes, ma'am."

His mouth descends on your cunt, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your hips bucking against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration travelling straight through your sensitive flesh. His tongue is thick and clever as always, alternating between plunging into your hole and flicking against your clit, and he's alternating it with wet smooches and filthy slurps, and his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open against his face like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there, like he always does.

"So fucking good," he grunts, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Best pussy I've ever tasted. Best pussy in the world. My pussy."

"Yours," you gasp, and the word feels different now, heavier, more real. Certainly real, not just cheap dirty talk to throw around. And the notion turns you on so much more. "Yours, Cheol, always yours—"

He groans against your clit, and the sound is so unrestrained, so desperate, that it sends you toward the edge like a speeding freight train going off rails. Your fingers fist in his hair and your thighs clamp around his head so hard you're briefly scared that you're either going to strangle him or squish his scull but the thought is fleeting. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming against his tongue while he works you through it, gentler now, lapping at your oversensitive flesh until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away.

Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your wetness, his swollen lip beaded with fresh blood from where his mouth stretched too wide. He looks up at you with eyes that are practically black, and the sight of him—ruined by just having you and so beautiful in his want and all yours—makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his knees. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, a dark wet spot where his precum has soaked through the gray fabric. "Now I'm gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good and reclaim this pretty pussy. Gonna make sure everyone watching knows exactly who you belong to."

"Already know," you breathe. "Already yours. Just—please, Cheol, please fuck me—"

Seungcheol doesn't make you wait. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock, too desperate to care for full undressing. You've seen him so many times and yet the sight of him thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, fat girthy inches of pure, aching need—never fails to make you salivate. He positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you're so wet that he slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your waiting cunt without any resistance.

The sound you both make is obscene—a shared groan that fills the room, fills the stream, fills the ears of eight thousand people who are absolutely losing their minds in the chat.

"FINALLYYYYY THE MAIN EVENT" / "the way he just slid in so easy she was so ready" / "THAT GROAN" / "I need a cold shower after that" / "they're so in love and so hot at the same time" / "this is the best livestream in the history of onlyfans" / "DADDY IS BACK FOR REAL THIS TIME" / "look at how he's looking at her" / "I don't know whether to swoon or be a horndog" / "I'm never going to emotionally recover from this stream"

"I love you," Seungcheol says, and the words are strained, his hips already starting to move in slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. "I love you, I love you, I love you-"

"I love you too," you gasp, your legs wrapping and locking around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Love you so much, Cheol, please don't stop—"

"Not stopping." He punctuates the promise with a harder thrust, and you moan, your back arching off the bed, feeling the sweet sparks building back up in your belly. "Never leaving. Never letting you go. You're mine. You're finally mine."

He fucks you like he means it—deep and steady and devastatingly thorough, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every stroke, his cock filling you so completely that you can feel him in your throat. The wet sounds of your bodies fill the room—the slick squelch of your cunt, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the broken praise falling from both your lips. He tells you you're beautiful, tells you you're perfect, tells you you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, and you sob your agreement into his mouth, your orgasm building at the base of your spine like a tidal wave.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Cheol, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, baby." His thumb finds your clit and presses down in tight, perfect circles. "Cream on my cock. Show me you're mine."

You shatter.

The orgasm is crushing—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks, his rhythm stuttering as he chases his own release.

"Gonna fill you up," he grits out. "Gonna cum inside you, baby, gonna pump you so full—"

"Do it," you gasp. "Please, Cheol, please do it inside me, want to feel it—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's burying himself deep and cumming, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps rope after rope of hot, thick spend against your walls. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—sends you over the edge for a third time, a smaller but no less intense orgasm that makes your pussy milk him dry.

He collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, and you wrap your arms around him and hold on.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. You just lie there, tangled together, his cock still lodged deep inside you, his cum slowly leaking out around his shaft. His breath is warm against your neck, and his heart is pounding against your ribs in sync with yours, and you can feel every inch of him, solid and real and here.

"We should probably," he says eventually, his voice muffled against your skin, "check the chat."

"Mm." You don't move. "Do we have to?"

"I think we broke them."

"Probably."

He lifts his head to look at the monitor, and his expression shifts through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, amusement, something that might be embarrassment because his ears begin to turn bright pink. "Uh. There are ten thousand people watching."

"What?"

"Well… ten thousand. And climbing."

You turn your head to look at the monitor, and sure enough, the view count is sitting at 10,247, and the chat is scrolling so fast it's barely legible.

"THEY'RE DONE" / "that was the hottest thing i've ever gooned to" / "HE CAME INSIDE HER" / "I'm crying and horny at the same time" / "This was better than any movie" / "FROM EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN TO LOVE CONFESSION TO MAKEOUT TO SEX" / "I'm subscribing for life" / "congrats on the sex and the relationship" / "they're just lying there now" / "look at them they're so cute" / "post-fuck cuddling is what we deserve yes"

You laugh at that last one you manage to catch, and the sound is breathless and giddy and maybe a little hysterical. "We just livestreamed our entire relationship drama and then had makeup sex in front of ten thousand people."

"We did," Seungcheol agrees. He looks down at you, his expression soft and wondering. "Any regrets?"

You consider it. You think about the roster, the rules, the walls you've spent three years building. You think about the girls who whisper when you walk past, the boyfriends who look too long, the reputation and a character that's defined you for so long you almost forgot there was a person underneath it. You think about that Sunday morning, the cafe, the way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. And you think about tonight—the confession, the tears, the way he'd let you claw him almost bloody and then held you anyway. The way he'd had ten thousand strangers witness him telling you he loved you and didn't care who heard it. The way he's looking at you right now, like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

"None," you say, and mean it. "No regrets."

"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet, mindful of his split lip. "Because I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You reach up and touch his face, your thumb tracing the edge of his dimple. "I believe you."

And you do. You really, really do.

He pulls out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of his cum sliding down your thighs. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth while you show off for your audience—a little lazy because your bones are all jelly and very smug because you always love to brag about what Seungcheol does to you—and he cleans you up with the same gentle thoroughness he used on your face that Friday night when he brought you home after that party.

"Alright," he says when he's done, turning to the camera with his best captain-of-the-rugby-team authority, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he's still half-naked and his lip is swollen and his ears are actually burning bright red now that everything's catching up to him. "Show's over. Go drink some water. Go to sleep. We'll see you next time."

You tug him back down to the bed, curling into his side, your head on his chest. "Yeah," you add, addressing the camera with a smile that's genuine for the first time in weeks. "Thanks for witnessing our emotional carnage. Sorry it wasn't the usual programming. We'll be back to regularly scheduled filth soon."

"Very soon," Seungcheol murmurs, and you elbow him in the ribs.

The chat protests, as expected—a flood of "NOOOOO" and "DON'T GO" and "STREAM FOREVER" and "THIS WAS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"—but you just laugh and blow them a kiss and reach for the laptop.

"Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for being here. Love you all."

"WE LOVE YOU TOO" / "GOODNIGHT DADDY AND DADDY'S GIRLFRIEND" / "this was unironically the best livestream i've ever watched" / "CONGRATS ON THE RELATIONSHIP" / "see you next time!!" / "sweet dreams you two" / "I'M SO HAPPY FOR THEM"

You switch off the stream.

The silence that follows is sudden and absolute, broken only by the sound of both of you breathing, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the soft rustle of sheets as he pulls you closer. The ring light is still glowing, casting warm amber shadows across the ceiling, and you should turn it off, clean up properly, do a dozen different things that feel very far away right now.

"I love you," Seungcheol says into the quiet, and his voice is soft, private, meant only for you.

"I love you too," you whisper back. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."

"Don't apologize." His hand traces lazy patterns on your spine, the same way it always does, and your eyes flutter closed. "We got there in the end. That's what matters."

"The end," you repeat, and the word feels strange to your ear. You wouldn't call it an ending, really. A beginning—yes. The start of something new and terrifying and maybe—probably—the best thing you've ever been brave enough to try.

"The beginning," he corrects, as if reading your mind. "This is just the beginning, baby. We've got a lot more mornings to figure out."

Your throat tightens. You press your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—fresh sweat and soap and home—and let yourself believe it.

"Stay," you murmur, already half-asleep. "Stay with me for the night, don't want to let you go yet."

"Always," he says, and presses a kiss to your hair. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

And this time, you don't doubt it. Not even a little.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

bonus:

CONTRACT I: NEPTUNE / SALACIA [STATUS: OPEN]

CONTRACT DETAILS: Joshua won't explain what his meetings entail or why he's staying at Hollywood's infamous hitman hotel, but something keeps him coming back to you despite everything in his world warning him otherwise...even if it's a packet of arsenic slipped into his coffee.

CONTRACT II: SATURN / OPS [STATUS: OPEN]

CONTRACT DETAILS: Unfeeling and unwavering, High Table Adjudicators are forbidden from falling in love. You are bound by the rules of the Table, sent to do their bidding when someone falls out of line. But, the misfire of a gun and a moment of hesitation send you hurtling back toward the one person capable of cheating the rules of both the Table and your moral code: Jeonghan.

CONTRACT III: SOL / CALLIOPE [STATUS: OPEN]

CONTRACT DETAILS: Singing at a nightclub owned by the High Table's anti-Sector Trinity had its perks, namely that guests tended to whisper secrets intended for the grave right into your ear. When Seokmin wanders into the lion's den that is your place of employment, will your loyalties lie with your wealthy patrons, or the handsome stranger who can sing a damn good harmony?

CONTRACT IV: SOMNUS / PASITHEA [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: Every assassin has a gimmick; Wonwoo's is poisons. It's clean, efficient, and ensures that the lenses of his glasses remain spotless. His signature method of disposing targets comes back to haunt him, however, when he's framed for murder in a Paris casino and you're the only one who can help clear his name before time runs out.

CONTRACT V: CUPID / PSYCHE [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: As an Accountant for the High Table, your job requires you to wear many hats: you take calls, organize files, fill out ungodly amounts of paperwork, and send text notifications of open contracts. Falling in love with an assassin who seems to get himself in all sorts of sticky situations? Not part of the job description, but Mingyu doesn't seem to care that he's the source of your romantic dilemma.

CONTRACT VI: PLUTO / PROSERPINA [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: It shouldn't bother Jihoon that other Sectors want you, the sommelier for the Seoul Continental, to be their own firearms expert, but it does. It shouldn't bother you that him and SECTOR 17 are declared excommunicado, but it does. You're not his and he's not yours, so why can't you stop dancing around each other even as the criminal underworld descends into chaos?

CONTRACT VII: ORCUS [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: A ghost from Chan's past comes bearing a Marker that he refuses to honor, so he runs to the only power that could rival the entire High Table: SECTOR 17. Given an impossible task and a target whose death will change the entire underworld, you discover that the little boy who helped you when you fell off your bike is willing to go through hell and back to keep you safe.

CONTRACT VIII: TERMINUS / FAUNA [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: When a member calls, Jun answers--that was his modus operandi. When he's left with no choice but to call you for backup, six years after your relationship with him ended, you're not sure why you answer his call...and why you're so willing to let everything change simply by staying by his side.

CONTRACT IX: EREBUS / NYX [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: As two shadows that live and die in darkness, you and Minghao are Seungcheol's extra sets of ears whenever it comes to information reconnaissance. Your relationship is more than lust but too daunting to call love, but you're forced to reconsider your relationship when the fall of his Sector threatens to bring you down too.

CONTRACT X: BACCHUS / TERPSICHORE [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: You are the calm to Soonyoung's storm, the intimate quiet after the racket of a party fades. The Trinity's first mistake was kidnapping a trained Ruska Roma ballerina. Their second was thinking they could provoke SECTOR 17's wildcard and live to tell the tale.

CONTRACT XI: MERCURY [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: Your role under the Table is simple: shoot the messenger. Seungkwan knows this, the rest of the Sector knows this, everyone under the Table understands that when you're sent to keep information from getting out, it never gets out. It's puzzling, then, when you find Seungkwan not to kill him, but to deliver a warning of your own and strike a deal that may prove vital for you both.

CONTRACT XII: JANUS / FLORA [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: Daughter to the feared 'King of the Sectors,' your life has been entwined with SECTOR 17 since its conception. But, when an assassination fails and a marriage proposal threatens to steal away the freedom you've painstakingly built for yourself, you find that Vernon always seems to be near when you need him most.

CONTRACT XIII: JUPITER / JUNO [STATUS: CLOSED]

CONTRACT DETAILS: If you could go back in time, you would stop yourself from falling in love with Seungcheol and shoot him when you had the chance. Both missteps compound when his entire Sector becomes excommunicado and he calls on you to repay a debt you can't ignore.

The walk back to the hut was filled with quietness.

Fortunately, you had purchased your Cyperus herbs without any further trouble at a small shop filled with other potions and elixirs from an elderly lady with severely impaired vision and hearing and they now laid safely stowed away in your basket.

Seungcheol hadn't taken long to write his letter either, and while you waited for him under the tree with your heart beating far too fast, you wondered exactly which village Seungcheol came from.

Sure, you didn't receive any news in your little cabin, and you were glad about that. You didn't need to know everything that was going wrong in the world, nor the tyrannies the royal houses were committing. But if he might not have come from far from here, was there also a chance that this small village would be attacked? Could it possibly even reach your cabin?

You had no time to panic, for Seungcheol was already approaching you with rapid strides; and perhaps—whether it was the adrenaline coursing through your veins at being among other people again for the first time in ages, or simply the urge to finally return to the safety of your cabin—you failed to notice the storm raging inside Seungcheol’s mind. Or that his heart almost stopped as he walked towards you, regretting more and more with every step what he had done.

But you didn't have the slightest clue and that was exactly how it was best for you to keep it. If you didn't know anything, you couldn't drive yourself crazy and could simply continue living peacefully.

So you didn't ask, and it seemed as though Seungcheol preferred it that way, too.

The days passed, and you felt as though you could finally breathe again. Your Omega was quiet even when Seungcheol was nearby and it didn't stir in the slightest. Perhaps this should have worried you, but honestly, you were simply glad that the new herbs seemed to be even more potent than your old ones, and that you could finally think clearly again.

Seungcheol was also steadily improving. By now, you no longer prepared compresses for him. The only thing you continued to provide were the daily teas, which were still meant to aid his recovery; otherwise, you simply left his wound alone to heal on its own.

The steady healing of his wound—and his consequently improved physical condition—made Seungcheol visibly restless. Helping you in the garden wasn't enough for him; he also constantly tidied up after you, and when even that ceased to suffice, he began working out outdoors whenever he had a spare moment. Which was, essentially, almost all day long.

By now, you would describe it as a matter of routine. The two of you have breakfast; you check his wound, and he invariably comments on it with a sarcastic remark—("Do I have the right to get out of my chair today, Doc?")—which you always counter with an even more sarcastic retort—("Only if you weed at least half of my garden today.") Yet, in the end, Seungcheol usually did exactly what you had jokingly demanded of him—without a word of protest.

Whether it was weeding, carrying soil, repairing old tools, or simply keeping you company and talking about anything and everything—by now, Seungcheol had become an integral part of your routine.

It should scare you—damn it, at first it did scare you—but by now, it no longer did. His presence in the cabin already felt far too normal to even question what it would be like when he was completely healthy and left again. These thoughts would creep into your mind in the middle of the night, and every time, you would lock them away in the deepest recesses of your brain—neither able nor willing to dwell on them for even a single second.

There was a kind of comfort in being close to Seungcheol. You no longer felt as though you were fighting the world alone and hiding away; now, there was someone by your side; someone who meant you no harm and accepted you just as you were.

An Alpha who, while knowing that you were an Omega, never even brought up the fact. Who accepted it and did not exploit it for his own advantage.

But he doesn't know your destiny yet. If he did, he would have claimed you as his own long ago—your treacherous mind whispered to you at night but you didn't believe it. Seungcheol was nothing like the man who had been the reason for your escape.

Seungcheol was different, and your entire being was firmly convinced of it.

Otherwise, you would never feel so safe in his company, even now, while you tended to your herbs and he worked out a few meters away from you.

Because of the heat, he had taken off his shirt some time ago, and sweat was slowly running down his body.

Every now and then, your gaze drifted toward him only to quickly turn away again as you frantically refocused on your plants. You could only hope that he didn't notice your stolen glances, but apparently, you weren't that lucky.

"Instead of staring at me the whole time, you could join in," he called out to you in an amused voice, and your gaze snapped toward him indignantly. "I'm just making sure you don't overdo it!"

"Oh, come on, Daisy. You said yourself that the wound probably won't open up again. Nothing's going to happen." With these words, he finished his last push-up and then let himself fall back into the grass with a satisfied grin, his eyes fixed on the blue sky above him.

You stare at him wordlessly before shifting your gaze back to the front. "Nevertheless, you shouldn't overdo it yet."

"Or just say you're worried about me," he grinned, shifting his eyes from the sky to the back of your head.

A snort escaped your lips. "Oh, please. I just don't want you to get hurt, only for me to have to make compresses for you again for four weeks."

"But you would, wouldn't you?"

His question made you pause, and slowly you turned your head back in his direction. "What?" you asked in a soft voice.

"If I were to get hurt again," he looked you in the eyes with a serious, deep gaze, "you would help me one more time, wouldn't you?"

For a few seconds, you offered no reply; only the chirping of birds filled the air with sound—along with your heart, which was surely beating far too loudly, and you could only hope that he didn't have even the faintest clue.

But you nodded without thinking. "Of course."

A peaceful smile slowly formed on Seungcheol's face before he hummed, nodded, and looked back up at the sky. "I knew it."

"What?" you asked in confusion, and the Alpha laying before you merely shook his head, amused.

"What did you know?" the question escaped your lips impatiently; and when Seungcheol remained silent—still wearing nothing but an amused grin on his face—you reached without a second thought for the nearest object; which, this time, happened to be a full watering can.

Seungcheol’s eyes snapped wide open; faster than you could even blink, he was already standing several meters away at a safe distance while you, watering can still in hand, scrambled to pick yourself up off the ground.

"Don't." Seungcheol’s warning voice rumbled across to you, yet you saw the challenge written clearly and unmistakably in his eyes.

"Then tell me what you meant with that!" you called out to him, taking a courageous step toward him.

His grin evolved into something cheeky before he called out to you: "I knew that, deep down, you're just a huge softie hiding behind that tough exterior!"

Outraged, you gaped at him and narrowed your eyes. "Excuse me? I could kill you in your sleep with my herbs and plants! Who are you calling a softie?"

By now, he was no longer grinning, but merely smiling over at you—and if you could, you would imprint that image in your memory forever. "You, Daisy."

You nodded thoughtfully, then looked down at the watering can. "I warned you."

"Bring it," he said challengingly, raising an eyebrow as that stupid, arrogant smirk reappeared on his face. The very next moment, you lunged at him, aiming to get him as soaked as possible—though, of course, you knew he would fight back with everything he had.

And so, it wasn't just him who ended up thoroughly drenched—you did, too.

It probably should have bothered you that he saw you like that. After all, you had intended to project the exact opposite image. You didn't want him to think that, deep down, you were gentle and accommodating. A gentle soul wouldn't survive the solitude of the forest. Out here, you had to be tough; unfathomable and unapproachable. But apparently, with Seungcheol by your side, that simply wasn't possible.

And a part of you didn't even want to be that way around him.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Sometimes you wondered what kind of job Seungcheol had back home. He was truly never too proud for any kind of work, and when he told you today that he would take care of dinner, and that you should simply sit in the chair and relax, you wondered if the man standing before you could actually cook.

But the way he moved around the kitchen—precisely chopping the vegetables while keeping a constant eye on the pot—told you everything you needed to know.

"Is there actually anything you can't do?" you asked, resting your head on your hand as you watched him work in your kitchen.

Seungcheol hummed as he peeled the carrots in front of him.

"A lot," he replied without looking up, before suddenly holding out a peeled carrot; you took it from his hand with a word of thanks and carefully took a bite.

"A lot?" you echoed skeptically, "You say that as if I haven't seen you split firewood, fix my fence, carry half the forest on your shoulders and somehow make soup that smells that good?"

Seungcheol scoffed adding the vegetables into the boiling soup.

"You make me sound impressive."

"You are impressive," you mumbled around another bite, not even thinking before the words slipped out.

HIs hands froze just for a second over the cutting board. Only when you realized what you had just said did your eyes widen slightly, and you quickly looked away.

"I mean, not impressive impressive. Just…" you cleared your throat awkwardly. "Useful."

"Useful?" Seungcheol repeated, amusement clear in his voice while turning his head to look back at you.

"Very useful."

His soft laugh ringed in your ears and with a nodding head he fixated his gaze on the work before him again. "I'll take it."

Silence settled between you again, peaceful and warm. The only sounds filling the cabin were the crackling of the fire and the soft bubbling from the pot.

"So?" you suddenly asked.

"So?"

"What can't you do?"

Seungcheol stirred the pot with a wodden spoon before answering. "I'm bad with herbs."

A scoff escaped your lips. "Obviously."

"Hey." His eyes were on you in an instant again and you shrugged innocently with your shoudlers, pointing with the carrot in your hand at him.

"You almost poisened yourself a few days ago."

"But it smelled nice!"

"Just because some herbs smell nice doesn't mean they couldnt kill you" a soft smile appeared on your face.

Seungcheol turned around again and just mumbled as an answer, "still smelled nice.", and your heart felt.. full.

This was normal. And you hadn't had that in such a long time. So you cherished the time with Seungcheol, which felt like a gift—reparations for everything that had been done to you.

Perhaps it was the cozy atmosphere and the cabin’s overall aura, but when Seungcheol suddenly started asking questions, after you had both finished eating and were sitting at the table with your tea, you didn’t immediately feel like you were drowning.

It was likely because you trusted Seungcheol by now. Trust was dangerous, but God, it had been so long since you’d been able to trust anyone. And the words inside you were practically clamoring to finally reach ears that would understand you.

"How much longer do you want to stay here, Daisy?"

A somewhat vulnerable look must have been reflected in my eyes, for Seungcheol straightened up slightly in his seat and rested both forearms on the table.

"I mean, you don't have to stay here just because you can't think of any other option."

"And what other option do I have, Seungcheol?" you asked, your voice raspy and your heart pounding far too fast.

He said nothing for a few seconds, as if weighing every option in his mind, before murmuring softly, "You could come with me. To my…" he hesitated for a brief moment, "To my village."

You met his gaze without a word. Right—this was something you had constantly suppressed over the last few nights: the thought that Seungcheol would leave. That he wouldn't stay with you because he had a life outside your cabin. The thought was selfish, yet deep down, you wished he wouldn't eventually leave—that he would choose you. Which was, of course, complete nonsense, but it hurt nonetheless.

"There is no place in the world I’d rather be than right here, Seungcheol," you said, instead of voicing the whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

"But why?" his voice pressed. "The whole world is open to you, and you decide to hide here from…" He couldn't go on because he didn't have a damn clue why I was hiding in the first place.

You pressed your lips together and lifted your gaze to the ceiling, struggling desperately not to burst into tears right then and there in front of this man. You had already cried enough over your situation back then, swearing to yourself that you wouldn't be so weak anymore and would finally make the best of things.

Butt here you were now. Seungcheol, poor Seungcheol, dragged into the mess of your life and wanting to help you.

"Daisy" he murmured softly and stood up from his chair, making his way to you and squatted down in front of your chair so that your eyes were level. "Look at me."

Your eyes met his cautiously, and the mere warmth and trust reflected in his gaze drew two small tears from your eyes that now slowly trickled down your cheeks.

"There’s nowhere for me to go, Seungcheol," you whispered softly, and he immediately shook his head as his hands reached for yours, his thumbs gently stroking the backs of your hands.

"That can't be true."

But you nodded and drew a shaky breath. "He would find me. Anywhere. And I can't let that happen."

Seungcheol froze. His eyes studied you intently, picking up every nuance of your expression even more clearly now.

"Who?"

You shook your head and looked at him, silently pleading with him not to press the issue.

But this time, Seungcheol didn't listen to you.

"Daisy, who is looking for you?"

Your hands were trembling slightly, and your thoughts were racing. You couldn't tell him the whole truth. But half-truths—that was something you could work with.

"An alpha," you murmured, looking down at your intertwined hands in your lap.

"Back then, my father handed me over to him and his family and received a lot of gold in return—enough to support himself and his new wife and buy a new house." Your eyes turned back to Seungcheol, who met your gaze with angry eyes. There was no longer any trace of tears in yours. "I stayed with them for a few months, but I ran away before the wedding."

Seungcheol didnt say anything. He simply stared at you.

And the longer he remained silent, the more you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers slowly curled into fists.

"They sold you," he finally said quietly.

You nodded as exhaustion spread through your limbs.

"And your father agreed with it."

His ankles were now white, so tightly had Seungcheol clenched his hands into fists. "How old were you?"

You didn't have to think long. "Eighteen."

Seungcheol's eyes closed briefly for a second. He let out a slow breath and looked away for a moment, letting your hands go and standing up again while he ran his hand through his dark hair.

"Did he hurt you?"

Your answer came quickly. "No. At least not physically."

Something in Seungcheol's eyes darkened and he cursed under his breath.

The next few seconds were filled with silence, and your vacant eyes were fixed on your tea, which had since gone cold. Seungcheol knew far too much about you by now—but no matter how painful it was to speak out what happened to you, it also felt good to finally be able to tell someone.

"You know," he said softly after a minute and your eyes snapped up to him, "I've met men who start wars over gold."

Confused, you narrowed your eyes slightly, but you couldn't ask what he meant because he was already speaking again—his dark eyes fixed solely on yours.

"I've met men who betray their own blood for power." he swallowed, "But selling your daughter…" He shook his head in disbelief.

"I dont understand it."

Pain filled your heart as you met his gaze. "He wasn't always like this."

Memories played out before your eyes, and a sad smile touched your lips as you spoke in a quiet voice. "He used to carry me on his shoulders when I was little."

Your hands fidgeted restlessly with each other, your eyes fixed on the floor. "He'd bring my mother flowers every spring." You pressed your lips together. "And then she died."

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and you were certain that if you looked at Seungcheol’s face now, you would see nothing but pity—and you would break down right there in front of him.

"And after that?" Seungcheol asked gently.

A bitter smile appeared on your lips. "He stopped being my father."

It was the truth. After your mother was no longer in this world, your father was nothing but a shadow of his former self. He lost his job, spent more time in a bar than at home, and abandoned his grieving daughter—who, damn it, needed her father.

Your hands clenched into fists as an overwhelming rage filled you, but just as quickly as it had come, it vanished at Seungcheol's next words.

"I'm sorry."

You blinked and raised your head. "For what?"

"That you lost them both."

You felt like you couldnt breath.

"Your mother…" he continued quietly. "And then your father, even though he was still alive."

No one ever understood the pain you felt because of this. You mourned your dead mother, but you mourned your father just as much—for although he was still alive, he had long since ceased to live by your side. Because you had lost him, too, on the day your mother died.

"They are fools. All of them." Seungcheol's voice was firm and brimming with conviction as he knelt down in front of you again and his eyes met yours, unwavering.

"Because if they had known you, really known you, there's no amount of gold in the world they would've traded you for."

Your breath caught in your lungs, and you stared speechlessly at the man in front of you. This time, no tears ran down your cheeks. This time, a gentle smile slowly formed on your lips, and your heart felt warm.

You didn't regret for a single second having told Seungcheol more about yourself.

The next day, you didn't talk about yesterday's conversation—something you were grateful for. While it felt good that Seungcheol knew a little more about you now and you were glad to have opened up to him at least a bit, you really didn't like talking about the past, let alone thinking about it. You had already wasted far too many moments of your life on that.

But apparently, yesterday's conversation took more of a toll on you than you thought, given that you woke up this morning with a splitting headache and an overwhelming sense of fatigue.

You blamed it on the bad weather. A mere glance out the window showed you the torrential rain, and perhaps you had caught a cold a few days ago? Surely nothing that your good herbs couldn't quickly fix.

But as you tried to slowly rise from the reading chair (it was your turn to sleep in it again tonight) and stood upright for just a few seconds, dizziness overcame you, and you quickly sank back down into the chair, squinting your eyes.

At that exact moment, the headache returned, and you had to stifle a pained whimper. It felt as though your head was about to explode. And why the hell was it so hot?

"What's wrong?"

Seungcheol’s voice echoed through the cabin, and your eyes opened again as your head snapped up toward him. And just like that, you felt better.

The throbbing in your head had subsided, and the sudden dizziness was gone, too. You didn't feel so hot anymore, and in general, you felt… lighter?

Confused, you narrowed your eyes slightly and then just gave a slight shake of your head. "Nothing, I think I've just caught a bit of a cold," you murmured softly, rubbing your tired eyes.

Seungcheol’s gaze drifted out the window, and he nodded when he saw the pouring rain. "Stay and keep yourself covered up. I’ll make us some breakfast." He turned toward the kitchen counter and surveyed your vast selection of herbal teas. "And tea for you—provided you call out which herbs I should use so I don't accidentally poison you."

A playful look was reflected in his eyes, but it vanished the moment he saw you huddled in the reading chair: your head rested wearily against the backrest and you could barely keep your eyes open, even as you struggled to keep your gaze fixed on him.

Seungcheol’s eyes softened instantly. "Daisy," he murmured, crossing the short distance to you and kneeling down. He placed a hand gently against your forehead, and it felt like heaven. Seungcheol could do anything he wanted—just as long as he didn't take his hand away from you.

"You're burning up," he murmured with concern; his hand left your forehead, and you almost whined in protest. But the very next moment, he held out both hands to you. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

You immediately placed your hands in his, and a deep sense of contentment washed over you once more. You had no idea what was wrong with you; the moment Seungcheol was gone, you felt miserable, yet with just a single touch from him, all your ailments vanished in an instant?

Seungcheol helped you straighten up and gently pulled you to your feet. Under normal circumstances, this moment would have been incredibly embarrassing for you, but given your situation, you didn't even think to feel ashamed as you stumbled weakly against him and rested your head exhaustedly against his chest. Right there, level with his heart, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat alone made you feel like you could drift off into a peaceful sleep right then and there.

A small whimper actually escaped your lips, and you noticed Seungcheol freeze for a few seconds before, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a soft breath and murmured, "Don't kill me for this once you're feeling better, but I don't know how else to get you into bed." With those words, he gently slid one hand beneath the backs of your knees while supporting your back with the other, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

Your eyes closed contentedly, and your head was still resting against his chest as he carried you into your bedroom and gently lowered you onto the bed. The moment his hands left your body, the headache and dizziness returned.

You squeezed your eyes shut in pain and buried your face in the pillow, and - oh. oh.

It smelled like Seungcheol.

Contentment filled your heart; even though the headache lingered, the dizziness was at least gone. Seungcheol had quickly fetched a glass of water from the kitchen; he knelt gently in front of you again and held it out.

"Drink," he ordered softly. Your eyes opened, and you tentatively tried to take the glass from him, but he shook his head and kept a firm grip on it.

"You'll spill it," he murmured; his hand gently cradled the back of your neck, guiding your feverish head toward the glass and helping you take at least a few small sips. "Here you go," he murmured with satisfaction, then set the glass down on the small nightstand beside the bed.

Your eyes closed wearily, and when Seungcheol quietly told you to simply call him if you needed him, you nodded—too exhausted to find the strength to speak.

Just before he left the room, however, something occurred to you.

"I need my suppression tea"

Seungcheol stopped in his tracks and looked at you with watchful eyes. "What kind of tea?" Unease spread through his body; he had a sinking suspicion given your condition, and he prayed to the gods that he was wrong.

Yet you had no inkling of this. You kept your eyes closed and spoke on, as if no wall in the world, one you had built around yourself over the years, could now hold back what had to be said. "For my heat. That I dont get it."

Alarm washed over Seungcheol. "You drink tea to keep from going into heat?" he asked in a low, stunned voice, and you hummed in agreement, half-asleep.

Seungcheol closed his eyes for exactly three seconds before pulling himself together. "How long has it been since you were last in heat, Daisy?" he asked in a steady voice, and your answer knocked the ground out from under him.

"One year," came your quiet reply before you fell asleep enveloped in Seungcheol's scent, and the Alpha in your room didn't even take his eyes off you for another whole minute, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now with an Omega about to go into heat for the first time in a year again.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Seungcheol felt like he couldn't breathe. Or it was that Alpha inside him that is knocking the air out of his body right now, demanding him to go to her and help the Omega in distress.

God, he was so stupid.

Why hadn't he thought about it much sooner? Why hadn't he even considered how you managed here, all alone in this little cabin, during your heats? There was no Alpha here to help you, and by now he knew you well enough to realize that you never would have let one get close to you anyway. After all, you had been sold to a damn Alpha.

Seungcheol gripped the kitchen counter tightly.

Suppression herbs.

You took damn herbs to suppress your heat so you wouldn't have to suffer through it alone. Because you had no other choice.

It had been a long time since Seungcheol had felt rage like the kind now seething within him. The last time was the day he lost Noxus and slaughtered the three men who had been pursuing him.

But, god - Seungcheol was furious.

Furious at your cowardly father, who had set this whole situation in motion; furious at that damned Alpha and his family, who had merely exploited you—seeing not you, but only your value as a woman; furious at yourself for putting yourself through all this—alone.

But most of all, he was furious at himself. Furious that he had let himself be lulled by the normalcy of everyday life, by a routine that had increasingly felt like a blessing and had failed to immediately analyze and grasp the facts, as he had always done back in Noxtus.

He was a king, damn it. How could he have failed to put two and two together?

Now, as he thought hard about it, everything made sense. He recalled the panic you had shown that day in the kitchen when you were searching for specific herbs; the moment he had finally caught your scent for the first time. You had run out of the herbs used to suppress your heat, which was why you had needed new ones so desperately.

He racked his brains trying to remember the name of those herbs.

Then his eyes fell on your bookshelf, and he remembered how you had once proudly shown him a thick book about herbs and plants. You had bought it at the market a very long time ago, and it was a huge help to you because it contained a vast amount of information on all kinds of herbs and plants.

In a few strides, he pulled it out and studied the massive tome in his hand. A look of doubt crossed his features, and his dark eyes turned toward the ajar bedroom door, where you lay asleep in bed.

Seungcheol’s alpha didn’t want to waste time leafing through the volume to figure out why the herbs had stopped working. He wanted to get to his omega and help her—damn it all.

His omega.

Seungcheol paused for a moment as that possessive thought swirled through his mind; he quickly suppressed his eager alpha and pulled himself together.

He had to find out why the herbs were no longer effective—and hope he didn't lose his mind in the process of keeping his alpha in check the whole time.

It took nearly an hour before he finally recognized the name again. Cyperus. Seungcheol straightened up in his chair, and his eyes focused on the text that would finally provide the answers he needed.

Cyperus (Moon Sedge) Common names: Moon Sedge, Silver Cyperus, Omega's Grace A perennial marsh herb characterized by long, silver-green stems and narrow leaves with pale white veins. When dried and prepared as tea over an extended period, Cyperus has been known to calm the instincts of Omegas and suppress the onset of heat. Properties and Uses For centuries, Cyperus has been used by healers and physicians to ease severe heat symptoms or delay the cycle when no suitable Alpha is available. Daily consumption over several months gradually weakens the body's response to heat and may suppress it entirely for extended periods. However, long-term use can result in increased fatigue, weakened senses and a more severe heat once the herb is discontinued. Preparation The leaves and roots are to be dried and steeped in hot water once daily. Effects are cumulative and depend on consistent use. Sudden interruption after prolonged consumption often results in an intense rebound heat within one to three days. Warning Cyperus should not be administered without careful identification. Do not confuse with Cyperus Alba (White Marsh Reed), a visually near-identical species with broader veins and lighter roots. While harmless, Cyperus Alba possesses no suppressive properties and is traditionally used only to relieve headaches and mild fevers. Substituting one for the other may lead to unintended heat onset due to ineffective suppression.

Seungcheol’s eyes snapped toward the kitchen, and the next moment he was no longer sitting in the chair but was going through all your drawers of herbs to find your Cyperus herbs.

What felt like a damn eternity, because you had so many herbs at your disposal, yet none of them looked like the one described in the book.

Seungcheol looked around the kitchen with a frown before his gaze fell upon a small, inconspicuous box. Without paying attention to your privacy, wondering where you might be storing things, he opened it, thinking he had finally found exactly what he was looking for.

However, these were not the standard Cyperus herbs, but the Cyperus alba—the very plant that did nothing to suppress a heat. Unknowingly, you had stopped taking your medication over the past few days and were now on the verge of going into heat.

And according to the reference guide, this heat would be far more intense and prolonged than a normal one.

Seungcheol closed his eyes in despair and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

His alpha already knew the answer to that, but Seungcheol doubted you would like the idea.

When he thought back on his life so far, Seungcheol realized that he had never seen an Omega active in Heat before. Whenever Seungcheol went into rut, omegas from a specialized care program would attend to him. Utmost discretion was always maintained—after all, he had been the Crown Prince of Noxtus—and Seungcheol recalled feeling almost nothing during those times. It was simply a matter of biology: having to ride out those few days and satisfy his alpha’s needs.

But he had never cared for an omega himself.

He had no idea what to look for, what exactly omegas needed, or whether you were even in a state to decide whether you wanted his help or not.

His gaze turned back to the bedroom door, and Seungcheol could only fervently hope that, when you woke up, you would be thinking clearly before things really got started.

He didn't have to wait long. The soup he was preparing was nearly ready—he knew you would need food and water during the breaks; plenty of water—when a sweet scent wafted to him. His breath caught in his throat, and he tried to calm his pounding heart as well as his restless alpha, which seemed to be thrashing about inside him; it only settled down once he saw your gentle form lying in the bed.

You had your eyes closed, but when you realized Seungcheol had entered the room, you slowly opened them.

"Hey," you croaked in a raspy voice, and Seungcheol smiled carefully at you.

"Hey, you."

He approached your bed with slow steps, and you made no move to stir. You weren't in heat. That thought reassured Seungcheol, yet the beads of sweat on your forehead and the disoriented look in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. It wouldn't be long now.

But he had to talk to you first. He needed to know what to do.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, slowly settling onto the edge of the bed. He didn't touch you. He was afraid of triggering something that wasn't supposed to happen yet.

"Not good," you merely murmured, and Seungcheol pressed his lips together, wondering how best to phrase his next words.

When nothing better occurred to him, he sighed softly. "Daisy, can you sit up?"

For a brief moment, you didn't move; then you nodded gently and, with agonizing slowness, sat up and leaned against the bed's backrest. You winced in pain, your face twisting, before looking back at Seungcheol.

"What's wrong?" you asked wearily, looking at him with concern, and Seungcheol’s heart clenched painfully. You were doing terribly, yet you were still worried about him.

Seungcheol looked down at the floor for a moment before sighing and then looking at you with a serious expression. "Daisy, you need to listen to me very carefully now." His eyes bored into yours. "Can you do that?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you nodded gently.

Well, here goes nothing.

"You're going into heat."

For a few moments, your expression remained motionless. Confusion and shame slowly were reflected in your eyes as you wondered why on earth he was making such claims.

"W-What? I can't. I drink my cyperus tea every day," you said with faint determination, shaking your head slightly.

Seungcheol’s mouth turned down slightly, and he regarded you warily as he replied. "You didn't buy Cyperus herbs in the village. They are herbs from a plant that looks almost identical but has no suppressive effects. Cyperus alba." His voice was gentle; the last thing he wanted was to send you into a panic and thereby stress your body—your omega—even further.

But no matter how gently he might have spoken the words, there was nothing he could have done—deliberately, at least—to prevent the panic rising within you. Your eyes widened slightly, and he could practically see your thoughts racing.

"N-No, that can't be right. I… I specifically said I absolutely needed the Cyperus herbs, and the old lady—" your voice broke, and panicked tears glistened in your wide eyes as the realization finally hit you.

"The old lady was nearly blind and deaf," you murmured, devastated, your hands trembling as they clawed at the bedcovers. "And I wanted to get out of the village as quickly as possible, so I didn't check the herbs again."

Calmness and determination were reflected in Seungcheol’s eyes. He couldn't afford to panic himself right now. He had to have the situation under control, just as he had so many times before. It was now his responsibility to ensure you got better as quickly as possible.

"Daisy, look at me."

But you were deeply trapped in your panic. Your breathing was ragged, and the full extent of the situation was likely just dawning on you—the fact that you hadn't been in heat for a year, and that it wasn't going to be a normal one. You didn't react to Seungcheol's words.

"Daisy." His voice was calm but serious. Determined.

Without a second thought, he reached for both your hands and held them firmly in his own. Your warm, soft hands in his large, rough ones; his alpha let out a delighted cry. You fell silent instantly, staring at him with wide eyes. Your scent made Seungcheol swallow hard for a moment before he pulled himself together.

"I can help you."

You immediately stiffened. "W-What?" you asked in a panicked voice.

Seungcheol gently squeezed your hands.

"Listen, this heat isn't going to be normal." His eyes shined in determination. "It could last weeks, and I won't let you suffer through every single second of it. You don't have to suffer." His voice grew quieter, softer. "Let me help you."

You said nothing, but your eyes—still wide with shock—told Seungcheol everything he needed to know.

"I won't force myself on you. If you don't want my help, I won't impose it on you. But I promise you, if you do want it, it won't change anything between us." Seungcheol’s chest ached, as if the words spilling out of him were pure poison. "I won't be your Alpha and you won't be my Omega afterward. I’ll leave as soon as I’m fully recovered."

His voice shifted, growing quieter—more fragile—as he practically pleaded with you. "But let me make it up to you. Let me repay you for saving my life back then. I don't—I can't—bear to hear you suffering in here for weeks."

His eyes remained locked on yours, and you stared back at him speechlessly before slowly calming down and gazing, defeated, at the duvet beneath you.

"I need to hear it from you, Daisy. Once you’re in heat, you won’t be able to think clearly anymore. That’s why I need to know," he murmured in a deep voice.

It felt like an eternity, but Seungcheol waited. He didn't let go of your hands. And when you finally looked up at him cautiously and he caught a glimpse of your clear eyes, he knew you had made a decision.

"Okay," you murmured, and Seungcheol felt as though he could finally breathe again. "But only on the condition you promised." You took a deep breath and returned his gaze. "Nothing between us will change."

Seungcheol nodded and smiled slightly. His alpha ought to have been leaping for joy, but strangely enough, it remained calm and grumbled with dissatisfaction. But Seungcheol couldn't focus on that right now. He had promised to look after you well—to take care of you. And he would damn himself to hell if he failed to do so.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

The next time you woke up, it felt as though the whole world were spinning. Your breathing was labored, and, disoriented, you wiped your face; beads of sweat stood on your forehead, and your shirt clung uncomfortably to your skin.

That was exactly why you had drunk that damn tea every day. You hated being in heat. Every damn time, it felt like you were about to die—and that one time you went into heat at his house was the decisive moment when you decided to run away.

The first few times in the cabin were awful, too, marked by days of writhing back and forth and an endless craving to get a knot—but thanks to the constant, steady intake of the tea, things finally improved over time. Until, eventually, you stopped having heats altogether.

You knew it went against your biology and that subjecting an omega body to this was by no means healthy, but it felt like the right solution, especially when you thought back to the reason your father had handed you over to him in the first place.

In any case, that only worked until Seungcheol entered your life. You should have put two and two together immediately. You should have questioned why your omega wouldn't stay quiet—even with the tea—ever since he arrived. You should have questioned it even more when your omega suddenly went unnaturally quiet out of nowhere, even though you were drinking tea made from Cyberus Alba herbs that no longer had any suppressive effects.

Your omega was preparing for a heat and was now more present than ever. It was practically screaming inside you for attention—for Seungcheol’s attention.

From the moment Seungcheol stepped into your cabin and your omega realized an alpha would be in close proximity for an extended period, it had been a losing battle.

And now Seungcheol had offered to help you. After you said yes, he had gently and carefully fed you soup and helped you drink every now and then; the mere thought of being so weak and dependent on someone again made you want to burst into tears.

But you had no strength, and your body felt as though it were about to explode at any moment.

Your insides writhed and twisted, and as a painful cramp filled your lower abdomen, you jerked violently, unable to stop the small whimper that escaped your lips.

Seungcheol was standing in the room the next second.

His eyes regarded you with concern, and had you not been in such a state, you might have noticed his hands trembling for a mere two seconds before he clenched them into fists, regaining control over himself and his fear of the situation.

Your eyes closed in embarrassment but fluttered open again when you heard cautious footsteps and saw Seungcheol crouching beside the bed with a cool cloth.

Without a word, he gently pressed it against your forehead and dabbed away the sweat. You studied his face. He was completely focused; his dark eyes followed the movement of his hands, and his brows were furrowed with concern. Only then did you notice a small scar running through his right eyebrow.

You attributed your next move to your current state. Had you been yourself, and not on the verge of going into heat, you never would have cautiously reached out and slowly traced the scar with your thumb.

Seungcheol froze instantly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, though yours remained fixed on his scar.

"Where did you get that?" you asked in a raspy voice. Seungcheol didn't answer for a few seconds, finally replying in a voice that sounded just as thick with emotion.

"I fell while playing with Jun when I was a kid and slammed into the edge of a table."

An amused look crossed your eyes as you continued to stroke the scar. "It's pretty."

Seungcheol’s eyebrows rose skeptically, causing you to still your hand. "You think my scar is pretty?"

"Hmm. It suits you" you murmured dreamily, slowly pulling your hand away before shifting uncomfortably a moment later. "God, Seungcheol, I’m so hot."

You tugged at your shirt, which was still clinging to your skin, and Seungcheol’s eyes followed your hands before he took a deep breath. "Let's get you out of this, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, and the next moment, Seungcheol was no longer crouching beside the bed; instead, he gently pulled you up with his large, rough, beautiful hands and positioned himself sitting behind you. You lacked the strength to stay upright on your own, so you immediately fell backward, finding yourself leaning against Seungcheol’s broad, muscular chest.

God, how had you gone without this until now? Seungcheol’s hands steadying your arms felt heavenly, and your features softened as he was finally close to you.

"Is this okay?" Seungcheol’s voice broke the brief silence, and you nodded quickly; you absolutely didn’t want him to let go of you.

You thought you heard an amused snort behind you, though it was quite possible you had just imagined it.

"I need you to lift your arms for me, can you do that?"

You carefully raised your arms, and the sound of Seungcheol humming in approval sent shivers across your skin.

"Good girl," he murmured close to your ear; those words alone made you feel dizzy again, and your omega was floating on cloud nine with joy.

Seungcheol’s hands grasped the hem of your shirt and carefully pulled it over your head; now, the only thing covering your upper body was a short top. It clung to your skin, and your breasts pressed uncomfortably against it, but Seungcheol didn’t reach for the top. Instead, he picked up the cold cloth again and soothingly dabbed at your arms, shoulders, and neck.

A contented sound escaped your lips, and your eyes closed in sheer pleasure.

"Good?" Seungcheol’s soft voice asked from behind you, and you could only nod; even if you had wanted to speak, no sound would have come out. You were too focused on Seungcheol’s hands on you, on the cloth pressing against the back of your neck, and—oh.

Your breathing quickened slightly as Seungcheol’s fingertips touched that sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder. Your body was already trembling with arousal, and your chest rose and fell rapidly.

Seungcheol, sitting behind you, set the cold cloth aside; his breath caressed the back of your neck, and his deep voice caressed your right ear. "Can we try something, Daisy?"

You didn't even stop to consider an answer; you nodded immediately, and a hoarse whisper escaped your lips. "Please."

Seungcheol’s soft laughter sent a flutter of stars through your stomach. His hands gently stroked up and down your arms, and your head was now resting in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.

"Tell me if I should stop," he murmured, his fingers lightly tracing that exact spot at the base of your neck.

"Don't," you whispered breathlessly; your eyes fluttered shut in sheer pleasure as his hot breath replaced his fingers. The tip of his nose grazed softly from your shoulder up to your neck, and when his mouth found the perfect spot, you let out a loud, blissful sigh, your chest rising with the intensity of the sensation.

God, nothing had even happened yet, and you could already feel the heat and wetness between your legs.

Then you realized what he was actually doing.

Seungcheol is scenting you.

And you would go up in flames if he stopped. His lips grazed the spot gently, and when he began to suck lightly on it, you couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips. Your hands reached out for something; one hand clutched the duvet, while the other dug into Seungcheol's leg.

A few hours ago, Seungcheol had made it clear to you that he had never done anything like this before, but now you found it hard to believe him, because it felt heavenly. He alternated between kissing, licking, and sucking, and if scenting alone felt this good, you couldn't imagine what it would be like to take his knot. The mere thought made you drip even more, and a longing sound escaped your lips.

Seungcheol laughed softly against your skin before trailing kisses higher and higher up your neck, murmuring in a low voice behind your right ear: "You should hear the pretty sounds coming from your mouth, sweetheart."

His mouth continued to kiss your neck, not neglecting the other side —and you eagerly offered your neck to him.

"All for me," he murmured, sounding almost hungry, as he kept on licking, sucking, and kissing—on and on. Until you could barely stand it anymore.

"Seungcheol," you whimpered softly; he stopped with a low hum and brushed his nose against your cheek.

"Tell me what you want, pretty girl."

Your eyes met his, and an irrepressible desire surged through you. You needed his lips on yours. Right now.

"Kiss me?"

Not even a second later, his lips were hungrily claiming yours, and every part of you cried out in joy. The world was spinning again—not in an overwhelming way this time, but as if everything were finally right. As if there were no better place on earth for you than right here in his arms.

His lips claimed yours, and his hand moved to the back of your neck to pull you even closer. A sound of contentment escaped you as his tongue grazed your lips, and you immediately granted him entry. Your tongues intertwined, and you had to break the kiss briefly to catch your breath. Both your breathing and Seungcheol’s was heavy; his dark, hungry eyes bored into yours, and the desire burning within you couldn't possibly be your own—it had to stem from some higher power—for the mere sight of his face and the hunger in his eyes compelled you to press your lips against his once more.

This time, you didn't pull away first; even when Seungcheol carefully shifted forward so he was no longer behind you, he made sure not to break the contact between your lips. Whenever it did happen, he closed the gap again almost immediately.

His hands gently pressed you into the mattress, and he hovered over you, breaking the kiss to look down at you breathlessly.

"You okay?" he asked, his breathing rapid, and you nodded quickly—far too quickly, because you needed him. Right now.

"Good. Because I don't think I can stop even if I wanted to," he exhaled, and you quickly shook your head.

"Don't stop."

A smile formed on his lips, and you felt like you were melting.

"Let's get you out of these clothes," he murmured, hungrily eyeing your nipples pressing against the thin fabric of your top.

Goosebumps rippled across your skin as he slowly—with agonizing deliberation—pulled your top over your arms and head; you let out a soft breath as the cool air touched your nipples. You felt not a trace of shame, for Seungcheol’s lips were already gently kissing your neck, tracing a path downward with kisses as delicate as raindrops.

When he finally reached the level of your breasts, his eyes darkened even further—if that was even possible.

"Look at these," he murmured yearningly. "Look at you." His eyes shone with something you couldn't quite place—but you had no time to think, for he was slowly tracing circles with his fingertips along the underside of your right breast, and you impatiently arched your chest toward him.

His eyes shifted back to yours, teasing. "Impatient little thing," he laughed softly, though his fingertips continued to merely circle under your breast.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, followed by a breathless plea.

A smile played on Seungcheol’s lips as he murmured, "Don't worry, sweetheart. They’ll get all the attention they deserve." His gaze dropped back to your breasts, and finally—damn it, finally—he gently traced circles over your right nipple with his fingertips while his other hand softly kneaded your other breast.

Your eyes closed in sheer pleasure, and whimper after whimper escaped your lips. "Yes, God, please don't stop," you murmured, and a small gasp escaped you as you felt the familiar warmth of his tongue tracing your right nipple.

You pressed your legs together; by now, you were certain you were already dripping wet.

Seungcheol took all the time in the world, just as he had promised. He began by kissing, licking, and teasing your right nipple. The pink buds glistened from his tongue, and while his mouth was occupied with one, his fingers grazed the other.

"Oh my God," you whispered in pleasure, and Seungcheol hummed contentedly. He moved away from your breasts with gentle kisses and looked up at you teasingly, then kissed your soft stomach and murmured, "Just wait until I get to your pussy, sweetheart. Then you can pray to as many gods as you want."

A breathless, guttural sound escaped your lips, and you sighed in a pleading voice, "Then hurry."

Seungcheol laughed as he slowly pulled your trousers off your legs, shaking his head with evident relish. "Forget it, Daisy. I’m taking all the time in the world with you."

You turned your gaze toward him in sweet torment; he came back up to you with an amused smile and kissed the back of your neck again. "You're a masochist," you murmured, though you didn't mean it at all. "I hate you."

Seungcheol grinned against your skin, his eyes locking onto yours once more. "You hate me?" He raised his eyebrows teasingly and ran his left hand gently over your thigh—dangerously close to your panties, the only garment left on your body.

You pressed your lips together, your breathing quickening again. Seungcheol’s smile turned even more teasing. "You're a terrible liar, sweetheart."

His lips kissed you again, and right as the kiss deepened, you suddenly felt his fingers pressing against your underwear; you broke the kiss with a guttural moan. His fingers traced agonizingly slowly over your pussy, and your hips jerked upward greedily.

"If you hated me, Daisy,"—his voice dripped with hunger—"you wouldn't react to me like this."

A soft moan escaped you, and you looked up at him with pleading eyes while he continued to stroke gently over your covered midsection.

"Seungcheol, please," you breathed, and his dark eyes never once left yours.

"What do you need?" he asked in a firm voice; you squeezed your eyes shut as goosebumps spread across your skin.

"I—I…" you stammered, unable to get the words out and shutting your eyes.

"Daisy, look at me."

Slowly, your eyes opened again, almost losing themselves in the depths of his. "I won't do anything you don't want. But you have to tell me how you want it. What I should do."

His lips brushed gently against your cheek. "You're in control, even though I'm the one doing the work."

Warmth filled your heart, and you looked up at him gratefully before murmuring, "I want you to touch me.. properly."

Satisfaction was reflected in Seungcheol’s eyes, and the next second, your pussy was no longer covered by your underwear; instead, the cool air caressed it gently. You let out a soft hiss of breath, and Seungcheol seemed unable to tear his gaze away from it.

"Look at you," he murmured in a rough voice, lightly tracing the area around it. "So wet, just for me." His eyes shifted back to your face. "Fucking perfect."

Your omega purred contentedly, and the moment Seungcheol finally stroked gently over your center and touched your clitoris, electric shocks shot through your entire body. He worked your pussy with slow, circular motions—alternating between a slower and faster pace—and the wet, squelching sound created in the process was enough to send you to another world.

You were a moaning, whimpering mess, and Seungcheol’s lips met yours again, though you couldn't hold the kiss for long—it simply felt too good. Seungcheol took all the time in the world with you, and as he slowly slid a finger inside you, your upper body arched in pleasure.

He moved his finger in and out with gentle pressure, watching every expression that crossed your face. You could see in Seungcheol’s look that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, too, even though he wasn't experiencing any physical pleasure of his own; it was as if seeing you feel so good was enough for him. In that moment, you briefly wondered how you had come to deserve someone like Seungcheol.

By now, he had two fingers inside you and was picking up the pace, making you moan even more.

Your lower belly clenched with pleasure as he stimulated exactly the right spots over and over again, and your moans grew increasingly broken, loud, and breathless.

"Seungcheol, I'm… I'm," you stammered, unable to form coherent words.

But Seungcheol understood you anyway.

"Come for me, baby. All over my hand."

And you did.

It felt like an explosion. Not a single sound escaped you, yet your mouth was open, and one ragged breath after another left your lips. Your legs trembled, and Seungcheol using his two fingers; steadily and effortlessly guided you through your first orgasm.

As it slowly subsided, you noticed—to your own chagrin (or perhaps your delight)—that you immediately wanted more. Much more.

It was surely due to your heat, but you didn't care. You needed him. Right now.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his head down, and you slammed your lips against his once more. Your tongue slid hungrily into his mouth, and he let you have your way—let you take whatever you wanted. He wouldn't deny you anything.

After a few moments, you broke the kiss and met his hungry gaze with the same intensity.

"I need you inside me, now." You kissed his cheek gently and let your omega speak through you. "Please, Alpha."

Seungcheol’s eyes flew wide open, and as if these were the words he had been waiting for all along, he clutched his hand in your hair; by now, his breathing was coming in ragged gasps.

"God, Daisy," he murmured, "you can't say things like that, baby."

Your mouth kissed his neck hungrily. "But it's true," you murmured against his skin. "I need you to fuck me." Your eyes met his again. "Please give me your knot."

Seungcheol gasped for breath and buried his face in the crook of your neck, lingering there for a few seconds as your hands traced down his back, before he nodded and looked at you with determination. "I'll give you whatever you want, sweetheart."

Then you were pressed back against the mattress, and Seungcheol quickly pulled his shirt over his head; the sight of his muscular torso left you speechless. You gazed at him with your mouth slightly open, and he gave you a playful wink. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

A smile played across your lips. "Let's see if you work up as much of a sweat here as you do when working out."

Seungcheol grinned and murmured against your lips. "I’m certainly enjoying this more than any workout session in your garden."

Then he took off his pants, and you could already see his cock pressing against his underwear. Your eyes widened slightly and darted up to his face. "And that's supposed to go inside me?"

Seungcheol glanced down at himself, eyebrows raised, before a crooked grin spread across his face and he looked back at you. "You can take it." Then he stripped off his underwear, and you really weren't sure if you could trust his words.

He was huge—long and thick. You hadn't seen many other cocks (aside from his back then, and that one was laughable compared to Seungcheol's), but you were certain that other men would likely be envious of Seungcheol.

Seungcheol slowly straddled you again, his cock pressing gently against your stomach, and once more you felt as though the breath had been knocked out of you. But from excitement, not panic. God, you could hardly wait.

Seungcheol kissed you again—this time gently and carefully—and when the kiss broke, you asked in a cautious voice, "Can I touch you?"

Seungcheol smiled at you—God, you loved it when he did that—and murmured, "If that's what you want." He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, and you nodded eagerly. "I want you to feel good too."

You pressed one hand against his chest, gently pushing him away just enough to position him so that he was lying on the mattress and you were over him.

You trailed soft kisses across his chest and stomach, and the feel of his hot breath against your skin only intensified your desire. Your hands stroked his lower belly, and the moment you slowly ran your hand over his cock, a low moan escaped his lips. "God, baby, you're going to be the death of me."

A smile played on your lips as you straightened up and simply replied, "Then I hope it's a good one." And then you took his cock fully in your hand and let your hand slide carefully up and down.

"Fuck," he hissed, trying to keep his eyes open and hold your gaze. You could have come right then and there without him even touching you again, but you focused on your hand and on Seungcheol’s ragged breathing.

After two minutes, Seungcheol suddenly sat up quickly, pulled you back down against him, and shifted your positions so that you were lying underneath him again.

"I need to be inside you right now, or I’m going to explode," he muttered hurriedly, and you laughed breathlessly as you nodded quickly. Seungcheol positioned himself and ran his hard cock over your wet center, sliding slowly up and down, and you moaned against his lips. He planted a quick kiss on your mouth and murmured, "Tell me if it hurts."

You nodded—that was all the signal Seungcheol needed—and the next moment, he carefully slid inside you, stretching your core open with a hint of pain. Your eyes narrowed slightly and Seungcheol stopped at once, but you shook your head. "No," you gasped, "keep going. Please."

Seungcheol waited a few seconds before slowly sliding further into you; it felt as perfect as two puzzle pieces finally coming together.

When Seungcheol’s cock grazed that exact right spot, you moaned and nodded wildly. "Right there."

Seungcheol slowly picked up the pace and straightened up slightly. His hands gripped your hips, and again and again, he hit the spot that made you see stars. Your moans grew louder—and that, precisely that, was what your omega had wanted all along. And you had been a fool to deny it that.

"God, Seungcheol," you gasped, burying your hands in the duvet as your moans mingled with his.

"You're doing so good, Daisy," he panted; you shook your head, fixed your eyes on him, and gasped your real name up at him.

It was crazy. Under normal circumstances, you never would have done this, but something inside you was screaming to reveal yourself to him—to give him at least a part of who you really were, as thanks for taking care of you and not letting you suffer.

Seungcheol was just as shocked as you; his movements slowed slightly. "W-What?" he rasped, looking down at you, and you couldn't help but smile softly.

"That's my real name," you murmured, looking up at him with a hint of uncertainty. "But I’m happy to stay Daisy for you; I don’t mind."

Seungcheol studied you for a few seconds before lowering his head and hungrily claiming your lips once more. "You'll always be my Daisy."

Tiny tears welled up in your eyes as Seungcheol picked up the pace again. You two merged into one; nothing mattered but your moans and the bond you shared—everything else faded into the background.

And just as you were both on the verge of climaxing, the painful realization hit you: you never wanted Seungcheol to leave.

That thought seared itself into your mind as your orgasm washed over you; a second later, Seungcheol came inside you, finally knotting with you.

Breathless, Seungcheol propped himself up on his hands beside your head, and you couldn't help it—tears of joy streamed down your cheeks.

Seungcheol’s eyes flew open in alarm, but you quickly shook your head. "It's okay," you whispered with a smile, swallowing hard. "I'm just so happy."

Seungcheol’s face involuntarily relaxed, and a gentle look appeared in his eyes. He brushed the hair from your face again, and your noses brushed lightly against each other.

You weren't sure if that earlier promise—that nothing would change between you afterward—hadn't been a huge mistake after all.

You fell asleep in his arms.

After Seungcheol slowly pulled away from you, he immediately held out a glass of water and insisted you drink it all. You fell into a deep sleep almost instantly after that; you only vaguely noticed him pulling you against his chest, yet you had never felt safer in your life than right there in his arms.

When you woke up hours later, a fresh wave of desire washed over you. You let out a sound of dissatisfaction, turned over in Seungcheol’s arms, and looked up at his sleeping face.

He was beautiful. His features were completely relaxed in sleep, awakening a desire in you to kiss him awake so that you could finally feel his fingers—feel him—everywhere again.

You thought back to your previous heats, but none had been as intense as this one. That made sense, of course, after all, you’d been messing with your body for over a year. But a part of you believed it was also because of Seungcheol. You felt at ease with him. Safe.

And you desperately needed his attention back on you.

Your fingertips traced his face gently. They moved along his cheeks, over the scar on his eyebrow and across his forehead, finally reaching into his hair. Seungcheol hummed softly in his sleep, and a playful grin spread across your face. You leaned forward quietly and began kissing your way up the back of his neck. It took no more than another five seconds for his strong arms to wrap even tighter around you, pulling you even closer against his chest.

"Slow down, sweetheart. 'm not going anywhere" his raspy voice mumbled and you looked at him with a smile while continuing to nibble on his neck.

"Want to feel you again," you hummed against his skin, and a hand gently reached for your chin and tilted it upward, forcing you to stop your light kisses and leaving you no choice but to look into Seungcheol's eyes.

"Yeah?" he asked with a knowing smile as his left hand slowly traced a path down your body, and you closed your eyes in sheer pleasure.

"Eyes on me, baby. What do you want?" His fingers ran along the curve of your hip, and you willingly shifted your right leg to grant him entry to your hot middle, but he merely grazed your leg lightly. Dissatisfied, you narrowed your eyes slightly, hoping your pleading gaze said it all.

"That look tells me nothing. I need to hear your words," he answered patiently, his fingers brushing again and again just past your wet center.

"Please touch me," you breathed out, biting lightly on your lower lip.

"But I'm already doing that," he grinned slightly, and you let out an impatient growl. "Seungcheol, please. Please make me cum."

Towards the end, your voice had turned into an impatient plea again, and Seungcheol clicked his tongue. "Just this once."

He shifted his position so that he was hovering just above you, then caught your lower lip between his teeth. When he pulled away, his dark, almost black eyes locked onto yours. "Next time, I won't accept any growling or impatient behavior. Understood, Omega?"

Your breath caught in your lungs, and the sheer dominance Seungcheol was radiating made you even wetter and caused your heart to race. But you nodded, because you were a good omega. "'M sorry," you whispered.

Seungcheol was still looking deep into your eyes before he finally nodded and gently kissed your cheek. But he still wasn't touching you where you needed him most.

Seungcheol made no move to touch you down there with his fingers. To your alarm, he kept kissing his way further and further down; when he lifted your left leg high enough to duck beneath it, bringing his face level with your pussy, you pressed your lips together uncertainly.

"I—I've never…" you began, and Seungcheol looked up at you, amused.

"Then you have something to look forward to," he said; the confidence in his voice and his earlier promise to take care of everything to ensure you were okay swept away all your uncertainty.

Seungcheol slowly and gently kissed your thighs, his hot breath brushing against your waiting, twitching pussy more than once; with every passing second, you found it harder and harder to hold back.

Meanwhile, his fingers traced the length of your legs, and you gasped aloud when his hands gently parted your lab lips and soft, wet sounds filled the air again. He didn't even come close to touching your clitoris, but God—just the feel of his fingers in your hot wetness felt so, so good.

"God, you should see this." Seungcheol murmured, his eyes fixed on her pussy. "A fucking feast."

And the next second, he carefully licked your clitoris, and that alone was almost enough to undo you. You moaned aloud, and with every lick, with every gentle suck, you turned into a moaning mess.

"G-God, Seungcheol… yes, yes, yes, yes."

Seungcheol hummed contentedly against your pussy, and you squeezed your eyes shut as his tongue sped up and then slowed down again. When he slid a finger inside you and began moving it rhythmically in and out, you completely lost control.

"'M gonna cum," you moaned, your hands gripping the pillow behind you as your hips began to move rhythmically, matching the pace of his finger.

Seungcheol didn't stop, if anything, he only sped up and less than five seconds later, you reached your climax. Your moans could surely be heard throughout the cabin as your legs twitched slightly and Seungcheol licked and sucked you through your orgasm.

As it slowly subsided, you slumped down, exhausted, and closed your eyes.

You heard Seungcheol carefully climb back up to you and gently kiss your shoulder. You opened your eyes and looked at him, smiling. "Need more."

Seungcheol couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. "Of course you do."

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

The heat lasted almost two weeks.

Seungcheol used every spare moment while you were asleep to cook, to somehow look after your plants (hoping you wouldn't have a fit once you were back on your feet—though he was really trying his best), and to get enough sleep so he’d have the energy to take care of you whenever you looked at him with those needy eyes again.

But Seungcheol couldn't argue with that, because—God—he was enjoying the time. Even though it was exhausting, he could die happy knowing that you were doing so well during such an extreme heat—and that he was the reason why.

However, guilt set in at night. While you slept peacefully beside him—usually only for a few hours before desire took hold of you again—Seungcheol layed awake for a long time, thinking of Noxtus. He wondered how he would ever make amends for it all.

He layed there while his people suffered under Lee Sinyoung. He didn't even have the chance to find out what the news was saying—or how his actions were likely being justified. Yet, whenever he teetered on the brink of uncontrollable rage and hopelessness, he only had to look at you. At least he was helping one person in the world right now.

And for the moment, that had to be enough.

Seungcheol sensed the moment your heat came to an end. You had both just experienced your umpteenth orgasm, and Seungcheol was collapsing exhaustedly beside you just as you drifted off to sleep. Usually, he could still see a lingering desire in your eyes, but this time you were out cold immediately; his Alpha, too, was thoroughly satisfied, so Seungcheol put two and two together. You had made it through. You two had done it.

You would likely sleep for a long time now, and Seungcheol was glad your body was finally getting the rest it needed. He ignored the ache in his chest as he remembered the deal you had made: he was only allowed to care for you during your heat. Once it was over, everything was supposed to go back to the way it was before.

He had promised you that, and, casting one last, lingering look at you before quietly leaving the room, he vowed to himself not to break at least that particular promise.

The stabbing pain in Seungcheol’s chest wasn’t the only problem. You were running low on food, and the crops in your garden didn’t look too promising either. Seungcheol thought hard for a few minutes before settling on the only viable course of action: quickly heading into the village to buy enough food and returning, hoping you would sleep through the entire time.

So he did exactly that. He strode quickly toward the village, pulled the hood of his cloak over his head just before reaching it, and made his purchases with lightning speed. He was lucky that it was busy that day and people didn't look at his face any longer than necessary. Surely, they had all heard about the runaway prince of Noxtus, hadn't they?

But no one recognized him, and as Seungcheol stowed his entire haul—bread, cheese, and heaps of vegetables—into his basket, his gaze fell upon the massive tree in the center of the marketplace. And upon the huge roots pushing their way up through the ground.

Seungcheol glanced around for a moment to see if anyone was watching him, but once he was certain no one was, he walked briskly toward the tree. He crouched down where a small black star was painted on the ground—so small it could easily be overlooked—opened a tiny hatch, and nearly wept with joy when he saw a letter lying there.

He immediately tucked the letter beneath his purchases and was just about to head back toward the forest path when his blood ran cold. Guards. Guards equipped with Lunaria’s gear.

Bored, the two of them wandered through the market, eyeing the people around them warily. The people around them returned their gaze with suspicion or fear, and Seungcheol seized the opportunity when the pair stopped to look at an old man’s purchases.

With a steady but unhurried pace, Seungcheol made his way through the crowd; he heard the argument erupting between the guards and the man but did not stop. Even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to help. Even though he loathed himself for being a damn coward who fled instead of stepping in.

But he could not afford to be discovered. Otherwise, his entire escape up to this point would have been in vain. He had to wait for the right moment, and he hoped the letter would finally give him at least a few answers.

Seungcheol’s heart didn’t settle until he was back inside the safety of your cabin. He tore the hood off his head and exhaled deeply, squeezing his eyes shut to calm his pounding heart.

Only after a few minutes, when he finally felt he wouldn’t collapse right there on the spot, did he gently set down the basket and fish out the letter. His eyes burned with pain as he tore it open and saw his friend’s familiar handwriting.

We're okay. They got the queen. Chan is here. Wait until we get you. - SY

Seungcheol leaned forward in his chair, crumpling the letter in his hands as a thousand emotions washed over him.

Relief that all his friends had survived.

Anger and despair because that fucking bastard had his mother in his clutches.

Satisfaction that Chan was finally back in Noxus, and impatience because he still had to wait—had to wait until he could finally strike back.

But he had already been waiting a long time. By now, he had been here with you for nearly two months, and he could certainly wait a little longer. His gaze fell on your bedroom door again and he thought of the guards in the village.

And while he waited, he could damn well make the most of his time; at the very least, by helping you.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Your first thought upon waking was that you were alone in bed. Your second thought was that you were disappointed about it.

You immediately despised yourself for that. You and Seungcheol had a deal, damn it. He had helped you (and very, very well, at that), and as soon as you were better, everything will be back to normal. And now you were better. No reason to pine for something that was over.

You let out a soft sigh and carefully sat up. You ran your fingers through your tousled hair and pressed your lips together. God, how were you supposed to face him normally now? The whole thing had been a terrible idea, and when you thought back on everything you’d said—your face instantly flushed red, and you buried your face in your hands.

Oh God.

You took a few deep breaths before banishing any thoughts of it to the deepest recesses of your mind. There was no point dwelling on it; you had to move on.

You quickly put on fresh clothes so you wouldn't have to walk around naked in front of Seungcheol before washing up.

You padded softly out of the bedroom, and the moment your eyes landed on Seungcheol, who was standing behind the kitchen counter chopping vegetables, you stopped in your tracks. "Oh."

"Hi," you murmured uncertainly to him; his eyes remained thoughtfully fixed on the counter in front of him, and a sense of unhappiness immediately spread through your chest.

He regretted it.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, and you hated yourself for the sadness filling you and the telltale stinging sensation just as you were about to slip away to the bathroom—but Seungcheol’s surprised tone made you pause.

"Oh, hey. Didn't notice you."

He nodded toward the food in front of him and then gave you a slight smile. "Freshen up; the food will be ready soon."

You stared at him speechlessly before nodding quickly and disappearing into the bathroom. As you washed and scrubbed yourself with cold water, your thoughts were in complete disarray. Why had he been staring off so pensively? Had he really just not noticed you? Was he on the verge of telling you he was leaving?

A sigh escaped your lips. "Pull yourself together," you growled softly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, yet the uncomfortable tugging sensation in your heart wouldn't go away.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting at the table together, eating the meal Seungcheol had cooked. Neither of you said a word, and the silence seemed to swallow you whole. You struggled to find the right words—any topic of conversation that might lighten the mood—but nothing, not a single word, escaped your lips.

Eventually, however, you could no longer bear the silence. You were just about to say something, anything, when Seungcheol’s voice suddenly broke the silence itself, and you looked at him with wide eyes.

"Are you able to defend yourself?"

Seungcheol’s eyes stared earnestly into yours, and you narrowed your eyes slightly in confusion. "What?" you asked, bewildered, and he let out a breath that sounded almost desperate.

"If someone were to attack you here, Daisy, could you defend yourself?"

You leaned back cautiously against your chair and shook your head in confusion. "Who would attack me?"

"Doesn't matter." Seungcheol's voice radiated harshness, and you pressed your lips together. What the hell was going on? Was that the reason why he had been so thoughtful the whole time?

"Well, I’m not answering your question until you tell me what’s going on," you replied in a firm voice, meeting his hard stare.

Seungcheol managed to hold your gaze for exactly one minute before sighing and staring angrily at his plate. Then he ran a hand through his dark hair, leaned back in his chair, and finally spoke. "I was in the village and saw… a thief there." He didn't look you in the eye as he said the words.

"And I wondered if you’re even capable of defending yourself if someone with ill intentions were to come across your cabin."

You thought for a few seconds. A thief, then? "That hasn't happened to me so far."

"That’s no excuse."

You sighed softly. "I kept you in check with my weed puller, too." You had meant it as a joke, but Seungcheol’s mouth didn’t curl into a smile for even a second.

Instead, he kept staring at you seriously. "I was hurt, Daisy. And I never intended to hurt you."

You were about to object, but Seungcheol was already continuing.

"I'm going to teach you a few things."

"You don't have to do that," you countered immediately, and Seungcheol raised his eyebrows skeptically. "I’m not leaving a woman alone in the woods unless I’m sure she can at least defend herself against strangers."

He picked up his bowl and walked over to the kitchen counter, and you stared at his back.

"We start tomorrow."

And you really couldn't think of any more arguments against it.

At least it didn’t rain the next day. You had slept in the bed again, even though you had tried to persuade Seungcheol to take it. His only reply, however, was that he had been sleeping in the bed for the past two weeks anyway and would take the reading chair and after that, you couldn't think of a single argument that wouldn't lead you to think back to your bodies intertwined.

So you accepted his decision and tossed and turned in bed, while your omega screamed inside you that something important was missing.

At some point, you had fallen asleep after all, and now you were standing here in your garden with Seungcheol facing you. You couldn't believe you were actually doing this. But you had to admit he was right; it certainly wouldn't hurt to at least be able to defend yourself.

"And now?" you asked uncertainly. "What am I supposed to fight with?"

Seungcheol studied you for a few seconds before stepping close and pressing a dagger into your hand. Your eyes widened slightly as they stared down at the pointed weapon. It was beautiful. Its hilt was pitch-black and adorned with tiny, etched stars, while the silver of the blade itself shimmered in the light. An onyx was set into the hilt, and you looked up in wonder at Seungcheol, whose gaze remained fixed on the dagger.

"That was a gift from my mother. It was always a faithful companion to me, but I think you could make better use of it."

"W-What? I can't accept this!" you cried, trying to press the dagger back into his hand, but his right hand closed over yours, and he looked deep into your eyes once more. It was the first time your hands had touched again, and little sparks of electricity shot through you. Your breath caught as you looked up at him.

"Keep it. I'll be able to leave with a better feeling knowing you have it." His eyes shimmered with pain for a second, but you could just as easily have imagined it. "Please."

Your eyes returned to the dagger before you nodded, a lump forming in your throat. Seungcheol nodded as well and let out a brief breath, then stepped back a few paces.

The dagger felt heavy in your hand, and you couldn't shake the thought that it felt like a farewell gift. Your hand closed around the pitch-black hilt, and you nodded to Seungcheol, signaling that you were ready to learn.

"What do I do first?"

The walk back to the hut was filled with quietness.

Fortunately, you had purchased your Cyperus herbs without any further trouble at a small shop filled with other potions and elixirs from an elderly lady with severely impaired vision and hearing and they now laid safely stowed away in your basket.

Seungcheol hadn't taken long to write his letter either, and while you waited for him under the tree with your heart beating far too fast, you wondered exactly which village Seungcheol came from.

Sure, you didn't receive any news in your little cabin, and you were glad about that. You didn't need to know everything that was going wrong in the world, nor the tyrannies the royal houses were committing. But if he might not have come from far from here, was there also a chance that this small village would be attacked? Could it possibly even reach your cabin?

You had no time to panic, for Seungcheol was already approaching you with rapid strides; and perhaps—whether it was the adrenaline coursing through your veins at being among other people again for the first time in ages, or simply the urge to finally return to the safety of your cabin—you failed to notice the storm raging inside Seungcheol’s mind. Or that his heart almost stopped as he walked towards you, regretting more and more with every step what he had done.

But you didn't have the slightest clue and that was exactly how it was best for you to keep it. If you didn't know anything, you couldn't drive yourself crazy and could simply continue living peacefully.

So you didn't ask, and it seemed as though Seungcheol preferred it that way, too.

The days passed, and you felt as though you could finally breathe again. Your Omega was quiet even when Seungcheol was nearby and it didn't stir in the slightest. Perhaps this should have worried you, but honestly, you were simply glad that the new herbs seemed to be even more potent than your old ones, and that you could finally think clearly again.

Seungcheol was also steadily improving. By now, you no longer prepared compresses for him. The only thing you continued to provide were the daily teas, which were still meant to aid his recovery; otherwise, you simply left his wound alone to heal on its own.

The steady healing of his wound—and his consequently improved physical condition—made Seungcheol visibly restless. Helping you in the garden wasn't enough for him; he also constantly tidied up after you, and when even that ceased to suffice, he began working out outdoors whenever he had a spare moment. Which was, essentially, almost all day long.

By now, you would describe it as a matter of routine. The two of you have breakfast; you check his wound, and he invariably comments on it with a sarcastic remark—("Do I have the right to get out of my chair today, Doc?")—which you always counter with an even more sarcastic retort—("Only if you weed at least half of my garden today.") Yet, in the end, Seungcheol usually did exactly what you had jokingly demanded of him—without a word of protest.

Whether it was weeding, carrying soil, repairing old tools, or simply keeping you company and talking about anything and everything—by now, Seungcheol had become an integral part of your routine.

It should scare you—damn it, at first it did scare you—but by now, it no longer did. His presence in the cabin already felt far too normal to even question what it would be like when he was completely healthy and left again. These thoughts would creep into your mind in the middle of the night, and every time, you would lock them away in the deepest recesses of your brain—neither able nor willing to dwell on them for even a single second.

There was a kind of comfort in being close to Seungcheol. You no longer felt as though you were fighting the world alone and hiding away; now, there was someone by your side; someone who meant you no harm and accepted you just as you were.

An Alpha who, while knowing that you were an Omega, never even brought up the fact. Who accepted it and did not exploit it for his own advantage.

But he doesn't know your destiny yet. If he did, he would have claimed you as his own long ago—your treacherous mind whispered to you at night but you didn't believe it. Seungcheol was nothing like the man who had been the reason for your escape.

Seungcheol was different, and your entire being was firmly convinced of it.

Otherwise, you would never feel so safe in his company, even now, while you tended to your herbs and he worked out a few meters away from you.

Because of the heat, he had taken off his shirt some time ago, and sweat was slowly running down his body.

Every now and then, your gaze drifted toward him only to quickly turn away again as you frantically refocused on your plants. You could only hope that he didn't notice your stolen glances, but apparently, you weren't that lucky.

"Instead of staring at me the whole time, you could join in," he called out to you in an amused voice, and your gaze snapped toward him indignantly. "I'm just making sure you don't overdo it!"

"Oh, come on, Daisy. You said yourself that the wound probably won't open up again. Nothing's going to happen." With these words, he finished his last push-up and then let himself fall back into the grass with a satisfied grin, his eyes fixed on the blue sky above him.

You stare at him wordlessly before shifting your gaze back to the front. "Nevertheless, you shouldn't overdo it yet."

"Or just say you're worried about me," he grinned, shifting his eyes from the sky to the back of your head.

A snort escaped your lips. "Oh, please. I just don't want you to get hurt, only for me to have to make compresses for you again for four weeks."

"But you would, wouldn't you?"

His question made you pause, and slowly you turned your head back in his direction. "What?" you asked in a soft voice.

"If I were to get hurt again," he looked you in the eyes with a serious, deep gaze, "you would help me one more time, wouldn't you?"

For a few seconds, you offered no reply; only the chirping of birds filled the air with sound—along with your heart, which was surely beating far too loudly, and you could only hope that he didn't have even the faintest clue.

But you nodded without thinking. "Of course."

A peaceful smile slowly formed on Seungcheol's face before he hummed, nodded, and looked back up at the sky. "I knew it."

"What?" you asked in confusion, and the Alpha laying before you merely shook his head, amused.

"What did you know?" the question escaped your lips impatiently; and when Seungcheol remained silent—still wearing nothing but an amused grin on his face—you reached without a second thought for the nearest object; which, this time, happened to be a full watering can.

Seungcheol’s eyes snapped wide open; faster than you could even blink, he was already standing several meters away at a safe distance while you, watering can still in hand, scrambled to pick yourself up off the ground.

"Don't." Seungcheol’s warning voice rumbled across to you, yet you saw the challenge written clearly and unmistakably in his eyes.

"Then tell me what you meant with that!" you called out to him, taking a courageous step toward him.

His grin evolved into something cheeky before he called out to you: "I knew that, deep down, you're just a huge softie hiding behind that tough exterior!"

Outraged, you gaped at him and narrowed your eyes. "Excuse me? I could kill you in your sleep with my herbs and plants! Who are you calling a softie?"

By now, he was no longer grinning, but merely smiling over at you—and if you could, you would imprint that image in your memory forever. "You, Daisy."

You nodded thoughtfully, then looked down at the watering can. "I warned you."

"Bring it," he said challengingly, raising an eyebrow as that stupid, arrogant smirk reappeared on his face. The very next moment, you lunged at him, aiming to get him as soaked as possible—though, of course, you knew he would fight back with everything he had.

And so, it wasn't just him who ended up thoroughly drenched—you did, too.

It probably should have bothered you that he saw you like that. After all, you had intended to project the exact opposite image. You didn't want him to think that, deep down, you were gentle and accommodating. A gentle soul wouldn't survive the solitude of the forest. Out here, you had to be tough; unfathomable and unapproachable. But apparently, with Seungcheol by your side, that simply wasn't possible.

And a part of you didn't even want to be that way around him.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Sometimes you wondered what kind of job Seungcheol had back home. He was truly never too proud for any kind of work, and when he told you today that he would take care of dinner, and that you should simply sit in the chair and relax, you wondered if the man standing before you could actually cook.

But the way he moved around the kitchen—precisely chopping the vegetables while keeping a constant eye on the pot—told you everything you needed to know.

"Is there actually anything you can't do?" you asked, resting your head on your hand as you watched him work in your kitchen.

Seungcheol hummed as he peeled the carrots in front of him.

"A lot," he replied without looking up, before suddenly holding out a peeled carrot; you took it from his hand with a word of thanks and carefully took a bite.

"A lot?" you echoed skeptically, "You say that as if I haven't seen you split firewood, fix my fence, carry half the forest on your shoulders and somehow make soup that smells that good?"

Seungcheol scoffed adding the vegetables into the boiling soup.

"You make me sound impressive."

"You are impressive," you mumbled around another bite, not even thinking before the words slipped out.

HIs hands froze just for a second over the cutting board. Only when you realized what you had just said did your eyes widen slightly, and you quickly looked away.

"I mean, not impressive impressive. Just…" you cleared your throat awkwardly. "Useful."

"Useful?" Seungcheol repeated, amusement clear in his voice while turning his head to look back at you.

"Very useful."

His soft laugh ringed in your ears and with a nodding head he fixated his gaze on the work before him again. "I'll take it."

Silence settled between you again, peaceful and warm. The only sounds filling the cabin were the crackling of the fire and the soft bubbling from the pot.

"So?" you suddenly asked.

"So?"

"What can't you do?"

Seungcheol stirred the pot with a wodden spoon before answering. "I'm bad with herbs."

A scoff escaped your lips. "Obviously."

"Hey." His eyes were on you in an instant again and you shrugged innocently with your shoudlers, pointing with the carrot in your hand at him.

"You almost poisened yourself a few days ago."

"But it smelled nice!"

"Just because some herbs smell nice doesn't mean they couldnt kill you" a soft smile appeared on your face.

Seungcheol turned around again and just mumbled as an answer, "still smelled nice.", and your heart felt.. full.

This was normal. And you hadn't had that in such a long time. So you cherished the time with Seungcheol, which felt like a gift—reparations for everything that had been done to you.

Perhaps it was the cozy atmosphere and the cabin’s overall aura, but when Seungcheol suddenly started asking questions, after you had both finished eating and were sitting at the table with your tea, you didn’t immediately feel like you were drowning.

It was likely because you trusted Seungcheol by now. Trust was dangerous, but God, it had been so long since you’d been able to trust anyone. And the words inside you were practically clamoring to finally reach ears that would understand you.

"How much longer do you want to stay here, Daisy?"

A somewhat vulnerable look must have been reflected in my eyes, for Seungcheol straightened up slightly in his seat and rested both forearms on the table.

"I mean, you don't have to stay here just because you can't think of any other option."

"And what other option do I have, Seungcheol?" you asked, your voice raspy and your heart pounding far too fast.

He said nothing for a few seconds, as if weighing every option in his mind, before murmuring softly, "You could come with me. To my…" he hesitated for a brief moment, "To my village."

You met his gaze without a word. Right—this was something you had constantly suppressed over the last few nights: the thought that Seungcheol would leave. That he wouldn't stay with you because he had a life outside your cabin. The thought was selfish, yet deep down, you wished he wouldn't eventually leave—that he would choose you. Which was, of course, complete nonsense, but it hurt nonetheless.

"There is no place in the world I’d rather be than right here, Seungcheol," you said, instead of voicing the whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

"But why?" his voice pressed. "The whole world is open to you, and you decide to hide here from…" He couldn't go on because he didn't have a damn clue why I was hiding in the first place.

You pressed your lips together and lifted your gaze to the ceiling, struggling desperately not to burst into tears right then and there in front of this man. You had already cried enough over your situation back then, swearing to yourself that you wouldn't be so weak anymore and would finally make the best of things.

Butt here you were now. Seungcheol, poor Seungcheol, dragged into the mess of your life and wanting to help you.

"Daisy" he murmured softly and stood up from his chair, making his way to you and squatted down in front of your chair so that your eyes were level. "Look at me."

Your eyes met his cautiously, and the mere warmth and trust reflected in his gaze drew two small tears from your eyes that now slowly trickled down your cheeks.

"There’s nowhere for me to go, Seungcheol," you whispered softly, and he immediately shook his head as his hands reached for yours, his thumbs gently stroking the backs of your hands.

"That can't be true."

But you nodded and drew a shaky breath. "He would find me. Anywhere. And I can't let that happen."

Seungcheol froze. His eyes studied you intently, picking up every nuance of your expression even more clearly now.

"Who?"

You shook your head and looked at him, silently pleading with him not to press the issue.

But this time, Seungcheol didn't listen to you.

"Daisy, who is looking for you?"

Your hands were trembling slightly, and your thoughts were racing. You couldn't tell him the whole truth. But half-truths—that was something you could work with.

"An alpha," you murmured, looking down at your intertwined hands in your lap.

"Back then, my father handed me over to him and his family and received a lot of gold in return—enough to support himself and his new wife and buy a new house." Your eyes turned back to Seungcheol, who met your gaze with angry eyes. There was no longer any trace of tears in yours. "I stayed with them for a few months, but I ran away before the wedding."

Seungcheol didnt say anything. He simply stared at you.

And the longer he remained silent, the more you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers slowly curled into fists.

"They sold you," he finally said quietly.

You nodded as exhaustion spread through your limbs.

"And your father agreed with it."

His ankles were now white, so tightly had Seungcheol clenched his hands into fists. "How old were you?"

You didn't have to think long. "Eighteen."

Seungcheol's eyes closed briefly for a second. He let out a slow breath and looked away for a moment, letting your hands go and standing up again while he ran his hand through his dark hair.

"Did he hurt you?"

Your answer came quickly. "No. At least not physically."

Something in Seungcheol's eyes darkened and he cursed under his breath.

The next few seconds were filled with silence, and your vacant eyes were fixed on your tea, which had since gone cold. Seungcheol knew far too much about you by now—but no matter how painful it was to speak out what happened to you, it also felt good to finally be able to tell someone.

"You know," he said softly after a minute and your eyes snapped up to him, "I've met men who start wars over gold."

Confused, you narrowed your eyes slightly, but you couldn't ask what he meant because he was already speaking again—his dark eyes fixed solely on yours.

"I've met men who betray their own blood for power." he swallowed, "But selling your daughter…" He shook his head in disbelief.

"I dont understand it."

Pain filled your heart as you met his gaze. "He wasn't always like this."

Memories played out before your eyes, and a sad smile touched your lips as you spoke in a quiet voice. "He used to carry me on his shoulders when I was little."

Your hands fidgeted restlessly with each other, your eyes fixed on the floor. "He'd bring my mother flowers every spring." You pressed your lips together. "And then she died."

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and you were certain that if you looked at Seungcheol’s face now, you would see nothing but pity—and you would break down right there in front of him.

"And after that?" Seungcheol asked gently.

A bitter smile appeared on your lips. "He stopped being my father."

It was the truth. After your mother was no longer in this world, your father was nothing but a shadow of his former self. He lost his job, spent more time in a bar than at home, and abandoned his grieving daughter—who, damn it, needed her father.

Your hands clenched into fists as an overwhelming rage filled you, but just as quickly as it had come, it vanished at Seungcheol's next words.

"I'm sorry."

You blinked and raised your head. "For what?"

"That you lost them both."

You felt like you couldnt breath.

"Your mother…" he continued quietly. "And then your father, even though he was still alive."

No one ever understood the pain you felt because of this. You mourned your dead mother, but you mourned your father just as much—for although he was still alive, he had long since ceased to live by your side. Because you had lost him, too, on the day your mother died.

"They are fools. All of them." Seungcheol's voice was firm and brimming with conviction as he knelt down in front of you again and his eyes met yours, unwavering.

"Because if they had known you, really known you, there's no amount of gold in the world they would've traded you for."

Your breath caught in your lungs, and you stared speechlessly at the man in front of you. This time, no tears ran down your cheeks. This time, a gentle smile slowly formed on your lips, and your heart felt warm.

You didn't regret for a single second having told Seungcheol more about yourself.

The next day, you didn't talk about yesterday's conversation—something you were grateful for. While it felt good that Seungcheol knew a little more about you now and you were glad to have opened up to him at least a bit, you really didn't like talking about the past, let alone thinking about it. You had already wasted far too many moments of your life on that.

But apparently, yesterday's conversation took more of a toll on you than you thought, given that you woke up this morning with a splitting headache and an overwhelming sense of fatigue.

You blamed it on the bad weather. A mere glance out the window showed you the torrential rain, and perhaps you had caught a cold a few days ago? Surely nothing that your good herbs couldn't quickly fix.

But as you tried to slowly rise from the reading chair (it was your turn to sleep in it again tonight) and stood upright for just a few seconds, dizziness overcame you, and you quickly sank back down into the chair, squinting your eyes.

At that exact moment, the headache returned, and you had to stifle a pained whimper. It felt as though your head was about to explode. And why the hell was it so hot?

"What's wrong?"

Seungcheol’s voice echoed through the cabin, and your eyes opened again as your head snapped up toward him. And just like that, you felt better.

The throbbing in your head had subsided, and the sudden dizziness was gone, too. You didn't feel so hot anymore, and in general, you felt… lighter?

Confused, you narrowed your eyes slightly and then just gave a slight shake of your head. "Nothing, I think I've just caught a bit of a cold," you murmured softly, rubbing your tired eyes.

Seungcheol’s gaze drifted out the window, and he nodded when he saw the pouring rain. "Stay and keep yourself covered up. I’ll make us some breakfast." He turned toward the kitchen counter and surveyed your vast selection of herbal teas. "And tea for you—provided you call out which herbs I should use so I don't accidentally poison you."

A playful look was reflected in his eyes, but it vanished the moment he saw you huddled in the reading chair: your head rested wearily against the backrest and you could barely keep your eyes open, even as you struggled to keep your gaze fixed on him.

Seungcheol’s eyes softened instantly. "Daisy," he murmured, crossing the short distance to you and kneeling down. He placed a hand gently against your forehead, and it felt like heaven. Seungcheol could do anything he wanted—just as long as he didn't take his hand away from you.

"You're burning up," he murmured with concern; his hand left your forehead, and you almost whined in protest. But the very next moment, he held out both hands to you. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

You immediately placed your hands in his, and a deep sense of contentment washed over you once more. You had no idea what was wrong with you; the moment Seungcheol was gone, you felt miserable, yet with just a single touch from him, all your ailments vanished in an instant?

Seungcheol helped you straighten up and gently pulled you to your feet. Under normal circumstances, this moment would have been incredibly embarrassing for you, but given your situation, you didn't even think to feel ashamed as you stumbled weakly against him and rested your head exhaustedly against his chest. Right there, level with his heart, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat alone made you feel like you could drift off into a peaceful sleep right then and there.

A small whimper actually escaped your lips, and you noticed Seungcheol freeze for a few seconds before, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a soft breath and murmured, "Don't kill me for this once you're feeling better, but I don't know how else to get you into bed." With those words, he gently slid one hand beneath the backs of your knees while supporting your back with the other, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

Your eyes closed contentedly, and your head was still resting against his chest as he carried you into your bedroom and gently lowered you onto the bed. The moment his hands left your body, the headache and dizziness returned.

You squeezed your eyes shut in pain and buried your face in the pillow, and - oh. oh.

It smelled like Seungcheol.

Contentment filled your heart; even though the headache lingered, the dizziness was at least gone. Seungcheol had quickly fetched a glass of water from the kitchen; he knelt gently in front of you again and held it out.

"Drink," he ordered softly. Your eyes opened, and you tentatively tried to take the glass from him, but he shook his head and kept a firm grip on it.

"You'll spill it," he murmured; his hand gently cradled the back of your neck, guiding your feverish head toward the glass and helping you take at least a few small sips. "Here you go," he murmured with satisfaction, then set the glass down on the small nightstand beside the bed.

Your eyes closed wearily, and when Seungcheol quietly told you to simply call him if you needed him, you nodded—too exhausted to find the strength to speak.

Just before he left the room, however, something occurred to you.

"I need my suppression tea"

Seungcheol stopped in his tracks and looked at you with watchful eyes. "What kind of tea?" Unease spread through his body; he had a sinking suspicion given your condition, and he prayed to the gods that he was wrong.

Yet you had no inkling of this. You kept your eyes closed and spoke on, as if no wall in the world, one you had built around yourself over the years, could now hold back what had to be said. "For my heat. That I dont get it."

Alarm washed over Seungcheol. "You drink tea to keep from going into heat?" he asked in a low, stunned voice, and you hummed in agreement, half-asleep.

Seungcheol closed his eyes for exactly three seconds before pulling himself together. "How long has it been since you were last in heat, Daisy?" he asked in a steady voice, and your answer knocked the ground out from under him.

"One year," came your quiet reply before you fell asleep enveloped in Seungcheol's scent, and the Alpha in your room didn't even take his eyes off you for another whole minute, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now with an Omega about to go into heat for the first time in a year again.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Seungcheol felt like he couldn't breathe. Or it was that Alpha inside him that is knocking the air out of his body right now, demanding him to go to her and help the Omega in distress.

God, he was so stupid.

Why hadn't he thought about it much sooner? Why hadn't he even considered how you managed here, all alone in this little cabin, during your heats? There was no Alpha here to help you, and by now he knew you well enough to realize that you never would have let one get close to you anyway. After all, you had been sold to a damn Alpha.

Seungcheol gripped the kitchen counter tightly.

Suppression herbs.

You took damn herbs to suppress your heat so you wouldn't have to suffer through it alone. Because you had no other choice.

It had been a long time since Seungcheol had felt rage like the kind now seething within him. The last time was the day he lost Noxus and slaughtered the three men who had been pursuing him.

But, god - Seungcheol was furious.

Furious at your cowardly father, who had set this whole situation in motion; furious at that damned Alpha and his family, who had merely exploited you—seeing not you, but only your value as a woman; furious at yourself for putting yourself through all this—alone.

But most of all, he was furious at himself. Furious that he had let himself be lulled by the normalcy of everyday life, by a routine that had increasingly felt like a blessing and had failed to immediately analyze and grasp the facts, as he had always done back in Noxtus.

He was a king, damn it. How could he have failed to put two and two together?

Now, as he thought hard about it, everything made sense. He recalled the panic you had shown that day in the kitchen when you were searching for specific herbs; the moment he had finally caught your scent for the first time. You had run out of the herbs used to suppress your heat, which was why you had needed new ones so desperately.

He racked his brains trying to remember the name of those herbs.

Then his eyes fell on your bookshelf, and he remembered how you had once proudly shown him a thick book about herbs and plants. You had bought it at the market a very long time ago, and it was a huge help to you because it contained a vast amount of information on all kinds of herbs and plants.

In a few strides, he pulled it out and studied the massive tome in his hand. A look of doubt crossed his features, and his dark eyes turned toward the ajar bedroom door, where you lay asleep in bed.

Seungcheol’s alpha didn’t want to waste time leafing through the volume to figure out why the herbs had stopped working. He wanted to get to his omega and help her—damn it all.

His omega.

Seungcheol paused for a moment as that possessive thought swirled through his mind; he quickly suppressed his eager alpha and pulled himself together.

He had to find out why the herbs were no longer effective—and hope he didn't lose his mind in the process of keeping his alpha in check the whole time.

It took nearly an hour before he finally recognized the name again. Cyperus. Seungcheol straightened up in his chair, and his eyes focused on the text that would finally provide the answers he needed.

Cyperus (Moon Sedge) Common names: Moon Sedge, Silver Cyperus, Omega's Grace A perennial marsh herb characterized by long, silver-green stems and narrow leaves with pale white veins. When dried and prepared as tea over an extended period, Cyperus has been known to calm the instincts of Omegas and suppress the onset of heat. Properties and Uses For centuries, Cyperus has been used by healers and physicians to ease severe heat symptoms or delay the cycle when no suitable Alpha is available. Daily consumption over several months gradually weakens the body's response to heat and may suppress it entirely for extended periods. However, long-term use can result in increased fatigue, weakened senses and a more severe heat once the herb is discontinued. Preparation The leaves and roots are to be dried and steeped in hot water once daily. Effects are cumulative and depend on consistent use. Sudden interruption after prolonged consumption often results in an intense rebound heat within one to three days. Warning Cyperus should not be administered without careful identification. Do not confuse with Cyperus Alba (White Marsh Reed), a visually near-identical species with broader veins and lighter roots. While harmless, Cyperus Alba possesses no suppressive properties and is traditionally used only to relieve headaches and mild fevers. Substituting one for the other may lead to unintended heat onset due to ineffective suppression.

Seungcheol’s eyes snapped toward the kitchen, and the next moment he was no longer sitting in the chair but was going through all your drawers of herbs to find your Cyperus herbs.

What felt like a damn eternity, because you had so many herbs at your disposal, yet none of them looked like the one described in the book.

Seungcheol looked around the kitchen with a frown before his gaze fell upon a small, inconspicuous box. Without paying attention to your privacy, wondering where you might be storing things, he opened it, thinking he had finally found exactly what he was looking for.

However, these were not the standard Cyperus herbs, but the Cyperus alba—the very plant that did nothing to suppress a heat. Unknowingly, you had stopped taking your medication over the past few days and were now on the verge of going into heat.

And according to the reference guide, this heat would be far more intense and prolonged than a normal one.

Seungcheol closed his eyes in despair and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

His alpha already knew the answer to that, but Seungcheol doubted you would like the idea.

When he thought back on his life so far, Seungcheol realized that he had never seen an Omega active in Heat before. Whenever Seungcheol went into rut, omegas from a specialized care program would attend to him. Utmost discretion was always maintained—after all, he had been the Crown Prince of Noxtus—and Seungcheol recalled feeling almost nothing during those times. It was simply a matter of biology: having to ride out those few days and satisfy his alpha’s needs.

But he had never cared for an omega himself.

He had no idea what to look for, what exactly omegas needed, or whether you were even in a state to decide whether you wanted his help or not.

His gaze turned back to the bedroom door, and Seungcheol could only fervently hope that, when you woke up, you would be thinking clearly before things really got started.

He didn't have to wait long. The soup he was preparing was nearly ready—he knew you would need food and water during the breaks; plenty of water—when a sweet scent wafted to him. His breath caught in his throat, and he tried to calm his pounding heart as well as his restless alpha, which seemed to be thrashing about inside him; it only settled down once he saw your gentle form lying in the bed.

You had your eyes closed, but when you realized Seungcheol had entered the room, you slowly opened them.

"Hey," you croaked in a raspy voice, and Seungcheol smiled carefully at you.

"Hey, you."

He approached your bed with slow steps, and you made no move to stir. You weren't in heat. That thought reassured Seungcheol, yet the beads of sweat on your forehead and the disoriented look in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. It wouldn't be long now.

But he had to talk to you first. He needed to know what to do.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, slowly settling onto the edge of the bed. He didn't touch you. He was afraid of triggering something that wasn't supposed to happen yet.

"Not good," you merely murmured, and Seungcheol pressed his lips together, wondering how best to phrase his next words.

When nothing better occurred to him, he sighed softly. "Daisy, can you sit up?"

For a brief moment, you didn't move; then you nodded gently and, with agonizing slowness, sat up and leaned against the bed's backrest. You winced in pain, your face twisting, before looking back at Seungcheol.

"What's wrong?" you asked wearily, looking at him with concern, and Seungcheol’s heart clenched painfully. You were doing terribly, yet you were still worried about him.

Seungcheol looked down at the floor for a moment before sighing and then looking at you with a serious expression. "Daisy, you need to listen to me very carefully now." His eyes bored into yours. "Can you do that?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you nodded gently.

Well, here goes nothing.

"You're going into heat."

For a few moments, your expression remained motionless. Confusion and shame slowly were reflected in your eyes as you wondered why on earth he was making such claims.

"W-What? I can't. I drink my cyperus tea every day," you said with faint determination, shaking your head slightly.

Seungcheol’s mouth turned down slightly, and he regarded you warily as he replied. "You didn't buy Cyperus herbs in the village. They are herbs from a plant that looks almost identical but has no suppressive effects. Cyperus alba." His voice was gentle; the last thing he wanted was to send you into a panic and thereby stress your body—your omega—even further.

But no matter how gently he might have spoken the words, there was nothing he could have done—deliberately, at least—to prevent the panic rising within you. Your eyes widened slightly, and he could practically see your thoughts racing.

"N-No, that can't be right. I… I specifically said I absolutely needed the Cyperus herbs, and the old lady—" your voice broke, and panicked tears glistened in your wide eyes as the realization finally hit you.

"The old lady was nearly blind and deaf," you murmured, devastated, your hands trembling as they clawed at the bedcovers. "And I wanted to get out of the village as quickly as possible, so I didn't check the herbs again."

Calmness and determination were reflected in Seungcheol’s eyes. He couldn't afford to panic himself right now. He had to have the situation under control, just as he had so many times before. It was now his responsibility to ensure you got better as quickly as possible.

"Daisy, look at me."

But you were deeply trapped in your panic. Your breathing was ragged, and the full extent of the situation was likely just dawning on you—the fact that you hadn't been in heat for a year, and that it wasn't going to be a normal one. You didn't react to Seungcheol's words.

"Daisy." His voice was calm but serious. Determined.

Without a second thought, he reached for both your hands and held them firmly in his own. Your warm, soft hands in his large, rough ones; his alpha let out a delighted cry. You fell silent instantly, staring at him with wide eyes. Your scent made Seungcheol swallow hard for a moment before he pulled himself together.

"I can help you."

You immediately stiffened. "W-What?" you asked in a panicked voice.

Seungcheol gently squeezed your hands.

"Listen, this heat isn't going to be normal." His eyes shined in determination. "It could last weeks, and I won't let you suffer through every single second of it. You don't have to suffer." His voice grew quieter, softer. "Let me help you."

You said nothing, but your eyes—still wide with shock—told Seungcheol everything he needed to know.

"I won't force myself on you. If you don't want my help, I won't impose it on you. But I promise you, if you do want it, it won't change anything between us." Seungcheol’s chest ached, as if the words spilling out of him were pure poison. "I won't be your Alpha and you won't be my Omega afterward. I’ll leave as soon as I’m fully recovered."

His voice shifted, growing quieter—more fragile—as he practically pleaded with you. "But let me make it up to you. Let me repay you for saving my life back then. I don't—I can't—bear to hear you suffering in here for weeks."

His eyes remained locked on yours, and you stared back at him speechlessly before slowly calming down and gazing, defeated, at the duvet beneath you.

"I need to hear it from you, Daisy. Once you’re in heat, you won’t be able to think clearly anymore. That’s why I need to know," he murmured in a deep voice.

It felt like an eternity, but Seungcheol waited. He didn't let go of your hands. And when you finally looked up at him cautiously and he caught a glimpse of your clear eyes, he knew you had made a decision.

"Okay," you murmured, and Seungcheol felt as though he could finally breathe again. "But only on the condition you promised." You took a deep breath and returned his gaze. "Nothing between us will change."

Seungcheol nodded and smiled slightly. His alpha ought to have been leaping for joy, but strangely enough, it remained calm and grumbled with dissatisfaction. But Seungcheol couldn't focus on that right now. He had promised to look after you well—to take care of you. And he would damn himself to hell if he failed to do so.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

The next time you woke up, it felt as though the whole world were spinning. Your breathing was labored, and, disoriented, you wiped your face; beads of sweat stood on your forehead, and your shirt clung uncomfortably to your skin.

That was exactly why you had drunk that damn tea every day. You hated being in heat. Every damn time, it felt like you were about to die—and that one time you went into heat at his house was the decisive moment when you decided to run away.

The first few times in the cabin were awful, too, marked by days of writhing back and forth and an endless craving to get a knot—but thanks to the constant, steady intake of the tea, things finally improved over time. Until, eventually, you stopped having heats altogether.

You knew it went against your biology and that subjecting an omega body to this was by no means healthy, but it felt like the right solution, especially when you thought back to the reason your father had handed you over to him in the first place.

In any case, that only worked until Seungcheol entered your life. You should have put two and two together immediately. You should have questioned why your omega wouldn't stay quiet—even with the tea—ever since he arrived. You should have questioned it even more when your omega suddenly went unnaturally quiet out of nowhere, even though you were drinking tea made from Cyberus Alba herbs that no longer had any suppressive effects.

Your omega was preparing for a heat and was now more present than ever. It was practically screaming inside you for attention—for Seungcheol’s attention.

From the moment Seungcheol stepped into your cabin and your omega realized an alpha would be in close proximity for an extended period, it had been a losing battle.

And now Seungcheol had offered to help you. After you said yes, he had gently and carefully fed you soup and helped you drink every now and then; the mere thought of being so weak and dependent on someone again made you want to burst into tears.

But you had no strength, and your body felt as though it were about to explode at any moment.

Your insides writhed and twisted, and as a painful cramp filled your lower abdomen, you jerked violently, unable to stop the small whimper that escaped your lips.

Seungcheol was standing in the room the next second.

His eyes regarded you with concern, and had you not been in such a state, you might have noticed his hands trembling for a mere two seconds before he clenched them into fists, regaining control over himself and his fear of the situation.

Your eyes closed in embarrassment but fluttered open again when you heard cautious footsteps and saw Seungcheol crouching beside the bed with a cool cloth.

Without a word, he gently pressed it against your forehead and dabbed away the sweat. You studied his face. He was completely focused; his dark eyes followed the movement of his hands, and his brows were furrowed with concern. Only then did you notice a small scar running through his right eyebrow.

You attributed your next move to your current state. Had you been yourself, and not on the verge of going into heat, you never would have cautiously reached out and slowly traced the scar with your thumb.

Seungcheol froze instantly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, though yours remained fixed on his scar.

"Where did you get that?" you asked in a raspy voice. Seungcheol didn't answer for a few seconds, finally replying in a voice that sounded just as thick with emotion.

"I fell while playing with Jun when I was a kid and slammed into the edge of a table."

An amused look crossed your eyes as you continued to stroke the scar. "It's pretty."

Seungcheol’s eyebrows rose skeptically, causing you to still your hand. "You think my scar is pretty?"

"Hmm. It suits you" you murmured dreamily, slowly pulling your hand away before shifting uncomfortably a moment later. "God, Seungcheol, I’m so hot."

You tugged at your shirt, which was still clinging to your skin, and Seungcheol’s eyes followed your hands before he took a deep breath. "Let's get you out of this, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, and the next moment, Seungcheol was no longer crouching beside the bed; instead, he gently pulled you up with his large, rough, beautiful hands and positioned himself sitting behind you. You lacked the strength to stay upright on your own, so you immediately fell backward, finding yourself leaning against Seungcheol’s broad, muscular chest.

God, how had you gone without this until now? Seungcheol’s hands steadying your arms felt heavenly, and your features softened as he was finally close to you.

"Is this okay?" Seungcheol’s voice broke the brief silence, and you nodded quickly; you absolutely didn’t want him to let go of you.

You thought you heard an amused snort behind you, though it was quite possible you had just imagined it.

"I need you to lift your arms for me, can you do that?"

You carefully raised your arms, and the sound of Seungcheol humming in approval sent shivers across your skin.

"Good girl," he murmured close to your ear; those words alone made you feel dizzy again, and your omega was floating on cloud nine with joy.

Seungcheol’s hands grasped the hem of your shirt and carefully pulled it over your head; now, the only thing covering your upper body was a short top. It clung to your skin, and your breasts pressed uncomfortably against it, but Seungcheol didn’t reach for the top. Instead, he picked up the cold cloth again and soothingly dabbed at your arms, shoulders, and neck.

A contented sound escaped your lips, and your eyes closed in sheer pleasure.

"Good?" Seungcheol’s soft voice asked from behind you, and you could only nod; even if you had wanted to speak, no sound would have come out. You were too focused on Seungcheol’s hands on you, on the cloth pressing against the back of your neck, and—oh.

Your breathing quickened slightly as Seungcheol’s fingertips touched that sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder. Your body was already trembling with arousal, and your chest rose and fell rapidly.

Seungcheol, sitting behind you, set the cold cloth aside; his breath caressed the back of your neck, and his deep voice caressed your right ear. "Can we try something, Daisy?"

You didn't even stop to consider an answer; you nodded immediately, and a hoarse whisper escaped your lips. "Please."

Seungcheol’s soft laughter sent a flutter of stars through your stomach. His hands gently stroked up and down your arms, and your head was now resting in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.

"Tell me if I should stop," he murmured, his fingers lightly tracing that exact spot at the base of your neck.

"Don't," you whispered breathlessly; your eyes fluttered shut in sheer pleasure as his hot breath replaced his fingers. The tip of his nose grazed softly from your shoulder up to your neck, and when his mouth found the perfect spot, you let out a loud, blissful sigh, your chest rising with the intensity of the sensation.

God, nothing had even happened yet, and you could already feel the heat and wetness between your legs.

Then you realized what he was actually doing.

Seungcheol is scenting you.

And you would go up in flames if he stopped. His lips grazed the spot gently, and when he began to suck lightly on it, you couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips. Your hands reached out for something; one hand clutched the duvet, while the other dug into Seungcheol's leg.

A few hours ago, Seungcheol had made it clear to you that he had never done anything like this before, but now you found it hard to believe him, because it felt heavenly. He alternated between kissing, licking, and sucking, and if scenting alone felt this good, you couldn't imagine what it would be like to take his knot. The mere thought made you drip even more, and a longing sound escaped your lips.

Seungcheol laughed softly against your skin before trailing kisses higher and higher up your neck, murmuring in a low voice behind your right ear: "You should hear the pretty sounds coming from your mouth, sweetheart."

His mouth continued to kiss your neck, not neglecting the other side —and you eagerly offered your neck to him.

"All for me," he murmured, sounding almost hungry, as he kept on licking, sucking, and kissing—on and on. Until you could barely stand it anymore.

"Seungcheol," you whimpered softly; he stopped with a low hum and brushed his nose against your cheek.

"Tell me what you want, pretty girl."

Your eyes met his, and an irrepressible desire surged through you. You needed his lips on yours. Right now.

"Kiss me?"

Not even a second later, his lips were hungrily claiming yours, and every part of you cried out in joy. The world was spinning again—not in an overwhelming way this time, but as if everything were finally right. As if there were no better place on earth for you than right here in his arms.

His lips claimed yours, and his hand moved to the back of your neck to pull you even closer. A sound of contentment escaped you as his tongue grazed your lips, and you immediately granted him entry. Your tongues intertwined, and you had to break the kiss briefly to catch your breath. Both your breathing and Seungcheol’s was heavy; his dark, hungry eyes bored into yours, and the desire burning within you couldn't possibly be your own—it had to stem from some higher power—for the mere sight of his face and the hunger in his eyes compelled you to press your lips against his once more.

This time, you didn't pull away first; even when Seungcheol carefully shifted forward so he was no longer behind you, he made sure not to break the contact between your lips. Whenever it did happen, he closed the gap again almost immediately.

His hands gently pressed you into the mattress, and he hovered over you, breaking the kiss to look down at you breathlessly.

"You okay?" he asked, his breathing rapid, and you nodded quickly—far too quickly, because you needed him. Right now.

"Good. Because I don't think I can stop even if I wanted to," he exhaled, and you quickly shook your head.

"Don't stop."

A smile formed on his lips, and you felt like you were melting.

"Let's get you out of these clothes," he murmured, hungrily eyeing your nipples pressing against the thin fabric of your top.

Goosebumps rippled across your skin as he slowly—with agonizing deliberation—pulled your top over your arms and head; you let out a soft breath as the cool air touched your nipples. You felt not a trace of shame, for Seungcheol’s lips were already gently kissing your neck, tracing a path downward with kisses as delicate as raindrops.

When he finally reached the level of your breasts, his eyes darkened even further—if that was even possible.

"Look at these," he murmured yearningly. "Look at you." His eyes shone with something you couldn't quite place—but you had no time to think, for he was slowly tracing circles with his fingertips along the underside of your right breast, and you impatiently arched your chest toward him.

His eyes shifted back to yours, teasing. "Impatient little thing," he laughed softly, though his fingertips continued to merely circle under your breast.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, followed by a breathless plea.

A smile played on Seungcheol’s lips as he murmured, "Don't worry, sweetheart. They’ll get all the attention they deserve." His gaze dropped back to your breasts, and finally—damn it, finally—he gently traced circles over your right nipple with his fingertips while his other hand softly kneaded your other breast.

Your eyes closed in sheer pleasure, and whimper after whimper escaped your lips. "Yes, God, please don't stop," you murmured, and a small gasp escaped you as you felt the familiar warmth of his tongue tracing your right nipple.

You pressed your legs together; by now, you were certain you were already dripping wet.

Seungcheol took all the time in the world, just as he had promised. He began by kissing, licking, and teasing your right nipple. The pink buds glistened from his tongue, and while his mouth was occupied with one, his fingers grazed the other.

"Oh my God," you whispered in pleasure, and Seungcheol hummed contentedly. He moved away from your breasts with gentle kisses and looked up at you teasingly, then kissed your soft stomach and murmured, "Just wait until I get to your pussy, sweetheart. Then you can pray to as many gods as you want."

A breathless, guttural sound escaped your lips, and you sighed in a pleading voice, "Then hurry."

Seungcheol laughed as he slowly pulled your trousers off your legs, shaking his head with evident relish. "Forget it, Daisy. I’m taking all the time in the world with you."

You turned your gaze toward him in sweet torment; he came back up to you with an amused smile and kissed the back of your neck again. "You're a masochist," you murmured, though you didn't mean it at all. "I hate you."

Seungcheol grinned against your skin, his eyes locking onto yours once more. "You hate me?" He raised his eyebrows teasingly and ran his left hand gently over your thigh—dangerously close to your panties, the only garment left on your body.

You pressed your lips together, your breathing quickening again. Seungcheol’s smile turned even more teasing. "You're a terrible liar, sweetheart."

His lips kissed you again, and right as the kiss deepened, you suddenly felt his fingers pressing against your underwear; you broke the kiss with a guttural moan. His fingers traced agonizingly slowly over your pussy, and your hips jerked upward greedily.

"If you hated me, Daisy,"—his voice dripped with hunger—"you wouldn't react to me like this."

A soft moan escaped you, and you looked up at him with pleading eyes while he continued to stroke gently over your covered midsection.

"Seungcheol, please," you breathed, and his dark eyes never once left yours.

"What do you need?" he asked in a firm voice; you squeezed your eyes shut as goosebumps spread across your skin.

"I—I…" you stammered, unable to get the words out and shutting your eyes.

"Daisy, look at me."

Slowly, your eyes opened again, almost losing themselves in the depths of his. "I won't do anything you don't want. But you have to tell me how you want it. What I should do."

His lips brushed gently against your cheek. "You're in control, even though I'm the one doing the work."

Warmth filled your heart, and you looked up at him gratefully before murmuring, "I want you to touch me.. properly."

Satisfaction was reflected in Seungcheol’s eyes, and the next second, your pussy was no longer covered by your underwear; instead, the cool air caressed it gently. You let out a soft hiss of breath, and Seungcheol seemed unable to tear his gaze away from it.

"Look at you," he murmured in a rough voice, lightly tracing the area around it. "So wet, just for me." His eyes shifted back to your face. "Fucking perfect."

Your omega purred contentedly, and the moment Seungcheol finally stroked gently over your center and touched your clitoris, electric shocks shot through your entire body. He worked your pussy with slow, circular motions—alternating between a slower and faster pace—and the wet, squelching sound created in the process was enough to send you to another world.

You were a moaning, whimpering mess, and Seungcheol’s lips met yours again, though you couldn't hold the kiss for long—it simply felt too good. Seungcheol took all the time in the world with you, and as he slowly slid a finger inside you, your upper body arched in pleasure.

He moved his finger in and out with gentle pressure, watching every expression that crossed your face. You could see in Seungcheol’s look that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, too, even though he wasn't experiencing any physical pleasure of his own; it was as if seeing you feel so good was enough for him. In that moment, you briefly wondered how you had come to deserve someone like Seungcheol.

By now, he had two fingers inside you and was picking up the pace, making you moan even more.

Your lower belly clenched with pleasure as he stimulated exactly the right spots over and over again, and your moans grew increasingly broken, loud, and breathless.

"Seungcheol, I'm… I'm," you stammered, unable to form coherent words.

But Seungcheol understood you anyway.

"Come for me, baby. All over my hand."

And you did.

It felt like an explosion. Not a single sound escaped you, yet your mouth was open, and one ragged breath after another left your lips. Your legs trembled, and Seungcheol using his two fingers; steadily and effortlessly guided you through your first orgasm.

As it slowly subsided, you noticed—to your own chagrin (or perhaps your delight)—that you immediately wanted more. Much more.

It was surely due to your heat, but you didn't care. You needed him. Right now.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his head down, and you slammed your lips against his once more. Your tongue slid hungrily into his mouth, and he let you have your way—let you take whatever you wanted. He wouldn't deny you anything.

After a few moments, you broke the kiss and met his hungry gaze with the same intensity.

"I need you inside me, now." You kissed his cheek gently and let your omega speak through you. "Please, Alpha."

Seungcheol’s eyes flew wide open, and as if these were the words he had been waiting for all along, he clutched his hand in your hair; by now, his breathing was coming in ragged gasps.

"God, Daisy," he murmured, "you can't say things like that, baby."

Your mouth kissed his neck hungrily. "But it's true," you murmured against his skin. "I need you to fuck me." Your eyes met his again. "Please give me your knot."

Seungcheol gasped for breath and buried his face in the crook of your neck, lingering there for a few seconds as your hands traced down his back, before he nodded and looked at you with determination. "I'll give you whatever you want, sweetheart."

Then you were pressed back against the mattress, and Seungcheol quickly pulled his shirt over his head; the sight of his muscular torso left you speechless. You gazed at him with your mouth slightly open, and he gave you a playful wink. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

A smile played across your lips. "Let's see if you work up as much of a sweat here as you do when working out."

Seungcheol grinned and murmured against your lips. "I’m certainly enjoying this more than any workout session in your garden."

Then he took off his pants, and you could already see his cock pressing against his underwear. Your eyes widened slightly and darted up to his face. "And that's supposed to go inside me?"

Seungcheol glanced down at himself, eyebrows raised, before a crooked grin spread across his face and he looked back at you. "You can take it." Then he stripped off his underwear, and you really weren't sure if you could trust his words.

He was huge—long and thick. You hadn't seen many other cocks (aside from his back then, and that one was laughable compared to Seungcheol's), but you were certain that other men would likely be envious of Seungcheol.

Seungcheol slowly straddled you again, his cock pressing gently against your stomach, and once more you felt as though the breath had been knocked out of you. But from excitement, not panic. God, you could hardly wait.

Seungcheol kissed you again—this time gently and carefully—and when the kiss broke, you asked in a cautious voice, "Can I touch you?"

Seungcheol smiled at you—God, you loved it when he did that—and murmured, "If that's what you want." He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, and you nodded eagerly. "I want you to feel good too."

You pressed one hand against his chest, gently pushing him away just enough to position him so that he was lying on the mattress and you were over him.

You trailed soft kisses across his chest and stomach, and the feel of his hot breath against your skin only intensified your desire. Your hands stroked his lower belly, and the moment you slowly ran your hand over his cock, a low moan escaped his lips. "God, baby, you're going to be the death of me."

A smile played on your lips as you straightened up and simply replied, "Then I hope it's a good one." And then you took his cock fully in your hand and let your hand slide carefully up and down.

"Fuck," he hissed, trying to keep his eyes open and hold your gaze. You could have come right then and there without him even touching you again, but you focused on your hand and on Seungcheol’s ragged breathing.

After two minutes, Seungcheol suddenly sat up quickly, pulled you back down against him, and shifted your positions so that you were lying underneath him again.

"I need to be inside you right now, or I’m going to explode," he muttered hurriedly, and you laughed breathlessly as you nodded quickly. Seungcheol positioned himself and ran his hard cock over your wet center, sliding slowly up and down, and you moaned against his lips. He planted a quick kiss on your mouth and murmured, "Tell me if it hurts."

You nodded—that was all the signal Seungcheol needed—and the next moment, he carefully slid inside you, stretching your core open with a hint of pain. Your eyes narrowed slightly and Seungcheol stopped at once, but you shook your head. "No," you gasped, "keep going. Please."

Seungcheol waited a few seconds before slowly sliding further into you; it felt as perfect as two puzzle pieces finally coming together.

When Seungcheol’s cock grazed that exact right spot, you moaned and nodded wildly. "Right there."

Seungcheol slowly picked up the pace and straightened up slightly. His hands gripped your hips, and again and again, he hit the spot that made you see stars. Your moans grew louder—and that, precisely that, was what your omega had wanted all along. And you had been a fool to deny it that.

"God, Seungcheol," you gasped, burying your hands in the duvet as your moans mingled with his.

"You're doing so good, Daisy," he panted; you shook your head, fixed your eyes on him, and gasped your real name up at him.

It was crazy. Under normal circumstances, you never would have done this, but something inside you was screaming to reveal yourself to him—to give him at least a part of who you really were, as thanks for taking care of you and not letting you suffer.

Seungcheol was just as shocked as you; his movements slowed slightly. "W-What?" he rasped, looking down at you, and you couldn't help but smile softly.

"That's my real name," you murmured, looking up at him with a hint of uncertainty. "But I’m happy to stay Daisy for you; I don’t mind."

Seungcheol studied you for a few seconds before lowering his head and hungrily claiming your lips once more. "You'll always be my Daisy."

Tiny tears welled up in your eyes as Seungcheol picked up the pace again. You two merged into one; nothing mattered but your moans and the bond you shared—everything else faded into the background.

And just as you were both on the verge of climaxing, the painful realization hit you: you never wanted Seungcheol to leave.

That thought seared itself into your mind as your orgasm washed over you; a second later, Seungcheol came inside you, finally knotting with you.

Breathless, Seungcheol propped himself up on his hands beside your head, and you couldn't help it—tears of joy streamed down your cheeks.

Seungcheol’s eyes flew open in alarm, but you quickly shook your head. "It's okay," you whispered with a smile, swallowing hard. "I'm just so happy."

Seungcheol’s face involuntarily relaxed, and a gentle look appeared in his eyes. He brushed the hair from your face again, and your noses brushed lightly against each other.

You weren't sure if that earlier promise—that nothing would change between you afterward—hadn't been a huge mistake after all.

You fell asleep in his arms.

After Seungcheol slowly pulled away from you, he immediately held out a glass of water and insisted you drink it all. You fell into a deep sleep almost instantly after that; you only vaguely noticed him pulling you against his chest, yet you had never felt safer in your life than right there in his arms.

When you woke up hours later, a fresh wave of desire washed over you. You let out a sound of dissatisfaction, turned over in Seungcheol’s arms, and looked up at his sleeping face.

He was beautiful. His features were completely relaxed in sleep, awakening a desire in you to kiss him awake so that you could finally feel his fingers—feel him—everywhere again.

You thought back to your previous heats, but none had been as intense as this one. That made sense, of course, after all, you’d been messing with your body for over a year. But a part of you believed it was also because of Seungcheol. You felt at ease with him. Safe.

And you desperately needed his attention back on you.

Your fingertips traced his face gently. They moved along his cheeks, over the scar on his eyebrow and across his forehead, finally reaching into his hair. Seungcheol hummed softly in his sleep, and a playful grin spread across your face. You leaned forward quietly and began kissing your way up the back of his neck. It took no more than another five seconds for his strong arms to wrap even tighter around you, pulling you even closer against his chest.

"Slow down, sweetheart. 'm not going anywhere" his raspy voice mumbled and you looked at him with a smile while continuing to nibble on his neck.

"Want to feel you again," you hummed against his skin, and a hand gently reached for your chin and tilted it upward, forcing you to stop your light kisses and leaving you no choice but to look into Seungcheol's eyes.

"Yeah?" he asked with a knowing smile as his left hand slowly traced a path down your body, and you closed your eyes in sheer pleasure.

"Eyes on me, baby. What do you want?" His fingers ran along the curve of your hip, and you willingly shifted your right leg to grant him entry to your hot middle, but he merely grazed your leg lightly. Dissatisfied, you narrowed your eyes slightly, hoping your pleading gaze said it all.

"That look tells me nothing. I need to hear your words," he answered patiently, his fingers brushing again and again just past your wet center.

"Please touch me," you breathed out, biting lightly on your lower lip.

"But I'm already doing that," he grinned slightly, and you let out an impatient growl. "Seungcheol, please. Please make me cum."

Towards the end, your voice had turned into an impatient plea again, and Seungcheol clicked his tongue. "Just this once."

He shifted his position so that he was hovering just above you, then caught your lower lip between his teeth. When he pulled away, his dark, almost black eyes locked onto yours. "Next time, I won't accept any growling or impatient behavior. Understood, Omega?"

Your breath caught in your lungs, and the sheer dominance Seungcheol was radiating made you even wetter and caused your heart to race. But you nodded, because you were a good omega. "'M sorry," you whispered.

Seungcheol was still looking deep into your eyes before he finally nodded and gently kissed your cheek. But he still wasn't touching you where you needed him most.

Seungcheol made no move to touch you down there with his fingers. To your alarm, he kept kissing his way further and further down; when he lifted your left leg high enough to duck beneath it, bringing his face level with your pussy, you pressed your lips together uncertainly.

"I—I've never…" you began, and Seungcheol looked up at you, amused.

"Then you have something to look forward to," he said; the confidence in his voice and his earlier promise to take care of everything to ensure you were okay swept away all your uncertainty.

Seungcheol slowly and gently kissed your thighs, his hot breath brushing against your waiting, twitching pussy more than once; with every passing second, you found it harder and harder to hold back.

Meanwhile, his fingers traced the length of your legs, and you gasped aloud when his hands gently parted your lab lips and soft, wet sounds filled the air again. He didn't even come close to touching your clitoris, but God—just the feel of his fingers in your hot wetness felt so, so good.

"God, you should see this." Seungcheol murmured, his eyes fixed on her pussy. "A fucking feast."

And the next second, he carefully licked your clitoris, and that alone was almost enough to undo you. You moaned aloud, and with every lick, with every gentle suck, you turned into a moaning mess.

"G-God, Seungcheol… yes, yes, yes, yes."

Seungcheol hummed contentedly against your pussy, and you squeezed your eyes shut as his tongue sped up and then slowed down again. When he slid a finger inside you and began moving it rhythmically in and out, you completely lost control.

"'M gonna cum," you moaned, your hands gripping the pillow behind you as your hips began to move rhythmically, matching the pace of his finger.

Seungcheol didn't stop, if anything, he only sped up and less than five seconds later, you reached your climax. Your moans could surely be heard throughout the cabin as your legs twitched slightly and Seungcheol licked and sucked you through your orgasm.

As it slowly subsided, you slumped down, exhausted, and closed your eyes.

You heard Seungcheol carefully climb back up to you and gently kiss your shoulder. You opened your eyes and looked at him, smiling. "Need more."

Seungcheol couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. "Of course you do."

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

The heat lasted almost two weeks.

Seungcheol used every spare moment while you were asleep to cook, to somehow look after your plants (hoping you wouldn't have a fit once you were back on your feet—though he was really trying his best), and to get enough sleep so he’d have the energy to take care of you whenever you looked at him with those needy eyes again.

But Seungcheol couldn't argue with that, because—God—he was enjoying the time. Even though it was exhausting, he could die happy knowing that you were doing so well during such an extreme heat—and that he was the reason why.

However, guilt set in at night. While you slept peacefully beside him—usually only for a few hours before desire took hold of you again—Seungcheol layed awake for a long time, thinking of Noxtus. He wondered how he would ever make amends for it all.

He layed there while his people suffered under Lee Sinyoung. He didn't even have the chance to find out what the news was saying—or how his actions were likely being justified. Yet, whenever he teetered on the brink of uncontrollable rage and hopelessness, he only had to look at you. At least he was helping one person in the world right now.

And for the moment, that had to be enough.

Seungcheol sensed the moment your heat came to an end. You had both just experienced your umpteenth orgasm, and Seungcheol was collapsing exhaustedly beside you just as you drifted off to sleep. Usually, he could still see a lingering desire in your eyes, but this time you were out cold immediately; his Alpha, too, was thoroughly satisfied, so Seungcheol put two and two together. You had made it through. You two had done it.

You would likely sleep for a long time now, and Seungcheol was glad your body was finally getting the rest it needed. He ignored the ache in his chest as he remembered the deal you had made: he was only allowed to care for you during your heat. Once it was over, everything was supposed to go back to the way it was before.

He had promised you that, and, casting one last, lingering look at you before quietly leaving the room, he vowed to himself not to break at least that particular promise.

The stabbing pain in Seungcheol’s chest wasn’t the only problem. You were running low on food, and the crops in your garden didn’t look too promising either. Seungcheol thought hard for a few minutes before settling on the only viable course of action: quickly heading into the village to buy enough food and returning, hoping you would sleep through the entire time.

So he did exactly that. He strode quickly toward the village, pulled the hood of his cloak over his head just before reaching it, and made his purchases with lightning speed. He was lucky that it was busy that day and people didn't look at his face any longer than necessary. Surely, they had all heard about the runaway prince of Noxtus, hadn't they?

But no one recognized him, and as Seungcheol stowed his entire haul—bread, cheese, and heaps of vegetables—into his basket, his gaze fell upon the massive tree in the center of the marketplace. And upon the huge roots pushing their way up through the ground.

Seungcheol glanced around for a moment to see if anyone was watching him, but once he was certain no one was, he walked briskly toward the tree. He crouched down where a small black star was painted on the ground—so small it could easily be overlooked—opened a tiny hatch, and nearly wept with joy when he saw a letter lying there.

He immediately tucked the letter beneath his purchases and was just about to head back toward the forest path when his blood ran cold. Guards. Guards equipped with Lunaria’s gear.

Bored, the two of them wandered through the market, eyeing the people around them warily. The people around them returned their gaze with suspicion or fear, and Seungcheol seized the opportunity when the pair stopped to look at an old man’s purchases.

With a steady but unhurried pace, Seungcheol made his way through the crowd; he heard the argument erupting between the guards and the man but did not stop. Even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to help. Even though he loathed himself for being a damn coward who fled instead of stepping in.

But he could not afford to be discovered. Otherwise, his entire escape up to this point would have been in vain. He had to wait for the right moment, and he hoped the letter would finally give him at least a few answers.

Seungcheol’s heart didn’t settle until he was back inside the safety of your cabin. He tore the hood off his head and exhaled deeply, squeezing his eyes shut to calm his pounding heart.

Only after a few minutes, when he finally felt he wouldn’t collapse right there on the spot, did he gently set down the basket and fish out the letter. His eyes burned with pain as he tore it open and saw his friend’s familiar handwriting.

We're okay. They got the queen. Chan is here. Wait until we get you. - SY

Seungcheol leaned forward in his chair, crumpling the letter in his hands as a thousand emotions washed over him.

Relief that all his friends had survived.

Anger and despair because that fucking bastard had his mother in his clutches.

Satisfaction that Chan was finally back in Noxus, and impatience because he still had to wait—had to wait until he could finally strike back.

But he had already been waiting a long time. By now, he had been here with you for nearly two months, and he could certainly wait a little longer. His gaze fell on your bedroom door again and he thought of the guards in the village.

And while he waited, he could damn well make the most of his time; at the very least, by helping you.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Your first thought upon waking was that you were alone in bed. Your second thought was that you were disappointed about it.

You immediately despised yourself for that. You and Seungcheol had a deal, damn it. He had helped you (and very, very well, at that), and as soon as you were better, everything will be back to normal. And now you were better. No reason to pine for something that was over.

You let out a soft sigh and carefully sat up. You ran your fingers through your tousled hair and pressed your lips together. God, how were you supposed to face him normally now? The whole thing had been a terrible idea, and when you thought back on everything you’d said—your face instantly flushed red, and you buried your face in your hands.

Oh God.

You took a few deep breaths before banishing any thoughts of it to the deepest recesses of your mind. There was no point dwelling on it; you had to move on.

You quickly put on fresh clothes so you wouldn't have to walk around naked in front of Seungcheol before washing up.

You padded softly out of the bedroom, and the moment your eyes landed on Seungcheol, who was standing behind the kitchen counter chopping vegetables, you stopped in your tracks. "Oh."

"Hi," you murmured uncertainly to him; his eyes remained thoughtfully fixed on the counter in front of him, and a sense of unhappiness immediately spread through your chest.

He regretted it.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, and you hated yourself for the sadness filling you and the telltale stinging sensation just as you were about to slip away to the bathroom—but Seungcheol’s surprised tone made you pause.

"Oh, hey. Didn't notice you."

He nodded toward the food in front of him and then gave you a slight smile. "Freshen up; the food will be ready soon."

You stared at him speechlessly before nodding quickly and disappearing into the bathroom. As you washed and scrubbed yourself with cold water, your thoughts were in complete disarray. Why had he been staring off so pensively? Had he really just not noticed you? Was he on the verge of telling you he was leaving?

A sigh escaped your lips. "Pull yourself together," you growled softly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, yet the uncomfortable tugging sensation in your heart wouldn't go away.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting at the table together, eating the meal Seungcheol had cooked. Neither of you said a word, and the silence seemed to swallow you whole. You struggled to find the right words—any topic of conversation that might lighten the mood—but nothing, not a single word, escaped your lips.

Eventually, however, you could no longer bear the silence. You were just about to say something, anything, when Seungcheol’s voice suddenly broke the silence itself, and you looked at him with wide eyes.

"Are you able to defend yourself?"

Seungcheol’s eyes stared earnestly into yours, and you narrowed your eyes slightly in confusion. "What?" you asked, bewildered, and he let out a breath that sounded almost desperate.

"If someone were to attack you here, Daisy, could you defend yourself?"

You leaned back cautiously against your chair and shook your head in confusion. "Who would attack me?"

"Doesn't matter." Seungcheol's voice radiated harshness, and you pressed your lips together. What the hell was going on? Was that the reason why he had been so thoughtful the whole time?

"Well, I’m not answering your question until you tell me what’s going on," you replied in a firm voice, meeting his hard stare.

Seungcheol managed to hold your gaze for exactly one minute before sighing and staring angrily at his plate. Then he ran a hand through his dark hair, leaned back in his chair, and finally spoke. "I was in the village and saw… a thief there." He didn't look you in the eye as he said the words.

"And I wondered if you’re even capable of defending yourself if someone with ill intentions were to come across your cabin."

You thought for a few seconds. A thief, then? "That hasn't happened to me so far."

"That’s no excuse."

You sighed softly. "I kept you in check with my weed puller, too." You had meant it as a joke, but Seungcheol’s mouth didn’t curl into a smile for even a second.

Instead, he kept staring at you seriously. "I was hurt, Daisy. And I never intended to hurt you."

You were about to object, but Seungcheol was already continuing.

"I'm going to teach you a few things."

"You don't have to do that," you countered immediately, and Seungcheol raised his eyebrows skeptically. "I’m not leaving a woman alone in the woods unless I’m sure she can at least defend herself against strangers."

He picked up his bowl and walked over to the kitchen counter, and you stared at his back.

"We start tomorrow."

And you really couldn't think of any more arguments against it.

At least it didn’t rain the next day. You had slept in the bed again, even though you had tried to persuade Seungcheol to take it. His only reply, however, was that he had been sleeping in the bed for the past two weeks anyway and would take the reading chair and after that, you couldn't think of a single argument that wouldn't lead you to think back to your bodies intertwined.

So you accepted his decision and tossed and turned in bed, while your omega screamed inside you that something important was missing.

At some point, you had fallen asleep after all, and now you were standing here in your garden with Seungcheol facing you. You couldn't believe you were actually doing this. But you had to admit he was right; it certainly wouldn't hurt to at least be able to defend yourself.

"And now?" you asked uncertainly. "What am I supposed to fight with?"

Seungcheol studied you for a few seconds before stepping close and pressing a dagger into your hand. Your eyes widened slightly as they stared down at the pointed weapon. It was beautiful. Its hilt was pitch-black and adorned with tiny, etched stars, while the silver of the blade itself shimmered in the light. An onyx was set into the hilt, and you looked up in wonder at Seungcheol, whose gaze remained fixed on the dagger.

"That was a gift from my mother. It was always a faithful companion to me, but I think you could make better use of it."

"W-What? I can't accept this!" you cried, trying to press the dagger back into his hand, but his right hand closed over yours, and he looked deep into your eyes once more. It was the first time your hands had touched again, and little sparks of electricity shot through you. Your breath caught as you looked up at him.

"Keep it. I'll be able to leave with a better feeling knowing you have it." His eyes shimmered with pain for a second, but you could just as easily have imagined it. "Please."

Your eyes returned to the dagger before you nodded, a lump forming in your throat. Seungcheol nodded as well and let out a brief breath, then stepped back a few paces.

The dagger felt heavy in your hand, and you couldn't shake the thought that it felt like a farewell gift. Your hand closed around the pitch-black hilt, and you nodded to Seungcheol, signaling that you were ready to learn.

"What do I do first?"

THE KITCHEN IS PAINTED IN SHADES OF BLUE AT 5:47 IN THE MORNING. As the only resident of said kitchen this early in the morning the past two weeks, you've learned that the pre-dawn light that spills through the wide windows above the sink turns everything soft and cool in the morning. The white subway tile back splash starts off a muted grey before the sun finally melts away the blue and turns it bright white each morning.

This morning, the honey-colored cabinets look muted, nearly colorless as the sun hides beyond the horizon. You take another bite of cereal, listening to the old house settle around you. The house has taken getting used to - not because it's ancient, but because it's old enough to feel lived in and have its own quirks of floorboards that squeak, doors that click shut because the hinges are a little loose, pipes that groan when one of the thirteen people upstairs showers late at night.

It's a big house. It has to be, to fit the pack of thirteen - fourteen now, including you. Six alphas, seven betas, and you. A single omega, new and a little out of your comfort zone as you try to figure the ins and outs of a pack who have been together so long, they don't even have to think about how to navigate one another. They just do, planets who have been in rotation of one another for so long that it's as easy as breathing.

Where they've had years together, you've only had two weeks. It still feels like you're learning an entire new language - not because any of them are difficult or unkind, but rather because there's a difference between being welcomed into a pack and belonging, and you're somewhere in the strange gap between the two.

Unfortunately, the omega part of your brain doesn't really understand the distinction between the two, even though you do. You get that it'll take time to integrate yourself fully and to fit in as intimately as the others do with one another, but your instincts don't have that nuance. All your omega knows is that you should be surrounded by a pack, that you should be scented and claimed and constantly near people who want you.

Instead, you're sitting by yourself in a kitchen that feels too big and your instincts are ramming against you to go knock on a door and ask for company. You can't, though. Not that they wouldn't let you in - they would. You know they would. But the small fraction of the what if keeps you rooted to your seat. What if they end up not liking you? What if this doesn't work out? What if they decide they don't need an omega after all?

You stare at the cereal in your bowl, now soggy. It's something honey-flavored and generic that you took out of the pack pantry without looking. Mingyu swore you could take anything out of the pantry and fridge - anything in the house. What’s theirs is yours until you start filling the house with your favorite things, but like the anxiety of asking one of them to spend time with you, you can't seem to figure out how to ask for cinnamon sugar cereal or sweet cream coffee creamer.

Another bite confirms your cereal is as soggy as it looks. You ignore it, watching the kitchen in the morning stillness. It still smells like cinnamon and brown sugar from something Mingyu baked yesterday. Dishes pile in the sink and you know Seungcheol is going to have a field day when he sees it, adamant about dishes being done each night.

Under the layers of the smell of the kitchen is them. You're still trying to pick out the strands of scents that belong to each member, but thirteen scents layered over the top of one another is dizzying and hard to get used to, each one blending into something that you recognize as almost pack. Pack but not.

There are a few you can pick out individually, at least. You know Seungcheol's cedar and smoke, the head alpha easier to scent than the others. Jeonghan's citrus and something that you can't put your finger on. Mingyu's clean laundry smell with a hint of something soft and woody. The others remain a bit of a mess, but you're determined to try, hoping that maybe untangling each scent will lead you to untangling them and finding a sense of belonging that you'd hoped to find here and that they said they'd wanted you to find.

You try not to think about what happens if you don't find a place here. Though it's actually entirely normal not to, you don't know if you could survive that kind of embarrassment. You had already been a bit wary of using omega placement services as it was, desperate to find a pack after years of living on your own and unwilling to go back to living with your all-beta family in your tiny town where nothing much ever happened.

Thirteen pack members is a lot after coming from something small, something lonely. You'd been thrilled at the idea, realizing that you'd never be alone again, that you'd always have someone to lean on. Now you're here, in a house full of thirteen people who are supposed to be your pack, and you're still eating breakfast alone. Still sitting on the outside of their easy familiarity. Still trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between being new and being home.

Creaking stairs catch your attention. You perk up, freezing as you listen to the soft steps of someone coming down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You smell the cedar and smoke before you see him, your brain getting a little foggy before Seungcheol ever steps into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He pulls up short when he sees you. He's surprised, and you realize he hadn't smelled you before he walked in, unused to having an omega or an outsider in his house. He looks devastating this morning in sweatpants slung low on his hips and a t-shirt that's tight enough to show off the width of him and strength in his chest. An alpha not only built strong mentally but physically, someone who feels and looks dependable, someone who looks entirely too soft and swollen and pretty in the dawn light.

He blinks at you. His eyes are dark and a little unfocused, still soft with sleep, but there's something sharp underneath. It makes you sit up straighter, you body thrumming as he flicks on the light. You squint, but when your eyes adjust, he's still looking at you with an expression he doesn't understand.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He asks, voice rough with sleep. "Are you alright?"

"What? Oh." You lower your spoon to the bowl, hyperaware of him. "Sorry, I'm an early riser in new places. I can go if you need the kitchen, sorry-"

"No, stay."

It's not a command, but his voice is firm enough that you nod instantly, relaxing a little. He moves further into the room, carrying the heavy presence of a head alpha with him. You can feel it in the way he moves, the way he takes up space and the gravity around him that has nothing to do with physical mass and everything to do with him.

You grip the edge of the counter, trying to stay composed as your omega instincts kick in. The last thing you want is for him to think you're awkward or needy. You don't want him to know how much you're struggling with this transition more than you should be. You're supposed to be settling in and comfortable by now, but you're not.

It scares you.

"Coffee?" he asks, already turning it on.

"No, I'm okay."

He hums, opening the cabinet next to the coffee maker. You watch him scan the mugs until he finds a specific one and selects it. You wonder if they have assigned mugs, if there's a hierarchy in the cabinet beyond your understanding like so many other things here.

Silence hangs between you as he makes his coffee, turning to lean backward against the counter with the mug tucked between his hands. His gaze drifts back to you and he gives you a soft smile that you tentatively return. The attention makes you feel exposed, like he's looking at you and sees right through the core of you despite only having been in the same room for a few minutes.

"Couldn't sleep?" You ask, desperately trying to fill the silence.

"Something like that." He gestures toward you. "What about you? Do you do this a lot? Waking up early and sitting alone in the dark, I mean."

"I guess, yeah. I have a hard time sleeping in new places and I don't like to just lay there."

"Mmm." There's a pause, and you can feel him still watching you. Still assessing. "You eat breakfast alone a lot too?"

You glance down at the bowl. "Sometimes, I guess? I'm usually up before anyone else."

"How long have you been up?"

"Maybe an hour?"

"And you've just been sitting here by yourself."

It's not quite a question, but it feels like one. You glance up at him, trying to figure out where this is going, but his expression is unreadable. His scent shifts and you realize what it is. Protectiveness. He doesn't like that you're sitting here by yourself, and the realization makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

"I don't mind," you murmur, looking down again to hide the sudden flush you feel.

He hums. "I'm hungry." You look up, confused at the statement. He points to your bowl. "What are you having?"

"Cereal. I think it's honey? I didn't want to wake anyone up by cooking."

"Cereal sounds good. Honey is Chan's. Good choice."

He moves with purpose then, crossing to the cabinets to pull down a bowl. Your eyes catch on the line of his shoulders and the way his muscles shift under the cotton tee, the way it rides up just slightly as he reaches for the milk in the fridge, revealing a tiny strip of skin at his lower back that makes your mouth go dry. You look away quickly, back down at your soggy cereal, and try to get your breathing under control.

You watch as he fixes himself a bowl of cereal and strides over to you, dragging a stool up next to you. You blink in surprise. You expected him to sit across from you, but instead he plops down next to you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin and close enough that the cedar and smoke of him makes your eyes flutter. His knee brushes yours as he adjusts and you have to physically stop yourself from leaning into him, your nervous system lighting up at the proximity.

"So," he says, pulling you from the static of your thoughts. "Tell me about yourself."

You blink at him. "Like what?"

"Anything." He takes another bite of cereal like this is completely normal. Like he wakes up at five in the morning to eat with strangers all the time. "Where are you from again?"

"Small town." You stir your cereal. The milk swirls. "Really small. Everyone-knows-everyone small."

"And you left."

"For college. I came back for a few years after but it didn't feel like I fit in anymore so I moved to the city, got an apartment by myself. Thought I wanted independence and freedom to figure things out on my own terms." You take a bite of cereal just to have something to do with your hands. "Turns out being alone and being independent aren't the same thing. I was just lonely. Really lonely. Didn't even realize how bad it was until I started looking into pack placement programs and well… now I’m here trying it out, I guess."

Seungcheol goes quiet. When you glance over, his expression is soft. "How long were you alone?"

"Three years."

"That's a long time for anyone, not specifically an omega."

"Yeah." You swallow. "I didn't know what I was missing. I'm still trying to figure it out, I think and how I… fit in."

"You're doing fine," he says.

"I eat breakfast alone every morning."

"Not this morning, though."

The words are simple and direct. When you look up at him, he's watching you with something warm in his expression. Something that makes your chest tight.

"No," you say quietly. "Not this morning."

He gives you a small smile that transforms his face. Suddenly, he's not the intimidating pack alpha - he's soft and warm, more like a person than someone you have to impress or earn the trust of. You relax a little, stirring your milk aimlessly.

"What about you?" you ask. "What made you want to lead a pack this big?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Honestly? I didn't set out to. It just kind of happened. We all met in college, started spending time together, and it felt right. Natural. Then more people joined and suddenly I was the one everyone looked to when decisions needed to be made. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it right. If I'm taking care of everyone the way I should be."

"I think you're doing a good job," you say. "Everyone seems happy. Settled."

He looks at you and gives you a look, one brow raised. "Everyone except you."

His words make you wince. Not because they're accusatory, but because you didn't think he noticed. You realize it's a bit of an insult for you to have doubted him - Seungcheol's entire role as the head alpha is to understand his pack, to balance the personalities, to lead. That includes you, despite not feeling like it, and you realize that he's taken notice and doesn't intend to let it go.

"We don't eat alone unless we want to in my pack," he says simply.

My pack. The possessiveness in those two words makes something flutter in your chest and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from grinning, to stop yourself from getting too hopeful.

"I didn't want to be a burden," you admit.

"You're not," he promises. "You're a part of our pack which means you're never a burden. We want you here. We wouldn't have gone through the trouble of the agency and placement if we didn't think there was something missing. You were missing and we're happy to gave you, even if it's a little awkward at first."

You can feel your heart beating too fast, the warmth of him making you dizzy. Seungcheol doesn't lean closer, but you feel him closer, the smell of him overwhelming and comforting. You realize he's doing it on purpose, pheromones comforting you like he should. You glance up and he has a knowing look on his face, a little smug and a little endeared and you find yourself smiling.

"Thank you," you manage. "For noticing."

"Always," he murmurs.

You finish your cereal together as the sky outside continues to lighten. For the first time since you moved into this house, you don't feel quite so alone.

-

It's Tuesday in the middle of the day when Seungcheol interrupts your next meal. You look up as he walks onto the back porch, the apple covered in peanut butter in your hand pausing as he sits down next to you at the table. He's got a full plate with him, rice, chicken and vegetables piled high as he sighs and settles in comfortably.

"Hey," he says casually, cracking open the can of soda he's brought along.

"Hi," you say slowly, eyeing him.

"I am starving. Wanted something sweet."

You look at his plate. Then back at him. Then back at the plate.

"Seungcheol, that is not sweet."

"What?"

"You said you wanted something sweet. That's chicken."

He blinks and looks down like he's just now noticing what's on it. You press your lips together as he scratches the side of his neck, nodding. "Right. I meant I wanted something sweet after this. You like ice cream?"

"I do."

"Great." He leans over, peering at your apple slices as his shoulders brush yours, sending a spark through you. "What are you having?"

"Apple and peanut butter."

"Hmmm. Classic." He starts cutting into his chicken as you watch him, eyes narrowed. "How's your day?"

You're still processing the fact that he claimed to be starving for something sweet while holding a savory meal, but you answer anyway, amused.

"Good. I've been reading."

"Yeah? What are you reading?"

Taking another bite of your apple, you tell him. Seungcheol is an engaged listener, nodding and asking follow up questions as he devours his plate. Somehow, time passes easily. Even after he's cleared his plate, he leans back into his chair, foot up on the seat as he tells you about one of his favorite books growing up, dimples appearing every time he smiles.

You love his dimples, watching them as he ducks his head and laughs, long hair falling in his eyes. You smile too, unable to help it around him. He's infectious like that, easily shifting the mood from something tense to warm or lonely to comfortable, like an alpha should.

Eventually, he sighs heavily, stretching. You try not to notice the way his shirt peels up, revealing the barest hint of soft stomach before he drops his arms back down and grins at you.

"I have to get back to work," he says. "But this was nice. We should do it again."

"That would be nice."

He smiles and gets up, clearing his plate and reaching to grab your empty one without much preamble. You watch him go inside, shaking your head when you realize that he never wanted something sweet in the first place.

-

You've been awake for three hours.

It's not insomnia, exactly. It's more like your brain won't shut off and you keep laying in bed replaying conversations, analyzing the way Seungcheol looked at you on Wednesday, wondering if you're reading too much into the fact that Mingyu sat close enough to scent you yesterday but didn't, if any of this means anything or if you're just desperate enough to convince yourself it does. As usual, your brain is doing laps, restless and unsettled, and the quiet of the house at midnight isn't helping. It's making you hyper-aware of how alone you are in your room, how easy it would be to just stay here without anyone noticing and how good you've gotten at it.

So you give up on sleep. Again.

The kitchen is dark when you pad downstairs in your pajamas, the hum of the refrigerator going as you open it up, squinting against the light. You don't bother to turn the overhead lights on, the moon filtering in through the big windows over the sink enough to get by. You steal the honey cereal - Chan's - again from the pantry, and fix a bowl before sitting at the counter, sighing as you take a bite.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, startling you. You flip it over, squinting in the dark as you frown when you read it.

SEUNGCHEOL [12:15 AM]: What are you doing?

Your stomach does something complicated.

YOU [12:15 AM]: Eating cereal… why?

SEUNGCHEOL [12:16 AM] Be right there

You set your phone down slowly, your heart doing something erratic in your chest. He heard you come downstairs. His room is above the kitchen - you know this now - and realize that he must have heard you snooping around down here like he did that first morning he found you eating in the kitchen at five in the morning.

A minute later, he appears in the kitchen doorway and your brain short circuits a little. He's in soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt that's clearly old and pulled tight across his chest. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and he's rumpled and sleepy enough to tell you that he absolutely was asleep until he heard you.

"Hey," he croaks.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he lies.

"You didn't have to come down, Seungcheol."

"I did. And you can call me Cheol, you know. Seungcheol makes it sound like I'm in trouble."

He moves to the cabinet, and grabs a bowl, making himself a matching snack before he sits down close enough that his thigh brushes yours. You shiver and if he notices, he has the decency not to point it out.

"Maybe you are in trouble," you mutter, taking a bite.

"Yeah? What for?"

"Being a liar who lies. You heard me and came down."

He grins and takes a bite of cereal. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, ignoring your stare. "So what if I did? I wanted to join you, so I did. Anyway, trouble sleeping again?"

"Kind of." You push cereal around your bowl, not quite meeting his eyes. "My brain won't shut off."

"Yeah?" He shifts slightly, and you're hyperaware of every point where his body is close to yours. "What's it doing?"

"Thinking."

"Pack stuff?"

"Maybe." You finally look at him. His eyes are soft in the moonlight. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

He doesn't ask what you mean. Doesn't pretend to be confused. Just smiles into his cereal, and the smile is so knowing that your face goes hot.

"Yep."

"Why?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

He sets his spoon down. Turns to face you fully, and there's something serious in his expression now, something that makes you sit up and pay attention to him.

"I told you already," he says softly. "We don't eat alone unless we want to. Do you want to?" You hesitate only a moment before shaking your head. "Exaclty. So until you feel confidence to ask someone - you can ask any of us, by the way - I'll make sure you're not eating alone."

It's something so simple and yet it devastates you to hear him say it. It isn't the words themselves exactly, but rather the way he says it, like it's a promise, like he's already decided that this doesn't require permission or gratitude or even for you to ask. It's just a fact that he's going to do this, no negotiation, no need to think about it.

You think about the last three years of your life of eating in your apartment along, of making meals for one, of not having to consider anyone else's schedule or preferences. Three years of being fine with it because fine was easier than admitting you were lonely. And now you have a pack you don't know what to do with, but this alpha - this head of a thirteen-person pack - is keen enough to pick up on what you need and come down to the kitchen at midnight to make sure you have what you need.

It's wonderful and terrifying all at once.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding.

You watch him in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. His hair is still a mess and his face is puffy with sleep, but he's soft. Warm. You notice a small scar on his collarbone you've never been close enough to notice before, and wonder where he got it from.

When he finishes his bowl of cereal, he looks at yours, raising his brows. "You finishing that?"

You shake your head and he grins, reaching over and brushing against you deliberately to steal your bowl. The contact is electric as his arm grazes your shoulder, his chest brushing your back for just a second, and your entire nervous system short-circuits. You nearly go catatonic at the contact, omega melting even when he pulls away, leaving you dizzy and touch starved and hungry for something not food. Your skin tingles where he touched you.

Seungcheol notices. This time, you see the way he grins, smug and content at your reaction. It hits you that he planned that, that he wanted you to feel it. The realization makes your chest tight in a way that's half panic, half something else entirely.

You can feel the heat crawling up your neck, your face, and it pisses you off - not at him, but at yourself for being so transparent, so easy to read. You huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning to him, temper flaring a little. You're not mad at all, but your omega instincts bristle in a way that feels playful and fun, something entirely unfamiliar to you. It's like your body knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

"Well that's not fair," you huff. "You can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"Brush up against me and use your… alpha ways."

He laughs, full bellied and loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. "My alpha ways?"

"Yes!"

"That's how it works."

"Well!" You stomp your foot against the footrest on the stool. "I would like to file a complaint. Wait, who do I file a complaint with? You're head alpha."

Even as you say it, you know how ridiculous you sound. You're literally complaining to the person you're complaining about. It's absurd. But there's also a part of you that likes this game, this playful banter.

"You're cute when you panic."

The word lands like a punch. Cute. You're not cute. You're competent and sarcastic and you've survived three years alone in a city that didn't care about you. You're not cute. Except the way he says it makes you feel small in a way that isn't entirely bad. You like it, even.

"I'm not panicking," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.

"Sure."

"And for the record, I'm not cute. I am a very strong, very assertive omega." You stand up, trying to reclaim some dignity, trying to put distance between yourself and the way his presence makes your skin feel too tight. "I've even lived on my own. Very independent."

"Absolutely," he agrees, not sounding convinced at all.

Seungcheol stands with you and puts the bowls in the sink, leaving them unwashed for once. He grins at you and gestures to the door and you listen, because apparently you do that now. Your body just obeys him, no thought required, no decision made. You just move when he moves, follow when he leads. It should feel wrong, but it doesn't. It feels familiar in a way you've been craving and you finally have it.

He follows you up the stairs and you're hyperaware of him behind you, footsteps quiet and measured. . You can feel the warmth of him in the space between your bodies, close enough that you could lean back and touch him. Your omega is purring at his proximity, at the simple fact of him being there, and you hate how easy it's becoming to just accept it. To want it.

The hallway is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window at the end, letting in enough light for you to walk to your room, third door to the left. When you reach it, you pause, your hand on the doorknob, suddenly unsure of the protocol. Do you just say goodnight? Do you invite him in? The uncertainty makes your stomach knot uncomfortably, panic spiking.

You turn to look at him and he's closer than you expected. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. He's still soft from sleep, and he's looking at you like he looks at the other members of his pack, warm and soft and so gentle that it makes your omega nearly scream.

Seungcheol grins and leans down, pressing a kiss briefly to your head, soft and warm and over before you even know it's happening. Your throat tightens immediately, thoughts turning to static as he takes a step back, winking at you.

"Sleep, he murmurs. "Wake me up when you want breakfast. I mean it."

He dismisses himself then and you watch him walk back down the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness, and you don't move until you hear his door close softly upstairs.

Only then do you slip into your room and lean against the door, your heart still racing, your forehead still burning with the ghost of his kiss. You touch your fingers to the spot where he kissed you, like you can hold onto it somehow.

Crawling into bed, you do exactly what Seungcheol has asked and you sleep.

-

The next morning when you wake up, you don’t have to wake Seungcheol. You hear the noise downstairs, confusion drawing you down the steps and into the kitchen where breakfast is being made in full. You stand in the doorway, confused as you watch Mingyu and Joshua argue at the stove, the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of bacon wafting toward you.

Seungkwan is at the coffee machine, staring lifelessly into the open air as his coffee brews while Chan stands on his tip toes to reach more coffee mugs out of the cabinet behind him. Seokmin is sitting on the counter swinging his legs, laughing animatedly at whatever Soonyoung and Jihoon are arguing about near the sink while Jeonghan lays across the counter, head in Seokmin’s lap as he dozes. 

Seungcheol walks in behind you, not missing at beat as he steers you by the waist toward the counter. Jeonghan peeks an eye open and grins, lifting himself from Seokmin’s lap to make room for you just as Seungcheol grip you by the waist and halls you up to sit on the counter next to Jeonghan, the citrus and jasmine smell of him placating your immediate irritation at being lifted. 

“Why is everyone in the kitchen?” You demand, turning to Jeonghan because Seungcheol is already leaving you and heading for the fridge. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“Rule number one,” Jeonghan yawns, scooting closer so that he’s pressed up against you. You hesitate for only a second before you let yourself relax and tentatively lean toward him. “The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to.”

Seokmin peers around him. “Do you want to?”

His question hangs in the air among the noise and chaos of the kitchen, scents hitting you from every angle, the sound of Minghao complaining about burnt bacon and Mingyu hollering as oil pops and burns his wrist. 

You grin, ducking your head a little as Seungcheol catches your eyes from across the kitchen and winks.