jay

your resident poly enthusiast • mlist • wips

[jaysdimples]

Risky Business Masterlist

summary: just a simple arrangement between friends and coworkers but there's a reason why they say you should never mix business with pleasure..

pairing: rapper!hoseok x photographer!reader

genre: sm au, smut, fluff, angst, humor

status: ongoing

a/n: this is my very first au so please try and take it easy on me lol anyways i hope you enjoy! ❤

parts:

profiles - y/n & hoseok, y/n's friends, hoseok's friends + trinity acc

prologue - bumping uglies

part 1 - new friends

part 2 - horn knee

part 3 - heart boner

part 4 - "What's so funny?"

part 5 - Mr. Hung Jung™️

part 6 - he's back

bonus - introducing matthew kim

part 7 - twilight zone

part 8 - hopeless

part 9 - Trinity

part 10 - d-day

part 11 - party of the year

part 12 - DND

part 13 - time

part 14 - fbi mode

part 15 - a murder

part 16 - all around the world

part 17 -

part 18 -

part 19 -

playlist: spotify // apple music

[bowlby4]

[bloodbornebutch]

please don’t forget you’re loved. anxiety lies. people care. you are loved. It’s ok.

[simjakedly]

mark me yours - l.hs (part 3)

— a spin-off from love me (k)not

main masterlist | part 1 | part 2

synopsis. heeseung finally knows the taste of betrayal.

pairing. alpha!heeseung x omega!female reader

genre(s). omegaverse, fated mates, strangers-to-lovers, fluff, angst, smut

warnings. MDNI (there'll be a warning cut), heavy angst, alpha!jay being our target again i'm so sorry this is the last time i promise!, tw: nosebleed, softdom!heeseung because i love soft doms, p in v, fingering, missionary AND doggy because why not, unprotected sex (haih pls just don't), loss of virginity, nipple sucking, body worshipping, BITING, MARKING, BITE-MARK, heeseung cries a lot good lord but he deserves it lowkey, LIKE BONNIE AND CLYDE MAKIN' LOVEEE (insert hoonwon's voice), yes they make love your honour, and yes it's a happy ending your honour, not beta read we die like injang, tumblr pls stop with your 1000 blocks limit im gna come at you!!! lmk if i missed anything :>

word count. 15,175 words

note. i'm sorryyyyyyy for the delay sjshidshk here's the last part!!! thank you for showing this series your love and support <3

It’s finally the day of the competition.

Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.

You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.

The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.  

Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.

There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.

You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.

“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.

In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.

The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.

Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!

“Y/N. You’re nervous.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”

You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.

You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.

You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.

“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”

“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.

“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”

And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.

You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.

Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent. 

Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—

“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.

Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression. 

But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.

You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here. 

Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.

For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.

“It’s our turn!” 

You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience. 

Okay. It’s actually your turn.

You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.

Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?

Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?

Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?

But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.

As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort. 

And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.

It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.

Your omega stirs again.

Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.

Despite your worries, everything goes well.

Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.

It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.

“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.

“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.

“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.  

“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”

Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy. 

His daisy.

Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.

Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.

He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.

His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.

Inside, your omega stirs again.

“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”

You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.

 “Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”

Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.

Something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.

“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”

“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong. 

Is he hiding something from you?

“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”

He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.

You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.

You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.

“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.

“You too, Jungwon.”

“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.

Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”

You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”

Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.

“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”

Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.

“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”

“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”

You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.

Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!

But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.

“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”

You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.

“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.

“Two!”

Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.

“One!”

As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.

The next morning, you’re awakened by the sound of Yujin squealing and thumping on your door.

“Y/N! Get your fucking ass out now!”

The urgency in her voice makes you jolt awake and scramble to your feet. With sleepiness still clinging to your lashes, you stumble to the door, mentally preparing yourself to punch a robber.

“Yujin! What is it?!” you ask, voice hoarse but still laced with panic.

“Did you already make up with Heeseung?!”

You pause and stand there dumbly, hazy mind slowly clearing up at her sudden interrogation. With the biggest question mark on your face, you blurt out, “Huh?”

“Heeseung posted you on his Instagram!”

“Huh?”

“Y/N! He never posted girls on his account!” Yujin screams in your face, looking more excited than ever. “Fucking hell, open your damn phone!”

Yujin rushes into your room, flipping your pillows where she knows you always keep your phone despite the electromagnet radiation that she warns you about. She unlocks the screen by shoving it into your bleary face and hits the pink-purple-orange gradient icon quickly.

“There!”

You blink the blurriness away from your eyes, adjusting to the bright screen in your face. Yujin waits impatiently, gauging your reaction with wide eyes.

On the screen is the picture you took last night. You haven’t checked the result yet because you were quickly ushered away to take group pictures with other participants after and by the time you reached home, you were out the moment your head hit the pillow.

But now, you realise, the picture turns out really well. 

Heeseung stands taller than you, a close-lipped smile spreading wide across his face as he stood proud and protective beside you. You have a similar smile mirroring his, leaned into him in a way that hinted at familiarity and domesticity. The pop of colour from the roses makes the picture look more alive, and the colour filter he used makes it look almost nostalgic.

An ancient feeling, like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, blooms in your chest. You stare at the picture longer than intended, then read the caption he typed in cursive.

‘smarty daisy did it again.’

You re-read it once. Then twice. The soft declaration, the hints on intimacy makes your omega purr in delight. Nobody has ever called you daisy, especially their daisy, but here Heeseung is: calling you his daisy like he’s just found a new favourite flower.

“Yujin…”

To your surprise, Yujin replies with a sniffle. When you look up, her eyes are already glossed over.

“Yujin? Why are you…”

“I’m sorry I got emotional,” Yujin cuts in, laughing it off like a funny joke with a shaky voice. 

“It’s just—I never met true mates. And while the circumstances between you two weren’t great, I’m just so glad  that you have an alpha willing to amend his mistakes.”

You can already feel your eyes watering.

“Yujin…”

Yujin takes your hands in her hold and urges you to sit on the mattress with her. It’s silent for a moment, and you take the chance to stare at the picture again.

It’s an Instagram story, but there is already a long line of comments. You read through each one of them, curiosity getting the best of you.

narin.kim no fucking way

jakesimisimiya hey so u ditched me ON MY BDAY

jeyipark @jakesimisimiya talk to me i am his lawyer

just.jungwon cute cute cuteeeee wonder who took the pic tho

evanlee @just.jungwon she is cute

nishimurariki welcome to the simp club

sunooyaa it’s time to ask me if my back hurts from carrying this ship

Every comment makes your breath feel shorter. You try hard to bite back a smile and ignore the small flutter in your chest, not noticing the way Yujin observes everything. When she eventually speaks, her voice has dropped to a serious tone.

“Have you forgiven him?”

You tear your eyes away from your phone, taking a moment to reply. Then, with a shake of your head, you reply, “No. Not yet, I think.”

It’s not a whole lie. While the human part of you has already forgiven him, your omega is still giving you radio silence. But for now, you decide to keep it to yourself first—the way your omega has been more responsive these days, albeit slowly and slightly.

“That’s good,” Yujin nods. “Forgiveness should come from your heart. You shouldn’t force it just because you feel bad for him.”

The words land like a gentle reminder tucking you in a warm blanket. You don’t say anything and look back at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply box. The gears of your mind start turning, looking for a polite way to thank the alpha.

Then, softly, Yujin continues, making your head spin with the weight of her words for the rest of the day.

“But when it’s really time to forgive him, I hope you don’t run away from it too.”

You end up reposting Heeseung’s story and hide.

The attention is quite heavy for you, to be honest. You’ve never been the centre of that many eyes, not since in the backyard of Jake’s frat house.

You never dare ask Heeseung as well. A reply of, ‘Thank you Heeseung’ is all you can manage, keeping the rest of the sentence to yourself.

‘Why did you post only me?’

You’re not blind. You see the chaos he created from that single post. The notorious alpha who doesn’t do relationships, who always prioritises his friends over girls is suddenly skipping Jake’s birthday to see a boring competition and posting a picture with the omega he came for. You become a hot sensation overnight—people just can’t stop talking about it.

Because of that, thoughts about him become even more frequent and inevitably, your heart starts to melt at how persistent he is.

It’s been more than a month yet Heeseung doesn’t falter. He keeps choosing you in routine. He keeps choosing you in public.

And, apparently, he chooses you in private, too.

You don’t mean to overhear the conversation, really. You’re just leaving the restroom during practice break, about to have lunch with Rei when you see two shadows disappearing around the corner. Your heart almost stops.

Seeing Heeseung and Narin together brings back old wounds that almost makes you lose your mind. Your quiet omega has been tugging you to follow, to see what the alpha is doing with the omega that your wolf has marked with a red ink on her forehead.

So you follow them quietly, covering your scent gland with a hand in hope to hide your presence. With your back to the wall, you hold your breath as you hear the conversation between the two of them.

“—on, Heeseung. You left things unfinished that night.” Narin’s voice is the one you hear first, frustration spilling into her tone.

“I don’t intend to finish it,” Heeseung replies, always sounding calm and composed. It painfully reminds you of the talk you had with him after the tournament.

“Why? You always sleep with different people. Why did I never get a chance?” Narin scoffs, disbelieving. “And they've been saying that you’ve stopped!”

“I have. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Is it because of Y/N?”

Your ear perks up. Damn bro, they’re now talking about you. It slips from your mind sometimes, about how childish Narin can be. Something akin to anticipation builds up in your chest, waiting for Heeseung’s reply.

“Yes,” he answers, firm and fast. “I’m pursuing her right now. I hope that’s clear.”

There is silence from Narin, but the spike in her scent sours the atmosphere almost instantly. While you, well, you try not to feel so giddy about it.

“Are you stupid? Her? Didn’t she cut the—”

“What happened between Y/N and I is a private matter of our hearts. It’s not your business,” Heeseung cuts in sharply with a bite to his voice. Your omega shifts inside you. “Are you done? Because I’m leaving.”

Panic ensues in your system at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. Your mind scrambles for escape, so without thinking you almost sprint to the vending machine at the end of the hallway and pretend to buy a drink.

Acting like you don’t notice them while catching your breath proves to be the hardest sport for you yet. You stare blankly at the vending machine, unaware of the grape juice sitting right under your nose and fully aware of the manly pheromones approaching you.

Thank Goddess that he smells like himself only. You think you’re going to break down if Narin’s scent clings onto him.

“Are you thinking of a different drink?” Heeseung murmurs softly, standing beside you and mimicking you staring at the machine.

You steal a glance at him, feeling the movement of your wolf becoming more responsive and bold. Behind your ribs, your heart is galloping like a horse.

“No. I still like grape juice.”

“Mhm, okay,” Heeseung fishes out his wallet and makes the purchase like it’s routine. The impact of the can dropping can’t even beat the loud pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung opens the can with one hand.

“For you.”

“Thank you.”

You take it, fingers brushing his. You try not to overthink the sparks the touch sends to your system and quietly drink, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your face.

“Y/N, I have something to tell you,” he begins, this time sounding slightly nervous. “Narin and I talked just now.”

Oh. Okay. He’s actually coming clean about it.

You didn’t expect that at all.

You nod, still not looking at him. Heeseung takes a second to himself, like he’s plotting something, then before you know it, he’s already moving to stand in front of you, bending his body to be on your eye-level. 

You almost choke and take a step back.

“Heeseung?”

“I need you to look into my eyes,” he licks his lips, holding your eyes with his intense gaze. “Because I need you to know that you’re the only omega I like and I’m pursuing.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much, but you find savouring it instead.

“And I made that clear to her just now.”

Is he trying to reassure you?

You search his face, and all you can see in those dark eyes is utter devotion and determination.

It makes your chest tighten.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I will keep trying no matter what.”

You can only hum and nod, failing to find your voice.

“Okay.”

Heeseung shoots you with a small grin and straightens up. He glances at his smartwatch and frowns.

“I have to skip tonight’s practice. There’s a meeting about the upcoming music festival,” he says, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “I’ll find someone to walk you home.”

“It’s okay. I’ll use the Safe Night Walk service,” you politely decline, already sick of hearing Jungwon talking about his lifelong crush on some noona that won’t see him as a man every time he walks you home.

Seriously, you don’t blame that omega. Jungwon is really cute, it’s hard to see him more than a kitty cat.

Heeseung’s face, on the other hand, twists into confusion before a look of understanding crosses his face. 

Safe Night Walk is a service provided by the omega activist club of your university. The purpose is pretty self-explanatory, where any omega who’d like to go home at night can request an alpha to keep them safe. It’s pretty well-known for how rigid the alpha selection process is, seeing as the new president of the club is the fiercest to hold the title yet, making the service the most credible it has ever been.

Which is probably why Heeseung agrees to it too easily.

“Oh, right. Jay also tried for the selection, but he never told me if he passed or not,” Heeseung pauses, pondering about something.

“Sunghoon also signed up for it and we know each other. Do you want me to contact him?”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get someone when it’s time to go home.”

It’s quite hard to convince the alpha that you don’t need his friend’s service, but Heeseung eventually relents. He gives you a fond smile, walking backwards and not breaking eye contact.

“Call me if no alpha is available.”

“Okay.”

“I will run to you in ten minutes. No—five minutes.”

Your heart stutters, but your face remains neutral. “As if you can do that.”

Heeseung grins. The easy affection etched in his features is almost too scary for you to bear.

“For you, I will.”

The shared apartment is quiet save for the track playing from his producer room. Heeseung lies down on his couch, staring at the ceiling in silence. His lyrics notebook sits idly on the coffee table, open and now forgotten. Outside, the rain pouring down does nothing to wash down his guilt.

He had lied to you.

He just came back from a doctor appointment, not a meeting about any festival. A checkup meant to follow up with his condition after the night he collapsed in Jay’s arms.

‘You only have two weeks to win the omega back. If nothing succeeds, you must cut the one-sided bond, Heeseung-ssi.”

Heeseung only wants to do one thing and cutting the bond is not an option. 

It’s better for him to die being yours than to live being nothing to you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly mutters to the empty space.

“I ran away again,” he swallows thickly. “I’m still the old Heeseung in some ways. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The pitter-patter of the rain is the only sound he receives back, thickening the guilt spilling over his chest.

He grazes the scent gland with the tip of his finger. It pulses slowly, faintly, like a calm before a storm. A storm that is just turning the key and entering the door.

“I’m home,” Jay announces, toeing off his shoes. There are tiny droplets of rain in his hoodie, but that’s not what catches Heeseung’s attention.

It’s the scent that lingers in his citrusy pheromones.

Soft daisies and sweet honey—unmistakingly you.

Jay smells like you.

Something churns violently in his stomach. 

Every silent breakdown, every secret insecurity of his best friend comes crashing down on him. His blood roars in his ears that Heeseung believes he’s seeing red.

In that one single sniff that he picks up with his sensitive nose, Heeseung almost thinks that the floor holding his weight is crumbling down. 

He springs up to sit, eyes narrowing down in his friend’s direction. His alpha is already growling, ready to take the other alpha down in a fight.

Jay, still oblivious to the storm building inside the house, throws Heeseung a smile. 

“Hee, just now—”

“Park Jongseong,” Heeseung starts slowly, trying to hide the hurt in his voice as he stands and approaches him slowly. “Why the fuck do you smell like her?”

Jay’s expression turns into confusion. He sniffs at the collar of his hoodie and—oh.

Oh.

Heeseung can’t stand the look of realisation on his face. It’s like being left out of something that should be his, something that only he should know and have. His chest twists sharply and before he can stop himself, he’s already shoving Jay into the wall, fists trembling with restraint.

“Jay,” he breathes out, his voice treading the edges of fear and heartbreak. “Please tell me why the fuck am I smelling Y/N on your right now.”

Despite his anger, Heeseung’s voice sounds way too broken. Anxiety cracks through his demeanour, and for a moment, Heeseung’s not sure if he wants to hear Jay’s answer. There is a thin veil of tears glossing over his eyes and his scent gland is throbbing violently, shooting pain all over his body.

It’s almost like he was back in the backyard, watching you scream in pain as you smelled another woman on him. Heeseung sobs, hating himself even more than he ever did.

Was this how you felt that night?

Jay claws at the hands around his collar, almost gasping for air.

“Heeseung—it’s not what you think—”

“Then tell me! Fuck!” he shouts, eyes pleading Jay desperately to prove him wrong.

The longer he smells the blend of your scent with Jay’s pheromones, the dizzier his head gets. His frantic heart is buzzing with the thoughts of being replaced, of losing yet another chance to make things right, of losing you.

His self-esteem, already in pieces since that tragic night, is filled with doubt and uncertainty to the brim.

Not you, please. Heeseung quietly prays. Please not you, Jay.

“I walked her home!” Jay yells, face red from how tight Heeseung’s gripping his collar. His wolf whines at the unexpected aggression from his closest alpha, confused and wounded from being treated like an enemy. “She used the Safe Night Walk service and I was one of the alphas on duty.”

Hearing that, Heeseung’s grip loosens a fraction, trying desperately to believe his friend.

“It’s raining so I lent her my hoodie.” Jay quietly mutters, losing the previous edge. There’s a look of hurt on his face now that he fails to mask. He searches Heeseung’s tearful face, dread growing in his chest.

Despite the aggression, Jay cannot find it in him to be upset when all he can see in his friend is fear and hurt.

“Please, Heeseung. I will never betray you like that.”

Heeseung bites his lips until it bleeds and finally lets go. Jay almost drops down to the floor, clawing at his throat for relief. His neck has turned deep red, bruised from Heeseung’s grip. 

Heeseung is strong even when he never admits it, the dominant traits in him giving him the advantage when his wolf is riled up. Jay is lucky that Heeseung didn’t use his commanding voice—he would’ve been helpless if it happened.

But deep down, Jay knows that Heeseung would never do that to him. They’re best friends, after all.

The air is thick and heavy with a dominant alpha’s wrath. Heeseung doesn’t even realise how sharp his scent has turned until he finds himself struggling to breathe.

There’s a ringing silence between the two alphas. Jay is still on the floor, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to process. Heeseung, on the other hand, is on the verge of breaking apart.

Quietly, the alpha mutters an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

Heeseung leaves the house in a storm of cinnamon and tearful bergamot, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles.

He’s never felt closer to death than tonight.

You take your time with your skincare. Or rather, you’re actually zoning out while tapping toner into your skin.

Your conversation with Jay still lingers in the back of your mind.

“Thank you for giving him a chance, Y/N. I was scared that you wouldn’t.”

What would happen if you didn’t?

You sigh and stare into the mirror. You’re freshly out of the shower and in your comfiest pajamas, yet a hint of Jay’s pheromones is still there. It seems that the rain doesn’t wash it away; it only makes it stick longer.

Inside, your omega shifts uncomfortably, unsettled by the scent of the foreign alpha. You roll your eyes.

“I know you hate it, but it can’t be helped when we haven’t forgiven him yet.” You grunt, capping your bottled product. “I mean, I already did, but since you’re like, my other half, I can’t just—”

Forgiven.

The toner slips from your hand and clatters on the floor. 

Your lungs freeze. 

“...What?”

I want to forgive him.

Slowly, a habit that you’re already accustomed to since that night, you place a hand on your chest. Your omega’s presence is more tangible now, like she’s finally arose from her deep slumber.

And she’s finally talking to you.

“Are you sure?” you start slowly, not wanting to offend the fragile soul. “We can take more time, you don’t have to feel rushed—”

I want my alpha, Y/N. I forgive him and I hope you do, too.

Every word fails you in that moment. You stand alone in your room, with only your wolf as your lifelong companion. There’s a strange feeling in your heart.

Something ancient. Something sacred. Something freeing.

A ghost of a smile grazes your lips.

“Idiot. I told you, didn’t I? The stubborn one out of the two of us is you.”

He hurt us badly, Y/N. Of course I had to stand on business.

“It’s better that you did,” you hum, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. “Or else I probably won’t see this side of him and will only remember him as a bad alpha.”

Your omega doesn’t reply. In return, there’s a soft pulsing in your scent gland; something that hasn’t occurred in so long. You gasp.

But before you can process it, your phone rings, the noise slicing through the atmosphere sharply. You frown when you see that it’s your next-door neighbour, a fellow floormate that likes to borrow your detergent.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, oh my Goddess. Don’t come out!” she whisper-shouts, panic evident in her voice. “There’s an alpha outside of your door right now and he smells so bad. I think he’s dangerous. We’re about to call the security.”

Your heart drops. “What? Who?”

There’s a sound of movement and whispering before you hear a gasp.

“Okay, what the hell. It’s actually Heeseung and he’s crying,” your floormate says in disbelief. You, on the other hand, are in bigger disbelief.

Heeseung? Didn’t Yujin already let him know that you’re home?

Your feet are already padding across the tiles of your apartment, heart beating in your lungs. 

“Y/N…I think you need to come out. He’s not moving at all.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

Your sweaty palm trembles at the doorknob. Heeseung’s pheromones, thick and definitely smells distressed—which explains why your neighbour said that he smells bad—seeps through the gap between the door and the floor. But he doesn’t knock, like he’s here only to feel your presence.

Your omega whines, restless from the distressed pheromones, eager to comfort. You take a deep breath before you yank the door open.

The scene that greets you almost makes you speechless.

Heeseung stands in front of you, head hanging low like he’s trying to make himself smaller. The hallways are filled with slightly open doors and heads peeking out; all the omegas and betas living on this floor are definitely curious about the distress-smelling alpha and his omega.

“Heeseung?”

He doesn’t respond at first. His breaths come out uneven—too sharp, too shallow—like his lungs have forgotten to work properly. For a second, you think he doesn’t hear you.

But then, he lifts his gaze slightly, holding back a storm behind his eyes as he looks into yours. His nose flares, and then his scent turns more sour.

“Heeseung?”

There, lingering too faintly under your body wash, your lotion, and your own scent like it’s already fading out slowly—is Jay’s pheromones.

Something finally shatters in his chest.

“You smell like him.”

His voice is grim and shaky, tugging at your heartstrings. You immediately know what he’s referring to and for some reason, an ugly feeling twists in yiur gut.

But before you can respond, Heeseung already drops to his knees. 

A chorus of gasps is heard across the hallways. The bystanders are no longer caring about being seen eavesdropping. You think you even see a phone directed your way, but it’s the least of your concern now.

“Heeseung—”

“I can take anything you do to me,” Heeseung’s voice cracks, barely holding it together. “I can take any punishment you want to give me but not this.”

Heeseung cranes his neck. Trails of tears clinging to his lashes are falling his nose, his cheeks, the side of his face, down to the floor.

“Please, not him. Please—I beg you.”

His face crumples, like he’s imagining the sight of you and Jay together in his mind.

“I can’t—” his breath stutters, chest heaving like it’s caving in on itself. “I can’t do it, Y/N. I thought I could take it. I thought I deserved it, but—”

His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, knuckles turning white.

“It hurts,” he chokes out, voice breaking into something almost unrecognisable. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

Your heart lurches.

Because you know.

You know exactly what he’s feeling.

The suffocating ache. The betrayal that sits in your lungs and refuses to let you breathe. The way your mind spirals, painting images you don’t want to see but can’t stop imagining.

It’s the same pain.

The same one he put you through.

Heeseung lets out a broken sound, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of it.

“I get it now,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I get why you looked at me like that. I get why you—”

Heeseung cuts himself off. This time, a more pained, more broken noise slips past his lips.

“I get why you ended it.”

Everything hurts. His scent gland is angry red, throbbing endlessly like a sign of the real ending. His head pounds sharply and his lungs—oh Goddess, Heeseung can’t breathe.

His body sways. Instinctively, you crouch down to his level and catch him before he can fall. Panic fills up your system when a trickle of crimson blood starts peeking out of his nose.

No. No, please no. Not this again.

You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks shakily. You turn your face and shout at your neighbour to call the ambulance or anyone—you just can’t let this happen.

You can’t let Heeseung go through the same pain you did.

“Heeseung, please don’t close your eyes.”

His head weighs heavier as he lolls forward, eyes almost snapping shut. You let his head rest on your shoulder, not caring about the blood now staining your shirt. Hot tears brim along your lashline.

“Heeseung, please—”

“Please forgive me,” Heeseung whispers weakly into your ears. The pain is unbearable, crushing his bones and penetrating his system like a sharp-end disease—an inevitable reaction from smelling another alpha on you.

So this is what you went through, he thinks wistfully. You must be in so much pain.

“Please forgive me, Y/N.”

“Where’s the ambulance?!” You finally break, cheeks wet with tears. Heeseung has completely gone still in your embrace, adding panic to your system. You reach out to hold his face.

“No, no, please.”

The lower part of his face is smudged red. His eyes close shut, still leaking out his tears even in his unconsciousness.

You let out an ugly sob, feeling utterly broken and scared.

“I forgive you, Heeseung. Please.”

You’re so fucking scared. Scared of losing yet another life you could’ve had when you were so close to having it.

Scared of not having the chance to love and to be loved again, this time with the person your soul chooses and not because fate says so.

“Please don’t leave me again.”

When Heeseung comes to, you’re holding his hands, zoning out.

There’s a distant look in your expression. A thin air of sad, wilted daisies lingers, no doubt wafting from you. His wolf, having just woken up like him, immediately shifts restlessly in his chest at the scent.

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles absentmindedly, tracing the veins like you’re memorising something before it disappears again.

He stays quiet, letting his eyes trace every curve of your features. The pretty slope of your nose, the soft swell of your cheeks, the petals of your lips. Then they stop at your puffy eyes.

Something inside him twists uncomfortably.

Why does he always make you cry?

You don’t even notice that he’s awake yet, too lost in your head as you stare at the beige wall of the ward. Not until he squeezes your hand back, eager and nervous to see if you’ll return it back or let go.

When you feel the grip tighten, your eyes snap back to him. And then, like a small win that heals something in his heart, you squeeze his hand back.

Heeseung almost breaks down.

“You’re awake,” you say in relief and move to stand. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Heeseung obeys, never finding it in him to go against your words anymore. But his hand never lets go. He savours every second that you let him hold you—the closest he’s ever touched you since the night he saved you.

He doesn’t let go even as the doctor does a checkup on him. The doctor comes in with Jay, who looks as disheveled as he is. There’s an awkward atmosphere between the two alphas, but neither dares to say anything and lets the doctor do his job.

He was unconscious for twelve hours, apparently.

“The scenting from your omega helped speed up the recovery process,” the doctor elaborates. Heeseung steals a glance at you, gauging your reaction, but your face remains neutral. 

It’s no wonder that he’s been feeling at peace since waking up—you had been scenting him when he was out.

“You just need to stay for a blood test and then you’re good to go,” the doctor continues, flashing him with a reassuring smile.

Murmurs of thank-yous ripple in the room as the three of you watch the doctor take his leave. Shortly after, the tension returns, and it’s almost obvious to you that the suffocating air comes from the two best friends.

Jay shifts on his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab us lunch.”

Which leaves him alone with you in the room.

Heeseung braves himself and takes a look at you, but you’re already staring at him. Your stare unsettles him, like you’re waiting for him to confess for a crime he didn’t know yet he committed.

“How are you feeling?” you ask instead.

“I—I think I’m good. Yeah,” Heeseung says quickly, a bit taken aback. He watches as you nod, then inspect his face by blinking closer, oblivious to the way he almost explodes from the proximity.

When satisfied, you lean back slightly, but still keep a close distance with him.

“Heeseung.”

The temperature suddenly drops, and the serious look on your face damn near makes him cry. Heeseung tries to mask his panic.

Did he do something wrong again? Fuck. He messed up, didn’t he?

“Hm?”

You take a shaky breath. “Jay told me about everything.”

Heeseung freezes. Everything?

Everything as in the fight that almost broke out last night? Everything as in how pathetic he is for you, which shouldn’t be so shocking or earth-shattering because he is pathetic and a loser for you?

Or everything as in his worsening health condition?

For a moment, you just stare at him. But the more seconds pass, the more obvious it is that you’re holding back tears.

“About the two options you had.”

Heeseung stops breathing. True to his speculation, it is about his health condition. About the fate that he has to choose, about the options that stand between mercy and cruelty.

“Why didn't you tell me? No—” you shake your head, your grip on his hand trembling greatly. His lips remain shut.

“Why didn’t you just cut the bond?”

The sadness dripping in your scent feels almost physical. You hang your head low, enveloping the two of you with the distressed scent of your pheromones. A low whine echoes in your chest, not heard but felt. Your omega is just as destroyed as you are, utterly horrified from the choice he made.

What if you never forgive him? What would become of him? 

Heeseung brushes his thumb over your hand consciously, trying to seep his own calming pheromones into your troubled scent. It helps, he notices, as the tremble in your hands subsides, breath evening out.

Then, with a raw honesty, he answers.

“Because I didn’t want a life where you don’t exist in it.”

There’s a lump in your throat but you swallow it down, refusing to break now that you have the chance to understand. To understand the equally wounded alpha in front of you, flawed yet still trying. 

“I know that sounds selfish,” he adds quickly. “It is. I was choosing myself when I said that.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to escape. “You could’ve died, no—you almost died, Heeseung.” 

“I know.”

Heeseung doesn’t argue. He looks down to your joined hands, branding his brain with the image. A soft smile appears on his lips. He wishes he could hold your hands more often.

“I just…” he exhales shakily. “I thought if I let go of the bond, it would be like I never got the chance to love you at all.”

You squeeze his hand. Your alpha, you realise, is just as soft as you are. He’s always been. It was just misunderstood and misdirected—his flaws that almost cost you your life. You resented him for it, ran from him to avoid it, made it hard for him to save yourself.

But in the end, quietly, tenderly—you find yourself forgiving him.

You understand now; what he was afraid of.

For Heeseung who used to live in short-lived attachments and practiced detachment, loving someone would sound like a too-big responsibility for him. Too lost in his own fear—fear of loving someone so much they could have power over you—he made choices that hurt you.

It doesn’t justify his actions, nor did it undo everything. But understanding him softens the pain.

“You’re so stupid,” you finally whisper, but it breaks halfway through. Heeseung looks almost hurt from your comment.

“I already forgave you.”

His head snaps up but you don’t look at him.

You take your time to speak. “I already did for a while. I was just waiting for my omega to open up her heart,” you chance him a glance and smile wistfully. 

“And she did just before you came to my door last night.”

A beat of silence passes by. Heeseung can’t seem to find his voice, too stunned with the sudden grace being granted upon him. 

He searches your face. For any lies, for any possible fabrication. He’s desperate to know if this was all just fragments of his dream, if you were just a manifestation of his desperation to be forgiven.

But you’re real. You’re breathing, and you’re telling him that you’ve forgiven him.

“Is this…true?” he asks, voice sounding breathy. “Don’t forgive me just because you feel bad, Y/N. I can’t live with that.”

“No, you didn’t force me,” you shake your head, returning his gaze with built-up courage.

“You earned it.”

Your scent softens, sweeter now that you finally let it out. Like the anger finally loosens its grip on your chest, you can feel your omega melts, her walls crumbling piece by piece.

Heeseung stares at you, mouth slightly agape. The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks and finally, finally—breathing finally comes easy for him now that his chest loosens.

His alpha paws at him in joy.

“Thank you, Y/N. I—” his voice cracks, and so do the tears he’s been holding back. “Oh my Goddess—thank you for forgiving me.”

Heeseung hesitates before he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder, gauging your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he pulls you closer and you let yourself fall into his embrace.

Heeseung buries his nose in your hair, and the familiar scent of daisies and honey and your hair wash only makes him sob harder.

“Can we try again? Please?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, smiling into the hug.

“Mhm. Let’s try again.”

Trying again with Heeseung is soft and gentle.

Heeseung doesn’t change. If anything, he becomes more present than ever. If there was hesitation in his action before, he seems more confident to initiate things now.

Holding hands when you’re together. Tucking your hair behind your ears because ‘it hides your beautiful face’. Carrying your bag before you can even greet him properly. Bringing you food and trying to bake, even when you receive complaints from Jay about his oven almost catching on fire. But honestly, out of every failed experiments he did in the kitchen, it’s his ramyeon that you love the most.

And you always get it for free, presented like a five-star Michelin with radish and perfectly-made half-boiled egg. ‘Girlfriend privileges’ is what Sunoo called it, as he and the other alphas eat from their cup noodles.

With forgiveness, conversations come easy. Talking about everything and nothing with Heeseung is like trying to map a land. You finally get to know the story behind his jersey number. 

‘My mom always tells me that I’m her number one,’ he told you when you asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. ‘It sticks until now, but I know that he said that only because I was sulking about being the second son—they love my brother more, to be fair!’

You never thought that Heeseung could be cute and adorable. But the two now fit his description perfectly.

Sometimes, his old habits crawl back. Heeseung still finds it hard to tell you about things that bother him, still trying to run away from ugly emotions that make him feel vulnerable.

Just like right now, Heeseung is trying so hard not to pout as he watches his teammates grab a cookie from the Tupperware you bring.

When Riki reaches for a third, his resolve finally cracks and he slaps the alpha’s hand away.

“That’s enough, you greedy alpha. Shoo!”

You stifle a laugh, basking in the rare occasion where Heeseung shows his emotion almost openly like this. He doesn’t like sharing, of course, but he says nothing—which unsettles you a bit.

“Are you mad?” You finally ask after pulling him out for some privacy.

He doesn’t reply. Heeseung takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then shakes his head.

“I’m not mad.”

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” you coax him again, reminding yourself that Heeseung is still trying to unlearn some of his bad habits. “I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”

Heeseung gnaws at his lips and avoids your eyes. He knows, with a devastating resignation, that he could never refuse if he looks. So he doesn’t look.

But your scent does the same damage anyway. It’s sweet, it’s too intoxicating and Heeseung can feel himself melt even before he can protest.

He finally relents. “Okay,” he sighs.

Heeseung reaches out and takes your fingers in his, clutching at your smaller ones like a lifeline.

“Y/N…” he starts, contemplating his words, unconsciously pouting. “Can’t you bake only for me and not…share?”

You bite back a grin.

“See? It isn’t hard to tell me,” you squeeze his hand. “You can tell me anything, Heeseung. I will always listen.”

Heeseung gives you a pouty nod.

As for him, Heeseung thinks he was never happier than he is right now. 

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest every time he does something for you. 

Be it walking you home, or waiting at the lobby of your apartment to walk to the campus together. Or feeding you food and having a can of grape juice always ready for you. 

All the things he used to avoid—doing domestic things, having one person to devote all his attention and affection to—they become things that bring his heart at ease now.

And Heeseung loves being taller than you. He loves when you have to look up to talk to him, or the way you can easily hide your face in his chest when he says something corny. The way he can reach the higher shelf for you and become useful to you. He loves towering over you because every time he does it, he can’t help but notice the sweet spike in your scent.

You love it too.

Over time, the two of you get closer than ever. Every brush of hands, every bump of shoulders, every laughter shared—they only bring you back to him, and him to you. And slowly, like a prophecy finally meeting its destiny, the red thread finds its way back to you.

“Are you sure about this?”

You’re now standing in between his legs while Heeseung sits on the mattress of his bed, craning his neck to search your face.

Your fingers pause in his hair when you feel a faint pulse beneath his skin. 

A reminder that he’s still hurting from the one-sided bond. A reminder of the weight of fate tying the two of you.

Heeseung could’ve walked away like you did. He could’ve defied his wolf and cut the bond. But he did nothing of those.

He’s still here, still choosing you in every way you keep choosing him.

“I want this, Heeseung,” you whisper back, carding your fingers through his burgundy hair.  “I’ve never been so sure.”

One of the things that the both of you learn more about the relationship is the importance of the sacred bond. This time, you’re no longer running away or denying it—you and Heeseung take time to learn about its history, about the nature of the bond—and in your case, about how to fix the broken bond.

“It must come from your wolves,” you remember Jay’s mom saying. “And only then can you commemorate the bond and heal it for good.”

Commemorating, in this context, is to finally mate with your alpha. 

It’s a big leap in the relationship, especially since you’re every way inexperienced. Heeseung knows this; which is why he never rushed you and let himself take the hit of the broken bond.

To the Goddess, without the commemoration, the bond is still considered one-sided. It results in Heeseung still experiencing pain from time to time and, after another nosebleed pre-game and out of care for your alpha, you decide you’re done taking your own time.

Your omega holds the sentiment as you, not having the heart to let the alpha suffer for your own sake.

Noticing your silence, Heeseung grabs your wrist gently and brings it to his nose. He starts nosing at the tender skin, pumping out his calm pheromones as he bathes you in his scent.

“Have you been with anyone else before?”

You hesitate. Then, with a shy smile, you shake your head.

“No.”

Contrary to your expectation, Heeseung stills immediately. His face crumples slightly and his phereomones—previously calming and comforting—suddenly takes a sour turn.

You frown. “Heeseung?” You hold his face, heart clenching at his trembling lips. “What’s wrong?”

When he looks up to you, there are silent tears spilling down his cheeks. It alerts you almost immediately.

“Hee?”

“I—” Heeseung takes a deep breath, but his lips wobble, betraying his effort to remain calm.

“I touched people like it didn’t mean anything,” his voice breaks. Heeseung closes his eyes, like the mere looking into your eyes was too much for him to bear. “And now you’re standing here like this is something sacred and I—” 

When you understand what he means, you can feel your own heart breaking.

“Heeseung…”

“Why are you letting me handle something this—precious? I—I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I never did.”

“Please don’t say that,” you coo at him, wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb. 

“I chose you knowing everything you’ve done,” you whisper. “Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re trying.” 

Heeseung leans into your touch, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Like the warmth of your touch is the only thing that keeps him grounded. A comfortable silence falls upon you two, full of warm understanding and acceptance.

“Thank you,” Heeseung kisses your palm, long and gentle. “Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”

A smile creeps up your face. You lean down to kiss his forehead.

“Come and sit here,” Heeseung pats his thighs. You pause for a moment, already getting shy from the proximity. But deep down, you can’t deny that you want this.

Slowly, you descend onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Heeseung pulls you closer by your hips, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah,” then you pause. “I’m not heavy, am I? Are you comfortable?”

Heeseung hums. “Your weight is perfect for me, baby.”

The term of endearment makes warmth bloom across your cheeks. Heeseung gazes at you fondly, his nose already inching closer to where your scent smells the strongest.

He takes a lungful of your sweet scent—daisies and honey—and almost groans from the feeling of it. His favourite scent in the world. It’s been so long since he got to have you like this, so he keeps scenting you like he’s taking his fill.

“Your scent—you smell so good, Y/N.”

He lets his nose graze your scent gland. Once, twice, before brushing it with small, slow licks. You clutch at his shoulders, sparks bursting from the touch.

“Mhh!”

Heeseung trails up wet kisses up the column of your neck, dragging his tongue along your skin, savouring the soft gasps leaving your parted lips. His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging into your camisole while you try not to lose your mind over the foreign sensation.

Everywhere Heeseung touches with his lips is hot, sending strange, tingly feelings up your spine. It’s wet and it should make you recoil, but you find yourself loving it, already wanting more.

Heeseung stops when he reaches your lips, hot breath brushing against the soft pair. His eyes, now hooded and dark, are losing their round shape, like he, too, is already unraveling from just this.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, my daisy,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your parted lips, open and so inviting. Something churns inside your stomach, always keening when being called his daisy.

Then you nod, granting him permission.

“Please kiss me, Heeseung.”

There’s a tiny quirk of a smile, before he finally closes the gap between your mouths. He’s careful, caressing the plump of your lips with his own, tentatively and slowly at first, before he captures your mouth in his. You close your eyes.

Heeseung kisses you like it’s sacred. He moves slowly, allowing you to follow his pace and getting used to the feeling of his mouth on yours. It’s gentle and sweet. It’s everything you have imagined sharing a kiss with a lover. 

His lips, soft and wider than yours, easily dominate the kiss with a flick of his tongue.

Your lips part in a gasp and Heeseung takes the chance to prod his tongue in, licking into every corner of your mouth like he’s been starved for you. You clasp a hand in his hair, losing your pace as Heeseung takes over.

With each passing second, the kiss turns into a needier one and you grow hotter. It’s messy now, with drool leaking down your chin and the noises you make getting louder. When you start to feel lightheaded, you tap his shoulders, lungs burning from the lack of breath. 

Heeseung lingers for a second, as if he never wants to let go, before detaching from your lips.

He looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are shiny with spit, panting into your mouth like he needs more.

“Need some air?” he whispers, voice hoarse, caressing your waist tenderly. You nod, catching your breath before you lean in and try to kiss him again.

This time, Heeseung lets you take the lead, grabbing your hips tight enough to ground himself. You mouth at the corner of his lips, peppering kisses across the pinkish skin before he loses his patience and starts kissing back, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

Pulling you flush against his own hips, Heeseung is desperate to feel you closer. The scent of his pheromones is taking a richer, darker tone, dripping with building arousal. He wants to stay like this forever—wants to memorise every taste, every curve of your lips, and carve it into his memory.

You’re unraveling just as fast. Driven by a deeper need to feel each other and more, you pool your arms around his neck and pull him closer, instinctively bucking your hips to soothe the ache between your legs.

Beneath you, Heeseung freezes. A strangled groan catches at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into your hips. His head is on cloud nine; he can’t believe you just did what you did, feeling his own lust slowly getting thicker.

Then, as if testing, you roll your hips again.

This time, the sound that leaves his throat is deep and ragged. Heeseung bites his lips, brows pinched together, his restraint visible through the veins popping in his neck.

“Y/N,” he rasps, voice strained. “Good? Comfortable?"

Your eyes, dazed and glossed over, look into his eyes and you nod. You move your hips again, chasing the delicious friction like a lifeline. “More.”

“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath. 

Wordlessly, he snakes an arm around your waist and flips your position. Your back meets the mattress before you can process it, the impact punching a breath out of your lungs. Heeseung hovers over you, chest heaving rapidly, heated gaze raking over your body like he’s already dreamed of this many times.

“Heeseung,” you sigh, lifting your arms to his nape, already hating the distance. “Want you closer.”

Heeseung thinks he’s still in a dreamland, because there’s no way you’re lying down under him, hair splayed like a halo, asking him for more. Your lips, kiss-bruised and bitten-raw from the previous makeout session, are parted in a soft gasp, looking every bit like his wet dream.

No. This is better than any of his dreams.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out as if he’s in a daze, a willing hostage to your magical spell. “Fuck, I just—I just love you so much.”

The confession lands like a feather drifting through the air. Your breath catches in your throat, searching for Heeseung’s eyes and almost tearing up when you see only devotion and sincerity in his gaze.

“Heeseung…”

“My precious daisy,” Heeseung lowers down and gives a smooch to the back of your ear. Your breath hitches. “My sweet, sweet honey.”

Another wave of heat pools between your legs. His voice—oh Goddess, his sweet and sultry voice in your ears, accompanied by such adoration is almost too much. You whine, clutching his shirt in a desperate grip.

“What do you need, baby?” Heeseung breathes hard into your ears, his own voice almost cracking from restraint. “Tell me, hm?”

“Need you to touch me.”

He barely stops nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. “Where do you need me?”

You grab one of his wrists and bring it to where you need him most. The moment his fingers touch your soaked sweatpants, Heeseung lets out a deep, throaty groan. He pulls away slightly just to catch the expression you make—mouth agape, eyes closing shut—as he presses a finger on your cunt.

“Here? You like it here?”

“Y-Yes—” You purse your lips, pleading eyes peering into his dark gaze. “Please—More, please.”

Heeseung holds back a smirk. “You’re so good to me,” he purrs, his alpha swelling with pride and arousal. “I’m gonna give you everything you ask for, hm?”

Heeseung slips his hand into your panties and curses out loud at the wet sensation on his fingers. 

“Fuck, Y/N—you’re leaking.”

He props himself on one arm. His long, slender fingers stroke your folds, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. You claw at his upper arms and arch your hips, letting out a broken breath.

“H-Heeseung!” 

A deep growl rumbles in his chest. Heeseung leans down and peppers kisses all over your cheeks as he flicks his thumb over your clit. The high-pitched, whiny moan that you let out makes his twitching cock kick and drool, already begging to be freed.

“Does that feel good?” he rasps, nudging at your hole with the tip of finger. The tight hole is almost sucking his finger in, eliciting a breathless moan out of your lungs.

You nod frantically, desperate to feel anything inside.

“‘Feels so good, alpha.”

“Mhm,” he purrs, circling your gaping hole lightly, teasingly. “I’m gonna put it in slow and nice for you and you’re gonna take it, ‘kay?”

You suck in your bottom lips, heat pooling low in your stomach at the deep timbre of his voice.

“Yes. Please give it to me.”

Heeseung almost melts at the big eyes you’re giving him. He gives you a soft peck and speaks against your mouth, “Tell me if it hurts, Y/N. I will stop immediately.”

When you give him the green light to go, Heeseung slowly pushes his middle finger in, fighting back a loud moan at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He pauses for a moment, gauging for any discomfort in your face, and then starts pumping in and out gently when he sees only pleasure.

It feels strange and uncomfortable at first; having something inside you. But the subtle feeling of pain is slowly disappearing the longer he shoves his finger in. His thumb, eager to please you, keeps circling your swollen nub, adding to the building sensation in your stomach.

Before you know it, you’re already leaking out more slick. Your head thrashes to your left and right, breathy moans spilling out of your lips.

“Ngh—fuck—Hee—“

Heeseung forces himself to stay still; forces himself to breathe at the sight of you unraveling and so, so pliant under his touch, even when all he wants to do is ruin you. He inserts another finger, the additional stretch burns so good that you almost cry.

“Heeseung!”

The alpha lets out a heavy, ragged breath as his fingers skillfully scissor you open, willing your walls to loosen for him. His lips fall open as he watches you fist the mattress with a tight grip, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure.

Heeseung thinks he’s about to come just from watching your erotic expressions alone.

“Ah—ah—ngh!” You squirm and whine and writhe, throat scratchy from how long you’ve been keeping your mouth open. 

Heeseung’s eyes darken as he takes in the way the straps of your camisole fall down your shoulders. The soft swell of your chest moves up and down in a rapid breathing, nipples peeking out just enough to tease.

Fuck—you’re a sight to behold.

He can’t think straight, not when every sense is filled up with your thick, heady scent. Your slick, where it smells the strongest, is now pouring out of your gaping hole in waves and drenching his fingers down to his wrist, making the tent in his pants tighten painfully.

“I’m gonna add one more—fuck,” Heeseung almost chuckles in disbelief at the way your body sucks him in. “Your cunt is a little greedy, baby. Might just take all my fingers in.”

You’re already a mess of broken moans and high-pitched, ‘ah—ah—fuck’. The sensation is becoming too much. You have fingered yourself before, but they don’t have the girth of Heeseung’s long and slender ones; reaching deep inside where you can’t get before, or the roughness of the pad of his thumb circling on your clit relentlessly—bringing you closer to the edge faster than you can think.

Heeseung can already feel it. Your greedy little hole is catching at his fingers even tighter, signalling how close you are to cumming. He leans down, latching his mouth on your neck and littering it with bruising kisses that are going to leave marks, increasing the speed of his wrist until your hips lift off the mattress.

“H-Hee—! I’m—God, fuck—“

“Give it to me, my daisy,” he whispers, voice hoarse and rough from arousal, thumb flicking faster. “That’s it. Give everything to me.”

Heeseung watches closely as you close your eyes and mouth falls open as you come, the erotica of everything almost makes his neglected cock bust out. A feeling of intense ecstasy floods your system, crashing through your body, slick gushing out in waves upon delicious waves.

The alpha slows down the movements of his wrist, thumb circling lazily as he lets you ride out the high. He’s already dizzy from your pheromones, so sweet and inviting, that he almost pushes you into oversensitivity.

He plops out his fingers and puts it into his mouth, tongue lapping at the nectarine of your slick like a thirsty dog. His alpha hums in satisfaction at the sweet taste of his omega’s come, all drenched and warm just for him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Heeseung hovers over your body again, now kissing you hard in pent-up hunger. “I wanna eat you out so badly but I just can’t wait anymore.”

You hum into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Heeseung parts for a moment, jagged breathing hitting your lips warm as he stares into your eyes. His gaze softens.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “‘M’kay.”

Heeseung nuzzles his cheek against yours, hands sliding up and down your waist before slipping under your camisole and cups your breasts. You let out a half-shocked gasp.

“Can you take more, baby?” He murmurs against your ears, teetering on the edge of sanity as he listens to the sinful sounds leaving your mouth. “Can you take my big, fat knot this time?”

You can’t find your voice, too lost in pleasure as Heeseung kneads your breasts and plays with your nipples. Heeseung drags his tongue along your earlobe, desperate to hear you more.

“Look at these perky tits,” he says as he drags down your camisole, letting it bunch around your waist. His mouth gapes at the way the plump flesh spilling over his fingers, so soft and yielding. “Fuck—you’re so beautiful, Y/N, I will fucking cry.”

“Nnggh!” You cry out when he latches his mouth on your left nub. He sucks and grazes his teeth on your hardened nipple, never breaking eye contact, the wet sensation sending heat straight to your core. 

“Hee!” Your hand flies into his hair when he sucks particularly hard at the bottom swell of your breast, marking his territory. His rough fingers fondle your right tit, rolling the perky nub with reverent attention that makes you clamp your thighs shut.

You squirm, feeling another pool of slick gathering. “H-Heeseung—!”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he lets go with a pop, lips shiny and slick with his own spit. “Please say my name like that again,” he requests, simultaneously rolling his hips to gauge your reaction.

As he expected—your body, so sensitive and pliant in his hold—immediately writhes from the friction. Heeseung watches with awe, nose twitching as another wave of your scent floods the room, mixing with the sultry accent of his cinnamon and seasalt almost too perfectly.

“Heeseung!”

Heeseung feels so dizzy. His thoughts are only filled with your name, your voice, and your pretty, pretty face that contorts in pleasure when he grinds more. His crotch area is already so fucking wet from pre-cum and your arousal that he thinks he’s losing a chance at any decent and coherent thoughts.

He gives you another roll, and when the name that leaves your swollen lips comes out broken and high-pitched, Heeseung decides that he can’t take it anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, my daisy,” he rasps, leaving one last mark on your cleavage before sitting up. He helps you out of your clothes, marvelling in the way your body trusts him completely.

You’re all soft lines and gentle curves. Heeseung loses his breath as he traces his eyes from the soft mounds of your chest—littered red from his markings, to the narrow pinch of your waist, and the flare of your hips. He caresses the flesh with his hands, gripping it like a love handle as he revels in the contrast of his tanned, big hands on your soft, unblemished skin.

And your pussy—fuck, it’s still glistening from your previous climax and his ministrations, and is now getting wetter under his heated gaze alone.

But it’s the look in your eyes that completely undoes him—pure trust and devotion only for him that he so damn near cries.

“So beautiful,” he praises again, unable to stop the word from flowing out of his mouth. He slides down his hands down your thighs, groping the supple flesh, almost moaning from the sheer softness of it.

“Every inch of you is perfect, baby,” he husks, intoxicated by your pheromones invading his senses.

You hold your breath, peering up at the dominant alpha through your lashes. In a moment of such vulnerability, your chest is filled with affection and trust only for the man now handling your body with care, as if your body was made of porcelain.

My alpha, your wolf purrs inside, heart pounding into your chest.

You spread your thighs wider, so inviting and pliant.

“Alpha,” you mewl, nervously looking up at him. “Please.”

Heeseung can feel his dick twitching from the sight alone. With a swift movement, his shirt is already discarded, thrown somewhere on the floor.

“Say it clearly, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Heeseung fumbles with the strings of his sweatpants as his hooded gaze bores into your hazy one, hissing when his aching cock is finally springing free from the confines of his pants. 

You almost drool at the sight of his weeping cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen. Its tip is angry red, leaking precum down the length of prominent, bulging veins. Your hole flutters with dripping need.

The words come out so easily now that your pussy is pulsing with an aching need to be filled.

“Please fuck me, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s lips are bitten raw from restraint, his jaw tight as he forces himself not to move—not to give in to the urge to push forward and lose himself inside you. But before he can move to get a condom from the drawer, your hand snaps to his wrist, shaking your head no.

“Just—just do it,” you bite your lips trying not to squirm under his darkening gaze. “I want to feel you.”

It takes everything in him to stay still—to not reach for you, not pull you back, not ruin this by losing control. Heeseung looks for any doubt in your face.

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Mhm,” you tug at his wrist, guiding his hand to cup your pussy. Heeseung almost combusts right then and there.

“Quick, Heeseung. Need you here.”

“Oh my fucking God—” Heeseung curses under his breath, trying to remain calm. But his body betrays him, his muscles tensing, breath unsteady, as he forces himself to stay where he is.  

He sits taller, his thumb rubbing your clit teasingly. His other hand strokes his cock lazily, flicking his wrist around the erection and hisses when more precum drools out.

The whole time, he doesn’t let go of your eyes, taking in every micro-expressions you make like a greedy man. You’re so sensitive, so expressive, and so, so wet—always so eager to shower him with more slick and more of your sultry moaning.

He aligns his cock in between your folds, grinding the bulbous head against your swollen clit. A choked moan escapes both of you, too fucked over the pleasure. Another gush of slick trickles down your hole, intensifying your scent.

“Heeseung—”

“Shh, baby, I know,” Heeseung coos at the tears pooling along your lashline. He reaches out to wipe it, torn between guilt and absolutely fucking pleasure that he feels from seeing you break apart at his hand like this.

“I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?” He rasps, still rolling his hips, gathering your slick around the tip of his cock. 

He trails his fingers down your wrists before pinning them over your head, hovering over you completely like an eclipse. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Heeseung finally pushes in.

He doesn’t move after that.

A broken breath leaves him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the effort of holding himself back is physically weighing on him. His grip on your wrists tightens just slightly, seeking something to ground him to the moment. Beneath him, you’re trembling from the mix of pain and pleasure, the latter outweighing the former.

“Y/N…” he exhales, voice rough, almost unsteady. “Look at me.”

There’s something in the way he says it. It’s not commanding or urgent, like  he really needs to see you or he’ll fall apart.

You turn your head, meeting his gaze, your expression soft but overwhelmed, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing. It stings, but not enough for you to pull away. Heeseung did a good job at preparing you.

He searches your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“Am I—” he swallows, jaw tightening. “Am I hurting you?”

You shake your head, even though the feeling is new, intense, more than you expected. But the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s watching you like this could fall apart at any second—it steadies you. Heeseung is so careful, so scared of hurting you that it almost makes you cry.

“It’s… okay,” you whisper, fingers twitching under his hold. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he’s bracing himself, like your trust is something he has to deserve in real time.

“Slow,” he mutters to himself more than to you. “Gotta go slow…”

He barely shifts, testing, careful, measured. Like every movement is something he has to think through instead of give in to. He sinks in another inch, mind floating from the tight sensation of your hole. A strained sound slips past his lips, low and wrecked, his control slipping just enough to show.

“God…” he breathes, almost shaking. “You feel—”

He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard, like even finishing that sentence would push him too far.

Instead, his hand comes down to your waist, grounding himself there, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he needs something soft to hold onto.

You can feel it—how much he’s holding back. Not just physically, but everything. The way his body tenses with every tiny movement, the way his breathing keeps stuttering like he’s constantly pulling himself back from the edge as he pushes inside, inch by inch.

And something in your chest tightens.

“You can move,” you murmur softly, a little unsure, but still wanting. Wanting him, wanting every side of him and not just this careful version of him.

His head lifts immediately.

“No,” he says, almost too quickly. Then his voice grows softer. “Not if you’re not ready.”

Your brows knit slightly, a small shake of your head.

“I am,” you insist, voice quiet but certain. “I trust you.”

Your declaration hits deeper than anything else.

For a moment, he just looks at you—really looks—like he’s trying to understand how you can still say that to him. Then his grip tightens again; a firm grip that anchors you to the moment.

“Okay,” he breathes.

And this time, when he moves, it’s still slow—but there’s something underneath it now. Not just restraint, but a crack in it. A quiet, dangerous edge that slips through no matter how hard he tries to hold it back.

His forehead presses to yours, breaths tangling, uneven.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, softer now. “Anything—you tell me, yeah?”

You nod, already clutching onto him, already feeling yourself giving in to the rhythm he’s so carefully trying to control.

God, Heeseung tries not to lose himself completely. Chanting ‘Go slow, go fucking slow,’ like a mantra in his head is proving to be the hardest test he’s ever been through.

But he still tries—even when it starts slipping crack by crack.

You can feel it in the way his pace stays measured, like every pound into your walls is a calculated move. It makes your heart flutter, really, but you want more. 

You don’t know how to say it without sounding desperate, but your body knows you better. Instinctively, you clench around his cock. The action is not fully registered in your head until Heeseung’s rhythm falters.

“Y/N…” he exhales, your name catching in his throat like it’s too much for him to hold.

“More,” your fingers tighten around his arms, pulling him impossibly closer. “More, please.”

You tighten your walls again, drawing a shuddering gasp from him. His head drops forward as his control stutters, cock twitching inside you.

“Don’t,” he starts, half-warning and half-whining, “Don’t do that or I’m—”

You can’t stand it anymore. You meet his thrust, hitting his navel with yours, gasping because the sensation feels too good. A broken groan leaves him, deep and absolutely fucking wrecked.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, gripping your hips tighter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Heeseung kisses up the length of your neck, leaving more marks before he props his arms. When you catch his eyes, something flickers in that heated gaze, like his control is finally slipping away, snapping with the way he pistons his cock into you. You choke out a breath.

“Okay?” he asks, still worrying. You nod frantically, desperately. 

“Yes—please—more—”

Heeseung does it again. Again and again and again until all there’s left is the sound of your broken gasps and the wet, filthy noise of his balls hitting your hole. 

“Still—fuck—still okay?” he asks, voice rough, barely held together.

You can’t form any coherent thoughts, so you nod again, breathless and more certain this time. “Please…don’t stop.”

Heeseung lets out a curse, lifting your hips slightly before continuing pounding into you, faster and harder. A high-pitched moan rips from your throat, the new angle hitting the spot that has you seeing stars.

He watches your face, his own contorting in pleasure, setting a pace that has you blabbering out broken words and more drool.

You feel so full. His cock is so deep inside you, filling you up to the hilt. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s also so, so addictive that you just want more, more, and more. It’s the only thing you can ask for: “More, more—Heeseung—ah—please.”

Heeseung leans down, taking your earlobe into his mouth, alternating his pace between achingly slow rolls of his hips and harsh, sharp thrusts, whispering hotly into your ears.

“You’re taking me so well.”

“So fucking tight, baby, fuck.”

“My daisy. My honey. My everything.”

The heat in your stomach intensifies, building up like a tidal wave waiting to crash. Your nails dig into his biceps, meeting his heated gaze with your glassy one.

“Mate with me, Heeseung. Please.”

Heeseung almost stops, but you’re fast to hook your legs around his waist, urging him to continue. He continues with slower grinding, locking eyes with you.

It’s finally time to seal the bond for good. But even in the haze of pleasure and nirvana, all Heeseung cares about is your well-being.

“Now, baby?” he whispers in between thrusts. He catches your jaw in his hand, thumb brushing your cheeks softly. He knows it’s bound to happen tonight anyway, but if he can save you from the pain longer, he will. “It will sting, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod, never felt more sure than now. You lean up to kiss him, breath mingling hotly before you look into his eyes.

“I trust you, Heeseung,” you whisper back. You grind back into him, hips stuttering when his cock thrusts almost sharply into your cunt. 

With broken gasps, you finally say it. “Please mark me yours.”

Heeseung almost tears up from the sheer weight of your words. 

Trust. Yours. Mine.

Something that the old him would’ve never imagined wanting and needing.

But here, as your starry eyes gazing into his teary gaze, Heeseung’s never felt so full and complete. He doesn’t even know that he was capable of loving someone this much; of this overwhelming affection that he has only for you.

A single drop of tears slides down his cheek as he kisses you again, trying to convey his emotions into the sweet touch. You respond just as reverent, understanding him without words being spoken.

“Do you trust me?” he murmurs against your mouth. His hips are slowing down, getting lost in the warm sensation of your breath and your sweetening scent.

You give him a peck. “I do.”

Heeseung smiles fondly. He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before he sits up,  pulling out of you at the same time. You almost whine at the loss of touch, but he’s quick to reassure you.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Then, with a dominating strength that makes your stomach flutter, he grabs your waist and flips you over. You arch your back almost instinctively, shoving your ass in the air. Heeseung groans, his alpha howling in pride at seeing his omega presenting like this. His jaw clenches from restraint, absolutely close to losing his mind over this sight of you.

His cock slips back in easily. Heeseung splays a hand over the skin between your shoulders, pushing you gently into the mattress.

You glance over your shoulders, wiggling your ass and pushing it further into his face. “Like this, Heeseungie?”

Heeseung bites his lips, mouth salivating from the sight. “Yeah, baby.” He is so fucking turned on. “I’m gonna move now, yeah?”

At the single movement of your head, Heeseung is already thrusting inside, barely holding himself back. The new angle gives more access to his cock to hit places you didn’t know exist in your walls, sending sparks of electricity to your nerves.

“Ah, ah—nnghh!! Heeseungie!” 

“Keep saying my name like that, baby,” Heeseung drools over the jiggles of your round ass. He kneads the flesh with his thick fingers, moaning at the dimples his nails make by digging into it.

“So soft. So beautiful,” he grinds and rolls his hips, leaning down to bite down on your buttcheeks. You clench around him. “So responsive for me. God—you’re perfect, Y/N.”

“I’m—I’m close—”

“Oh, I can feel it, baby,” Heeseung grunts through his teeth. Your walls keep sucking him back in, as if refusing to let go. “I’m close too—fuck.”

Heeseung picks up his pace, his muscles flexing as he, too, almost reaches his high. He leans down, broad chest meeting your back and noses at your pulsing scent gland, sweat dripping down his chin.

It’s intoxicating, the way your scent blends in with his pheromones, like a perfect match made in heaven—which might not be so far from the truth. He is your true mate, after all, written in the prophecy for God knows how long.

He can feel how close you’re getting, your whining turning needier and messier. His canines sharpen slowly, readying himself to mark you.

You drool into the mattress, incoherent words leaving your mouth. The coil in your stomach tightens, so close to snapping, so close to bringing you over the edge.

And it’s with a flick of his thumb over your clit that you finally give. You go still, shockwaves of your release rippling through your body, pulling Heeseung with you as he cums, spraying your insides white.

Following his promise, Heeseung chooses that exact moment to sink his teeth in your nape, right over where your scent gland is. You yelp, body trembling from the intense feeling of pain and pleasure.

The feeling is otherworldly—like something inside you finally clicks into place.

A warmth blooms from where he’s marked you, spreading through your body in slow, overwhelming waves. It’s not just the sensation—it’s him. You can feel him in a way you’ve never felt before, like his presence has settled beneath your skin, threading into every part of you. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, breath stuttering as something inside you tightens and softens. You feel complete, like the quiet ache you never noticed has finally disappeared.

Heeseung groans softly against your skin, almost like he feels it too—like the bond snaps into place just as strongly on his end. His hold on you tightens, not possessive, but grounding, as if he needs to make sure you’re real, that this is real.

He quickly laps at the blood and the wound, tongue gentle now, almost reverent as he soothes the mark he’s just made. His hips slow down, now grinding into you lazily to ride out the wave before you mewl from oversensitivity.

He pulls out after a while and gently turns you back to face him. As soon as he locks eyes with you, Heeseung’s composure breaks instantly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He catches your lips in a wet kiss.

“My daisy,” he cries, cradling your jaw and never intending to let go. “Oh Goddess—I love you so much.”

His voice, broken and gasping with gratitude and relief, moves your heart in ways that unravel you just the same. You kiss back just as hard, heart finally full and complete.

Your omega purrs in satisfaction, and to your surprise, you can almost hear another wolf echoing back to yours. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s Heeseung’s wolf—your alpha, finally and wholly yours.

Heeseung breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours. Your scent gland pulses, but this time, it’s gentle and grounding, like a mark of a new beginning; a bond now finally healed and sealed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out against your mouth. “Don’t get tired of me yet, okay? I… I cherish you so much. ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel like enough.” 

You let out a soft giggle and pull him closer, sealing your lips with his again.

“Then don’t say anything. Show me, my alpha…show me that we belong to each other.”

As moonlight spills into the bedroom, a blessing from the Goddess for the mated pair, the sheets bear witness to the moment two fractured souls finally become one.

You wake up before Heeseung.

Trying to remove his arms from your waist proves to be a real challenge; the alpha refuses to let you go even in his sleep. You chuckle softly and plant a kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the blanket.

Standing on slightly wobbly legs, you drift into the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You let the sunshine hit your skin, highlighting your afterglow, as you down a whole glass of water.

The house is quiet. Jay, with the intention to give the two of you privacy, has gone to visit his parents for the weekend. You silently thank him for it. You don’t want to know how awkward it’d be if he has to hear all the noises you made last night.

Just as you’re about to return to Heeseung’s warm embrace, your eyes catch a sign on another door. It’s located at the end of the hallway, a few paces away from Heeseung’s and Jay’s bedrooms. It’s almost unnoticeable, but the name on the sign is what intrigues you to go closer.

EVAN LEE

Evan? That’s Heeseung’s English name.

You know it’s an invasion of privacy, but your wolf is nagging at you to go. So, with almost zero reluctancy, you let yourself inside.

It’s his producer room, you guess, judging from the equipment filling up the space. You let your eyes roam, smiling to yourself when you catch random things that just scream Heeseung.

There are two frames of pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and another one of him and Jay. The two looked younger, more reckless, a given when you notice the uniform they were wearing. High-school Jay with a neat shirt, tucked in and collar buttoned up while high-school Heeseung was missing his tie. They were smiling bright, already so handsome from such a young age.

You look at the random stickers on his PC—basketball, white cats, and alphabet stickers that are arranged into ‘NI-KI’. 

A pair of headphones sit on the table, each ear decorated with different aesthetics. The left one is full of flowers, tiny stickers of ‘ddeonu’ are left as watermark, while the other is just one big orange cat sticker, and instead of leaving his name in a way that doesn’t stain, Jungwon actually signed with a marker pen.

You laugh, wondering what might be Heeseung’s reaction when that menace did that. It’s Sony, after all, and judging from the sleek design—it’s definitely pricey. But knowing how soft Heeseung is for Jungwon, he probably just let it slide because ‘Jungwonnie is cute’.

This room is so full of everything Heeseung loves. His passion for music and basketball, his affection for his close friends. A thought, not unkindly or bitter, crosses your mind: you cannot wait to leave traces of you here, too—something of yours, beside everything he already loves. 

Just as you’re about to leave, something in the corner stops you in your tracks. It’s a notebook, hidden under a keyboard, like it’s never meant to be found.

You walk over and look at the notebook, breath catching in your throat when you read the cover.

For my daisy.

Is this for you?

With trembling fingers—a result from your pounding heart—you flip the cover. There’s handwriting, unmistakably Heeseung’s, filling up the first page.

These are my silent apologies to the girl I lost. I was too late to love you when you still loved me, but I promise myself that I will start and continue loving you, even when I can no longer hear your echo until the very end.

P.s. park jongseong stop making fun of me this will become a hit album TRUST!

Just like what the note has said, the notebook is full of song lyrics. Each line, each intended melody, each scribble left in the margin—every one of them is meant for you, intended for you, and just for you.

Your vision blurs, heart tightening so painfully it almost aches—because this wasn’t just regret. It was love. Quiet, enduring, and yours all along. 

Heeseung didn’t know how to stay or to cherish—but he’s been unlearning every single bad habit for you. Through your resentment, through your tears, through your silences, until finally, your omega was willing to open up and give him another chance at love.

Your chest swells with affection and pride, echoing with only the name of the alpha.

You reach for a pen and flip back to the first page, leaving your first ever trace in his producer room.

p.s. i love you more, my cinnamon alpha. 

andddd that's the end of it!!1 thank you once again and until next time <3

dividers from: @cursed-carmine <3

permanent taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll @in-somnias-world @rikismists @loviseamms @ikeupop

fic taglist 1: @bingka @twocupsofsuga @rayofsunshineeee @all4moi @cutehoons02 @barbiecuedotcom @kitteaasstuff @sosocide @lhspeachie @sooooobean @vmpiricou @st4rg1rlies @itsmesofia @dazedinadream @yenienha @fullsunncity @kookieterry @isa942572 @jikookvfans @corroprisz @taesnumber1 @goosemantheweeb @wndrlndhee @jakey1115 @d0llddeonu @zijoan @mheretoreadff @ezekiel-bublz @pomeranyan @mono-for-real

[simjakedly]

mark me yours - l.hs (part 2)

— a spin-off from love me (k)not

main masterlist | part 1 | part 3

synopsis. heeseung regrets everything, but his regret comes too late.

pairing. alpha!heeseung x omega!female reader

genre(s). omegaverse, fated mates, strangers-to-lovers, angst, fluff warnings. angst angst angst!!, everyone cries a lot, heavy angst..., slowburn, vomiting, insecurity, depressive behaviour, hyperventilation and panic attacks, attempts (just one attempt), heeseung is so fucking desperate, featuring: alpha!jay (our target again), alpha!jungwon, wolf hybrid!sunghoon, fake-omega!sunoo (pls i love him), beta!jake, beta!ahn yujin, omega!rei, not beta read we die like injang, ok just hmu if i miss anything!!!

word count. 17,837

note. girl wtf tumblr didn't let me post the whole fic!!! im crying, part 3 coming right up!!

For the first time in his life, Heeseung wants to stay.

No. He wants you to stay.

But he doesn’t dare say anything. He doesn’t even know if he deserves to open his mouth. It’s like a knot of uneasiness has lodged itself in his throat, preventing him from moving even an inch of his muscle.

Not that he can even move, honestly. His entire body is on fire, his scent gland is pulsing in pain. But nothing, nothing can compare to the hollowness in his chest.

Nothing comes close to the gravity of the situation, slowly settling in his mind.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

Across from him, you’re leaning on your cheerleader friend for support. Someone he vaguely recognises as Riki’s cousin—Rei, if he’s not mistaken. She has rushed out of the crowd when people had stopped dancing to watch a literal romance suicide happening in the backyard.

“Oh my Goddess—you’re bleeding—Riki! Call the ambulance!”

“Let’s just drive her to the hospital,” Jake, a beta who belongs to the frat house, emerges from behind Riki, looking more sober than the other guests. “It’s faster.”

Among the chaos, of people murmuring in surprise, of your friend and his friend fussing over your condition, you stand there silently. If you were pale before, you’re looking even more ghostly now that if someone were to cut your cheek, there’d be no blood coming out.

He watches you, eyes never leaving your face, begging, pleading through his gaze for you to meet his eyes. But you never do. 

You keep your head low and let Rei and Jake usher you away, steps wobbly and unsteady.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

It feels like he’s underwater and his lungs have turned to bricks.

“—seung! Breathe!”

Heeseung snaps out of his thoughts and realises that his knees have finally given up. He’s on the ground, the tiles bruising his knees as Jay crouches beside him, shaking his shoulders. He realises, as his chest burns and moves rapidly, that he’s been hyperventilating.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

“Oh God—” he chokes, clawing at his burning throat. Sweat dots on his forehead, his face turning red with each passing second. Beside him, Jay is shouting at someone over his head, but the sound is muffled to his ears.

All he can hear is the echo of your voice.

‘I ended it.’

The pain cracks through his chest. The tears are unstoppable now.

‘There’s nothing between us anymore.’

Heeseung thinks he might die.

A violent sob racks through his chest, both of his palms touching the ground. He can faintly sense Riki’s presence around him, the younger trying to lift him up with the help of Jay, but Heeseung’s body is dead weight.

His wolf refuses to move.

This is all your fault, his alpha growls in his mind. 

You defied fate and now we lost her. This is your fault, Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung covers his face, feeling the wetness on his cheeks. His body shakes with every sob, showing no signs of stopping. On either side of him, Jay and Riki have given up on trying to help him stand. The two watch as their friend cries his heart out.

Out of sorrow. Out of grief.

Out of regret.

“I’m sorry,”  Heeseung sobs to no one, the words dripping with remorse.

He looks up, chasing the ghost of you with his guilty eyes—but you’re long since gone. The weight of the abandoned bond now sits heavy on his chest, pulsing in pitiful longing.

“I’m really sorry.”

The space swallows his words, the emptiness a permanent reminder of his too-late apology.

Hospitals aren’t exactly a place you look forward to visiting. 

But right now, you are willing to take anything to escape the eyes. You silently curse yourself for pulling that scene in a place where privacy is a luxury, but at least now you have escaped from it. 

From Heeseung.

Most importantly, from the consequences of your actions.

You bring your finger to your nape and graze the scent gland gently. The pain it has borne for the last two weeks has finally stopped. It brings great relief to you, really—not having to feel the slow death of being an unwanted mate. But freedom has its cost.

You’ve never felt so empty.

You don’t know how your omega did it, but the bond is severed. Traces of Heeseung’s pheromones are nowhere to be found. Gone are the warm, spicy cinnamon and the cool, salty sea air that used to linger around your sweet scent faintly.

You no longer smell like him. You no longer feel the need to see him. You no longer feel the agonising pain shooting up your spine every time he kisses someone who isn’t you.

Yet you feel empty.

You expected more pain. You expected longing. But your body feels quiet. Your omega, previously hysterical and loud, is dead silent inside. A protest to the Goddess or she’s just genuinely exhausted, you don’t know. You can’t put it past her if it’s both.

You sigh, dropping your hand on your lap as you stare at the blood stain on the sleeves of your cardigan. You pay no mind to the nurses and patients passing by in front of you. Jake and Rei left not too long ago, after you managed to convince them that you’ll be okay and that Yujin is on her way.

As if on cue, your nose picks up the smell of green tea among the sterile and sharp odour of the hallway. Yujin.

“Y/N!” 

Your friend greets you with a slightly breathless voice, clearly running her way into the hospital. She bends down and immediately makes a show of inspecting you, turning your body left and right frantically. When her eyes drop on the dried blood staining your sleeves, she nearly shrieks.

“Who the fuck must I kill?!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” You hush her, sending apologetic looks to the nearby people who have become alert of Yujin’s death threat. “And no, you’re not killing anybody.”

“Please tell me what happened before I lose my mind,” Yujin pleads, the worry on her face softening her features. You halt. 

Before you know it, your eyes have turned glassy. The weight of everything—the constant pain, the relief, the broken bond—you finally feel the full force of it. As if the gate has been completely destroyed, it’s so easy to cry now.

You let yourself get pulled into a hug, clutching at the fabric of Yujin’s shirt desperately.

Your bitter scent washes over her, smelling of heartbreak and guilt. You think of Heeseung; of how devastated he looked when you broke the bond, like he had lost something precious—which should be a lie, shouldn’t it? He never acknowledged the bond. He never admitted to it.

Then you think of yourself; of the way you used to carry the pieces of your heart everywhere, begging for him to see the bond that used to tie the two of you together. The bond that you treasured, the bond that bloomed hope in your heart, making you believe in a future together with someone who was supposed to love you. 

Something inside you breaks again.

You had lost something precious.

“I—I ended the bond with him,” you choke, the words struggling to get out. “It’s over. Yujin, it’s over.”

You feel Yujin freeze for a moment before she tightens the hug, feeling her lips touch your hairline.

“But why does it still hurt?” Your chest heaves with a new wave of tears, voice completely broken. “Why does it hurt so fucking much? I ended it, and—and he hurt me,” you hiccup, trying to arrange the string of your sentence properly.

“But I still want to hug him,” you whisper wetly, feeling your wolf stir inside you. “I still want to hold him and tell him I’m sorry for doing this to him.”

Yujin remains quiet, rubbing a hand at your back in an attempt to comfort you. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. You did the right thing.”

She holds you and never lets go. She holds you the way that you wish you could’ve done to Heeseung; in the way that you wish he could’ve done to you.

That night, you let yourself surrender to the grief of something that you almost had. The grief of the tale of true mates that you used to hold close to your heart, longing for the wreckage of potential love that is damaged beyond repair.

You grieve for the love you could’ve shared, the life you could’ve had if only the world was on your side.

You grieve for Heeseung.

For the past of the warm embrace that he once gave you and for the pain he inflicted on you.

Heeseung never knew how hard it was to find you outside of the court and practice room until now.

He realises, with a regret that has become all-too-familiar now, that he knows almost nothing about you. Other than the fact that you can bake, that you’re friends with almost everyone on the cheerleader squad—he doesn’t know much about you.

And it kills him.

It takes him two days of losing sleep, of dragging his legs to classes, of forcing the pain in his chest down, before he finally catches a glimpse of you.

It’s completely accidental. He’s on his way to a group discussion, walking past the cafeteria when a breeze of air passes by him, carrying the soft scent of your pheromones.

Light, blooming daisies and sticky, sweet honey.

Heeseung halts in his steps, his alpha already whining in longing. 

Across the hall, at one of the tables, you sit with your friends. A pair of chopsticks presses against your lips as you listen to your friend animatedly talking about her clumsy professor—something that’s only possible for Heeseung to hear had it not been for his dominant trait.

Heeseung doesn’t know what to expect once he sees you.

A small part of him foolishly hopes that you’d look back to him just as quickly, the way you used to do whenever he steps into the same room as you before.

Another part of him wishes that when he senses your scent, the usual undertone of his own scent would still linger underneath.

But you do nothing of those, completely oblivious to his presence, to his scent—like the mere his walking into the same space as you’re in doesn’t affect you anymore. And your scent is completely bare from any traces of his pheromones, the daisies and honey are completely and only you.

Right, Heeseung swallows thickly. Of course you can’t feel him.

The bond is no longer there.

You cut it a couple of days ago.

The wound is still fresh, pulsing in his scent gland like a reminder of his sin. His heart squeezes painfully, but Heeseung only presses his lips. Not a sound comes out of his mouth. Not even a breath.

He lets the pain course through his body, enduring it for as long as he can. He deserves this, he quietly thinks.

He deserves watching you from afar, feeling the one-sided bond punish every fibre of his being.

He deserves this; sensing your scent whenever you’re near, but no longer having the privilege to hold your eyes and share the same feeling only true mates understand.

Deserves the silence. Deserves you not looking up. Deserves being nothing to you.

There’s a gaping hole in his heart when he realises that nothing is tying him to you anymore. There’s no safety net of the Goddess of the Moon’s fated mates tale. There’s no longer the string that connects the two of you—no reason he can find to be anything to you.

A stronger, more desperate part of him forces him to take the leap. To just take over and charge. His feet shift forward slightly, the dominant alpha in him wanting to just grab you and tell you how sorry he is. He’d beg on his knees if he must, so long as you’d at least spare a glance his way, even if it meant you would look down on him forever.

But you look happier.

His eyes trace the curve of your lips as you laugh at something your friend says. The selfish part of him stubbornly stays to steal the moment, letting his undeserving ears hear your voice like a secret.

You look happier.

Heeseung takes a step back, angling his body to leave. He looks at you one last time, hoping to catch your gaze at least once. Just something—anything to soothe his anxious wolf, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

But you never look back. And something inside him cracks. 

He can feel it—the incoming suffocation building up in his chest, like a storm waiting to happen. Before his scent could turn bitter, Heeseung forces himself to leave, eyes frantically searching for exit.

Heeseung is slowly breaking apart, and he does nothing to stop it.

“You’re so—” Jay stops himself, then sighs loudly. “I’ve called you stupid way too many times that I’m actually starting to feel bad now. Why did you skip your group discussion? Jungwon won’t stop asking me for you.”

Heeseung doesn’t react. After catching sight of you at the cafeteria, he’s rushed back to his house, deliberately skipping the group discussion with an apology over a text. The hyperventilation—an occurrence that is frequent now—comes back, and Heeseung doesn’t intend for you to see him unravel like that.

Not out of pride or shame. God, no, there’s nothing left of him to care about those. Heeseung just doesn’t want you to feel bad seeing him like that. Because you shouldn’t feel bad for cutting off the bond.

After all, he did hurt you to the point of death.

Jay studies his friend, watching as Heeseung sits in his producer chair and stares blankly at the monitor. He was just about to go for a gym session with Riki, but decided to stay at home after Heeseung burst through the door, gasping for air with a red face. And it broke his heart.

Calling out Heeseung for his ignorance is one thing that he’s not sorry for, but seeing him in this condition? It kills him. He just wants everyone to stop hurting each other. But first of all, he knows he has to start with Heeseung.

“Hee,” he calls, but Heeseung barely moves. Jay presses his lips. “Hee—”

“I saw her.”

Jay pauses, holding back his tongue when he hears his voice. He waits patiently, giving Heeseung the space he needs. 

But Heeseung doesn’t say another word for a few extended seconds, just sitting there like he was talking to himself. If it weren’t for the small movement of his chest, Jay would’ve panicked and thought that he’d lost his friend. 

It is quiet until his voice, smaller and quieter, echoes inside the room again.

“She always looks prettier than the last time I see her.”

There’s a heavy silence between them. Jay takes the chance to look around the room. 

It’s Heeseung’s producer room, the room Jay let him take to do whatever he wanted with it. The lighting inside this room is moody, dim purple and blue LED lights alternating every minute. 

The glow washes over everything in slow pulses—across the mixing console, the twin monitors, the mess he never bothered to clean. Cables snake along the floor like they’ve settled there for good, curling around the legs of the desk. A track sits paused on the screen, its waveform frozen mid-breath, like it, too, is waiting for something to break.

Jay slowly exhales, his chest tightening as his gaze drifts from a closed notebook to the abandoned headphones hanging at the edge of the console. This room feels less alive—not like what he last remembers of it.

It used to pulse with passion. Whenever he walked in, Heeseung was always up to something. The bass would play like a behind the scene, his sweet voice would sometimes blend with the strum of his newly-bought acoustic. There’d be balls of crumpled papers rolling on the floor, rejected lyrics that he’d still pick up and look back before he went to sleep.

But now, the room is too clean. Ever since he carried Heeseung on his back from Jake’s frat house a few days ago, this producer room has been nothing more than a haunted house.

And at the center of it, is his dying friend.

“Hee,” Jay starts, breaking the silence. He gives his words a lot of thoughts, carefully curated to make it clear that he cares. “Heeseung, you must do something. Or you’ll die, and I won’t let you die.”

Jay grabs his shoulder and turns him around, the chair spinning to face him. Heeseung’s face is void of any colour, sunken eyes looking like faded embers. His lips are dry and chapped, his skin dull and grey. Inevitably, something sharp twists in his chest at seeing his best friend in this state.

“God,” Jay breathes out, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. He’s so fucking scared. “You’re dying, Heeseung, and I—”

Jay hangs his head low, closing his eyes as he tries his best to compose himself. Heeseung needs me, he whispers in his head, Heeseung needs me.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Jay takes a deep breath and lifts his gaze. Heeseung is looking away, blank face staring lifelessly at the wall like a portrait of emptiness and grief. His grip on his shoulder tightens.

“I talked to my parents,” Jay tries again, “there is a way to fix this. Two, actually.” 

The moment stretches without any reaction from Heeseung. Jay takes it as a sign to continue.

“We can save this if you…if you can win her back and make her omega want to patch the bond back up.”

The tiniest flicker of something crosses Heeseung’s eyes. His jaw twitches almost imperceptibly. 

“Or,”  Jay licks his lips, preparing himself. “You can cut the bond from your side, too,” he finishes. 

Heeseung turns his head to look at him, wide eyes watering with unshed tears.

“Cut it clean once and for all, Heeseung.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out. Despite his passive façade, Heeseung’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and regret.

Fix the bond and face you, which he doesn’t think he deserves.

Or cut it off and lose you for good.

For the first time in his life, Heeseung doesn’t know which option is worse.

The nightclub is still as noisy as he remembers it. Blinding lights that hurt his eyes, loud bass that pierces his ears. People are dancing with their company, seeking friction and heat between slicked bodies.

Heeseung used to be in the center of it all, basking in the attention of perfectly-manicured nails on his chest and the alluring scents enveloping him. A perfect distraction from a rejected demo. A relief for his frustration over a losing game.

The escape he always chose to run from facing negative emotions. 

But tonight, he stands motionless in a corner, lips pulled in a tight line. 

There’s an old pull coming from the crowd. After all, having people worship your body does feel addictive at one point—and Heeseung is no exception to that. He’s used to showcasing his dominance whether it was on the court or in a bedroom, a drug he kept feeding his alpha to the point of no return. He’s used to command and dominate, a trait that helps him as a captain and as a pleaser.

Like facing a withdrawal, his hands twitch by his sides, itching to inch forward.

You are feeling bad now, a voice whispers in his head. Go on. There are plenty of omegas that can make you feel better.

Heeseung forces his gaze down. No, he counters.

No more of that life.

Heeseung is dominant in every aspect of his existence—from biological traits down to his own personality and mindset. But when his mind drifts back to the thoughts of you, he finds himself crumbling in submission.

It hurts his pride. God, it hurts so much.

But the ache doesn’t compare to the look on your pale face when you break the bond you shared with him, like cutting an infected part of a root that’d destroy your field of daisies.

Nothing hurts more than being the reason you had to resort to such a critical decision, that might cost you your own life.

The urge finally quiets down after a few seconds of redirecting his thoughts to the more pressing matters at hand. Heeseung smooths down his clothes in an attempt to calm himself.

He’s wearing one of his baggy graphic T-shirts, black and bigger than his frame. A picture of The Strokes, stretched and scratched from use clings to the fabric. Beside him, Jay stands tall in his usual button-up, always looking out of place in the nightclub thanks to his distinguished gentleman image.

On the other side of him, is a cute menace.

“Okay!” Sunoo claps his hand, adjusting the collar of his yellow sweater. “This is a bad idea, but since you’re a masochist, let’s do what we’re here for!”

The sass in his speech doesn’t go unnoticed by both alphas. Jay lets out a big sigh, already massaging his temple, while Heeseung only gives him a side-eye, hardly offended by his words. 

He’s right, of course. Sunoo’s never wrong.

The brown-haired boy, feigning ignorance to the stares he’s receiving, continues. “Since you want to cut the bond clean—”

Jay interrupts sharply. “Try to cut it clean.”

“Right,” Sunoo gives a small smile. “Since we want to try cutting it off clean,” he makes a show of slicing the air with his hand, “let’s find you an omega and see if you can kiss her or him without throwing up.”

Heeseung lets the bass swallow his voice, already hating the idea inside his head. Which is ironic, because just a few days ago, he was adamant on trying to convince himself that he didn’t have a mate.

Oh, well. Just look at him now.

Jay seems to share the same sentiment as him. “This can either turn worse or better. Are you sure you’re doing this?” Jay looks back from Heeseung to Sunoo. “Can’t we find other ways?”

Sunoo taps his chin, looking serious for the first time that night. 

“I don’t think we can. The one breaking the bond should be his wolf,” he starts, pointing to Heeseung’s chest. “And since he’s been giving Heeseung a silent treatment, we have no idea where he stands now. This is the only way to trigger a reaction.”

Heeseung thinks he’s had enough of being talked about like a case study. “What do you mean? We don’t know where he stands now?”

Sunoo pats his shoulder, understanding his confusion. “Yeap. We don’t know whether your wolf is okay with cutting the bond with Y/N and finding another mate, or if he still wants Y/N and wants to fix the bond with her.”

Heeseung blinks, confused. “But she’s already cut—”

“It’s one-sided, Heeseungie hyung. Your wolf didn’t agree with the breakup,” Sunoo then lowers his voice, now talking softly when he notices the gloomy look on his face. “That’s why we either cut it or fix it,” the alpha fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater, already feeling emotional. 

“Or you could die, hyung. That’s the reality of true mates.”

He’s right. Heeseung knows, despite being a little devil that he is, Sunoo will never lie about something as serious as this. Especially when it involves life and death.

But Heeseung hasn’t been on good terms with his wolf. They’ve been clashing since the night that he met you, always debating whether you were his fated mate or not. And each time, it was Heeseung who never listened. It was Heeseung who refused to give in, in denial to the possibility of a mate and…love.

Even tonight.

“Let’s just cut it off,” he grunts, his voice grim and clipped. Sunoo and Jay whirl around and look at him like he’s just lost one eye.

“I just told you, we can’t just—”

“He’s not responding, and he never will,” Heeseung exhales through his nose, frustration spilling into his scent. “My wolf—”

“That’s because you never wanted to listen to him, Hee.” Jay finally speaks up, cutting the conversation short. Heeseung pauses, his voice dying in his throat.

From his left, Jay’s citrusy pheromones—bergamot and lime with a soft undertone of amber and metal—swirls into his senses with an air of authority. Heeseung recognises this. It’s the accent that Jay uses when he wants someone to relax and listen to him. 

The dark-haired alpha plays with his whiskey, watching the liquid swirl and the ice spin as he speaks. 

“Or to me. To us.”

He lets the words linger, as if begging Heeseung to finally understand. Jay meets his eyes, looking into him with desperation. There is a flicker of something there; something that makes the wall inside him rattle.

“Please. Just tonight. Please try for us. For you,” his voice is lower, shaky, “I don’t want to lose you, Hee. Please.”

“I just don’t want to hurt her anymore.” Heeseung hesitates. “What if I touch another omega and I hurt her again?”

“You won’t,” Sunoo convinces. He nudges Heeseung’s shoulder with his. “For now, she won’t feel anything because the tie is broken. It won’t be easy, but saving yourself means saving her too.”

A heavy silence falls upon them, filled with unspoken tension and pleading eyes. Jay and Sunoo share a look, each of them on the edges of their nerves waiting for Heeseung’s answer.

At last, Heeseung finally relents. A small sigh escapes his lips and he takes a step forward.

“Okay. Let’s give this a shot.”

It isn’t hard to find someone to kiss. It was never hard for Heeseung. He manages to mask his gloomy scent that could shoo people away from him and gets into his flirty mode. His smile, though a little strained on the edges, still looks pretty as ever.

Soon enough, he already has an omega in his arms, tucked away in a dimmed corner near the bar. Sunoo and Jay keep a safe distance from him, not too close to intrude but not too far out of his sight.

“You’re so tall,” the omega purrs, gliding her pretty nail up his arm. Heeseung barely responds. “Tall and so handsome.”

His heart is telling him how out-of-place the touch feels. The familiar feeling comes back. The same feeling he ignored for two weeks in fear of confronting his own destiny. The same feeling he buried for the sake of proving to no one but himself that he’d do fine without you; without the sacred bond that connected you both.

He wants to flee. He wants to push her away and scratch at the spot where she’s touched him. Where her skin meets his skin, Heeseung feels the strongest urge to recoil. The same nausea returns, clouded by her scent that doesn’t sit well in his nose. 

But his rational mind reminds him of the intention behind this.

“Yeah?” He tries, struggling to look her in the eyes. He tightens his grip on her waist and hesitates before pulling her slightly closer. “I’ll need to bend down to kiss you, then.”

The girl lets out an airy giggle. She circles her arms around his neck and pulls him down, peering at him through her lashes seductively. “Mhm, bent down enough?”

Heeseung freezes. It’s going to happen. Heeseung fights the urge to turn his face away, but Sunoo’s words serve as a reminder that stops him from doing so. 

Saving yourself means saving her, too.

Shakily, he exhales, closing the gap between their lips as slowly as he can. His heart is angry behind his ribs, his pulse rushing loudly in his ears. Heeseung braces himself until the pout of her lips brushes against his.

The kiss starts gently, mainly initiated by her. Heeseung tries to follow, tries to lead, but the feeling of her mouth on his feels so wrong. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like fitting a triangle puzzle with round pieces.

He opens his mouth, trying to deepen his kiss when something inside him stirs.

No. His wolf finally speaks. It’s no longer distant and muffled.

Like a wolf being reborn from the first death, this time, his voice is sharp and clear. 

Not her.

Heeseung closes his eyes, feeling a bile rising behind his throat. But instead of darkness, what he sees instead is an image of you. Your soft features, your silky hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes that he can only see in his memory. 

The eyes that used to look at him with sparkles of hope, waiting for him to notice the magnetic force of a bond that you shared with him. The same grateful eyes that looked at him under the moonlight, when the convenience store was empty except for the two of you.

His stomach turns sharply he might actually be sick.

Oh Goddess, what has he done to you? Why did he do you so wrong? Why did he think so highly of himself that he thought he was above love and fate?

A drop of tears slips down his cheek.

Before he knows it, Heeseung is already crying into the kiss. Hot, fresh tears seeps into the lock of their mouths, making the kiss taste like salt and grief; just like how his scent smells right now.

I want Y/N. His wolf echoes again, firmer than he’s ever been. We want Y/N.

At last, after weeks of battling himself, Heeseung finally listens to his wolf.

He breaks the kiss with a breath, pushing her gently by the shoulders and putting a distance between them. Head dipping low, Heeseung lets himself cry, watching the tears drop from the tip of his nose to the sticky floor. The omega is left confused, but she doesn’t say a word.

If anything, Heeseung looks so pitiful that she forgets about feeling upset.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, bringing his hands to his face. He doesn’t realise how hard he’s shaking until she places her hand on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I can’t do this—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” the girl convinces, pursing her lips into a straight line. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Heeseung doesn’t answer. Drops of grief and regret keep pouring out like a broken faucet, staining his cheeks wet. The sound that leaves him isn’t even a sob; it’s something raw, broken, pulled straight out of his chest.

“My heart belongs to her.”

Heeseung feels his wolf paw at him, finally winning the prolonged war of love and pride. A war whose price may be greater than the sin he’s committed. 

His scent gland is pulsing even harder, as if reminding him of the bond still barely alive. 

With a shaky exhale, like he’s at last allowed himself to be free, Heeseung tries to let it out.

“I think…” his voice breaks, softer now, like he’s afraid of the truth even as he says it. 

“I think I finally accepted that my heart has always belonged to her.”

For the first time, Heeseung doesn’t try to deny it. His wolf purrs, almost crying from relief. 

“And she doesn’t want it anymore.”

It is very early in the morning. Rays of orange glow cracks through the horizon, bleeding light into the ground. Somewhere in the distance, the moon is slowly getting swallowed by the sky and soon enough, the sun is proudly ascending.

It’s a Saturday, which means, there’s no classes scheduled today. But Heeseung finds himself stepping foot on the campus ground. Faintly, from where he’s standing at the car park, he can hear whistles coming from the field. His wolf, who’s done giving him the silent treatment, nudges him to hurry. 

Right. He’s here, abandoning his usual sleep-in on the weekend to find you. It’s the only place he knows where you’d be and he might’ve just bribed Jake to tell him when his football friendly match is going to be.

Taking a deep breath, Heeseung finally moves his legs. His ribs rattle with how fast his heart is beating. He purposely chooses to come fifteen minutes before the match ends—he’s not exactly here to see Jake play (sorry dude). He doesn’t know what to do with himself if he has to wait around for hours just to talk to you. He might go crazy.

Well. That is, if you want to talk to him.

“Don’t discourage me now, you dog,” he mutters under his breath, berating his alpha. 

The field is not that far from where he parked his (Jay’s) car. A few paces more and he’s going to see the vast green-grassed space where a bunch of alphas are running around chasing a ball using their legs.

But to his surprise, the field and the bleachers are almost empty.

“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath and checks his watch. He still has three minutes left before the game ends—if what Jake told him was true. Did they end it earlier than planned? He could’ve sworn he heard whistles just now!

You spent too much time on your pep talk, his wolf rolls his eyes.

Heeseung doesn’t waste time. He whirls around and forces his brain to think quicker. His legs move faster, turning corner after a corner in search of you. 

Where would the cheerleaders go after a game? To the locker room? No, that’s for the athletes. To the car park? That’s possible, but he didn’t cross paths with anyone on the way here. To the practice room? He rounds a corner. Okay, that actually—

A subtle wave of daisies and honey washes over him almost instantly. Heeseung immediately stops, his breath catching in his throat. 

Standing in front of the vending machine, just a few feet away from him, is you. You’re wearing your usual costume—sleeveless top that cuts right at your waist and pleated skirt that ends just above your mid-thigh. But today, the theme seems to be pink. You have your hair up in an updo, a blue ribbon—the official representative colour of the college—is tied neatly around the silky strands of your hair.

There’s only a glimpse of your side profile visible to him, but it’s enough to quiet the prideful alpha in him. He’s not even sure if he’s said it enough, but every time his eyes land on you, you just get prettier. 

For a second, Heeseung thinks he doesn’t mind dying at that moment.

You don’t look up to him instantly, or sensing his presence by his pheromones—another reminder of the broken bond that you used to share. Heeseung gulps down the hurt, clenching his sweaty palms into fists.

A clang of a can dropping in the vending machine booms through the hallway. You bend down to take it.

Call her name. His wolf urges. Idiot, just call her name!

Heeseung gathers his breath.

“Y/N?” Your name leaves his name like a sacred prayer, tender and delicate, like a whisper only the Goddess can hear. You freeze in your spot, finger brushing the can only a fraction.

The silence stretches for a few seconds. In waiting, Heeseung holds back his breath, afraid that another sound from him will scare you away.

But you only straighten up, abandoning your can of drink and turn to him. The edges of your eyes harden at the sight of him. 

You hold his gaze, lips unmoving before you finally say his name.

“Heeseung.”

It’s flat. It’s polite. It’s cold. It’s nothing like the night when you ran into his arms. It’s not warm like the way you called his name before falling asleep on his shoulders, back when your wolf trusted him with your life.

Back when the bond was still there. Back when his name was still written in the stars beside yours.

Heeseung thinks this is worse than death.

“Can I…” he pauses, already fearing your rejection mid-sentence. 

Saving yourself means saving her, too.

He pushes through.

“Can I talk to you?”

The words finally leave his lips, and Heeseung doesn’t move. It’s as if he was intruding; like he was poking your safe bubble and he wasn’t allowed to move without your permission. 

Your eyes assess him, like you’re deciding if he was a threat. Then, with a firm tone he never heard from you, you reply. “I have practice.”

“I won’t take long,” he rushes out, the words tripping over each other. “Please—just for a moment. Please.”

Please.

The one word you’d never expect coming from a dominant alpha like him. Someone who seems prideful in everything he does, who commands attention wherever he goes with his voice alone.

So he does have the courage to talk to you. He does know what he did was wrong on so many levels—and yet.

Yet it took you almost dying for him to learn. 

Yet it took you bleeding on the floor for him to realise.

For once, you really thought you could be the bigger person. You really believed that your heart, as soft as it always has been, would fold and melt the moment his honeyed-voice greets your senses again.

But you were wrong.

Your resentment still lingers, caging your chest in a protective embrace, not daring to lose its heartbeat for the second time.

“No.”

You take a step back, and this time, you make sure it is a line being drawn.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”  

Your verdict echoes like a gavel tapping against a sound block. It’s straightforward. It’s clear. But to Heeseung, it’s a punishment too small to what he did to you.

He tries his best to school his expression, swallowing the lump in his throat with force. He then nods, weakly, then a bit too fast.

His wolf cries, not willing for him to back down so easily. His human part, on the other hand, is split into two. 

Old Heeseung is ready to isolate and never reach out again. Same old habits that used to bring him comfort and distractions. 

This is why you don’t do commitments. Just forget about this.

Another Heeseung, a new side that feels awkward but is still slowly growing, is trying to rationalise your decision and understand your boundaries.

Give her time, Heeseung. The wound is still so fresh.

“Okay.” He finally breathes out, the heavy word weirdly sending relief to his system. “Okay. I understand.”

You don’t move for a moment, just staring at him blankly like he might change his mind, before you nod. You honestly don’t know what to expect, but this is a pleasant surprise. You don’t think you can handle a pushy alpha now—especially the same alpha who had pushed you too far.

You leave without another word, feeling his eyes boring into the back of your head as you round the corner. Once out of his sight, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding,, gripping the wall for support. 

Your heart pounds like a war drum, threatening to break out of your chest. Seeing his face after actively avoiding him seems to be harder than you’d thought. You didn’t know he’d come looking for you on the weekends like this.

The Heeseung you remember always leaves first.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your frantic heart, and realise one thing with a sinking feeling.

Your quiet omega is still silent, lips sealed shut. Not even a word was heard from her since that tragic night.

You sigh. Heeseung’s got a really long way to go.

On the other side of the wall, Heeseung trails after your steps with his gaze—longing, hopeful, and sorrowful.

He’ll wait. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed yet, but he’ll wait.

Heeseung heaves out a long sigh, his throat feeling dry. The vending machine suddenly looks interesting to him. Rows of canned drinks lined up the interior but Heeseung already has his mind set on his go-to Zero Coke.

The can drops with a loud clang. Heeseung reaches down, ready to feel the coldness of the red-canned drink, only to pause when he sees green instead.

Grape juice.

Oh, right. You forgot your drink.

He takes both cans, but his attention on his Zero Coke is long gone. He inspects your drink instead, eyes lingering on the brand like it’s something precious, his fingers wet from condensation.

So you like grape juice.

Heeseung finally learns something about you today.

But waiting is easier said than done. 

Anxiety lives under his skin, prickling in his system like thorns in flesh. Every time he closes his eyes, the memory of you bleeding in the frat house haunts him back. He’d wake up gasping, lungs burning like he just survived a drowning.

Your silence has turned his longingness into a desperation so deep you practically could smell it on him. Heeseung can’t be with himself, not when he’s been spending every hour fighting every instinct to scream your name and throw up.

And that’s exactly how Heeseung finds himself lingering around the business building not long after the last time spoke to you.

He doesn’t know your schedule, he doesn’t know what classes you’re in, or the circle of friends you have other than the cheerleaders. He only knows where you live because he sent you home the night you fell asleep on his shoulders—but he doesn’t think going to your house is appropriate. It’s too private and he doesn’t want to stain your safe abode with his presence. 

Which is why he decided to wait at the campus, at the building he’s not familiar with.

Heeseung never hated himself more than he does now.

Fuck. How ignorant had he been towards the person who was supposed to be his mate?

Is it too late to learn about you now? Is it too late to knock on your door and hold his heart in his hand like a beggar right now?

So Heeseung spends hours waiting for you without even knowing if you’d come to campus today. He messaged Sunoo for help, but it has slipped from his mind just how busy a med student can be. Sunoo’s probably losing his mind over human anatomy again. The text remains delivered until the night falls.

Black sky takes over the horizon, only lending lights from the moon and the stars as a mercy. Heeseung’s feet are numb from walking around and standing for too long. He looks around the emptying hallways, not sure where exactly he is other than the fact that he’s at the business compound—a path where most students use to get to their classes.

He glances at his watch. It’s almost 8 pm. Most classes have already ended, and the last session would have ended half an hour ago. 

You’re probably not here anymore.

Heeseung bites back a groan, licking his dry lips as he turns around to leave. Meeting you at the court is not possible until a few weeks more for a friendly match with that eastern university team again. He can’t possibly wait until then—so he’ll come back tomorrow.

Heeseung knows that he’s a walking contradiction. He vows to respect your decision, to let things go with time. To step back when he’s asked to, to wait around until the tide dies.

However, wasn’t this the way he lost you?

For being too passive. For being too cowardly. For running away.

Heeseung really wants to give you time, but at the same time, he doesn’t know if your ‘no’ yesterday is still applicable today. He should at least try today, right? Or should he wait more?

Fuck. With self-hatred thicker than before, Heeseung curses himself for not knowing. For not understanding. He’s only well-versed about omegas when it comes to sex, but other than that, he doesn’t fucking know. His carelessness and ignorance are biting him hard in the ass right now.

Though, the desperation persists.

He just needs one thing: closure.

Not for himself, but rather for you.

You deserve to know only the truth.

But it’s getting late, and the thin layers he’s wearing aren’t doing a good job to protect him from the chill. Now, he hopes you’re already home, safe and tucked in warmly in your room.

He will try again tomorrow.

Just as he’s about to leave, as if the Moon Goddess finally hears his prayers, Heeseung catches the sound of your voice drifting down the hallway. 

You’re here.

God, you’re actually here.

Before he can overthink it, Heeseung is already on his feet, following the trail of daisies and honey using his sharp senses. And he sees you—just rounding the corner, talking to your classmates while heading towards the exit.

He can no longer hold back the instinct to call your name.

“Y/N.”

You freeze in your spot, recognising his voice in a heartbeat. You hate that you do.

He’s already on his way, closing the distance between the two of you with a look of desperation that seems foreign when he wears it. Beside you, your classmates are already whispering, equally surprised as you are.

“Is that Lee Heeseung?”

“Isn’t the music faculty so far from here?”

You pretend you don’t hear anything and frown instead.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” Heeseung blurts out the moment he’s close enough. There’s still an elephant distance between you and him, but he doesn’t dare step closer. 

Can he even be near you? Is he allowed to? 

When there’s no answer from you, he tries again. “Please, can I please talk to you?”

“Just go home, Heeseung.” You mutter, already walking away. You send an apologetic look to your classmates and start to leave, but Heeseung is already hot on your tail.

“Y/N,” he croaks out, the tremble in his voice almost going unnoticed. “I just need ten minutes. No—give me five minutes, please.” 

No response from you. You don’t even know where you’re going anymore, taking a turn after a turn to lose him. 

How did he know where you were? Did he find out your schedule from someone else? What is he doing here? How long has he been waiting for you?

It doesn’t seem like he has another reason to be here. So did he wait around for you?

You bite your lip, not entirely prepared for the inevitable confrontation to happen so fast.

But you underestimate how desperate Heeseung is because he keeps following you like a lost puppy, long legs slowing down slightly so as to not crowd you from behind. Being this close to him allows your nose to pick up on his sense—eye-watering cinnamon spiking with anxiousness with an undertone of a brewing sea storm. 

Heeseung can’t stand the silence any longer.

“I was wrong.” Fuck. If you won’t even look at him, that’s fine. But he needs you to know how sorry he is. “I know what I did was terrible and I—”

“Terrible?” You finally come to a stop and whirl around, your scent brimming with anger. “Terrible? I almost died, Heeseung!”

Heeseung catches himself before he crashes into you. He stares at you, wide-eyed, as you crane your neck to look up at him. The unwanted memory comes flashing back—of blood and tears and regret he’d never move past. 

Your eyes glisten with angry tears, fists trembling by your sides.

“What you did was almost criminal.”

Heeseung flinches. He doesn’t expect the word to land so heavy in his chest, so sharply in his gut. His hand flexes by his side, urging him to cradle your soft, soft face in his hold and pour out every single apology he’s been carrying but he stops himself.

“I know, and I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Heeseung murmurs, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “I just want you to allow me to fix the bond.”

You let out a laugh. A hollow, humourless laugh. The emptiness doesn’t even echo in the air.

“So now the bond is real to you?” You spit out, venom leaking into your voice. “Wasn’t it all just in my head, Heeseung? Wasn’t it all just my heat messing with me.”

Heeseung is hit with a pang of shame, not expecting you to throw his words back at him. He cowers and lets the full impact of his hurtful choice of words consume him to the bone.

You put a fist over your heaving chest, your tongue getting loose now that the inevitable has come. 

“I thought I was losing my mind,” your voice trembles slightly, treading along something dangerously close to a breakdown. “I thought something was wrong with me. I was sick for weeks and none of the doctors could cure me! And the whole time it was just…”

You swallow, blinking back tears furiously.

“The whole time it was just you choosing someone else over me.”

It’s like sand has filled up his mouth. Every answer tastes wrong and bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t even know what to say to that for how true it is.

How was he supposed to atone for a sin that nearly killed his mate?

“I know,” is the only thing he can whisper. Shame spreads across his chest like a disease. “I know. I—I did that. I’m sorry for not choosing you, Y/N.”

There it is. The truth, bare as it is, lies there like a final verdict. It feels almost tangible for how suffocating it is. It feels almost too cruel for how much it hurts you. It feels almost alive for how hard it is pulsing in your ears.

The dam finally breaks. “How long have you known that we—” your voice catches, silent tears gliding down your cheeks. “That we were fated mates?”

Guilt gnaws at his chest. “Two weeks before the tournament,” he quietly answers, already feeling small.

So since the beginning of your streak of pain. 

You feel sick to your stomach.

“How many of them?”

“What?”

“How many omegas did you fuck to convince yourself that I wasn’t your mate?”

Defensiveness flares up in his chest. “I didn’t fuck them. I couldn’t. I tried—”

“But you still stayed there, trying to prove to everyone in this world that that’s what you wanted and not me!” Your voice booms, no longer holding back on the pain.

Silence rings so loud afterwards, it stretches and stretches until the tension is left in a tight thread waiting to snap.

You stand there, shoulders shaking from sobbing quietly. Long, silky hair cascades around your face as you look down, biting back any sound. 

And every hitch of your voice rips his heart apart.

His wolf, wounded as he is, thrashes inside. Shivering daisies and acrid honey droops around him, eliciting another whine from his alpha. Heeseung braves another step forward, hesitation edging on his heels.

“I messed up. I hurt you all because I tried to prove to myself that I didn’t need you.”

His hands twitch, hovering mindlessly on his sides. 

Heeseung has promised himself that he’d only say the truth from now on. Harsh as it is, bitter as it is—it’s the only thing you deserve to hear. He couldn’t conjure any more lies to protect himself.

God. Even his lies are killing him now.

“I never slept with them. I couldn’t touch them without feeling like I was about to throw up,” he goes on, voice softening around the edges. “I couldn’t even walk into a room without hoping that it’d be you.”

You shake your head. “But you still did.”

He nods weakly. “That doesn’t erase the fact that I did. I  chose to run away because I couldn’t handle the fact that our fate is bigger than what I was willing to hold.”

Our fate.

Heeseung inhales shakily.

“I forced myself to enjoy the touch because I was so fucking busy proving the Goddess wrong.”

A sob escapes your lips.

Why does our fate have to be so tragic, Heeseung?

“I was dying, Heeseung,” you whisper wetly. “Your actions were killing me.”

Heeseung bites his tongue. “I know. I was wrong.”

A minute passes without any words. The hallway is only filled with the soft sobs and sniffles coming from your lips. Heeseung stands, wretched and torn. One leg is urging him to go to you and hold you. Another leg is forcing him to stay because he doesn’t think he deserves to touch you.

What he knows, for sure, is that this image of you crying in front of him will haunt him in his sleep.

After a moment, you finally speak, your voice hoarse.

“I don’t think we can ever come back from this.”

Heeseung’s throat closes up, a sudden stab lodging its pointy end into his chest. No, his wolf cries out. Please, no.

He lifts his hand, longing to touch you, but then decides to drop it. “Y/N. Please—”

“I don’t even know how we can fix this,” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. “My omega has been silent since the day she cut the bond.”

In response, his wolf whines, trying to get a reaction. But you feel nothing.

Not a stir. Not even a shift. Your omega is deadly unresponsive. If it’s not for your beating heart, you’d think that you’d been dead since that night.

“I don’t know if she still wants this or not. This—bond. You.”

“But do you?” Heeseung can hear his voice cracking, and he thinks his heart is facing the same fate too. He’s sure of it. 

“Do you still want this?”

You are silent for a moment and it’s the longest second Heeseung has ever gone through.

“I—I don’t know,” you quietly mutter. “You hurt me more than anyone ever did, Heeseung.”

Heeseung would have preferred you shout at him than this. He’d rather have the heat of your hatred than this.

This cold winter of your uncertainty. This soft, subtle turndown, like you’re already resigned to the fate of not having him in your life anymore.

Heeseung’s knees hit the ground with a thud before you can stop him. 

It’s not weak, or pathetic. It’s utter devotion, surrendering his heart stripped bare from pride and lies to you. It’s complete submission, one that his dominant side has always found it hard to do but done it so easily when it comes to you.

Heeseung doesn’t do worship, but you’re the only altar he will ever kneel to.

His head hangs low, burgundy hair falling over his eyes as his shoulders shake once.

“I know,” he mutters, sounding wrecked.

Heeseung has his hands fisted on his lap, as though it’s his only source of strength, shaking from the overwhelming desperation brimming in his scent.

“I was a coward.”

You gasp, not expecting such action. “Heeseung, get up—“

“Not until you hear me out,” he pleads.

He lifts his head. Heeseung’s wide, bambi eyes look up at you, veiled with a thick layer of tears. 

“I fought the bond because I was afraid. I was so fucking scared. I was always the one to leave first, to run and detach fast, but you, Y/N…”

His fingers twitch, fighting the urge to reach out.

“You made me want to stay.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m scared because giving in would mean finally belonging to someone.”

His eyes find yours again, looking soft and destroyed all over. Your heart traitorously skips a beat.

“But right now, I’d give up everything to belong to you.”

His vulnerability, raw and edged with hopelessness, tugs at your wounded heartstrings. You instinctively step back from the sheer weight of it.

“Y/N, please. If your omega never forgives me,” he chokes out, feeling the distance like a slap in the face. He bites back the instinct to take your hand, but he doesn’t dare touch you.

Not until you allow him to.

“If she never forgives me, I’ll spend the rest of my life earning forgiveness from you.”

A teardrop spills from his lash line, staining his cheeks wet. 

You give a helpless shake of your head, your resolve slowly crumbling. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Then I’ll show you. I’ll show you that I mean this.”

His knees scrape against the floor as he inches closer. Tears stream down his face in relentless waves, the lower part of his lips trembling greatly.

“I’m not asking you to take me back. I just need permission from you,” he begs, almost sobbing into his speech.

“Please let me try. I want to become the man that deserves you, Y/N.”

Your lips part, a ghost of a shaky breath escaping your lips.

You’re not used to this kind of devotion. 

Not from those alphas who wanted you because they thought having the shy girl who barely talks to men was trophy-worthy. Not from those men who see you as nothing more than their kink fantasies. Not from those guys who thought you were boring and not exciting.

But tonight, as moonlight leaks through the glass of the windows and spills across the floor as if the Moon Goddess has decreed this to happen herself—Heeseung sits there, bruising knees digging into the marble tiles, and begs you to give him a chance.

You’re not used to this kind of devotion, yet you let a small part of your heart, a traitor that it is—flutters from the impact of his words.

You take another step backward, as if being physically away from him would help recover your resolve.

“I…” you can’t find your voice, not when he’s looking at you with regret spilling from his round eyes. Not when he’s gazing up at you like he was a sinner and you were his only saviour.

“I don’t understand, Heeseung,” is the only thing you can whisper, deciding to be truthful. “You were so—so hellbent on trying to deny the bond. You even went to Narin after I confronted you,” you lick your lips, gut twisting sharply at the mention of your captain. You still haven’t spoken to her until this day.

“Why now? Why…change your mind? I already made it easier for you—I cut the bond!” 

Heeseung flinches. The reality slaps him in the face again, presenting him with the consequences of his actions on the table. 

He knew it won’t be easy, but God—hearing the hurt in your voice pains him more than the ache in his knees.

Heeseung almost crawls forward.

“I’m a coward, Y/N,” he breathes out. “Losing you made me realise that I was never trying to escape the bond.”

His head dips lower, shaking it slowly to himself.

“I was trying to escape what the bond demanded of me.”

Heeseung lifts his gaze, raising his hands, gesturing to you like a priceless painting. There’s a sad smile on his face.

“Settling down, staying, being devoted only to you…those are the only things you deserve. Nothing less.”

His voice is somehow louder than the racing pulse in your ears. You know what’s coming, yet you’re still not prepared for the sting of the truth.

“I am everything less than that,” he finishes. He closes his eyes, not willing to see the look you might wear on your face.

There’s a long pause. The world is quiet outside, not even a sound of cars passing by can be heard. Heeseung doesn’t know how late it already is, or how long he’s been on his knees, but he doesn’t care. 

Hurting his knees is the kindest punishment you can ever give him.

You, on the other hand, are beyond devastated. Truly, you don’t think Heeseung could ever hurt you more than he already did. But his confession—fuck.

Heeseung wasn’t ready to step up and become the love that you deserve and it’s killing you that he chose to run instead of try.

It’s killing you that you weren’t an option until fate decided to twist everything around.

With resentment and resignation, you finally decide. 

“The bond is no longer there. You can just forget about this, Heeseung.”

Heeseung thinks being shot to death would hurt less than this.

You, however, are already shutting him out.

“If you need closure, just know that one day I will forgive you. It’s not now, not next week, and probably not in months.” Or years. “But I will.”

There’s a strange ache blooming in your chest. One that comes as a price of letting something precious go.

“I hope that’ll help ease your mind.”

God, the bond was precious to you. Heeseung was precious to you.

How did it come to this?

Across from you, Heeseung is crumbling down.

“No, please—” he chokes, scrambling for some air. He can’t breathe.

“Please, Y/N. Give me a chance to be forgiven.”

“You don’t have to try so hard, Heeseung. The bond is gone.”

“I don’t care about the bond!” He hits his chest with a fist, the pain becoming unbearable. “I hurt you, Y/N. With or without the bond, nothing can change the fact that I hurt you and I can’t live with myself knowing that I hurt someone innocent.”

Heeseung can feel the sting of his nails digging into his palm. Anytime now and he’ll be drawing blood from how hard he’s fisting it.

The tears are welling up in your eyes again but you hold your ground. 

“Please, I beg you, and I beg you hard, Y/N.”

Heeseung clasps his hands, the pink of his nails turning white from how hard he’s doing it.

“I beg you—please let me try to fix this. Please let me earn your forgiveness. Please, Y/N.”

Your heart breaks at the determination in his voice. 

“It won’t be easy.”

“However long it takes,” he pushes, searching your eyes with his glistening ones, his voice raw with urgency.

“I won’t wait for you.”

His eyes burn with more hot tears. 

He’s lost you for good, hasn’t he?

“You don’t have to,” he quietly whispers. “I just need your permission to try.”

You swallow down the urge to scream. His promise sounds bigger than his whole existence, yet your heart foolishly roots for him.

“You can try. But I can’t promise you anything.”

You don’t wait for his reply. Quickly, as if your heels were on fire, you turn around and leave him. 

Alone, still kneeling. Traces of his regret are still wet on his cheeks. 

You hear him sniffle, but you don’t look back.

Heeseung sits alone in the darkness of his producer room.

The space resembles a shipwreck. If Jay didn’t see any crumpled papers the last time he was here, he’d be surprised to see the growing pile of them now. 

Heeseung has tried to write something. Or anything that could get this remorse out of his system. He wants to translate his grief into something that is at least listenable. Not whatever mess he is inside.

But nothing really comes out. 

The bullpoint of his pen ends up writing your name instead. In round letters, in cursive. In shaky hands, and in tears. 

Y/N.

I’m sorry, Y/N…please forgive me.

A word of your name turns into long written words of regret and silent confession. Letters that he will crumple and throw, then pick it up to read back and add more. 

There is a dull ache in his knees, turning purple from the time he spent on the floor for you. He lets the bruise pulse, making no attempts to ice it or stop it. It’s a reminder to him. 

A reminder of the ticket of mercy you barely granted him.

A reminder of the bond still hanging limply by his finger.

It’s not even a pain if he put it beside the suffering you went through because of him.

You’re a coward.

His wolf suddenly speaks, adding salt to the wound. 

Heeseung closes his eyes shut.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, not appreciating being reprimanded when he’s already a wreck. But his wolf, justifyingly so, seems to hold a grudge against him because he doesn’t stop.

I lost my mate because of you. You ran away from her.

“Yes, I did. I know that,” he grunts. He already resents himself for it, why is he wolf making it harder for him as if they weren’t two halves of one soul?

Knowing isn’t enough. Remember the night you made her bleed.

The memory, as if summoned, crawls its way back into his mind. As if he was brought back to that fateful night, Heeseung can feel his gut twisting sharply inside.

Remember the night she trembled and cut the bond because you went too far.

“Stop,” Heeseung whisper-shouts. 

It feels like the room is shrinking and the walls are closing in on him because the air can’t seem to reach his lungs. Heeseung cowers, covering his ears with both hands. The sting of hot tears starts to burn at the corners of his eyes.

Your face, pale and ghostly, haunts the edges of his thoughts. He still recalls how hard you shook from shock. He still recalls the tremble in your legs as you hold onto the door for dear life.

He really went too far.

And if proving his point, his wolf taunts more.

Remember the omegas you touched while she was dying when I kept telling you to stop.

The pen drops and clatters on the floor. Heeseung stands and sways, his vision blurry from unshed tears.

He remembers it.

The nights he spent trying to bury any attachment towards you and the bond. The nights he spent pleasing other omegas despite not enjoying it at all. The nights he spent ignoring the ache in his chest, the voice of his wolf—as if running away would ever be enough to excuse him from his fate.

While all the time, you had been suffering alone.

Nausea creeps up the back of his throat.

“No, please stop—”

His wolf snarls, pent-up anger and frustration finally spilling out.

She could be in someone else’s arms now. Someone gentler. Someone braver than you.

The nausea punches  through his chest.

Heeseung scrambles for the door, yanking it open and stumbles out of his producer room to the bathroom. He barely makes it before his stomach churns violently and doubles over.

He throws up his long-forgotten lunch because he missed his dinner, the bile unforgiving to the spasms in his gut.  Heeseung knees over the toilet until his stomach empties and grief starts to taste metallic on his tongue.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slumps onto the floor. It’s a ringing silence in his ears before a sob escapes his lips.

Then another.

Before he knows it, it has turned into a full-on wailing. The tears are finally giving up, now streaming endlessly down his cheeks like tiny rivers. 

Heeseung lets himself remember the faces of the omegas he touched. A betrayal of the bond he’ll never forgive himself for.

Heeseung lets himself remember the person you are—someone who deserves protection and affection. Someone who can be literally with anyone; any deserving alpha who knows how to treat you right.

Anyone in this world. Anyone from his campus. Anyone from his team. Anyone from his house.

Heeseung is fast to turn around and vomits again. The image of Jay being the perfect alpha for you makes his chest caves and breaks.

Fuck. Fuck, no. Please—no.

He always made fun of Riki when the younger complained about their too-good alpha friend. He never really understood why Riki is still on edge whenever Jay is around his girlfriend, despite knowing that him agreeing to help with his girlfriend’s heat was purely out of kindness.

But now he knows. Now he fucking knows.

Jay is just too good to be true. Jay never touches omegas carelessly. Jay lowers his voice when he speaks to them. Jay likes taking care of people like they’re his own.

Jay also cares about you. He knows that. The punch he almost threw at Heeseung that night was proof enough.

And in a peak of complete crumbling from his desperation to be forgiven, from his humility to admit to his mistakes—a fast-growing insecurity is piling up in his chest.

Heeseung can’t breathe. 

He’s suffocating again.

A sudden thought flashes through his head. His frantic mind, desperate for some relief, entertains the thought without thinking further.

Just cut the bond too. End this suffering and cut the bond.

Heeseung raises his finger to his scent gland, still thudding violently from the rush of his emotions running in his veins. 

Could he really cut the bond?

Don’t you dare.

“But it’s too painful…” he cries.

She’s my mate! If you end it now, I will tear you apart myself. You will fucking die, Heeseung.

Heeseung folds in on himself, crouching lower on the floor. His whole body shakes from the force of his tears.

“Why her?” he whispers helplessly.

“Why someone so precious? Why her?”

His wolf doesn’t answer. Heeseung is left sobbing to himself, already resigned to his fate and the silence from his alpha.

Because he knows, only the Goddess of the Moon has the answer to that.

Only she knows why he was sent something holy when he’s too ruined to hold it.

You never would have expected to get hurt from the one thing you wanted the most.

Love.

The tale of true mates.

Maybe that’s the reason why most people dislike it. Maybe all this time, it wasn’t because of envy or ridicule. Maybe all this time, people had already realised how destructive it could be before you did.

Something intangible that can only be felt has the power to destroy you through someone else’s actions and decisions? It’s no wonder, really. 

You were just too blind and too delusional for even dreaming of it in the first place.

Life hasn’t been easy since the breaking of the bond. 

You went on autopilot for the first week, just trying to save yourself from a bad attendance record and getting kicked out of the cheerleader squad. The latter proved to be harder to overcome since the source of your pain and the current centre of your universe—Heeseung—was always there on the court, glancing at you at every chance he got.

It’s almost laughable, the way he’s trying to catch your gaze now when he used to avoid it so much.

You dated people a couple of times before, but the breakups were never this bad. They hurt, of course, but this bond seemed to amplify every emotion you felt for Heeseung and yourself. Again, one of the reasons you believe why most people started hating it.

The whole time, you only had yourself. Sometimes Yujin would come into your room to cuddle you and let you cry into her shoulders. She’d stay as long as a med student could—watching movies together, painting your nails, crying with you.

All the time when you thought you craved love, you sometimes forgot that love doesn’t always mean romantic relationships. Sometimes it comes in the form of Yujin waking up before her alarm to make you your favourite pancakes.

Sometimes love comes in the form of Rei, despite the two of you having only gotten closer recently, checking up on you every meal time to make sure you eat well.

Sometimes love comes through a phone call with your parents, asking about your day and showing you the small garden they’re growing in the backyard.

And slowly, eventually, you realise that love also means choosing yourself over the bond. 

Choosing yourself means stop clinging onto the bond. Choosing yourself means not waiting on Heeseung to get his acts right or for the right apology. Choosing yourself means you stop letting the bond and Heeseung dictate how you go about your life from now on.

Heeseung can try all he wants, and you might or might not see his efforts—but you won’t wait for him.

You’re done waiting.

Strangely, it doesn’t feel bitter. The thought of finally letting go of the bond sounds more freeing. Like the air is finally settling in your lungs after weeks of drowning.

You find your way back to the pieces of you since the bond broke. For the first time since you cut the thread, your world revolves around something other than pain.

Life comes back in fragments. In trying out pilates with Yujin and laughing when the instructor turns her back to you because Yujin just sucks at stretching.

In late-night convenience store runs with Rei to eat extra spicy noodles that’ll upset your stomach the next morning.

In falling back to your old study habits and excelling a difficult pop quiz.

In helping the squad choreograph for the upcoming routines—because alphas just run hot and can’t seem to stop challenging each other in sports.

You laugh freely now. You don’t have to spend the night worrying about a thread tugging at your ribs.

You don’t have to overthink about…Heeseung. Not anymore.

For a moment, he becomes a maybe. For a few days when you successfully avoid him, he becomes an ‘if only’. A background noise. A consequence.

A wound becoming scarred.

Nothing more.

Or so you tell yourself.

There’s been barely anything from Heeseung since he fell to his knees for you a few days ago. For a while, you think maybe you scared him too much—frightened him with the possibility that you may never come back, until he decided to let silence become his apology.

But apparently, you just don’t notice him trying.

Heeseung, you realise, moves in quiet devotion.

It starts with a can of your favourite grape juice sitting beside your tote bag every time you come back from the restroom. You assume it’s Rei being sweet as always—the omega has taken a great liking to you since the day you first spoke.

You don’t notice how consistent its appearance is with Heeseung’s promise.

You overlook the fact that it starts showing up the very next day after your painful conversation. 

“But how did he know?” you whisper to yourself, staring down the can like it’s a threat now. 

You turn it in your palm, feeling the coldness seep into your fingers. Then, faintly, you smell him.

His pheromones. Cinnamon and sea salt clings to the can like an afterthought. Like Heeseung didn’t mean to leave his traces but the scent lingers anyway.

It’s been quite a while since you smelled it. Ever since you cut the tie, you no longer can sense his pheromones from afar. It only happens when you’re in close proximity to him, which is very rare to happen now.

Now, as his scent drifts to your senses, you find yourself actually missing it. Missing the warmth and safety it used to offer. Missing the familiarity of it.

Your heart aches.

No matter how forward you’ve moved in your healing progress, there’ll always be a big why living in the back of your mind.

You really could’ve had it  all.

But you don’t let it get to you. In all honesty, it is a sweet gesture and a nice start, yes, but it’s not enough. Even your baby cousin knows that you’re crazy about grape juice. Heeseung didn’t exactly make a groundbreaking discovery with this one.

The thought still counts, though.

It slips from your mind faster than you’d like to admit. Apart from the upcoming great friendly match between your basketball team and their sworn rival the eastern university, you have a business case study pitching competition set in two weeks.

Meetings become more frequent, time spent at the library becomes longer. You wish they would pick another place to do the discussion because the library is literally an air conditioner reincarnate—always too cold for your body. 

The chill autumn air only worsens the cold. Winter is coming and you can’t help but keep adding more layers to your clothes each time you walk out of the apartment to visit the library.

Except today, there is someone already waiting by the library door. A face that you recognise with a single glance. Features that you memorise by heart, stopping you in your tracks before you reach the door.

Heeseung.

His body is adorned with a brown trench coat that reaches his calves, outlining his proportions and tall figure perfectly. He has one hand resting in one of the pockets, while another is holding a pink paper bag.

Burgundy hair curtains his forehead, a complement to his already-handsome features. But the look on his face is forlorn, distant eyes staring into space, looking lost in his own thoughts.

You try not to pay him any mind and start walking again.

As if he was wired to only sense your presence, Heeseung snaps out of his trance and whips his head to you. His eyes soften, lips parting slightly. You avert your eyes.

“Y/N.”

This time, you pretend you just notice him and give him a nod. “Heeseung,” you reply, already moving away to get inside. But Heeseung is fast to stop you.

“Wait! I–I have something for you.”

Heeseung holds out the paper bag to you, his own ears turning the same shade. You blink up at him before trying to peer inside, not yet accepting it.

“What is this?”

“Something to keep you warm,” he breathes out, like he can’t believe you’re actually talking to him. “It’s getting chiller. Please accept it.”

For a second, you just study his face. His round eyes look at you like he’s appreciating and memorising your face all at once. There is something about his expression that looks like he’s hopeful that you’d accept the paper bag, but at the same time, already expecting you to reject it.

After a few seconds of no signs of you accepting his gifts, Heeseung slowly lowers his extended arm. His face falls, but he quickly schools it into a neutral expression.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to,” he licks his lips with a swipe of his tongue, already foreseeing the rejection.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask and instantly regret your tone. It’s unintentionally clipped, very unlike you. 

But Heeseung isn’t fazed. If anything, he looks shyer now.

“I don’t want you to catch a cold,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. The pink in his ears has turned bright red—from the cold or from his own shyness, you’re not sure.

One thing you know is that you’re not used to this side of the dominant alpha.

The side that he showed you once before he dipped. That night when he held a heat pack in your hand, insisting on keeping you warm. For a split second, you wonder if it was instinct or if he really meant it, already knowing the answer to it.

It was probably the former.

A gush of chill air passes by and you shiver. Right, you’re still standing outside of the library with two layers of sweater and are still trembling. 

Finally, you take the paper bag from him. Heeseung startles, not expecting the sudden gesture and definitely not expecting the graze of a touch of your finger brushing his. It makes him shudder, like your touch is bigger than the cold autumn air.

“Thank you,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, watching as his expression brightens up. Without waiting for his reply, you’re already heading to the door, ready to leave the alpha behind.

Before the door closes, you hear a whisper of his voice, carried by the bone-chilling air.

“Good luck with your competition, Y/N.”

You wonder how he knew about it, but the moment you sit at the table right in front of Jungwon—one of your teammates—you finally remember that they’re somehow friends. 

The alpha gives you a dimpled smile. “Hey, Y/N. You’re early.”

“You too.” You pause, weighing the words in your head. “Jungwon, do you know Heeseung?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he eyes the pink paper bag now placed on the table, then nods to himself.

“Yes. Please don’t get mad at me, though. I’m kind of rooting for him.” He peeks into the paper bag and whistles. “Wow, hyung really doesn’t play.”

You snatch the paper bag and put it on the chair beside you. You’ve peeked inside, and is it a surprise to say that you were surprised?

A bunch of heat packs. A pair of blue mittens. A pack of tissue. A minty inhaler. And the one that contributes the most weight—a can of grape juice, already unchilled. 

It’s that night all over again. The paracetamol that you downed because you did get a headache after a whole night of crying. The wet tissues that you used to wipe your tear-stained face. The heat pack that kept you warm the whole time you sat outside of the convenience store. 

Everything Heeseung picked out has always been too…thoughtful.

While waiting for the rest of your group members to arrive, with Jungwon already typing on his laptop and talking about something you’re too distracted to hear—you’re swamped with your own conflicting emotions again.

Heeseung has always had the capability to care for people. To care for you. He was gentle with you that night. And fuck, you still hate what he did to you—but even the day he called you delusional, he was very soft with the way he talked to you.

The cruelest part is that Heeseung was never incapable of tenderness.

He had simply been too afraid to offer it where it mattered most. 

He told you he wasn’t ready to step up to be the man that you deserved, but that sounds like a flimsy excuse now.

What was he so afraid of?

You really don’t want to make it easy for him, and you’re already ahead of the bond and the concept of love. You’ve already learned your lesson. You still remember the pain.

But, dear Goddess, sometimes you really wish that he was brave enough.

The rest of your group members arrive shortly after, each wearing thick layers like you do. As Jungwon begins the discussion that will continue on until late evening, you reach inside the paper bag and grab one of the heat packs.

Silently, you thank Heeseung in your head.

Just as you have expected, the discussion wraps up when night has already fallen. You stretch in your seat, taking your own sweet time as your group members tidy up.

Jungwon is the last one to leave, carrying his backpack on his wide shoulders. He looks at you finally standing up with a cheeky smile on his face.

“See you tomorrow for the consultation, Y/N. I would’ve offered to walk you home but I don’t wanna ruin the chance for a certain alpha.”

Your brows furrow, not really catching the meaning behind his teasing smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Just make sure to use the front door,” Jungwon is already walking away, giving you a dismissive wave of his hand. “Night!” 

You stare at his retreating figure and then something clicks in your mind. Like an instinct, your heart starts racing fast.

Did he mean Heeseung?

Your hands quickly gather your stuff and toss them into your tote bag. The paper bag from Heeseung hangs tightly in your grip as you near the entrance of the library.

True to your speculation, Heeseung is already waiting outside.  He has ditched his trench coat, now wearing his jersey that shows off his arms. The number ‘1’ and ‘HEESEUNG’ on the back of his jersey stares at you, unmistakingly him.

You quickly move past him as if you didn’t see him. Almost less than a second after, his footsteps are already echoing from behind you.

“Y/N, wait!”

Heeseung is barely panting in front of you, blocking your way home. You sport a blank expression despite the skips your heart is making.

“What are you doing here?”

“I,” Heeseung catches his breath, and you can’t help but notice the goosebumps in his skin. You almost frown. 

What the hell was he thinking, wearing that sleeveless jersey in this weather? The trench coat must be inside his duffle bag, because you don’t see it hanging in his arms.

But the thought remains in your mind. And will probably stay there forever.

You almost miss it when he continues.

“I want to walk you home. No.” Heeseung gathers his voice, now sounding softer, asking for permission.

 “Can I walk you home?”

Your answer is quick. “No.”

You can almost feel the pause in his breath. Heeseung blinks once, regaining his composure after a few seconds.

“...Okay,” he nods, eyes slightly distant like he’s not even sure if he means it. “Okay. But can you let me call you an Uber?”

You shake your head, standing your ground.

“My dorm is not far from here.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“I want to walk.”

Silence passes by, along with the air that’s borderline freezing. You don’t know if alphas just naturally run hot, because you’re close to turning into ice despite the layers, but Heeseung doesn’t even flinch. 

He finally takes a step back, slightly dipping his head as he nods.

“Okay,” he says again, more like convincing himself. But then he meets your eyes, and the wistful glint of his gaze doesn't go unnoticed by you. Something tugs at your heart.

“At least let Jungwon know when you’re home. Please?” he pleads. “You don’t have to text me. I’ll just—hear from him.”

You purse your lips, giving the alpha a once-over before finally giving in.

“Fine. I will.”

The corner of his lips quirks up but Heeseung covers it quickly. He steps aside, clearing the path for you to go home. You don’t waste time and begin walking, feeling his eyes boring into your skull.

“Please be safe, Y/N.”

You never reply.

The next day, the alpha is not waiting by the door. Jungwon stands in his place instead, the paper bag now has been upgraded to a reusable lunch bag with flower motifs on it.

“Your alpha has a producer meeting today.”

You’re quick to deny.” He’s not my alpha.”

Jungwon ignores you like you’re a wall and opens the lunch bag for you to see.

“Two thermos there. One is chicken porridge, another is hot tea. Not sure if you’re a coffee-person or not, so Heeseung hyung wanted to be safe.” Jungwon speaks like he’s rehearsed it, and to be honest, he kind of did (Heeseung forced him, but you don’t have to know that).

You’re stunned. “What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s grape tea. I don’t know where he got it from, though,” Jungwon shrugs then continues his duty as Heeseung’s greatest accomplice. “More heat packs. I didn’t see you use the mittens yesterday so I told him maybe you didn’t like blue…? So he prepared the red pair for you.”

“Wait, Jungwon—”

“And lastly, a lunch bag with daisies prints, for his most precious daisy in this world.” Jungwon beams wide, dimples curving deep and shoves the lunch bag into your bag.

“How’s his performance?”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff and snatch the lunch bag from his grasp. You quickly go inside, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks betraying your indifference.

Your mind, another traitor, is filled with the thoughts of Heeseung.

Is this him trying? 

You’re not sure how to feel about it, but your heart surely knows her shits—fluttering like you’re a virgin being courted.

Which, technically, in every way possible—you are.

You try to ignore it. During break, you remember to control your expression as you eat the porridge, aware of Jungwon’s hawking eyes gauging at your reaction.

Heeseung is sure smart to pick him as his wingman. That alpha is a persistent menace.

But no. You’re not going to fold easily. 

Your omega is still silent, and the damage has been too severe. For all you know, Heeseung might be just performing remorse. Only time can tell if he was really sincere and serious or not.

After all, consistency is a great telltale of devotion.

However, as if the world was suddenly eager to prove you wrong, Heeseung keeps showing up. 

He comes again at night, this time fully covered up and looking dashing in his white button up and loosened tie. You guess he just came back from the meeting, judging from the formality of the attire. But you can’t help but let your eyes linger longer on his face, suddenly too conscious of his height.

Okay, what the fuck. He’s always been handsome. There’s nothing surprising about it. 

“Can I walk you home?” 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when his voice, low and soft, reaches your ears. You shake your head.

“No.” 

“I’ll keep my distance,” he says quickly. “You won’t even notice I’m there. Please?”

You keep your walls steady. “Why are you doing this?”

The question hangs in the air. Heeseung’s gaze softens, but there’s a cloud of doubt swirling behind his eyes now. For the first time, you see the alpha shivers in the cold.

“You gave me a chance,” he says, voice clear and crisp. Like it’s a conviction. Like it’s something he’s deliberately chosen.

“I want to try until you can forgive me. And I know it’ll never be enough. I know I’ll be too selfish to hope…” 

Heeseung swipes a tongue across his lips. He gives you a nervous glance, but seeing how attentive you look despite your indifference, Heeseung almost breaks down.

You’re still kind even in your resentment.

“But I still hope that one day you can accept me as your alpha.”

You hum, trying to sound unimpressed despite the loud thumping of your heart. The bitterness still leaks when you speak.

“You were my alpha.”

Heeseung shakes his head and gives you a humourless smile. 

“No, I wasn’t,” his voice is strained, like he’s holding a storm of emotions with his palm.

“The Goddess might’ve assigned me to be your alpha. But I failed my duties. You were just forced to deal with what fate had chosen for you.”

The moonlight shining on him highlights the tired lines at the edges of his eyes. For the past few weeks, you have no idea how Heeseung was doing. And you know no one can hold it over your head for not caring.

But something in him feels altered. Not gentler—Heeseung had always been gentle in ways he never admitted. 

He seems more humbled. Like the weight of pride is finally bowing his head down, his gaze always sanded down by grief. Every word now sounds chosen, as if he has learned the cost of speaking carelessly.

Heeseung holds your eyes, sincerity spilling over the edges.

“But now I want you to choose me. Not out of obligation, or because fate said so. I want to be chosen because you know I’m the right alpha for you.”

Isn’t it unfair?

You want the resentment to turn into fiery hatred, but your traitorous heart still melts at his devotion. How can you hate him when he makes you sound like you were the centre of his universe?

Still, you hold your ground.

“You know I won’t wait for you. What if I choose another deserving alpha?”

Heeseung’s face goes white. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, but he still nods.

“I will break,” he admits, the most honest he’s ever been. “But I’ll still pray that he shows you the love I failed to give when I had the chance.”

The sheer weight of his speech almost renders you breathless. Remorse, as if it’s been a lifelong companion, drips heavy in his voice. For a short moment, you can’t hold his gaze—it looks so intense and longing, you don’t know if you can hold this newfound devotion. It’s too deep and full of regret.

It’s after a minute of silence that you finally find your voice.

“You can walk me home from behind.”

You turn around first before he can see the change in your face. Your stupid human heart, as if awakening from the slumber from weeks ago when things were still all butterflies and stolen glances—seems to recognise the alpha now trailing after you ten paces away and fluttering around shamelessly..

The moon shines exceptionally bright tonight, as if the Goddess herself is watching her war-torn lovers patching up the bridge once broken by pride and fear.

“Are you still angry?”

Once you’re home and stripped and showered, you stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom. The moonlight cracks through the small space you leave open, decorating your bed with stripes of pale blue.

You put a palm over your heart, trying to feel your wolf.

“Are you still mad at him?”

Silence. There’s no response from your omega. You wait for a few breaths before sighing.

“You’ve always been the hard headed one out of the two of us,” you comment, suddenly missing the other half of your soul that’s been so long quiet.

“But it’s good that you are,” you slowly whisper. 

“Because if you’re as soft as I am, then Heeseung would be forgiven already.”

This time, there’s no resistance as the memory of the burgundy-haired alpha comes back—not that he ever left, anyway.

“I’m still mad at him, too.”

You remember the time Heeseung actively avoided your gaze. You used to wonder why, but knowing the answer also didn’t help ease the pain. Knowing that he avoided you because of the bond never makes the pain feel less hurtful.

But the way he searches your eyes now, holding your gaze with a tenderness you’ve never seen before…it softens the pain.

Where he used to run from you, he’s now seeking you every chance he gets. After practice, after meetings, after classes. In sleeveless jersey, in suit and tie, in his usual baggy graphic T-shirts.

Heeseung used to be nowhere to be found, but he’s everywhere now.

The reality of his efforts to try patching up the bond suddenly feels too scary. Because if he’s changed for good, if he’s really putting his all to win back your heart—are you confident that you still can move past everything?

The sufferings you endured. The omegas he slept with. The sleepless spent chanting his name in pain. The night when everything fell apart.

Can you really let them go? 

“I don’t know,” you whisper to no one, a knot of uneasiness tightening in your chest.

“I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Heeseung seems to find you easily nowadays.

At first, you doubt the people around you. Everyone is suddenly related to him in some ways somehow. There must be an insider that tells him your whereabouts.

Whether it’s Jungwon or Yujin, you don’t know. You hope it’s not Yujin, though. You know she despises what Heeseung did to you, but the beta is also quietly rooting for him. She hid it well, too.

But her cover was blown one night when you were having a movie night in your bed. She was so close and she was typing something on her phone. You accidentally looked, but honest to Goddess your heart almost dropped when you saw Heeseung’s name.

“Why are you texting with Heeseung?” You forced your face into the screen, deliberately ignoring the sudden seeds of jealousy in your chest. 

Yujin scrambled to sit up, but it was too late. You had already seen them all.

Lee Heeseung

did she arrive home safely?

You

Yeap!

Safely tucked in bed!

“Yujin, you traitor!”

“Ow! Ow!” Yujin ducked the pillow you threw at her, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid your punches. “Girl, hear me out first!”

“Why are you helping him?” you heaved out, glaring daggers at her. Yujin rubbed her arms, jutting out an apologetic pout.

“I’m so sorry…he just wants to know if you get home safe, Y/N. I don’t see anything wrong or invasive about that.”

Your heart stuttered. Did he really do that? But you feigned an angry look.

“So you just agreed to be his accomplice? You’re no different from Jungwon.”

“I mean, I lowkey ship you guys. But he has to grovel first, and I hope he’s been doing it right.”

You rolled your eyes and settled back under the covers. “How long has it been?”

“Don’t get mad at me please.”

“Yujin.”

“He’s been asking me if you reach home safely for more than two weeks now.”

Your breath hitched. 

That’s…since before he started appearing at the library.

And today, as you see Heeseung lingering around the business compound, donning a thin brown cardigan that highlights his body snugly, you’re contemplating whether to assault Jungwon or Yujin through the phone after this.

But there’s no time to think, as Heeseung—curse his dominant trait, really—easily senses your scent and catches your eyes. He gives you a small smile and walks up to you. The grip you have on the strap of your tote bag has turned knuckle-white.

“Y/N.”

“Hey.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

You swallow, trying not to fold. “Yeah, just now. You?”

Heeseung nods.”I have too.” Then he extends a hand towards your tote bag.

“Let me hold your bag and walk you home.”

You hesitate for a moment before giving in.

Fuck, you curse the universe.

Why is he so consistent?

Heeseung knows he’s not being slick when he suddenly makes a detour to the convenience store under the pretense of feeling hungry.

But you follow him anyway, gullible enough to believe that he has more space for more food. Which, actually, you’re not completely wrong. Heeseung loves food. But he’s not exactly here to eat.

He’s here to steal more time to be with you.

The fluorescent lamp hums overhead, the convenience store smells like cooked noodles and microwaved pastries. Under this light, you look shorter than him, reaching not taller than his chin. 

Heeseung holds back the urge to reach out and caress your head. He can’t ruin things now that you finally let him walk you home side by side. That’s progress. A couple of weeks ago, you didn't even let him follow. 

He really can’t afford to ruin it.

Heeseung trails after you to aisle number two where rows of snacks and chips line up the shelves. There’s something almost domestic about watching you hum as you skim through the options.

It feels more intimate than kneeling at your feet ever did.

“What do you usually get?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

You hold up a bag of snacks, a small grin unknowingly splits across your face.

“This one,” you shake the plastic with eyes shining bright. Heeseung thinks he’s lost his breath. “These seaweed tempeh chips.”

Heeseung stares at you like you just handed him a sacred relic, eyes dripping with silent, genuine surprise.

“These are your favourite?”

You blink and tilt your head, not sure how to make sense of his stunned reaction. “Yeah…?”

A small smile breaks on his mouth. Heeseung looks down at the bag of chips, feeling his chest tightens just from that simple information.

She likes grape juice. She likes tempeh chips.

God, I’m learning about her.

His silent meltdown goes unnoticed by you. You walk further and stop by the drinks fridge, already reaching for your favourite grape juice.

This time, Heeseung couldn’t stop the chuckle that leaves his lips. “You really love drinking that, don’t you?”

“I sure do,” you glance up at him. “Since kindergarten, by the way. It’s just so good and cheap. What about you?”

Heeseung’s heart nearly stops.

“I’m sorry?”

“What’s your favourite drink, Heeseung?”

Heeseung forces himself to reply when you’re already looking at him suspiciously.

“Zero Coke.”

“Ah,” you nod, then reach up to where a line of Zero Coke is put on display. You pluck the second can in the line and hand it to him.

“Hygiene tips: always take the second or the third can,” you casually say and tap on the can. “Because everybody touches the first one.”

Then you turn around, drifting toward the candy aisle, blissfully unaware of his turmoil. 

Leaving Heeseung stunned, standing like a statue of racing heart and quiet breakdown as he holds the can close to his chest.

Later that night, after sending you home safely, Heeseung enters his shared apartment wordlessly. He can hear the F1 sportscaster from the living room—Jay must haven’t gone to bed yet.

“Hey, Hee,” his friend greets, sprawled on the couch with a can of beer in one hand. But his focus on the television stops once he notices Heeseung’s red-rimmed eyes.

“Fuck. Heeseung!” Jay rushes to him and holds him just before his knees finally give up. 

The anchor of sorrow and grief that has been weighing heavier since the convenience store run is finally pulling him down. Heeseung drops to the floor, already feeling the tears wetting his cheeks.

“Hee, what’s wrong?” Jay asks, trying to keep the worry in his voice. “Did something happen? Tell me!”

Heeseung shakes his head, curling up into Jay’s hold and sobs even harder.

“Jay-ah,” Heeseung chokes, unable to hold back his sobs.

“Her favourite chips are seaweed tempeh.”

Jay is rendered speechless by the unexpected revelation. 

“...What?”

“Seaweed tempeh,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Seaweed tempeh chips, grape juice, gummy bears. She bakes when she’s stressed. She hates mornings but wakes up early. She has hygiene tips for canned drinks.”

His voice splinters, like a branch breaking down from the tree.

Jay blinks. “You’re sobbing over…basic information?”

“That I should’ve known.”

Heeseung clutches Jay’s shirt, the sadness now palpable.

“Simple things about her that I never made any effort to know because I was so fucking busy being an asshole.”

In that moment, it finally clicks in Jay’s mind. It was never about snacks.

“I was her mate and I didn’t know.”

It’s about regret.

Jay’s expression softens instantly, understanding settling in his features.  He sits on the floor with him, letting Heeseung cry into his shoulders, shaking like a dead leaf. The distressed accent of his spicy and salty pheromones is drenching the air, but Jay fights the urge to scowl. Alphas don’t exactly respond well to another alpha’s distressed pheromones.

Beside him, Heeseung is still sobbing like a child experiencing a trip of his foot for the first time.

“Somebody else could’ve been in my place,” he cries softly. “She could’ve been asking another alpha, ‘What’s your favourite drink?’ and I almost made it not me.”

Heeseung cries for what it’s worth. For the regret and grief of the what-ifs that could’ve happened if only he didn’t mess up. For the gratitude that you’re finally letting him the access to the information only privy to those who are close enough with you.

For the unexpected relief when you asked him back.

“So you’re crying because she let you know her,” Jay concludes once Heeseung has calmed down enough to talk properly.

They’re still sitting on the floor. The F1 show that Jay was watching prior to his sudden breakdown is now playing like background noise.

Heeseung nods weakly. “Yeah.”

“What did it feel like?”

Heeseung gives him a wistful smile.

“Disbelief. Because I can’t believe it feels so easy to just…have this affection for someone over knowing what their favourite drinks are.”

Heeseung looks into the distance, lost in thoughts and memory.

“I never feel this way for anybody. It’s scary, because now I want to know more.”

He stares into the space in front of him, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his cardigan.

“I want to know how she likes her eggs. I want to know which detergent she likes to use. What side of the bed she sleeps on,” Heeseung whispers, voice trembling. “I want to know everything about her and it’s so scary, Jay.”

There’s a pause before he looks down, sounding more broken than he has been tonight.

“It’s so scary because I realised it wasn’t the bond that terrified me.”

Heeseung remembers how happy he felt when you still rub your nose every time you get shy. How excited he felt when you cover your mouth as you laugh—little things he used to know about you that still makes you you.

“It wasn’t.”

Knowing someone has never felt this easy and freeing.

“It was how badly I could love her.”

The confession doesn’t land hard. It settles slowly, like a missing puzzle finally finding its place. His wolf stirs inside, yipping happily at the declaration.

Jay takes a moment to process everything before he sighs. He reaches out a hand and pats Heeseung on his shoulder.

“There, there. You’re making progress, Hee. You’re starting to see her more than the bond you guys shared.”

As if summoned, his scent gland pulses sharply. Heeseung yelps, clutching his nape with a quick hand. His scent spikes dangerously, spicy cinnamon burning the atmosphere.

“Hee!”

“It hurts,” Heeseung chokes, the pain quickly spreading to other parts of his body. “Fuck, Jay—”

Drip.

Both alphas instantly freeze. 

On the carpet where they sit, is a drop of blood, staining the cream-coloured material with crimson red.

Jay slowly looks up, heart beating fast, chanting ‘No, no, no. Please, not you, Heeseung. Please,’ in his mind.

To his horror, the blood came from Heeseung’s nose.

Jay can feel his gut sinking to the floor.

“Hee,” he grabs his shoulders, eyes trained on the trail of blood dripping down his philtrum and his chin. “Hee, listen to me and answer me, okay? Please don’t panic.” 

Inside, Jay is already panicking.

Heeseung tries not to, but his body feels scalding hot. The pain comes in waves, not once stopping even if he were to rip his heart open.

“Heeseung, answer me. Did you tell Y/N about the two options or not?”

Jay’s voice is muffled to his ears, but through his hazy mind and blurry vision, Heeseung can still make out the words.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Why?” Jay whispers, breathless and shaken.

“I didn’t want to pressure her into thinking she has to choose me to save me.”

Heeseung’s unfocused eyes find him, desperate and so pitiful that his heart clenches painfully. Jay drops his head on his best friend’s shoulders, fear consuming his being.

“You idiot,” Jay sobs, the dam breaking almost instantly. “She might’ve chosen you anyway.”

Heeseung feels lightheaded. Jay’s voice is like a distant dream—something he’s not sure if he hears or not. Dark spots start appearing on the edges of his vision, almost turning black no matter how hard he blinks.

“Jay-ah…”

The last thing Heeseung remembers before he loses consciousness is Jay screaming his name, voice cracking and hoarse.

okay dang tumblr said this post has reached its limits wtf im gna kms!!! anyway posting a part 3 real soon!!!

divider from: @cursed-carmine

permanent taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll @in-somnias-world @rikismists @loviseamms @ikeupop

[simjakedly]

mark me yours - l.hs

— a spin-off from love me (k)not

main masterlist | part 2 | part 3

synopsis. heeseung loves omegas, but he doesn’t believe in mates—especially fated ones. that kind of destiny is reserved for people like riki and jay. but then he meets you. and the first thing you ask him to do is scent-mark you: an intimate activity shared only between mates. a spin-off from love me (k)not!

pairing. alpha!heeseung x omega!female reader

genre(s). omegaverse, fated mates, strangers-to-lovers, fluff, angst

warnings. slightly suggestive, fated mates-coded, power imbalance, unjust system and society, harassment against omegas (not by heeseung), &team cameo but they're assholes here sorry! i love them though dw, mating mark, scent-marking, heeseung is a dominant alpha, and a bigger asshole i fear, reader is a cheerleader, alpha!jay being our target again (sorry), alpha!riki, alpha!sunghoon, beta!ahn yujin, omega!rei, sunoo is bi, heeseung is also bi, this omegaverse is partly made up by me! but it’s just a tiny portion of it just to keep the plot going, denial, rejection, angst, not beta read we die like injang, please let me know if i missed anything!

word count. 21,280 words

note. please read this before proceeding 🤎 everything here is purely fictional and it has nothing to do with the members as a person outside of this fanfiction 🤎 also idk how cheerleading works so pls bear with me...

In a private booth of a nightclub, a group of long-legged, broad-shouldered alphas huddle around the table, drinks in hands. The air is layered with pheromones and adrenaline, occasionally flashing with neon lights and blurred with thin smoke. 

In the middle of the couch, Heeseung sits leisurely, manspreading with ease. On either side of him, Jay and Riki lean back in a similar posture, each of them engaged in the conversation bouncing between the team.

The team has just won a friendly match against their long-sworn rival, a university from the east, after a frustrating streak of loss for two consecutive tournaments. It wasn’t really a landslide win, considering their competitive skills, but a win is a win. A satisfied smirk curls around Heeseung’s bow-shaped lips, his alpha purring with pride.

Friendly or not, the whiskey surely tastes extra sweet tonight.

“Did you see K’s face just now?” Riki pipes up from his left, still buzzing with adrenaline. Being the last man to score and secure the win for them, it’s obviously hard for Riki to contain his enthusiasm. He’s beaming wide. “I did that. I wiped that smirk off his face, gentlemen!”

The rest of the team roars in reply, infected by Riki’s contagious excitement. Heeseung and Jay wear a fond smile on their lips, clearly delighted to see the younger alpha’s happiness. Glasses clink again as they toast to their win, and to their future wins, and to the sexy, beautiful cheerleading omegas that played a part in keeping their spirits up just now—to which Jay grimaces and Riki rolls his eyes at. Heeseung snorts.

He forgets that he’s friends with a prude and a loyal, claimed alpha.

“Speaking of omegas,” Heeseung tilts his head at Riki when the chatters break into small groups of conversations among the team, leaving him to talk to two of his closest friends. “It’s a surprise to see you here, Ki. Like seeing a four-leaf clover.”

Jay joins in, his signature lopsided grin on display. “I half-expected you to run home to your girlfriend. It’s hard to see you hang out with us at the club now, pup.”

Riki crosses his arms with a dramatic huff. His bottom lip juts out in a pout. In this light, when Riki shows this side of him, free from fake nonchalance and his cool persona, Heeseung sees him ten years younger than his actual age. Riki is so cute.

“I fully expected to run home to her too, hyung. But she forced me to come here. Said something like I should celebrate my win with y’all,” Riki sighs, messing with his newly-dyed hair and tipping his head back. “So here I am. Drinking with you idiots when I could’ve cuddled with my sweet, sweet omega at home.”

Jay feigns offence while Heeseung laughs. The both of them know too well of Riki’s devotion to his girlfriend. Maybe it’s the alpha-omega bond, or just the fact that they’ve known each other practically their whole lives, but Riki is never at ease whenever she’s not around. 

But tonight, the alpha seems more relaxed than usual. He’s not playing with his fingers or toying with the hem of his shirt like he always did when his girlfriend is absent. Heeseung wonders why the sudden change until he catches a glimpse of something at the back of Riki’s neck.

His brows furrow. His movement falters mid-air.

“Riki? Is that…” Heeseung squints his eyes, trying to see better while the tips of Riki’s ears slowly redden. From his right, Heeseung can hear a soft gasp from Jay.

“Holy shit. Is that your mating mark, Ki?”

It is. It is a mating mark, Heeseung realises, when a purple neon light flashes on Riki’s wounded skin. The alpha is rubbing his neck sheepishly now, heat sweeping across his cheeks. Despite his sudden shy demeanour, Heeseung can smell the pride in his sandalwood scent, and in that moment he finally notices the subtle layer of sweet vanilla—Riki’s girlfriend’s scent—in Riki’s pheromones.

“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still red like a tomato. “I mated with her last night.”

“Wow,” Jay breathes out in amazement, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “About time, man! You’re finally mated!”

Jay’s exclamation attracts attention and soon, the whole group is congratulating Riki on the milestone. The said alpha is red down to his neck now, clearly not expecting the sudden shift of focus on him but still relishing in the pride of having his mating mark, if the musky lilt to his pheromones is anything to go by. 

Heeseung remains a quiet observer, watching as Riki pulls down the collar of his shirt to proudly show the mark. Two other alphas join him as they speak fondly of their omegas, relishing in their identical mating mark on their napes. Beside him, Jay listens with an adoring smile. There’s a certain longing in his gaze when he stares at the mated alphas that doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung. 

Heeseung averts his eyes away, trying to forget that familiar look on Jay’s face. He almost scoffs at the image.

He knows that look like the back of his hand. 

Jay, too, yearns for a mate. Like Riki. Unlike Heeseung.

Mate. It’s the word that is so common in omegaverse but so foreign in Heeseung’s little world.

If Jay is a walking green flag that effortlessly attracts omegas with his gentleman charms, Heeseung is a running red flag that chases after willing omegas. If Jay stays away from wild sex life, Heeseung lives by it. If Jay dates to marry, Heeseung fucks to breathe. He’s everything Jay’s not that Riki was so bewildered when the two first met him.

Don’t get him wrong—he’s not the creepy kind of chaser. Rather, he likes to call himself the sexy one. It’s not hard for him to pull; just a few flirty comments here and a couple of filthy whispers there and the next hour he’ll have an omega to bring home and under him. 

He doesn’t know if he’s the only one wired this way, but where territorial instincts stream in his alpha blood, his sexual desires run even harder and faster. It’s like an itch that just won’t get away if he doesn’t scratch at it. He’s an attractive alpha with a high sex drive, he admits it, but is he really wrong to accept any omegas with his long, eager arms?

He thinks not.

Plus, they’re omegas. Heeseung tries not to objectify them, but gosh, the scent wafting from them is always so sweet and inviting. They’re curved softly, meant to hold and love the right, physical way that he’s known how to. He’s a weak man, and an even weaker alpha; Heeseung can’t resist a good fuck between two consenting adults and he always, always consents to being sucked off dry and scratched to bleed. 

Fuck, just thinking about it is already making him excited.

Heeseung’s eyes wander, tuning out the conversation about mate as he scans for any attractive omega. It’s starting to bore him—the talk about mate and having a mate and being mated—so he’s entertaining himself with the exposed skin and swaying hips of dancing omegas on the dance floor.

For someone like him that gets off on having sex with omegas and being drunk on their sweet pheromones, mating culture is a big no for him. The idea of being tied to only one omega makes him laugh; it sounds ridiculous to him. He’s an alpha capable of giving and his knot is not limited to only one hole, so why should he settle?

Only hopeless-romantic alphas believe in the belief of fated mates. And unfortunately, two of his friends do. Heeseung mentally rolls his eyes.

He decides that he’s had enough when the mated alphas start talking about having pups; another commitment that makes goosebumps rise in his skin. Wordlessly, he places his shot glass on the table, having sipped only half of it throughout the night. 

“Leaving already?” Jay asks, craning his neck when Heeseung stands. The latter only cocks his head to the dance floor with a knowing look. The corner of his mouth curves into a playful smirk when Jay makes a face.

“The usual.”

Jay shakes his head. “Whatever. Just don’t do it raw.”

“I’m always clean and safe, Jongseong.” Heeseung retorts, already taking his leave. “Call me when you’re leaving.”

Whatever Jay replies is muffled by the loud bass and Heeseung couldn’t care less to know what the alpha has said. Probably throwing him insults for using him as his personal chauffeur again. Heeseung only shrugs. Jay’s not his concern tonight. He has a bigger fish, or rather, a pretty wolf, to catch.

His eyes sweep across the space. From where he’s standing, his nose can pick up different scents of alphas and omegas. Even the faint scent of betas are visible, usually amplified by alcohol and adrenaline. He’s still deciding between two male omegas throwing asses back on the dance floor and a group of female omegas giggling at a table not far from him when a spiked scent stabs at his senses.

His nose instantly scrunches, frowning as he tries to detect that smell. An omega in distress. It’s faint, coming from the direction of the exit door, but he can’t see anyone crying or visibly uncomfortable in his line of sight.

Heeseung looks around, momentarily distracted from his initial mission. Nobody seems to notice the scent, however, and Heeseung blames his dominant traits for this. He sometimes forgets that he’s a dominant alpha. Unlike Jay and Riki, his senses are more sensitive and developed, which is a blessing when he’s looking for a hookup and a curse when he’s inside the locker room after a game when the air is drenched in his teammates’ pheromones. Heeseung shudders at the memories. He’s always the first to shower and leave the room because only Riki smells good when sweating.

His thoughts are brought back when the scent intensifies. Heeseung keeps sniffing and blindly follows the trail of wilting daisies and burnt honey, his shoulders braced and jaw tense. He doesn’t know why, but the scent has awakened his senses to a new degree. His alpha is on full alert now. 

He passes by dancing bodies and tables to get to the exit door but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. Heeseung looks down.

A soft, seductive voice reaches his ears. “Heeseung-ssi?”

Heeseung blinks at the smiling omega. After a second of stunned silence, he finally recognises the logo on her varsity jacket and the makeup on her face. Realisation dawns upon him.

She’s part of his college’s cheerleader squad.

The omega is running a hand up and down his arm now, arching her back to flaunt the soft swell of her chest. Behind her, her fellow cheerleaders watch closely, hiding eager smiles behind their palms. Heeseung looks down at her hand, gulping despite himself. 

“Spare me a few minutes, will you, my precious, capable alpha?”

Her voice is so enticing, dripping with the kind of allure Heeseung’s so much familiar with. There is a strong wave of her sweet scent—bubblegum and cotton candy, Heeseung notes—coming from her in full force. She’s fluttering her lashes now, hoping he’ll get the message. 

Heeseung does; oh does he get the message so well. He knows what she’s hinting on and on any other nights he’ll succumb to the temptation without putting any efforts to think, melting into a puddle of juices at the slightest touch of seductive omegas. It’s a no-brainer decision for him, usually, because he’s always ready to fuck and he always brings a pack of condom with him for this sole reason.

But tonight his wolf is restless. And the reason is none other than the bitter scent still clinging to his nose.

Heeseung gives a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and removes her hand from his arm. The omega frowns, brows almost uniting at the center when the alpha takes a step back.

“Next time, yeah?”

Without waiting for her reply, Heeseung slips away from the crowd, ignoring the sour turn of her pheromones. He can feel their eyes boring into his back, but that’s not his concern now. Following the haunting scent and the sudden flaring instincts to get closer to the owner of it, Heeseung lets his legs bring him closer to the exit door. 

Heeseung hates to admit it, but right now, his wolf is thrashing at the bitter scent and his chest feels like caving in. He can feel the itch in his nails; his claws are threatening to sharpen. He frowns.

He’s never reacted this way to any omegas in distress. So why now? Why this particular scent?

When he reaches the door, Heeseung doesn’t waste a second to push it open and steps outside. As he does so, a weight suddenly crashes into his chest, pushing him slightly backwards from the force.

“Oof—” 

Heeseung reaches up to steady the figure by the arms. At this sudden proximity, the scent is thicker, the wilting daisies are more prominent it's making his heart constrict. Heeseung lets out a deep exhale and looks down to the person practically in his arms. 

A female omega. Clearly in distress, judging by the unshed tears and the tremble in her lips. A familiar varsity jacket drapes across her frame and Heeseung feels his breath stop when he recognises that face.

It’s you. One of the cheerleaders. Heeseung knows many cheerleaders, having been in bed with most of them; but even the most forgetful alpha will remember an omega like you.

A sweet face with a sweeter scent to match, but you are always detached from alphas and their advances. You’re the shy cheerleader his teammates always talk about. The untouchable one. The politely-smile-and-then-reject omega. Heeseung remembers you too well, being one of those rejected alphas himself.

He still remembers how disappointed his wolf was, whining and pouting when a pretty omega he had his eyes on rejected him. But Heeseung is a respectful alpha. He’ll take a no as a no. And you were also so kind when doing so that he moved on from it pretty fast and well.

That was one year ago.

Now you’re crying in his arms, for whatever reasons he doesn’t know and is determined to find out. He can feel your hold on his arms tighten, the spike in your scent when you recognise him, and the hitch in your breath that follows. The bitter scent is definitely coming from you.

“H-Heeseung?” Your voice is so small, like you’re not sure if you can call his name. It’s shaky and breathless. “Please help me.”

Behind you, Heeseung can see three shadows entering the alleyway. Even from the distance, his nose immediately picks up the pheromones of aroused alphas; thick and unpleasant. Your scent lingers amidst the stench, wavering in fear, so heavy he can practically taste it on his tongue. Heeseung instinctively pulls you closer.

“Are they bothering you?”

You nod frantically, the tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. When you speak, your voice is wet from tears and fear.

Nothing can ever prepare Heeseung for the words that are about to leave your mouth.

“P-Please…Please scent me.” You sob, clutching the sleeves of his T-shirt tighter. Heeseung’s breath stutters. “Please, Heeseung.”

Scent-mark. A low rumble sounds from his chest.

You’re asking him to mark you. To…claim you. It’s basically you asking him to bond with you, to shower you with his pheromones and make you smell like him. Smell like you’re his.

This is not what Heeseung’s looking forward to tonight. The fantasy of saving an omega in distress and scent-marking belongs to Jay, an alpha that was even willing to help an omega in heat out of the goodness of his heart. But not Heeseung. That’s never Heeseung. Heeseung doesn’t play the hero; he’s the one stealing the female lead from them.

Scent-marking is way…too intimate to share between two complete strangers with no interaction—that is, if you consider being rejected to having sex together as zero interaction.

Heeseung looks between you and the shadows closing in, then licks his lips. “I can’t,” he tries, and the broken look on your face damn near makes his heart take the same fate. Heeseung schools his expression, forcing himself to push you slightly away from him.

“I—This is not right. You don’t want this.”

He can’t take advantage of you. This is just your scared omega speaking. Outside of this situation, he’s damn sure you’d refuse any kind of bonds with him. Heeseung might be a sex addict, but he’s not an asshole.

But you pull him with you, shaking your head as you keep taking a glance at the approaching alphas. “I do! Please,” you choke, failing to keep your voice steady as you plead at the alpha in front of you. Heeseung forces restraint to his instincts. “Please just scent-mark me, Heeseung. I-I can’t—They will—” You heave a deep breath, your scent taking a sourer lilt at his refusal.

“They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.”

Something sharp stabs at his chest, rendering him speechless and frozen for a moment. Heeseung stares at your trembling figure, at your shrinking body as if to make yourself disappear, and it suddenly hits him how disgusting the whole situation is.

They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.

Alphas only take a no when it comes from another alpha.

Heeseung feels nauseous. His throat closes in and there’s a quiet ringing in his ears. In that heavy, stilled silence, everything is muffled to his senses. Only the echoes of your words ripple in his mind.

Unless it’s another alpha.

It’s a hard pill to swallow; one that Heeseung finds it bitter to believe—because it’s so, so easy to walk away from omegas than force yourself on them. It’s so, so easy to shoot your pride down than dwell on it and go feral over a rejection. It’s so, so easy to respect an omega, even for a fuckboy like him, so why is it hard for other alphas to do so?

And the result of this harsh world, of this fucked up power imbalance is sobbing in his arms, shaking and forcing herself to be okay with an unwanted bond just to save herself. Heeseung’s heart breaks for you, for the fate that follows a beautiful being like you just because of secondary genders and because the world says so.

“Please, I-I don’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Heeseung whispers, rubbing a soothing circle on your arms. Your crying subsides a fraction. “I’ll scent you if that makes you feel better. Is that…okay?”

You blink at him tearily, streaks of salty tears tainting your unblemished cheeks. Even with a swollen face, you still look as pretty as he remembers.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a hold of your wrist when he senses those alphas getting near. “Or we can just get inside and call the cops on them if you change your mind. You can find—”

“No,” you grip him tighter, your previously-calmed scent spiking again. “Cops are useless. T-They won’t—please, Heeseung. You know how they are.”

You know how unfair the system is.

Heeseung swallows hard before he nods, the burnt honey in your pheromones starting to get really thick and sticky. He rubs the inside of your wrists, slow and deliberate, before bringing the scent gland to his nose. It’s the most appropriate point to scent, less intimate than scenting at your neck, which he guesses the last thing you want from him right now.

The tip of his nose caresses the delicate skin tentatively, testing and tasting before he takes a deep inhale. Immediately, the scent of daisies and honey fill up his senses and Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling. There is a rush of energy bursting through his veins, his senses tingling and his wolf purring at the sweet combination of your pheromones. Heeseung feels his wolf hum, almost singing and sighing, like his muscles are unknotting in a hot spring. 

It’s strange. It’s new. But Heeseung pushes the thoughts aside.

He runs his nose over your wrist over and over again, blanketing you in his pheromones and starting to feel you relax in his arms.

The tension in your shoulders visibly disappears as you let yourself melt into Heeseung. You sigh. Heeseung’s pheromones are just like him; warm spice of cinnamon carried by cool air of sea breeze. It symbolises his fierce persona on the court and his calm demeanour when he’s out of his jersey perfectly. You lean into him further, your squirming wolf unknowingly calms down when being washed by his pheromones.

If Heeseung notices the change in your demeanour, he doesn’t say anything about it, shoving the thought to the back of his mind. His singular focus is entirely on your pulse, nosing at your wrist and pumping out his calming pheromones. When he opens his eyes, they mirror the look in yours: dazed and slightly glassy. The air is now loaded with daisies and cinnamon, intertwining with each other in a perfect, balanced mix of scent. 

Heeseung tries to ignore the loud pounding of his heart, but it’s all he can hear. He tries to ignore the stars in your eyes, but it’s all he can see. He tries to ignore how perfectly balanced the mix of your scent is with his. His grip on your wrist tightens, breath caught in his throat. His wolf refuses to let you go, wanting to keep you here, tucked safely in his embrace for as long as he can.

And that thought is so foreign and scary. He really hopes that’s just his wolf and not him.

“Hey, little bunny.” A sick, twisted voice interrupts. 

Oh, right. 

Those fucking, disgusting alphas.

Heeseung is always slouching, making him appear shorter than he actually is. But in that moment, he’s standing so tall, dominating the space around him like the air is making room for him itself. 

He instinctively pulls you behind him, shielding you from the hungry eyes of the approaching alphas. His shoulders are braced like they’re ready for an impact and Heeseung has to force a snarl down his throat when his eyes land on the wolves.

When the shadows step under the light, it takes less than a second for Heeseung to see the jerseys clinging to their bodies before he realises who he’s looking at. 

They’re the players from the opposing team that his team just beat tonight. 

K, EJ, and Nicholas.

Heeseung grinds his jaw so hard he might pop a vessel.

“If it’s not the mighty Lee Heeseung,” K taunts, wearing a smug smirk like a badge at the sight in front of him. He cocks his head, trying to see you over Heeseung’s shoulders. You cower. “Mind sharing your pretty little cheerleader? She’s exactly my type, shy but slutty.”

Shame spreads across your skin and you screw your eyes shut. Shy and slutty, you bite your lips. You’re nothing but a kinky fantasy for alphas like them.

As if sensing your turmoil, Heeseung stands taller, his eyes narrowing thin.

“Get lost.” Heeseung tries to hold back, but the rage he feels seeps through anyway. “And cover your gland, for fuck’s sake. You stink.”

K’s eyebrows shoot up, his grin turning cheshire. “Come on, man. Are you gatekeeping your cheerleaders?” K tries to take a peek at you, but Heeseung moves and covers you with his whole body. His frown deepens. “You had fucked her already. Don’t be greedy, captain.”

His alpha minions laugh, and Heeseung is now seeing red. Something hot spreads in his chest, burning in his vein like wildfire at the insult. Was it a hit to his ego and his shameless sexual routine? Definitely, but Heeseung never takes it to heart. Rather, it’s the way you gasp and sob into his back, shaken by the disgusting assumption of your dignity and your virginity. The storm of the ocean spikes in the air, taking his pheromones to a dangerous peak, gathering a tide to a new height.

Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever released pheromones this bad. But something about seeing the same pattern of omegas falling victim to empty-headed alphas makes his blood boil.

Behind him, you whimper, your omega reacting to the agitated alpha in front of you. But Heeseung is now relentless. He holds out an arm around your waist, protecting you from their sight in a tight, almost-possessive grip.

“Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t you get it?” Heeseung seethes, pupils thinning as the laughter dies down. “She doesn’t want you. In what fucking language must she say no for your stupid brain to understand? She’s—”

Mine. She’s mine, his wolf howls. My omega. 

Heeseung grits his teeth.

No, she’s not. Get a fucking grip, Lee Heeseung. You don’t have a mate.

“...not a toy.”

The sea-salt bite of his pheromones thickens in the alley. K scoffs, stepping forward in offense but is stopped by Nicholas. The latter has his arm shot out against K’s chest, preventing him from approaching the couple.

“No, K,” Nicholas murmurs, nose sniffing at the heavy pheromones in the air. Underneath the eye-watering spice of cinnamon and the raging storm of Heeseung’ sea breeze scent, there is a tangled sweetness of daisies and honey clinging to it. He visibly gulps. “They’re together. And Heeseung…”

Nicholas throws him a side eye, giving him a once-over briefly. He takes in the sharp glare directed his way, the downturned curl of his mouth, the tense shoulders ready to pounce. Nicholas shudders imperceptibly and shakes his head.

“…He’s a dominant alpha.”

His statement, though meant to deescalate the situation, only rages Heeseung on further. The alpha takes a menacing step forward, eyes narrowing thin at the trio. They falter back.

“Get this in your empty brains you freaks,” Heeseung grits, fuming beyond reason. Nicholas swears he sees something red flickering in his irises. 

“When someone says no, you back the fuck off. Dominant alpha or not. Omega or not.” He spits out the word, the venom in his voice nearly poisons the air. “Do you fucking get it?”

His raging pheromones are turning physical, pressing on each pair of lungs like lead on a mattress. Nicholas fights the urge to cover his nose and pulls his two friends backwards with him.

“We get it. Sorry, captain.”

“Not me,” Heeseung hisses. A low growl rumbles in warning. “Her.”

Nicholas licks his lips and nods. He bows down quickly, forcing the other alphas to bend despite it hurting his pride. K reluctantly follows, though his eyes return the glare Heeseung gives him in a similar intensity. 

“We’re sorry, omega. Shit, I don’t know your name, but—we’re sorry.”

In the next moment, the three alphas are already retreating. Nicholas aggressively whispers something among them while K visibly restrains himself from running back to Heeseung. He clearly doesn’t mind taking up a challenge with the dominant alpha and Heeseung finds himself not minding to dirty his hands too.

A beat of heavy silence falls upon you. You stay rooted in place, pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung is still facing away from you, ragged breathing slowing down. The air of dense pheromones is thinning out, leaving behind trails of spicy cinnamon and soft daisies.

You let out a breath and your knees buckle. 

Heeseung is by your side in a flash, the same, now-familiar arms caging you against his tall frame. You put your hands on his chest, trying to steady the wobble in your legs.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay now. They’re gone.”

They really are. You cry. They’re actually gone.

An ugly sob racks through your chest and soon, the wilting daisies are back, staining the air with crumpled petals and sad flowers. Heeseung tightens his hold. He doesn’t like seeing people cry, but his alpha apparently despises it the most when he sees you in this state.

His calming pheromones pour out in waves, hands carding through your hair gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

You’re safe with me.

Your crying slows down. For a few seconds, you let yourself savour the warmth of Heeseung’s  embrace. Closer, his pheromones, layered with a faint trail of his body wash, are stronger, filling up the almost-nonexistent space between the two of you. Strangely, the spice and the salt work wonders on calming you down.

Your wolf—previously anxious and distressed—is now quiet. 

Heeseung adjusts his hold on you, and in that moment do you only realise in horror how long you’ve been shamelessly hugging him. Like a reflex, you pull away from his embrace, cheeks now flaming red when his shirt is now stained with two big spots of your tears.

“I’m sorry!” Your palms instinctively rub at the stains, as if they can dry out the tears out of the fabric. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”

Heeseung looks down, silently watching the small of your palms against his broad chest. There’s a strange flutter that follows, quiet and unfamiliar. He hopes that you can’t feel it through the fabric.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Heeseung murmurs, eyes finding their ways back to your face. Red nose, swollen eyes, blotched cheeks. You really went through it, still sniffling as you still try to fix the stains on his shirt. A small part of him twists uncomfortably.

Heeseung catches your wrists, his thumbs moving almost instinctively against the soft skin.Your breath catches as you lift your gaze to look at him.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung asks, voice soft and gentle. You immediately nod, admittedly feeling better after being bathed in his calming pheromones.

“I’m okay. Just a bit thirsty.”

He searches your face, as if trying to detect any kind of discomfort or distress. But in the end, he ends up staring into your eyes, counting the lashes that guard your beautiful eyes.

It should end there. He really should just escort you back into the safety of your friend group and leave you be. Perhaps, he can go find the previous omega, seduce his way back and bring her home. The normal. The usual.

But something inside stirs in protest to that idea, and so instead he finds himself saying: “Let’s get you something to drink.”

The convenience store is bright under the dark sky, located just two blocks away from the nightclub. It’s already past one in the morning, but to the people of the night, it’s only the beginning of fun. From a distance, the queue line is only getting longer.

Beside you, Heeseung is walking on the edge of the pavement, looking out for cars despite the slow traffic. He’s been quiet since the alleyway, seemingly lost in thought. Occasionally, his hand will brush yours, a quiet graze that sends electricity in your system. You try not to react.

The convenience store is empty, save for a group of partygoers sobering up around the round table outside, leaving only a long bench beside the door empty. You stop when Heeseung does, his hand already tapping on the sensory handle.

“Wait here. I’ll buy you something to drink.”

You nod, obediently sitting down. Heeseung takes one last look at you before he enters the store, the harsh lights greeting his tired eyes. He grabs the coldest mineral water and stops in front of the necessities shelves.

Without thinking, his hand moves like it has a mind of its own, grabbing whatever his eyes land on—a heat pack, chocolate, a pack of wet tissues. It’s only when the cashier scans the items that he pauses, staring at the items with wide eyes.

Since when does he…do this?

“Anything to add, sir?”

Heeseung gulps, looks past the cashier’s head, and lands on the rows of pills behind him.

She cried too much, she might have a headache.

And so, as if on instinct, Heeseung adds paracetamol to his receipt.

Outside, the air is cooler, biting at exposed skin like a bug. Heeseung wordlessly sits beside you, placing the plastic bag on his lap. You curiously peek into the bag.

“That’s a lot. Are you hungry?”

Heeseung pauses, realisation dawns upon him. His instincts flare again. “No. Are you? Do you want ramyeon? Or packed rice? I can—”

“No! It’s fine, Heeseung,” you laugh softly, the sound like a melodious chime of a bell to his ears. “I had dinner.”

Heeseung visibly relaxes and nods. He hands you the bottle first, twisting the cap open before passing it over without a word. He watches you drink, takes the bottle from you, and gives you the heat pack next.

You blink at him. “It’s cold,” Heeseung shrugs, pulling your hand towards him and placing the heat pack on your palm. He closes your fingers over it. “This will warm you up a bit.”

For a second, you just stare at him. The warmth in your hand spreads from your fingers up to your chest, where your heart is thumping wildly at his gentle act.

You bring the heat pack to your neck, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you stare at him, cheeks blooming red. They put him in a trance, your eyes, as Heeseung finds himself unable to look away. His gaze then drops to your lips when they move, already clinging to every syllable without even knowing it.

“Thank you, Heeseung.”

The flutter comes back, now more frantic and aggressive than before, like a caged bird trying to escape. This time, Heeseung forces himself to look away, the plastic bag wrinkles under his tightening grip. 

“Don’t mention it.”

“I mean it, though.” You counter back, gazing at the passing cars as you feel a gust of chilling wind breezing through. You scoot closer to the heat beside you. “It was really scary. Thank you for helping me out.”

There’s a bitter tone, faint and subtle, to your scent, as if you’re recalling the ugly incident that just happened almost half an hour ago. Heeseung clenches his jaw. 

Before he can stop it, his pheromones spill out like soft waves, calming and comforting, cocooning you again like a safety blanket. His wolf hums in quiet satisfaction, watching the way your shoulders loosen, the tension melting off you bit by bit.

Heeseung doesn’t know when or how it happened, but there’s no gap between you now. But he doesn’t hate it like he thought he would. Here, you’re so close to him, your shoulder practically glued to his, seeking warmth from his body heat.

It’s a foreign feeling. A comfortable, foreign feeling.

You stay in that position, slowly getting drunk on his pheromones. Your eyes droop, fighting sleep, but the exhaustion from running away from scary alphas has finally caught up to you. Before you know it, your head dips against his shoulder, breath evening out as your fingers lose their grip on the heat pack. 

Heeseung swallows. He doesn’t dare move. From the proximity, he can smell your fruity hair wash, blending smoothly with your scent. 

It’s so unfair. Every inch of you smells really good, whether it’s your natural scent or the products that you use. It’s like every inch of your skin decides that you only deserve to smell the best, and Heeseung himself can’t help but agree too. It’s so unfair.

Heeseung finds his hands hover awkwardly in the air, hesitating for a second before settling carefully on your head. His fingers thread through your hair, slower this time.

“Don’t feel scared anymore,” he mumbles, gently caressing the dark strands of your hair. 

It’s me who should feel scared.

His fingers freeze in your hair. 

Scared. He is scared.

This is not him. If Riki or Jay were to walk in to see him in this state, they’d drag him to the nearest police station and demand they find the real Heeseung. The normal Heeseung. The usual Heeseung.

The Heeseung that doesn’t stay, or spend his time watching people breathe in their sleep. The Heeseung who’s out the door before the sheets even cool down. The Heeseung that dislikes small touches like these; like caressing the hair of the girl he just saved, because the only physical touch he brands himself with is sex.

Not this. Not whatever this is.

He wants to move, but his body doesn’t listen—he stays despite himself. His wolf, like it’s found something it’s been looking for all along, settles deeper instead, quiet and satisfied. You nuzzle closer into his body and Heeseung feels his chest tighten.

Something uneasy creeps up his spine.

This should feel suffocating. It should itch under his skin, make him want to pull away, shake you off, leave. 

But it doesn’t. It feels easy. Too easy, in fact.

And it scares the shit out of him.

When your senses return to you, the first thing that greets you is someone’s scent.

Warm, spicy cinnamon and calm, salty sea air.

The memory follows not long after; of angry frowns and disgusting smirks that make your skin crawl. Amidst it all, a familiar face flashes in your mind and you feel your heart stutter.

Heeseung.

The pulse in your wrist thuds violently, as if not letting you forget the owner of the pheromones now wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You faintly remember, in your subconscious, being carried to a car and your roommate, Yujin, hugging you in panic. Unconsciously, you pull your blanket closer to your chest.

Did Heeseung send you home? Did he really…scent-mark you to help you?

You bite your lips between your teeth. The clarity is palpable now that the haziness of pheromones and distress are no longer around. There’s no way an alpha—a dominant one, at that—is willing to scent-mark an omega he has no connections to. The implications are more than the action itself. Heeseung surely knows about that, right? 

It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream.

What a capable alpha, your wolf preens. Shut up, you hiss.

Then, as if the universe was insistent to prove you wrong, your eyes land on a plastic bag placed neatly on top of your vanity, a damning evidence of last night’s incident.

No way.

Your brain swirls with possibilities and your own made-up theories that it has started to throb faintly. Before you could lose your sanity, thread by unraveling thread, you rush to the bathroom to, hopefully, get rid of his scent, even when your omega begs you not to.

Unfortunately for the human-you, the cinnamon trails after you even post-showers. It clings to your clothes when you change and it doesn’t let you go even as you sit for breakfast prepared by your doting roommate. It’s strange, really. No one’s scent ever clung to you so stubbornly like this, like a chewing gum latching on shoe soles. You always cuddle with Yujin and even her green tea pheromones never stay with you after washing up.

“It’s a bit odd, yes,” Yujin munches through a mouthful of her own signature pancake. “But it’s not totally out-of-this-world. His scent will fade by this evening, I promise.”

You chew painfully slowly, eyes going wide at another possibility. “You don’t think that I conjured some kind of bond with him, right?”

It’s common knowledge that a thin, fragile bond can be easily formed when an alpha and an omega scent each other, mated or not. After all, context and intention are greatly considered, whether it’s meant for familiarity, protection, or possessiveness—each one will determine how long it’ll last.

You pull at the sleeves of your cardigan, a telltale sign of your anxiousness. The same wilting daisies accent of your scent from the night before comes back, signalling your impending distress. Yujin drops her fork and reaches a hand to yours.

“Hey, hey. Calm down for a sec, Y/N.”

“It’s just,” you swallow harshly, your traitorous mind replaying the scene from last night. Your heart thumps at the base of your throat. “I don’t know—fuck. I forced him to do this. And—and despite the circumstances, he still helped me and now…now I think…”

Your eyes turn glassy, reminded of the wolf residing deep inside you.

“I think my omega might like him.”

Yujin is silent for a moment, assessing the right words to say. It’s obvious to everyone on campus of the nature of Lee Heeseung. He’s not exactly the alpha you’d seek for companionship or commitment; he seems to be allergic to those things. 

And to get your wolf to like him…well, let’s say that you’re already set for thousand-words of angst and a life of yearning. Yujin isn’t exactly fond of the idea of dishing out what you already knew. You already seem restless enough with your own thoughts.

“Okay. That’s valid.” Yujin starts slowly, treading through every syllable like a mother to her kindergartener son. “He’s super attractive. It’s understandable. But you can, you know—unlike him.”

You perk up at that, though the doubt clouding your face is more prominent now. “How?”

“Find a better alpha,” Yujin shrugs, as if explaining the world’s simplest equation. “For the record, I do think Heeseung’s a good guy, just not in the romantic department. I don’t know why your wolf is picking a fuckboy out of all alphas, but taste is subjective.”

“It’s because he stepped up and protected me!” You deflect and pause, realising how defensive of him you have become. Yujin raises a brow and you sigh, defeated, slumping in your seat.

“Fuck. Now my omega hates you for badmouthing him.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Just kill me.”

Yujin shoots you a small smile, pushing your now-cold plate closer to you. You reluctantly take a bite. “Why not someone else, though? You could ask literally any other alpha, like—” Yujin pauses and it takes her less than a second to pick a name. “Jay. Like Jay. He’s like, the safest option, the greenest flag. But why Heeseung? And don’t tell me it’s because he was the only one there—you could’ve just barged in and found someone else. It’s a freaking nightclub.”

You freeze, unmoving for a slow second. There is, of course, an answer to that. One that you admittedly avoid to admit, because admitting it will admit that there is something underneath that only you know, and you admit that it’s scary to admit that. Fuck this admission! Yujin wouldn’t make fun of you, right?

“I…” You trail off, second-guessing your decision. Should you really tell your roommate? Seeing the eager look on her face, with her sweet, cute dimples showing up, you decide that people with dimples should be banned from this world. Promptly, you’re reminded of your junior—an alpha with Jungwon or something as his name. The both of them possessed dimples that could make any alpha (or omega) drop down to their knees.

Alas, you force yourself to tell the truth.

“I smelled him for afar.” You watch carefully for Yujin’s reaction. “Like, from outside. While I was running from those scary alphas.”

Yujin contemplates. “Did you feel some kind of a pull towards him?”

You don’t even contemplate. “Yes.” 

“Holy shit,” Yujin laughs, her grin turning giddy. “This shit is actually real?!”

“What is?!” You frown, not liking being kept in the dark. A playful punch lands on Yujin’s shoulder, who’s now throwing her head back in laughter. Unconsciously, a pout is formed on your lips.

“What is it? Tell me!”

“It’s just, there’s this joke going around,” Yujin hiccups between every inhale, “that an omega will eventually crave for his knot. I can’t believe it’s happening to you!”

The lines in your forehead deepen. You regard your roommate with a look of contempt, thinking of the best spot to hide a body.

“That’s not true. I don’t crave his knot, or whatever it is.” You sigh, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. “You know what? I’m just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen.”

Resigned and defeated, you rise and bring your plate to the sink. Your class doesn’t start until the next three hours, and then the evening is reserved for your new routine practice for the upcoming tournament. The ninety-two unread messages from the group chat are still left unopened; you haven’t had time to review the routine video yet.

You put on your apron and reach for the cabinet. When in distress or deep thoughts, other than nesting in your bedroom, you often opt to stress-bake instead. The scent of baked goods always puts you at ease, and it blends sweetly with your daisies and honey pheromones. Everyone who knows you knows to empty their stomach and be ready for a mass sweet-feeding whenever you’re in your stressed baker mode.

Behind you, Yujin’s laughter dies in her throat. Then, a question that stops you in your tracks comes.

“Hey, you don’t think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates, right?”

Fated mates. The words settle like a heavy blanket, pressing you down with its weight and keeping you warm altogether. 

It’s sacred. It’s ancient. It’s something that you never speak of lightly, afraid that a slip of a tongue would taint the purity of such a bond. Against all odds and critiques on the concept of fated mates, you’re part of the minority who believed in it, no matter how foolish or ridiculous it may sound.

You believe in fated mates. You believe in the name written in the stars, in the love that has been shaped and created just to cherish you. You believe in spending the rest of your life looking for a face that your heart would recognise in a heartbeat, feeling that inevitable pull like you’re each other’s missing half.

But after last night, do you think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates?

Heeseung, who’s always made it clear to everyone about his relationship with commitments?

Heeseung, who never shies away when the boys tease him about the girls he sleeps with?

You’re never one to judge someone’s sex life, but you might be a little too concerned about how they view a long-term, committed relationship. Because that’s what you’ve been looking for. 

An alpha who’s not afraid to love you loudly. An alpha whose instincts are to love and protect you. 

Sometimes, you really envy mated couples. You envy how loyal Riki is of his girlfriend, craving the same kind of devotion to be directed to you. You envy how proud Taesan is to show off his mating mark, like it’s a badge of honour and love that promises forever.

Eventually, your mind drifts to Heeseung. The captain of the basketball team. Someone who deceives people with how approachable he seems, but is actually the most detached.

Heeseung is a perfect and capable alpha. You’ve seen it.

He leads his team with the kind of leadership that becomes a glue, keeping the team together no matter what challenges they’re going through. You know that he’s from the music department, and there are a few songs with his name being credited as the producer, composer, lyricist—you name it. Heeseung is a dominant alpha and uses his authority well, and he knows how to fend for himself.

You admire him, you really do. 

But will he devote himself to you? Will he look only for you in a crowd of beautiful omegas, and beautiful omegas who have spent the night with him? Does he share the same sentiment as you when it comes to fated mates?

The churn in your stomach provides an answer clearer than any of your exams had ever done.

You let Yujin’s question fade in the background, letting yourself lose in your element—baking and baking and baking until it feels like you could feed a whole team of athletes. Which is what Yujin has suggested before she leaves for her lab session, after saving a big jar of cookies for herself.

Fated mates.

What a scary thought.

For the first time in his life, Heeseung is actively avoiding omegas.

It’s not any omegas, though. It’s only you. But since it’s you, it’s actually a pretty big deal to him. 

Heeseung doesn’t play favourites. He doesn’t believe in fated mates, remember? But last night left a lasting impact in the form of your scent still clinging to him this morning, even after showering.  Not to mention how excited his wolf has been when realising that it’s you. 

It’s you, for fuck’s sake! The one who rejected him one year ago, and, admittedly, one of the prettiest omegas on campus. You might as well be every alpha’s ideal type. Well, maybe not Riki, that man is proudly claimed and fiercely loyal to his mate. But it’s definitely the case for him and Jay. 

Knowing his best friend, Heeseung’s sure you’re just Jay’s type. And his. No. He didn’t say that. He doesn’t have a type, remember?

As if to make it worse, you also have a scent that might just be his favourite one yet. The same scent that is currently invading his senses, dampening other pheromones in the court despite being on opposite ends from you. The same scent that his wolf decides to pick up and single out the moment he steps foot in the campus, recognising you before his eyes can even see you first. The same scent that still lingers in his lungs, mingling with his cinnamon and sea breeze notes like dancing partners. 

Yeah, Heeseung is starting to think that he’s slowly going insane. 

“Dude, stop staring. You’re scaring them.”

Heeseung blinks, Jay’s voice successfully snapping him out of whatever omega-spell that you have casted on him. Yeap, he nods. It’s definitely that. You’re actually a witch. There’s no other explanation to this other than that.

A blob of freshly-dyed blonde hair pops up beside Jay. “Hyung showed up smelling like daisies and honey and suddenly he’s staring at the cheerleaders like they owe him money.” Riki teases, then grins when he realises something. “Wait, that kinda rhymes—”

“I’m not staring!” Heeseung almost shouts, belatedly realising that he, indeed, has been staring at the group of cheerleaders stretching across the court. Or, to be more precise, he’s been staring at you. He glares at Riki.

“Okay. So why do you smell like one of them then? What’s her name again, Jay hyung?”

Heeseung grumbles. “It’s no one—”

“Y/N.” 

“Yes, that one. The shy one.” 

Heeseung groans. He kicks Riki’s shins and makes a show of turning his back facing the cheerleaders. But for some reasons he refuses to admit, as if he has eyes on the back of his head, he still can point where you’re standing just from his senses alone.

These stupid, useless alpha senses.

At least Jay takes pity on him. “Your Heeseung hyung saved her from perverts last night. He scented her to calm her down because she was reacting pretty badly.”

Heeseung mentally thanks Jay and continues warming up. He opts to just watch his teammates dribble and stretch just like him. The faint hum of scent neutraliser—a new, advanced one, thanks to that incident with Riki’s girlfriend—rumbles slowly. Somewhere behind him, he can hear you laugh and taste the sweet spike in your scent on his tongue. Heeseung grits his teeth. 

What is wrong with his wolf? Please get your tail together.

Riki, on the other hand, is intrigued. “Really? Did it happen after I left? Who were those alphas?”

“Some idiots from that team we beat last night.”

Riki frowns, clearly displeased with the news he just heard. “Well, I’ll keep my eyes on them. How did Heeseung hyung find her?”

Jay shrugs and shoots him a look. Heeseung really hopes he can slap that annoying smirk off his face one day. “Dunno. Ask him. His alpha probably recognised her from miles away.”

Heeseung doesn’t like what that sentence implies. “Shut up. It’s just instinct. Normal alpha-omega reaction.”

“Keep lying to yourself. I can practically see your tail wagging when you smelled your pheromones on her just now.”

“I didn’t—” Heeseung closes his eyes, forcing himself to calm down despite the sudden flare of defensiveness exploding in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s so reactive and not in his usual calm composure, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with you. Jay and Riki snicker. 

“The only people that believe in fated mates are you two idiots. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Riki snorts and looks at him, amused. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I have a fated mate. That shit is rare. It’s like finding my size in Calvin Klein.”

Jay frowns. “I don’t see the correlation.”

“There is. My dick is just too big, hyung. There’s no size for me—”

“I don’t need to know that!” Jay slaps at Riki’s shoulders while the younger alpha only lets out a full-body laugh. “Save that information for your girlfriend, Riki. I didn’t raise you like this.”

“She already knows that.”

“Nishimura Riki!” 

Heeseung is back to zoning out, his energy is suddenly drained out of his soul. That’s usually the case when you have to deal with a Nishimura Riki and a Park Jongseong on a daily basis. His mind, choosing to move at the pace of a snail today, is replaying Riki’s words back like a broken loop.

The realisation hits him five seconds late. “Wait. Did you mean that you and your girlfriend are not…fated mates? I thought you were!”

Riki is trapping Jay in a headlock when he answers. “Nope. We only imprinted on each other from early on because we’re childhood friends.”

“So like…what’s the difference?” Heeseung pauses and hesitates for a moment. He glances at you and then thinks, fuck it. If curiosity didn’t kill the cat then it’ll definitely kill him. “Can you smell your girlfriend in a sea of people?”

Riki scrunches his nose, his hands busy play-fighting with Jay. Heeseung ignores them like it’s a daily occurrence to see them act this way. Which is probably not far from the truth. “Not really? If they’re too many people, like right now, with your stench and too many omega scents—it’s difficult to find her.” Jay tackles his side and Riki yelps. “B-But it’s getting better after the mating bite, though—Jay hyung! I just got my tattoo there!”

“So…you can’t like…” Heeseung licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like the answer Riki’s going to give him once he finishes his sentence. Jay is now on the floor while Riki is pulling him by the legs and dragging him around like a used rug.

“You can’t single her out from her scent alone?”

There. He said it. His two idiotic friends will catch on it and grill him for the problem he partially caused. The other part is, no doubt, his wolf’s fault for deciding to like one single scent. You’re not at fault at all. Never. Wait, who said that?

Riki is breathless from the laughter and play-fight, but he still manages to listen and answer, thanks to his alpha senses. If he finds Heeseung’s questions strange, he only shares his suspicion through a knowing look with Jay.

“Sometimes. Like I said, it’s only when the crowd isn’t too big and when she’s in the same room as me.” Riki finally spares Heeseung a glance, tilting his head in a feigned curiosity. “Why are you asking, hyung? Did you smell Y/N from miles away or something?”

How the fuck did that idiot know?

Heeseung looks away from the teasing grin thrown his way. He really doesn’t like this. “No,” he grumbles. “I’m just afraid if I might be Jay’s fated mate because his pheromones are fucking everywhere.”

“Hey! What the fuck did I do to you?!” 

Riki bursts out laughing and high-fives Heeseung with a cheeky smile. On the floor, Jay is already huffing and sulking, mumbling something about ‘always catching strays’ and ‘citrusy pheromones aren’t smelly’. Heeseung sighs quietly when the topic takes a turn into a debate about who has the best smelling pheromones, which is an easy win for Riki, if Heeseung’s going to be honest. 

Don’t tell Jay though. Heeseung doesn’t want to lose his passenger princess privilege so soon.

Much to his relief, it’s already time for practice. Heeseung tries to ignore the prickle in his neck coming from your direction as you and your fellow cheerleaders leave the gym to go to your own practice room. He fights the urge to look back, to stride forward and ask you to stay—which is insane, by the way, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Before he slips into his captain mode, however, Jay approaches him with a more serious look on his face. “Calm your flat tits, Hee. It’s normal for her scent to linger; you kinda scented her aggressively to protect her last night.”

Heeseung weakly nods. Jay pats his shoulder. “A deep bond can’t be conjured just from scenting alone, unless you’re fated mates.”

This time, Heeseung doesn’t move, his tension visible in the rigid lines of his posture, the frantic movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Yeah,” he croaks, his pulse louder than his own voice. “Hope not.”

Practice goes on for the next two hours. Heeseung eventually falls into routine, finding himself lost in adrenaline and competitiveness. The thoughts of you cease for a moment, replaced by his quick-thinking strategy and sharp reflexes. He keeps dribbling, scoring, and making passes, not even aware of the ticking clock or when the cheerleader squad comes back in to take a break.

The last whistle finally blows before the players dramatically fall in a heap of sweaty, breathless alphas. The practice was particularly grueling, which made his body ache and his shirt clung to his skin. The coach is on fire today, all because his wife has been giving him a silent treatment. Apparently, he forgot to buy diapers on his way home last night.

Source: Nishimura Nosy.

“I think I might die,” Jay huffs, claiming a bench all to himself. His chest rises and falls in a rapid motion. “But even as a ghost, I bet the coach would still unearth my grave to force me to practice.”

“I’ll be Ghost Number Two.” Heeseung deadpans, lying down on the bench next to Jay. The latter continues to talk about something else, which Heeseung would know and remember if he didn’t get distracted by daisies and honey.

Fuck. You’re in the court again.

The urge to corner you, to grab your wrist and ask if you were okay, crawls under his skin again—restless, unrelenting.

Heeseung isn’t stupid. He knows last night, ugly as it was, doesn’t just fade by morning. His alpha has been clawing at him since then, sharp and impatient, demanding he go to you.

But Heeseung doesn’t move.

For once, he’s a coward.

He shoves it down, buries it deep, treating his own wolf like a disease he refuses to catch.

Heeseung blinks at the ceiling in an active effort to not start looking for you and staring at you like a creep. This time, he wonders quietly why your scent smells stronger than before. Perhaps the adrenaline from your routine. But even so, you don’t only smell strong, but you also smell closer—

“Free cookies!”

Heeseung jolts in surprise and whips his head in the direction of that voice. Or, precisely, your voice. His heart, as if trying to shorten his life span, decides not to take a break from the session just now and continues beating even faster.

There, just a few paces away from him, is you, standing in the middle of the court with one of your cheerleader friends. In her hold, there’s a purple Tupperware, its lid nowhere to be found. You stand slightly behind your friend, shyly looking over her shoulders as she talks to his teammates.

“Oh my God, they brought us cookies?!” Jay is already standing up, stretching lazily like a cat. “C’mon, Hee. It’s free cookies.”

Heeseung’s quick to refuse, despite his wolf begging him to go. “Nah—”

But before he can spit out any excuses, Jay is already dragging him, his weeks spent in the gym working out with Riki are finally paying off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Take your portion and give it to me.”

Heeseung groans. He really should start joining their workout session. He can’t be manhandled by his two best friends easily like this.

Distracted, Heeseung fails to register the decreasing distance between you and him. It’s only when your scent spikes sweetly, which hits him in the face like a fucking tidal wave, does he catch your eyes and realises that, fuckfuckfuck she’s here ohmyGod—

“Hi, Jay. Hi, Heeseung.”

Wait hold on, why does his name sound even more beautiful coming from your voice?

He stands like a flag pole beside Jay, actively avoiding your eyes while being fully aware of that pretty pair staring at his face. The floor suddenly looks very interesting, with skid marks from their shoes and some sweat trails. Okay. Ew. That’s gross.

“Hey, pretty ladies.” Jay greets, flashing his attractive smile as he gestures at the container. “Heard there’s free cookies for the taking? Mind if we have some?” 

Smooth as ever, Jay doesn’t even realise how easily he has charmed your friend with his simple greeting. Poor omega is already blinking rapidly, almost bouncing on her toes as she practically shoves the Tupperware into Jay’s chest. 

“Yes! Yes, of course you can, Jay. There’s only little left! Take them all!”

Your eyes, fixated on Heeseung since he arrived, tries to search his face as you shyly interrupt, whispering into your friend’s ear. 

“Offer some to Heeseung too…”

Heeseung doesn’t know whether to curse or thank the Goddess for his advanced dominant-alpha senses, because overhearing those words…it makes his chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

But your friend doesn’t pay you any mind, urging Jay to take the Tupperware from her. Jay, ever the gentleman but still a little shameless shit when it comes to food, takes it from her eager hands. He takes one bite and immediately lights up.

“This is so good! I love that it’s not too sweet.”

Like a mirror reflecting light, you beam widely, returning Jay’s enthusiasm. Heeseung tries to ignore the ugly twist in his chest. “Really? That’s…good to hear.”

“She made these, by the way!” Your friend proudly announces, which makes red blooms across your cheeks, ducking your head down slightly. You’re so shy, so pretty, Heeseung can’t stop staring.

And so good at baking. Such a perfect omega, his wolf continues. Shut the fuck up, Heeseung hisses.

“You’re really good at this, Y/N,” Jay interrupts his internal war, his voice sounding wrong in his ears. “Care to share the recipe?”

Now, is Jay flirting with you? Since when does his voice sound like that?

Heeseung tries to inhale, attempting to calm his fucking irrational wolf down, but all he can smell is the sugary scent of yours, tangling delicately and blending seamlessly with his spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze. Somewhere in his chest, his heartstrings soften, drunk in the perfect mix of your pheromones, a ghost of a mark from last night. 

Maybe that’s what possessed him to snatch the Tupperware from Jay.

Heeseung wastes no time and starts munching two cookies at once, ignoring the gasps from you and your friend and the bombastic side-eye from his fellow alpha friend. The flavour of buttery vanilla and sweet chocolate chips melt on his tongue and Heeseung almost purrs at the taste.

Outside, he makes an effort to look calm.

“These are good,” he comments coolly, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a compliment (he’s failing). This time, he dares himself to meet your eyes, and has to force down another purr when he sees the sparkles in your eyes. “Thank you, Y/N.”

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest when the blush in your cheeks deepen. You quickly look down to the floor, mumbling softly that could’ve been missed had it not been for his senses.

What kind of pull is this? Why is every sense of his attuned to you? Heeseung swears he can smell the subtle spike of your scent, the sound of your heartbeat and your soft breathing. It’s like his whole body has decided that it wants to worship you.

And Heeseung doesn’t worship. Fuck. This is terrifying.

“Thank you, Heeseung…”

There. Your voice again. Heeseung swallows. His grip on the Tupperware tightens. Seeing you under this light, flushed and softly smiling to the ground while sneaking glances at him—it undoes him in ways he never dared imagine. 

The question is already at the tip of his tongue without his realisation. ‘Are you okay? Does what happened last night still bother you?’ The urge to comfort and soothe, now growing like a rolling snowball, threatening to spill from his mouth.

And the scary part is: Heeseung isn’t sure if that desire comes from his wolf or himself.

However, he never gets the chance to, because Jay with his perfect, universe-timing is already pulling him backwards. “Thank you for the cookies! We’ll eat them well!”

Heeseung reluctantly nods, the grip he has on the Tupperware turning knuckle-white.

“What the fuck was that?” Jay whisper-yells when they’re out of earshot, walking back to their previous spot. “And those are not only for you. Give them back to me!”

Heeseung dodges his grabby hand. “Why the fuck are you eating more?” He asks, failing to mask the bitterness in his voice.

“Didn’t they give all ten of them to us?”

“You’ve had two.”

“And you’ve had five!”

“I don’t care. These are mine.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

That’s what it takes for Heeseung to freeze in his tracks. Seeing an opening, Jay quickly snatches the Tupperware from his grasp and runs back to his spot on the bench, not forgetting to flip off the burgundy-haired alpha as he does so.

Heeseung is losing his fucking mind.

Sighing, Heeseung closes his eyes, a faint trail of daisies and honey still clinging to his senses. Even across the room, among the murmur of the gossiping cheerleaders, it’s your voice, the only one clear and crisp to his ears. 

I’m being ridiculous.

This isn’t me.

Slowly, his human side starts taking over, all flowery images of you vanish within seconds.

Fuck, he curses. He wishes this scent-marking will be gone by tomorrow morning.

Three mornings later, much to his dismay, your scent still clings to him. On the bright side, it has been notably fading, now only the remnants of daisies and honey underneath cinnamon and sea air; like crunched petals along the shoreline, waiting to be washed away.

Against his own judgment, however, his wolf is fucking devastated.

He’s been whining like a kicked puppy ever since he walked to practice this morning and couldn’t smell his scent on you instantly. He still can spot you from two buildings away, which is still strange, but the lack of spice and salt in your scent is what does it. Heeseung has to fight the urge to march towards you and start scenting you.

His wolf has been restless. And, inevitably, it puts Heeseung in a terrible mood, too. He never knew his wolf was that desperate. 

Practice ends late that night. With the tournament just around the corner, everyone is being a little shit at managing their emotions and competitiveness on the court—the downside of having an all-alpha team that people rarely talk about. 

Heeseung is not excluded from the equation, though. He almost threw the ball to Taesan’s knot and made his omega pups-less and pregnancy-free when he accidentally made a bad pass. The court had smelled like tension and a barely held-together brotherhood when he left before a cheerleader came up to him to flirt and he wasted no time to drag her to an empty classroom.

Now, Heeseung finds himself making out with that omega, tongue licking up into her mouth while she breathlessly moans into his. It’s been five days since his last fuck, and while he usually can go on without sex for weeks (one month was his best record), he’s been at his wit’s end today. Add the confusion and silent wars he’s been having about you into the mix, and Heeseung is nothing more than a stressed body waiting to be relieved.

Weirdly enough, the frustration he hopes to get rid of stays as frustration. The old sparks he usually feels when having this intimate moment with an omega seems to disappear tonight. In the back of his mind, like a looming cloud carrying a storm, is a hazy image of teary eyes and red, trembling lips.

Something stirs uneasily in his chest.

His huge, veiny hands slip under her skirt and find purchase on her cunt, gathering the slick leaking from her arousal. Her scent spikes as she bucks up her hips and, to Heeseung’s own surprise, he recoils from the smell of it and breaks the kiss. The girl doesn’t stop her advances, switching to kiss down his long neck instead.

He subconsciously scrunches up his nose, his finger halting its movement for a second. 

“What perfume are you wearing?” He asks, voice hoarse from the makeout session. He tilts his head back, allowing access and finding stimulation, but the usual thrill is a bit dull tonight.

“My pheromones,” she manages between kisses, “you like it?”

It’s quite the opposite, to be honest. Heeseung finds himself hating it. It’s too sweet. Too sharp. It sits wrong in his nose, burns at the back of his throat, like inhaling smoke for the first time. His eyes water.

There’s something wrong. He’s not enjoying this. 

And to make things worse and more confusing, his chest hurts. It constricts, like his lungs decide to shrink into a ball of unexplained pain. Heeseung’s breath stutters, almost doubling over. His mind is a frantic buzz of noise, chanting something that he can’t seem to fully register yet.

Not my omega. Not daisies. Not honey.

Heeseung feels something twist in his gut.

The nameless omega—he forgot to ask for her name—doesn’t notice the shift yet, the way Heeseung is already a frozen statue of confusion and frustration in her embrace. She continues, trailing down hot, wet kisses along the prominent line of his collarbone and sucks the tender skin. 

“Ow!” Heeseung yelps, instinctively pushing her away. The spot stings like a pulsing heartbeat, void of any pleasure that it usually would give. He staggers backwards once.

The girl frowns, clearly not happy being pushed like that. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

“I—” Heeseung hisses, his shirt sitting wrong on his skin, her scent smelling wrong in his nose. He shakes his head. “Shit. I’m sorry, I—I have somewhere to be.” 

The girl scoffs, disbelieving. “What?! Heeseung, you can’t just—”

But Heeseung can, and he already does. The alpha is out of the room in the next minute, deliberately the calls of his name and the strings of insults that come from behind him. He makes a run for it.

What the fuck did just happen? Heeseung is never one to refuse a good time with omega, but his wolf is quiet tonight. Too quiet, like it’s being silent on purpose in solidarity for something he’s yet to know—or yet to realise. 

The hazy image comes back to his mind, slowly becoming sharp and clear. Heeseung thinks his lungs have turned into bricks when he realises that he’s been imagining you. That his head has been loud with the thoughts of you, even when he’s with someone else.

Why? Why is this happening? Why you?

Heeseung makes a turn to where the locker room is, planning to grab his duffel and leave, when he bumps into Riki and Jay, freshly out of the shower.

“Heeseung hyung?” A shirtless Riki calls his name, then raises a brow when he sees his condition. “Was wondering where you were. But those lipstick stains told me enough.”

Heeseung wipes his neck harshly. Wordlessly, he yanks his locker open and checks himself out in a mirror. He turns his face left and right, yanking down his under eyes, then sighs. Riki and Jay exchange looks. The air is slowly thickening with the pheromones of a distressed alpha, coming from none other than Heeseung.

“You good, mate?” Jay decides to ask him. Heeseung doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he’s as good as he wants himself to be. The alpha lets out another sigh and slams the door closed.

“I think something is definitely wrong with me.”

“Is it practice?” Jay softens his voice, already switching on his therapist-friend mode. “Hee, today’s just that day. Everybody was losing their shits, it’s not just you.”

Heeseung leans his back on the locker and tilts his head upwards. “It’s not that. I mean it biologically. Ever since—” Heeseung pauses, suddenly unsure if saying out loud would make things right. But Riki and Jay have already caught onto it.

“Ever since what?”

Heeseung chooses to deflect. “Look, I was trying to make out with this one pretty omega just now. But no matter how much kissing we did, I just couldn’t enjoy it.” Heeseung points to his sweatpants. Riki and Jay curiously follow with their eyes. “She was practically sucking my tongue and I’m not even bricked up, man!”

Riki furrows his eyebrows. “Not even a spark?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I couldn’t feel anything. At all. Only,” he swallows harshly. “I only felt disgusted. By her.”

Silence hangs in the room at his revelation. Riki’s expression morphs into something akin to genuine surprise, while Jay only stares at him with a gaping mouth before he starts typing on his phone.

“This is dead serious. You can’t have sex without your dick. That's like a banana cake without bananas.”

Heeseung and Riki grimace. “Please don’t ever compare my dick to a banana again.”

“Or a banana cake.” Riki slaps his shoulder. “That’s my favourite, hyung. Don’t be gross.”

Jay waves a dismissive hand, eyes still glued on his phone. “Right, right. Anyway, I texted Sunoo.”

Heeseung’s eyes go wide like saucer plates at the name and groans. “Sunoo?! Jay, you know he’s still mad at me.”

“I know, but he’s the only one who probably knows the answer to this.” Jay smacks his lips when he reads a new text from Sunoo. “He’s staying back for a lab session. Let’s go to the medicine building.”

And that’s how Heeseung finds himself cramped into a tiny booth of a ramyeon stall, located by the road near the faculty of medicine. A pouty Sunoo is sitting across from him, shooting him his foxy side-eyes as he whines at Jay.

“Jay hyung, why did you bring this traitor with you?” Sunoo pulls at the sleeves of Jay’s hoodie, sulking away from Heeseung. It’s only the three of them since Riki had gone home with his girlfriend just now. “I thought the three of us would include you, me, and Riki.”

Jay sighs exasperatedly. “I had to, Sunoo. That traitor is having a critical dick malfunction and he needs your help.”

The waitress arrives with three bowls of steaming ramyeon. Jay and Sunoo pause their not-so-quiet argument and help her place the bowls on their table. She clears her throat awkwardly, and takes a quick glance at Heeseung before leaving. Heeseung groans internally.

Great. Now words about him and his dick problem will spread around the campus.

“Is STD finally catching up with you?” 

Heeseung should know that it was never that easy to get Sunoo off his back. That boy is a professional pouty sulk-er, he’ll never let Heeseung go easily. Not after harassing him with his sass, at least. Heeseung holds back a sigh, already resigned and defeated.

With a grim voice, he apologises to the brown-haired alpha. For the fifth time. 

“Sunoo, I am so sorry. I know it was my fault, but for the record, I didn’t know you were serious about pretending to be an omega. Why would you even do that, anyway?”

“Because I like the attention!” Sunoo is fast to defend himself, his pout only deepening. “And because alphas will only spoil me if I was their pretty little soft omega—which I am not! And you exposing my secondary gender to that alpha just ruined my chance to be with him. Who would even call their friend, ‘my cutie little fake omega’, anyway?!”

“I was drunk!”

“A drunk traitor is still a traitor!”

Heeseung turns to Jay, sending him signals to help him out. But his best friend deliberately ignores him, too engrossed in his own bowl, pretending to be a wall. Heeseung rolls his eyes and looks back at Sunoo.

It might not be that easy to console the sulky boy, but Heeseung is labelled a sweet talker for a reason.

“You’re already a pretty alpha, Sunoo. Prettier than any omega I know. Anyone would drop everything for you even if they knew you weren’t an omega.”

Like a switch being flipped, the frown on Sunoo’s melts away, replaced by a beam so wide it shows off his perfect teeth.

“Aw, Heeseungie hyung. You’re now forgiven. Now tell me about this dick problem of yours.”

Jay and Heeseung look at each other and relax into their chairs in relief. Heeseung sends him a look of, ‘That was easy,’ to which Jay raises his eyebrow, ‘Why hadn’t you done it sooner?’

Now, with Sunoo not threatening to kill the burgundy-haired alpha anymore, Heeseung can finally enjoy a few bites of his untouched ramyeon. It’s already a bit cold and soggy, but the broth makes up for it. He retells the story to Sunoo between bites, watching the ever expressive boy react to it with various expressions.

“It’s not uncommon, though. But since it’s you, it must have felt very concerning.” Sunoo hums in thought, tapping his full lips with the thinnest tips of his chopsticks. “Well, Heeseungie hyung, did you imprint on any omegas?”

Heeseung hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head, feeling Jay’s eyes on him.

“No.”

“Hm, okay. Even if it’s due to imprints, it has to come from both sides,” Sunoo rubs his chin, now looking every bit a live action of Detective Conan, minus the glasses. “Did you conjure a bond with anyone? Maybe accidentally?”

Heeseung’s lips part. “I…would’ve known, right?”

“Right.” Sunoo nods firmly, then tilts his head. “Did you scent one of your hookups, then?”

“An almost-hookup,” Jay cuts in, clearly enjoying this interrogation. Heeseung shoots him a look. Jay is always out to rat him out and he’s actually so close to disowning him.

He grunts. “Just…someone.”

Sunoo smiles in amusement. “So you did scent someone. Was it someone you like?”

“Define like.”

“Like them enough to want to kiss them. Like them enough to want to fuck them. Like them enough to even want to scent them to begin with.” Sunoo shrugs. “Pick one.”

Heeseung closes his eyes. Does he like you? Wanting to kiss and fuck someone don’t equal to liking them. Because if that was true, then there’s no other explanation to Heeseung ‘liking’ every omega he has fucked other than him having an insanely big heart—which he doesn’t. He liked the sex and their company; that was all there was to it.

Which leaves him option number three. 

Heeseung’s never the guy to sit with his feelings—at least not the romantic kind. You’re an unfamiliar territory; something that he deliberately avoids his entire life, simply because he never sees settling down with a mate as a desirable goal or accomplishment. And, perfectly hidden under his fuckboy persona is also a thin layer of fear.

Fear of getting hurt by the thing that’s supposed to be love.

But does he like you?

Maybe he does. He’s always liked the way you laugh; you always cover your mouth with one hand when you do, like your smile is only visible in the privacy of those who really know you. He’s always noticed the way you touch the tip of your nose when people’s eyes are on you. He’s always thought the natural blush that you have when you’re shy is adorable.

In that one single minute, Heeseung realises that he’s been paying attention to you more than he thought he did.

Fuck. He does like you.

But does liking have to lead to being mated?

That responsibility is way taller and heavier than him and Heeseung is beyond freaked out.

“Earth to Heeseungie hyung?”

“Why does it even matter? What does it even have to do with me not getting a boner during a makeout session?” Heeseung demands, frustration bleeding into his voice. Is Sunoo punishing him for being the reason he fumbled that tall, hot alpha two weeks ago? Will Sunoo truly ever forgive him? He already apologised five times!

Sunoo, seeing enough of his hyung’s suffering, finally relents. “Geez, relax. I wasn’t playing with you. I asked because most of the time this happens,” he gestures at Heeseung and his crotch. Heeseung instinctively closes his long legs. “It’s because the wolf has already liked one omega. An omega they recognise as their mate. It’s the only explanation why you felt disgusted just now.”

Mate. That cursed word again. Beside Sunoo, Jay is whistling.

“Sorry. You mean my wolf, my alpha, likes one omega and decides I shouldn’t fuck around anymore?”

Sunoo nods. “Basically, yeah. But it usually isn’t that easy, hyung. A bond has to have been conjured between your wolf and their wolf by any kind of markings.”

“Like?”

“Like biting. Or scenting.”

Scenting. Heeseung didn’t just do scenting with you, he was scent-marking you.

“But that’s impossible,” Jay interrupts, confusion etching onto his handsome features. His leaning forward now, his empty bowl pushed to the center of the table, which reminds Heeseung of his own bowl. The alpha quickly finishes his noodles. “Scenting between unmated alpha and unmated omega will only conjure a temporary, fragile bond. It should’ve been gone by now—the scenting happened five days ago.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I can detect some floral scent in Heeseungie hyung’s pheromones.”

Heeseung almost chokes on his noodles. “You do?”

Sunoo leans forward, squinting his eyes at him like he’s some kind of lab specimen. “Yeah. It’s faint, but it’s there. Sweet. Floral. Clingy.” He tilts his head again. “It’s weird.”

Across from him, Heeseung is frozen. His grip on the chopsticks tightens. He swallows harshly.

“That’s not supposed to happen…right?”

“Exactly,” Sunoo points at him. “That’s why I’m saying it’s weird.”

Jay leans back, arms crossed. “But if it’s still there after five days—”

“It doesn’t automatically mean fated mates,” Sunoo cuts in quickly, tone sharper this time. He shoots Jay a look before turning back to Heeseung. “Don’t jump to that conclusion. That’s, like, extremely rare. And also very dramatic.”

Heeseung exhales, shoulders dropping just a little.

Right. Dramatic. His alpha begs to differ.

“It could just be a stronger-than-usual temporary bond,” Sunoo continues, more thoughtful now. “Maybe your alpha overdid it when you scented them. Or the omega was in a heightened emotional state, so the bond lasted longer.”

Jay hums, not entirely convinced.

“But the whole not getting turned on thing?” He gestures vaguely. “That still doesn’t explain it fully.”

Sunoo taps his chin again. “Mhm. That part’s interesting.” He levels Heeseung with a curious look. “Who is this girl, anyway? You seem pretty fucked over her.”

Heeseung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not say it like that? Like I’m some kind of a broken alpha?”

“You kinda are right now,” Sunoo says bluntly.

“Sunoo.”

“I’m serious!” He leans forward again, eyes lighting up. “Your body is rejecting other omegas. That’s not normal for you. Like, at all.”

Heeseung slumps deeper into his seat. As if it’s not already obvious enough, Sunoo just had to spell it out loud.

“I noticed,” he mutters, defeated.

Sunoo softens slightly at that, sighing as he rests his chin on his palm. “Okay. Look. Don’t panic yet.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“You’re literally here because your dick stopped working.”

“…Okay, I’m a little panicked.”

Sunoo waves his chopsticks dismissively. “It’s probably not fated mates. If it were, you’d be way worse right now.”

Heeseung stills. “Worse?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo shrugs. “You’d be obsessing. Unable to stay away. Your senses would go crazy. You’d feel everything they feel, more or less.”

Jay slowly turns to look at Heeseung. Heeseung immediately avoids his gaze. That fucker is always eager to catch his ‘Gotcha!’ moment, it irritates him to the core.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” he says a bit too quickly, the lie tasting acidic on his tongue.

Sunoo mustn't know about the knot of uneasiness in his chest. Sunoo mustn’t know about the face that comes to his mind when he’s kissing someone else. None of his friends must know that he’s obsessing right now, itching to flee and find you in the middle of the night.

“Exactly,” Sunoo nods, unaware of his friend’s turmoil. “So relax. I’ll look into it more, yeah? Might be some weird hormonal response or delayed imprint reaction.”

Heeseung lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, okay.”

“Or you can do a try-and-error,” Sunoo suggests, reaching over to pat Heeseung’s shoulder. “Just do what you always do—try hooking up with different omegas. Maybe the one you made out with tonight was just a bad compatibility for you.”

Heeseung perks up at that. Sunoo and Jay, not noticing the shift in the air, are already moving forward with a different topic, completely oblivious to the newly-lit determination now burning up his body.

Just do what you always do.

Right. Heeseung has a high body count for a reason. He decides, with a final resolution, that he should solve this his own way.

If Heeseung spends every night for the next two weeks trying to bed different omegas, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung fails each time, unable to enjoy every kiss and friction, Sunoo and Jay don't have to know.

If the pain in his chest worsens every time he leaves the barely-warm beds, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung avoids looking at you, avoids bumping into you, avoids speaking to you—he hopes you don’t know about it.

A quiet voice from his wolf whispers something that he refuses to acknowledge: He hopes you’ll forgive him for being unfaithful.

You’ve been sick for two weeks. 

At first it was subtle, like a faint throb in your heart that makes you stop whatever you’re doing. The first time it happened, you were in the middle of a group discussion for an elective subject. 

A quiet alpha, or a wolf hybrid named Sunghoon, to be exact, had noticed the way you winced from the pain. He didn’t say anything, but you guessed he told an omega about what he saw because right before you exited the library, one of the girls had passed you a free menstrual pad.

He thought you were experiencing period cramps. You wished it was just period cramps.

Then, it gradually grew to something worse. A sudden stabbing pain in your chest. A twist in your gut, like you were expecting something bad to happen. Sometimes it was random palpitations, where your heart was skipping huge beats, as if you were about to go down on a roller coaster.

Each time it happened, you only placed your palm over your heart, hoping it’d go away. You never understood why, but those pains only came at night, preventing you from getting any good sleep and rest. And each time you tried to close your eyes, there was only one face flashing behind your eyelids.

Heeseung.

Yujin had dragged you to the clinic, but the doctor came to a conclusion that you were just having pre-heat symptoms—which couldn’t be further from the truth, because you just had your cycle one month ago. You’re not supposed to go on your quarterly-cycle of torture for another two months.

“Oh my Goddess, you’re burning up.” Yujin’s palm is cold against your forehead. Her face is pulled into a tight expression. “Let’s just skip today’s classes, okay? I’ll stay with you.”

You weakly nod, barely registering Yujin’s movement around the room. Your body feels like a furnace, the heat simmering in your veins almost rivaling a volcano’s lava. You discard the blanket to get some sort of relief, only to shiver in the cold when the air touches your skin.

After a few minutes of exiting and entering your room, Yujin finally sits by your bed. She helps you with a glass of water and a dosage of paracetamol, careful to wipe any loose drops like a concerned mother. It doesn’t get better, but at least your throat doesn’t feel like it’s being scrubbed with sandpaper anymore.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“Dying, but a bit less dramatic.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want to give Suho from True Beauty a run for his money, would we?”

You chuckle softly, though it sounds more like a seal with a sore throat.

“But seriously, though. It’s been two weeks.” Yujin purses her lips, the worriness still marring her beautiful face. “I’m so worried, Y/N. What’s happening to you?”

You don’t answer right away. “It’s my omega.”

Yujin’s eyebrow jumps. “What about her?”

You also wonder the same thing. Swallowing, you finally let your friend in on the torturous days you have been going through. “One night, after our practice ran quite late two weeks ago, she went a bit hysteric. I couldn’t stop vomiting.” You recalled, eyes distant in memory. “She kept yelling something about a traitor, about rejection. I don’t know, really. But that’s how it started.”

“Two weeks ago, at night, you say?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Yujin is quiet for a few extended minutes, caressing her thumb over your knuckles. The motion puts you at ease, and slowly, you feel the pills begin working their chemicals.

“Did you, perhaps, hear about anything that happened that night?” You shake your head, unsure if your cheerleader squad had mentioned anything. Yujin hums. “Because I think I did.”

“What?”

“So I’m friends with this one omega named Sunoo from my faculty. A pretty boy and a petty gossiper.” Yujin starts, now treading her words slowly as if walking on eggshells. “He knows everyone on this campus. Especially the hot stuff, you know—student body, athletes, cheerleaders.” Yujin eyes you but not unkindly. “He knows you too. Just the basic stuff.”

“Like?”

“Your name, your major, your Instagram account.”

You let out a breath, a bit unsure where this is heading, but listen anyway. “Okay.”

“And because of his impeccable knowledge of gossip, I heard from him about a cheerleader breaking down in the group chat after a certain alpha left her mid-making out, all slicked and horny while he didn’t even pop a borner.”

You hold onto her every word, but for some reason, a dread has settled deep in your bones, like your body is already anticipating some bad news. Your heart, previously beating fast, is now sprinting like it might escape your rib now.

“And that alpha was Heeseung.”

It hits before you can even think.

A sharp, twisting pain lances through your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs like you’ve been struck. Your fingers curl into the sheets, clutching at nothing.

Your omega whines—hurt, betrayed. And suddenly, you understand why. The cries about betrayal. His face haunts you every night, like a painful reminder of the destiny you're subjected to.

You try to swallow once, then twice, before you find your voice back.

“Heeseung?” You try. His name now tastes bitter on your tongue.

Yujin, ever the empathetic, senses it, and tightens her hold on your hand. “Yeah,” she nods. She lets a moment of quiet pass, fidgeting and swallowing like you. Like the news has more stories that she’s yet to tell; an extended part to a nightmare that’s been keeping you up at night. You brace yourself.

“And two nights ago I saw him at Jake’s frat party with a girl. Doing sexy stuff. The usual.” Yujin can’t look at your face, choosing to stare at your intertwined hands instead. “The frat boys told me that he’s been at it almost every night. For two weeks.”

Is it possible to hurt someone this much in a span of five minutes? Getting shot multiple times would’ve hurt less than this.

There’s a heavy silence, then there’s your small, quiet voice, laced with unfiltered hurt.

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m saying, Y/N, that you might be facing bond rejection symptoms right now.” Yujin licks her lips. “I’m saying that you and Heeseung just might be fated mates. That night he scented you? You guys conjured a half-bond. And him fucking around with other omegas like this hurts your wolf because she knows—only this kind of bond can do that.”

Is having a fated mate supposed to hurt like this? Like your chest is caving in, collapsing under the torment of unwanted love. Can you even call it love? Whatever it is that you and Heeseung unknowingly have been sharing—Is it even love?

It’s not. It’s just…fate.

You shake your head. There’s hot pain behind your eyes, a sign of an impending doom. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.”

A drop of tears rolls down your face and in the next blink, everything is already blurry. “I—I think I already knew it.” Your voice is wet from despair, the pain almost feels tangible.  “He never meets my eyes anymore and—and every time I see him, I feel like I might die.”

A warm pair of arms pulls you close, and instantly the scent of green tea fills up your senses. Your roommate holds you tight, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as you sob into her chest. 

Your wolf, the contradict that she is, hopes that it was Heeseung embracing you. Still hoping it was the alpha comforting you, soothing you with his voice and that calming pheromones of his. Still foolishly longing for him despite everything.

You feel pathetic.

Your crying subsides after a while, still curling up against Yujin like a hurt puppy. You’re already losing track of time, if it’s still proper to have breakfast or if it’s already time for lunch. It is Yujin who finally speaks first.

“Do you hate it?”

You let the question linger in the air, turning it over in your thoughts like what you’ve been doing the past hour since you woke up. “I don’t hate the bond. Nor him.”

You pause, gnawing at your lower lip. Then you exhale.

“I just hate that I was never given a chance to do this properly.”

Yujin pulls away and makes you face her. She wipes your tears using her sleeves, murmuring sweet words as you feel your chest slightly loosening at her kind gesture. “You might still have it. Go and talk to him, Y/N. If he’s avoiding you like this, he might’ve felt something too, right?”

“If he’s avoiding me like this, he might just not want anything to do with me.” A humourless chuckle escapes your lips. “And to think that I thought I had a chance.”

“Wait, I never asked you this. Do you like Heeseung? Both of you; your wolf and you.”

You don’t answer right away. The question sits between the two of you, heavy and fragile; like a mark refusing to be looked over. 

Do you like Heeseung?

Your wolf stirs immediately. Yes, I like him.

The answer is quick. Certain. Definite. 

But you purse your lips, forcing yourself to think harder, deeper. Forcing yourself to think about you, not her. You can only come to one conclusion.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, honest. It sounds weak even to your ears. Beside you, Yujin keeps rubbing small, grounding circles over your hand.

“I already know my omega likes him,” you admit softly. “She decided that the moment he stayed and took care of me that night.”

Oh, how pathetic is it to fall for someone for doing something as mundane as staying and taking care of you?

It’s laughable. But it makes your chest ache even more, like your heart was an empty can and fate was crushing it with its tight grip.

“But me…” you continue, voice quieter now, “I don’t even know him like that.”

You shake your head, frustration flickering through your expression.

“I don’t know what he’s like when he’s not surrounded by people, or when he’s not—” you gesture vaguely, like you can scoop up every rumour tied to his name. “That version of him everyone talks about.”

You stare at your hands. “But I wanted to.”

Yujin follows, voice soft. “Wanted to?”

“I wanted to get to know him,” you continue, voice trembling. “When I first found out how my wolf feels for him, I thought it could be like how I’ve always imagined having a fated mate would be: slowly falling in love with them. With him.”

A wistful smile graces your beautiful features, soft and vulnerable. “I wanted to know which game he remembers the most. I wanted to know if the number on his jersey means anything. Silly things like that. Not this.”

Your hand moves to your chest unconsciously, rubbing the surface softly.

“Not like this. Not when it hurts every time I—” you cut yourself off, breath shaking. “Not when it hurts every time I look at him.”

You still remember, after one grueling routine, when the pain was still kind enough to let you come to practice. The players had just finished their practice too, slicked with sweat and looking exhausted as ever. Among the tired alphas, your eyes locked onto Heeseung’s.

You had the instincts to go to him and pass him the cold mineral you’d unknowingly saved for him. But the look in his eyes—it was unreadable. Cold. An abyss that was enough to make you stay rooted in your place.

Then, without even a graze of a smile, he looked away, taking a bottle from Riki’s hand.

It had hurt more than you’d like to admit.

“I think…” you try again, more carefully this time. “If things were different, I would’ve liked him.”

Your throat tightens. This time, you’re reminded of that night before everything turned cruel like this. The warmth of his embrace that lingered. The spice of his scent that clung. The safety of his company that comforted you. 

Was any of it real?

“And if things were the same…I think I would've still liked him anyway.”

That’s the truth. A quiet, terrifying truth that settles deep in your chest like an unshakeable ground. The kind of truth that makes even your most grounding friend sit still in your bed.

“And that’s what makes it worse,” you whisper.

Because now it’s not just your omega.

It’s you, too.

The one-week intervarsity basketball tournament has finally begun. Around seven universities have sent their representatives, leading to a flood of humans in different-coloured jerseys wandering around on your campus, its official host. 

You’re excused from the whole week’s classes, seeing your cheerleaders and bunches of alphas more than you have ever seen your classmates since the tournament started. It was exciting at first, to participate in such a prestigious tournament that is always the talk of town. But the tight schedules between games is becoming more taxing and demanding.

It doesn’t help that the bond rejection symptoms have only gotten worse, hindering you from giving your best potential at each routine. Which, of course, catches the attention of your captain, and she’s not very amused with it.

“Y/N. If you’re not telling me what is wrong with you, then don’t make me find excuses to put you on the bleachers.” Narin once whispered to you on the third day of the tournament. You merely nodded, trying hard not to scrunch your noise at the sour smell of bubblegum and burnt cotton candy. She eyed you up and down, before she scoffed.

“Don’t get too butt-hurt that Heeseung’s fucking other cheerleaders,” she grunted. You froze. “At least you got your round that night. He fucking rejected me.”

What? The confusion must be clear on your face, because then Narin rolled her eyes, fixing the blue ribbon in her hair before she turned to face you.

“You smelled like him for weeks, Y/N. Don’t think people didn’t know that you two fucked after they won against that eastern university that night.” And then she left, leaving a dumbfounded you in the hallway, standing still like a lifeless statue.

Realisation starts settling in. Did people think you and Heeseung—fuck. You should’ve known.

No wonder many eyes were on you during those days when you still smelled like Heeseung.  You thought it was just because Heeseung was one of the most sought after alphas on campus. Not this. Not whatever allegation this is.

Still, the bomb Narin had dropped wasn’t enough to stop yourself from pushing yourself past your limits. You don’t even know what your limits are anymore. They seem to keep expanding with every new pain that blooms in your chest. 

You’re still a bit sluggish, but at least Narin is off your back. Whatever bitterness she harbours for you, though not forgotten, is at least tamed on the last day of the tournament.

You knew she wouldn’t understand, but you couldn’t help it if the pain worsens. You wish, for once, that Heeseung would take it slow with the cheerleaders from the opposing teams. Because the pain has become unbearable; cracks turning into holes of emptiness in your heart, faint pulsing turning into straight-up invisible stabbing in your gut. You’re actually surprised that you’re not already bleeding from how real it has felt.

However, deep down, there’s a small, barely-there gratitude for Heeseung for not doing it in front of you. At least you can spare yourself from whatever possible torment this fate has destined for you to face if you had to watch Heeseung fucking another omega in the empty locker room.

But you guess it’s time you finally, actually reach your limit, and your body can’t seem to be more dramatic to choose the last game as its last straw. As Heeseung hoops in the last score for the team, sealing their title as the champion, the audience erupts into the loudest cheer you’ve ever heard. You quickly get to your feet to perform the celebratory routine, but the world is spinning and your head is light when you stand up. You stagger backwards.

“Oh my Goddess, are you alright?” One of your cheerleader friends catches you in her arms, shaking you out of your pained daze. 

“I…” you cough, your voice only scratching at your throat. “I just need to. Sit. Yeah. I need to sit down and talk to Heeseung.”

“Heeseung?” The girl, who you finally recognise as Rei, looks over at the center of the court, where almost the whole school is hooting and hollering in joy. “Wait—let me sit you down first. You’re pale as hell, damn.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you’re finally seated. Rei has passed you a bottle of mineral water and fans you with her pink hand-fan. She stays by your side, looking after you as the rest of the world celebrates the first champion of your university team. You’re painfully grateful to her for it.

“Hey. Can I call one of your friends? Or maybe, do you have an alpha I can contact?” Rei starts when you’re not speaking, too focused on not focusing on the pain to remember to talk. “You asked for Heeseung just now. Is he your alpha?”

Is he?

You wish you knew the answer to that too.

Instead, you shake your head. “He’s not my alpha. I just…need to have a few words with him.”

Rei purses her lips, clearly not pleased with your priority at the moment but obliges anyway. “Alright. Let me text my cousin real quick.” She says, already rummaging inside her bag for her phone.

Her statement intrigues you. “Cousin?”

“Nishimura Riki. And he’s not replying. Gimme a sec.” You watch as Rei presses the call button on her phone and puts the device over her ear. You follow her line of sight as she turns to look at the court again. The crowd hasn’t calmed down from the high of the win yet.

“Hello, adopted fuck. I need you to read my text ASAP—Nobody’s stealing your girlfriend, Riki! You can go back to kissing her face after you read my text—Okay, okay! My friend, Y/N, needs to talk to Heeseung. President-level urgent.” Rei pauses, taking a quick look at you before she continues. “Yes. It seems very important. Just get his ass here fast. Yeah—Congrats, by the way. I’m not buying you that Chrome Hearts chain. Bye.”

Rei sighs as she pockets her phone. “Heeseung will be here in five minutes. You good? Do you still need anything? I feel like I should call someone else. You’re friends with Ahn Yujin, aren’t you?” She rambles on. For someone who barely speaks to you, Rei sure is a caring omega.

You give her a small smile.”I’m alright, Rei. I’ll rest after seeing him.”

Rei hums, checking her phone when it vibrates. “Aight, if you say so. I’ll be around here until they move to celebrate at Jake’s frat tonight.” She gathers her stuff and stands up, brushing her pleated skirt with practiced elegance that you know is instilled in every cheerleader’s demeanour.

“You take care of yourself. And I better not see you at the party.”

“Thank you, Rei.” You wave at her and watch as the lines of her frame get smaller, disappearing into the crowd. 

Now alone, the weight of reality is finally hitting you square in the chest. You curse, pulling your hair when you realise your stupid, impulsive decision, made in the whim of desperation to get the pain go away.

“This is stupid,” you whisper. Without thinking further, you grab your bag and stand to leave. But before you can flee the scene, a heavy presence with the familiar scent of spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze drifts into your senses.

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name leaving his lips has locked you in place. The haunting familiarity of his voice, one that follows you into your restless sleeps and every waking hour, engulfs you almost like the night he held you in his arms.

Except this time, there’s a piercing pain in your heart that comes with his presence. A dull, throbbing ache that’s been a constant company to you, manifested into the shape of the man that your wolf yearns for.

Lee Heeseung.

“Y/N?” He repeats, but you don’t dare to face him just yet. “Riki said you wanted to, uh, talk to me.”

Licking your dry lips, you turn to Heeseung, and the sight has almost rendered you breathless.

Heeseung’s still wearing his jersey, standing tall to his height like he’s dominating the air around him. His burgundy hair looks softer under the light, some small strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. His shoulders are squared up, still lined with pride and the high from winning the tournament. He looks at you calmly, but the edges of his eyes are somewhat gentler; if the lights weren’t tricking your eyes.

You gulp, already losing the battle before it has even started. Why does he have to look so handsome?

You force yourself to say something. “Yeah. I did. I mean, I do. It’s important. I think.”

Heeseung is patient. If your nervousness is something unusual to him, he doesn’t comment on it. After all, you’re indeed known as a shy girl among the cheerleaders.

“I’m…I’m going straight to the point and be honest with you.” Is this really happening? You’re scared that if you were to speak more, your heart might leap out of your mouth from how hard it is pumping behind your ribs. You hold your bag tighter, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m listening,” he hums.

The words are simple. His voice is calm. Too calm, like he’s unaffected, like he doesn’t have a clue about what you’re about to say. It almost makes you falter.

For a second, you just stare at him. At the same face your mind has been haunted for weeks, at the same eyes you’ve been avoiding because they make everything feel too real.

Except everything is actually real. You’re just not ready to admit it yet.

Your fingers curl tighter around your bag.

“Did you…feel anything?” you ask, voice smaller than you intended. “That night.”

Heeseung’s brows pull together, confused. “What do you mean?”

Your throat burns. Stop. Turn around. Leave. 

“When you helped me,” you stubbornly continue, ignoring the self-preservation act your wolf’s pulling. “When you scented me. Did you feel something? Anything?”

There’s a shift in the air. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Heeseung’s shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens a fraction. A flash of something that leaves your heart hopeful crosses his face, but it leaves as soon as it comes.

“I was just helping you,” he finally says, almost too quickly. “You were in a bad state.”

The ache in your chest pulses, turning alive with each passing second.

“I know that,” you nod, almost too fast, the throbbing in your head comes back. The headache is well-guaranteed after this, you’re sure of it. “I know. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I just—I just need to know if you felt it too.”

“Felt what?”

You stare at him. God, he’s really making you say it. Is he truly clueless or is he playing with you? Whatever he is trying to do, he’s succeeding at making you feel smaller and…desperate.

“The pull,” you whisper after a while, “the connection.”

Silent stretches between the two of you. Heeseung returns your gaze, but his black eyes reveal nothing about his thoughts. 

You try again. “You felt it too…right?”

There it is. For a fleeting second, you think you see it. That flicker in his eyes. The subtle hesitation. The twitch in his jaw. It almost makes you feel hopeful.

Heeseung exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“Y/N,” he starts slower this time, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “There’s no such thing as that.”

If your heart was made of lead, you’re sure it’d clang to the floor so loud for how fast it drops.

“What?”

“Fated mates. Bond. Whatever you’re thinking.” He shakes his head, like he’s making a show of how ridiculous you sound. “That’s not real.”

The cracks finally shatter, allowing a big, gaping hole filled with utter anguish to take place in where your heart used to reside. Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens. 

“But—” you try, voice undeniably trembling now. “Then, what is this?”

Your hand presses weakly against your chest.

“Why does it hurt like this? Why does,” your voice cracks, your omega thrashing wildly inside you, “why does it hurt so much?”

For a split second, panic flashes across his face. There’s a change in his scent. A sharp, biting spice that’s stinging your nose and thick, briny salt that leaves your throat itchy. 

Because he knows. He knows this isn’t normal. He knows how he almost went psychosis the moment it happened to him three weeks ago. 

But Heeseung’s always been good at leaving—it’s the one thing that’s been keeping his heart in a safe chest without any chances of getting hurt. It’s almost cruel that he never really cares if leaving right after sex would hurt any of the omegas, but he’s never felt bad enough to stop.

And you feel like someone who will make him stay.

So he does what he knows best.

“It’s in your head,” he says, firmer now. “Probably just your heat cycle messing with you. Or stress.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, your chest feels hollow. Your omega, previously hysterical and angry, is now awfully quiet and wounded.

Right. It’s just stress, he said.

You wish it was just stress.

“Oh,” is the only word you can utter. Heeseung nods, as if convincing himself too, and takes a step back.

But for you, it feels too much like a line being drawn.

“Maybe you should get some rest. You look kind of pale,” he suggests, though his voice is slowly getting small the longer he watches the changes in your expression. You’re not looking at him now, just staring at your feet with trembling fists.

The wilting flowers are back in his senses, filling up his nose and beating at his heart like a bat. Heeseung bites his lips, swallowing down the guilt. 

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

The sight of his retreating back…why is it so blurry?

“You are so fucking stupid, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s always wondered how his best friend’s citrusy pheromones are going to smell like when he’s mad. Because Jay never gets mad at him. His friend has so much patience that every playful banter always stays as just a playful banter.

But tonight, Heeseung finally senses it. Jay smells bitter, like overripe lemon left too long in hot water. There’s a sharp, metallic tang to it too, representing the control that he’s trying so hard to keep in check. In response to the alpha’s irritated scent, Heeseung’s dominant wolf is itching to draw his claws out, sensing it as a threat.

They’re standing at the backyard of the frat house, where the pool is glowing blue and the night sky is blinking stars. It’s quieter here, with less people hanging around. Many guests have preferred to dance inside, still in celebration mode post-winning.

“What the fuck were you thinking, trying to get into someone else’s pants right after her—her confession?” Jay scoffs in disbelief. He has his back facing Heeseung, the tense muscle of his shoulders visible through the outline of his Polo shirt. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, looks more disheveled. The collar of his shirt is misplaced, and there are faint lipstick marks staining his neck and the corner of his mouth. Jay had heard from Riki about what happened between Heeseung and you and the alpha was determined to drag Heeseung out of the bedroom, not before muttering a small apology to the omega he was with. It was all shouts and aggressive whispers between the two alphas until Riki managed to shoo them out.

Which brings them to this moment, where Jay is a ticking bomb and Heeseung is trying his best to calm down.  Jay didn’t exactly know who she was, just that he’d seen her face among the cheerleaders. While Heeseung, well, he’s too worked up to explain.

“Confession? What made you think—”

“You guys are fated mates, Heeseung. Can’t you fucking see it?” Jay whips his head around. “This pull you’re feeling is because you guys are fated mates. There’s no other explanation to it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw. “Those things don’t exist, Jongseong. Not to me.”

“Oh, come on. Then explain your sex problem.” Jay hisses, his eyes turning sharper. “You think I don’t know that you still can’t get your dick wet with other omegas?”

The burgundy-haired alpha doesn’t blink. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when she could’ve died!” Jay snaps, his scent flaring with his nose. Heeseung grits his teeth, feeling challenged. 

Then, softer, like vulnerability leaking through his anger, Jay continues: “You could’ve died, Heeseung.”

Heeseung stills. “What?”

Jay lets out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think so little of this matter, don’t you?” His voice drops, tight and furious. “A half-bond between fated mates when left too long can cause death. And with the speed you’re going with all these nameless omegas, I bet it’ll be her turn to die first.”

Heeseung scoffs, but it’s weaker now. There’s a new fear settling in his chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No,” Jay cuts in sharply. “You’re being stupid. I saw her just now. She’s pale as fuck.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a moment, staring into his friend’s eyes with almost the same amount of resentment. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Like a punishment to his lie, something twists sharply in his chest. But Heeseung is quick to mask his pain under a calm facade, gritting his teeth so hard he might break his jaw. Jay scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, so you’re doing this again.” Jay steps closer, not backing away. “You’re running away again, like the coward that you are. You’ll just run and run, deflect and disappear. Typical Heeseung.”

Jay knows he’ll hit a spot if he says it, but he couldn’t care less. He watches as the expression on Heeseung hardens, giving away the emotions he kept locked in his chest.

“Don’t.”

But Jay doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t.

“You think I don’t see it?” Jay presses, voice rising. “Every time something starts to mean something, you bolt. New omega, new bed, new distraction—anything to avoid actually feeling something real.”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what this is!” Jay gestures wildly, frustration spilling over. “You found your mate, and instead of dealing with it, you’re out there fucking anything that moves just to prove you’re still in control.”

Silence slams between them, heavy and ugly. Both alphas are holding back from spiraling, neck straining from self-control and simmering anger.

Heeseung’s laugh this time is cold. “Mate?” he repeats, like the word tastes disgusting. “You really believe in that shit?”

Jay stares at him, disbelief flickering across his face. “I believe in what’s right in front of me.”

“There’s nothing in front of you,” Heeseung shoots back. “She’s just an omega I helped. That’s it.”

“Then why her?” Jay fires immediately. “Why can you find her in a crowd? Why does your scent stick to her for days—for weeks? Why can’t you even touch another omega without looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Heeseung falters, his words failing him as Jay hits him with those facts. His shaky stance doesn’t go unnoticed by the alpha, though. He’s quick to seize the chance.

Jay inhales sharply. “You know I’m right, Heeseung. You and Y/N share a bond.”

“So what?!” Heeseung snaps, frustration finally cracking through. “So what if there’s a bond? You want me to just—what? Drop everything? Play house? Act like I’m suddenly someone I’m not?”

Heeseung meets Jay’s fiery gaze head-on and shoves his friend harshly. “Stay out of it, Jay. I swear to fucking God.”

“And what? Watch you let her die because you couldn’t care less to acknowledge the bond?” Jay lets out a hollow laugh, pushing Heeseung back just as hard. “And then I watch you die?”

“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about this.”

Their scents clash; sharp citrus and aggressive spice filling up the space like a warning siren. It almost turns physical, Riki almost bursts through the door when he sees their chests almost touching. But it is Jay who stops first.

Not because he wants to. But because he’s thinking of you.

“My parents are fated mates, Heeseung.” Jay starts, quieter, his voice losing its harsh edges. “Doesn’t mean you don’t believe in it, it isn’t real to other people.”

Heeseung remains quiet, his chest still moving rapidly.

Jay’s eyes turn glassy. He retreats one more step away from Heeseung. “If you don’t want her, reject the bond properly,” he says, breathing hard. “You’re letting someone know that you don’t want her as your mate. At least have the decency to be kind about it.”

Jay unclenches his fists.

“Don’t drag her through this half-assed bullshit where you keep hurting her just because you can’t make a decision.”

Heeseung freezes. Out of all words being shouted tonight, it is this quiet resignation from Jay that hits his heart the hardest.

Am I being cruel? Heeseung lowers his gaze. Am I a coward?

Heeseung doesn’t wait too long for an answer.

“Stop being a coward, Heeseung. I beg you.”

The words hang between them, like unwanted vines curling around a trunk of a tree. Heeseung’s gaze stays rooted to the ground, trying to find his voice.

But he doesn’t get the chance to.

“...Heeseung?”

Your voice, soft as it is, cuts through the air like a blade. Both alphas turn to where you’re standing by the door. The faint light spilling from the moon only highlights how pale your face is, void of any warmth and colour.

You stand there, one hand gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, your other pressed weakly against your chest. Your eyes, God, your eyes. They’re glassy, unfocused, yet locked onto him like you’ve found something you’ve been searching for your entire life.

Beside him, Heeseung can sense the way Jay’s body tenses the way his does.

“Heeseung…” you call for him again and move to get closer.

But then you flinch. Your entire body recoils, your nose scrunches. 

There, lingering around Heeseung like an unwanted mark, is a scent you know too well. Fruity bubblegum and cloying cotton candy; a scent that flashes pink in your head, turning into a female rage that hits too close to home. Your gaze catches the shape of someone’s mouth staining his golden skin, and something inside you breaks.

Narin.

Heeseung smells like Narin.

Your hand instinctively goes to cover your nose, eyes slowly going wide. The room goes silent, holding its breath as Heeseung feels it. 

The fleeting second where something inside you shatters.

Heeseung steps forward. “Y/N—”

But you retreat faster, away from him like he’s a disease that could kill you. 

“No,” your voice cracks, shaking your head as if trying to physically deny what your body is already registering. “No, no, no…”

Your breath comes out in shallow bursts, your fingers clawing at your shirt. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad. 

It’s like every system in your body is collapsing, failing to cope with the ultimate rejection that comes in the scent of another woman. Your fist hits your chest, forcing the air to flow in because it suddenly feels almost impossible to breathe.

Heeseung feels it now—really, really feels it. The bond is thrashing, frantic, like it’s holding onto something that’s slipping through its grasp. The pained scent of withering daisies starts filling up the air, suffocating both alphas instantly. Jay shifts uncomfortably, looking back and forth from Heeseung to you in alert.

“Hey, hey—Y/N,” Heeseung tries again, softer this time, reaching out instinctively. “Look at me. Y/N—”

“Don’t!” Your voice spikes, sharp with fear. Heeseung freezes, his throat closing up when he sees something you’re yet to realise.

That’s when you feel it—something warm trickling down your nose. You instinctively wipe it and stare at the red liquid smearing your fingers.

Blood. Then another drop falls on your palm. Before you can react properly, it already spills down your chin, past your fingers, dripping onto the floor, tainting the white tiles like a crime scene.

“Fuck.” Jay curses under his breath, his wolf perking up in alarm.

Beside him, Heeseung is beyond agitated. “Y/N!”

He doesn’t think. Heeseung lunges forward, longing to be close to you at that moment. But you’re already shaking your head rapidly, tears spilling uncontrollably now.

“Stop!” you gasp, pale lips trembling like dying petals. “I can’t do this—I can’t—”

Inside you, your omega is screaming in pain. In betrayal. In self-preservation. Her voice, raw and jagged, torn by pain, echoes in your head. 

An instinct, primal and desperate, takes over your being.

Cut it off.

Cut it off before it kills you.

You clutch at your chest, lungs burning up like a wildfire. Tears spill out freely, drenching your face in anguish and agony.

Cut it off!

And finally, you let go.

Across from you, just a few paces away, Heeseung feels it like a force, stopping him in his tracks.

It doesn’t come gradually, or slowly. It rips through his body. A violent, invisible force tearing straight through his chest like something sacred being forcibly severed. His breath is knocked out of him.

“Fuck!” Somewhere behind him, Jay is also spiraling, realising what’s going down.

But Heeseung doesn’t know. He staggers, his knees almost giving up as excruciating pain spreads from the scent gland in his neck down to his chest. Something inside him—something he never fully acknowledges—finally snaps. He almost screams.

A thick veil of tears wells up instantly, blurring his vision faster than he could process it.

“Y/N,” his voice breaks, the cracks showing up like poison in daggers. Across from him, you’re already sobbing.

It’s loud and raw, a wailing that stops even the loud music from inside. Your scent, bitter and beyond distressed, is now flooding the space like a broken dam. Your body folds in on itself as if trying to contain something that’s already shattered beyond repair.

Inside of you, your omega goes silent completely.

And it terrifies him. A lot. 

Heeseung clutches his neck, where his scent gland is pulsing violently, throbbing in an indescribable pain that feels like it could kill him. And when his eyes find yours, he realises with dread that the pull is no longer there. 

He can’t feel you. His wolf can’t feel your wolf.

The constant, aching thread that’s been tying him to you; it’s gone.

You cut the bond from your side.

The half-bond, already fragile with doubt and cowardice, is hanging by its loose thread. If it was a red string like many people had said, Heeseung’s sure it’d waver pathetically by his finger, trembling like a thread losing its kite.

“What…What did you do?” he whispers, voice hollow and shaky.

Heeseung takes a step forward again, ignoring Jay’s warning voice from behind him. His focus becomes singular on you, not minding the many pairs of eyes watching from the other side of the door.

This time, his step is slower and careful, like approaching something fragile. Something that is already broken.

Someone wounded.

You don’t move toward him. You don’t even spare him a look. You just cry, quietly, as now it feels empty where the bond used to be. You can’t feel him. 

You can only feel pain.

“Y/N…”

“...I want to leave.”

You wipe your nose, the blood still fresh and wet. You lean on the door for support, still trying to hold yourself up despite the urge to just collapse. Heeseung has to force restraint on himself, holding himself back from running to you. He searches your face, trying to catch your eyes, terrified beyond reason.

The silence is deafening.

At last, you lift your gaze, misty eyes meeting misty eyes.

“I ended it.” Your voice, used to be soft and warm, is now cold. Heeseung feels his lungs stop functioning.

“There’s nothing between us anymore.”

And that’s when it hits him brutally.

Heeseung didn’t just push you away.

He’s lost you.

sorry for the cliffhanger! part 2 coming soon 🔜

dividers from: @cursed-carmine 🤎

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll

fic taglist: @twocupsofsuga @rayofsunshineeee @all4moi @cutehoons02 @barbiecuedotcom @vmpiricou @kitteaasstuff @sosocide @lhspeachie @sooooobean @bingka @yenienha

[yenayaps]

Missing Pieces

Pairing: childhood bestfriend!sukuna x f!reader

Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day || MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press. word count: 15k

Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that. 

The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic. 

Exactly how did you break said promise? 

You ghosted him. 

You fucking ghosted him. 

You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination. 

Now that’s dramatic.

He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.

He’d never admit it, though. 

The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him. 

To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him. 

He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.

. . . . . . 

“Are you excited?”

“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”

She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons. 

The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. 

Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”

What didn’t she say? 

She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party. 

You thought you had a good argument at the time.

“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”

“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.” 

“Yeah– probably,” you murmured. 

“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!” 

“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded. 

“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.” 

As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families. 

The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one. 

It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them. 

You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options? 

The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked. 

You know what you like, don’t you? 

No, not really.

You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while. 

Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.

Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due. 

The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen. 

Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it. 

Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too. 

But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again. 

You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders. 

It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special. 

It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.

Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position. 

The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee. 

Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well. 

The decision took months. 

In that time, he realized a few things. 

One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches. 

The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker. 

He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency. 

You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp. 

Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it. 

You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe. 

You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about. 

It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way. 

Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone. 

You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful. 

Maybe it’s better off that way. 

Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire. 

You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs? 

Maybe you were the unlucky one here. 

You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on. 

Toji chose to get married and have a kid. 

You can’t even choose yourself on most days. 

“You have arrived at your destination.” 

Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn. 

Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves. 

The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it. 

One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival. 

You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend. 

He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.

“Hey stranger.”

Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.” 

“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug. 

He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”

“Where’s mine?!” 

You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole. 

Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one. 

It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face. 

If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice. 

Today should be enough to prove that.

“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”

“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off. 

“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago. 

No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up. 

Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did. 

Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here. 

At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today. 

“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”

Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you. 

“See? Surprise!”

“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after. 

“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!” 

“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!” 

And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on. 

“I said no!”

“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.” 

“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath. 

You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm. 

He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.

“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw. 

“Sukuna’s here?!” 

“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”

“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence. 

“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”

“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”

“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go. 

“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”

. . . . . .

Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long. 

Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well. 

At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.

His eyes nearly widened. 

And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.  

The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way. 

Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head. 

Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place. 

Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him. 

So yeah, she blames Sukuna.

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building. 

“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.” 

She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.

Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko. 

The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”

“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”

Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day. 

“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.” 

“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs. 

“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?” 

“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”

Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive. 

“What? Is looking at her a crime now?” 

“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”

“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”

“Well Shoko—”

“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.” 

“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”

There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”

“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”

“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.” 

“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.” 

“That’s–”

“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”

“I don’t want her n—”

“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”

click.

Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby. 

He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart. 

He hates that he remembers it. 

He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be. 

. . . . . .

In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work. 

His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.

You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more. 

It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far. 

He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm. 

The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point. 

Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with. 

There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand. 

You were barely smiling. 

Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.

Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number. 

He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number. 

It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away. 

You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.

It’s just dumb.

Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.

. . . . . .

You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that. 

He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least. 

It’s been years. 

And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?

All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day. 

It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them. 

This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso. 

The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either. 

Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle. 

The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls. 

Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know. 

Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away. 

Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view. 

Yuji didn't go very far. 

“...es’cuse me?”

You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had. 

“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”

“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?” 

He pouts. “Yes, please.” 

Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”

Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end. 

“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”

Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it. 

Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?” 

The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”

“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.” 

“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making. 

“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.” 

“Oh no, not my shoes!”

“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.

“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.

“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!” 

Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!” 

“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.” 

Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.

“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?” 

“No!!!”

“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”

Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.” 

“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles. 

“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.” 

You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”

“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”

“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.” 

“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”

“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”

“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.” 

The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna. 

If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.

“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out. 

“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.” 

Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance. 

“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life. 

“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”

“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique. 

Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out. 

“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”

Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”

“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile. 

Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”

“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”

“KAY’.” 

Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna. 

He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him. 

What kind of a sick game is this? 

Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.

By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.

Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff. 

He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.

You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday. 

You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe. 

In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo. 

“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”

“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.” 

You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that. 

“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”

He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”

“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on. 

You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”

“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”

“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught. 

“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers. 

“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.” 

“You’re working for the company?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah.” 

It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company. 

“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”  

“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”

“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?” 

“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.” 

Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal. 

He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too. 

That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing. 

“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”

He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”

“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”

“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed. 

“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.” 

He nearly barks out a laugh. 

You look at him with confusion. “What?” 

“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”

“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”

“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”

You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her. 

“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”

“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”

“Is Dave a new hire?” 

Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.” 

You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.

“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”

She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:

“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.” 

Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.

“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”

On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.

You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.

Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is. 

You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.

“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you. 

In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you. 

You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side. 

You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it. 

“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.” 

It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit. 

Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—

“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks. 

“No.”

“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.

You smile. “I did.” 

He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.” 

“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”

“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”

Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.” 

Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”

“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about. 

The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it. 

“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.” 

Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him. 

Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some. 

. . . 

Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people. 

Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream. 

He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone. 

“Bye.” 

It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way. 

Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—” 

His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets. 

He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number. 

“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.” 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”

He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down. 

“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

. . . . . . 

‘You’re not doing too bad.’

It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them. 

It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones. 

The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t. 

You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.

You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.  

Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t. 

It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny. 

“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”

“Nope.” 

He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.  

“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?” 

He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that. 

“Nope, not a trend.” 

He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag. 

You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter. 

“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?” 

You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.” 

“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it. 

You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets. 

“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?” 

You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge. 

The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in. 

He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be. 

It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house. 

He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.

Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.

He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call. 

It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.

“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors. 

You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?” 

He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.” 

You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”

“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.

He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”

“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch. 

He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.

“What do you mean you guess?” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”

“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.” 

“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.” 

You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should  be split between two people, maybe even three. 

“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do. 

“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.” 

“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“

His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.” 

“What?” he smirks.

“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.” 

He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”

“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”

He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”

“Don’t judge me,” you grumble. 

“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”

“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”

“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.” 

"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.

“You’re awake right now, though.” 

“So?” you scoff.

“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.

“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out. 

At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.

You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.

Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.

“What are you d—”

“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.

“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”

“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is. 

“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”

Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs. 

“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.” 

“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?” 

“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do. 

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”

“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes. 

He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too. 

An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other. 

He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards. 

You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience. 

Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation. 

And it’s fucking hard. 

Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one. 

They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass. 

“Come here.”

He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last. 

The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.  

“Bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate. 

“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom. 

He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go. 

You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are. 

“Shit— look at you,” he groans. 

Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself. 

“Told you this was fun.”

“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down. 

He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.

The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit. 

Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.

The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.” 

“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum. 

You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”

“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”

He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going. 

“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants. 

And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.

“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it. 

He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one. 

“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”

“Atta girl.” 

He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip. 

And of course, you stare for longer than you should.

“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be. 

Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick. 

“Yeah— I just— holy shit.” 

“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”

He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.

He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”

You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him. 

“Mhm.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”

You’ll get used to it.

He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance. 

He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing. 

Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls. 

“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.

“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.” 

“How much is there left?”

“You’ll be fine.” 

He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.” 

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl. 

It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this. 

Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away. 

Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth. 

“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.” 

You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear. 

“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”

Thrust. 

“Fuck— okay,” you whine back. 

“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.” 

At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”

“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself. 

“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”

He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.

“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”

He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”

“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”

“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?” 

It’s a full blown mating press at this point.

“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”

“Good,” he hums. 

He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.

The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.

“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—” 

“What? Too much?”

“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“

Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”

“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks. 

“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?” 

You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you. 

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”

He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry. 

You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock. 

“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation. 

“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”

He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out. 

He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you. 

It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it. 

“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?” 

Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”

. . . . . . 

Six Months Later 

You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face. 

“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”

He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.” 

“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now. 

Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”

Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”

Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness. 

“So you made him cry?” 

Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.” 

The apology being, ‘No, PLEASE! I’m sorry, I'm SORRY,’ and, ‘I LIED— huhuhuhu my tummy hurts, yuji gonna frow up— I’m sorry’.

You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time. 

He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?” 

“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter. 

He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you. 

“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake. 

“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.” 

He stops chewing and just stares at you. 

“I’m gonna stay with them.” 

“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”

“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”

“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”

“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.” 

That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours. 

“Are you listening?”

“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food. 

“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”

“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?” 

Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.

“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”

You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.” 

“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”

The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”

He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him. 

He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.

“Seriously? You can’t wait until we're at home?”

“I’ll make it quick.”

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[leahsfavefics]

The Quest to Squirt

Title: The Quest to Squirt

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (f)

Rating/genre: m (18+), fluff, smut, established relationship

Word Count: 3786

Posting Date: April 24. 2026

Summary: Your boyfriend becomes obsessed with figuring out how to make you squirt. This is definitely porn with very little plot lol

NSFW Warnings: Showering together, Oral (F), multiple orgasms, fingering, breast play, hand job, squirting

Author Note: this is borderline a crack fic and is so stupid but the idea made me laugh and I just finished a chapter in my original novel WIP so I had to write it! I didn't do much editing so if you find a typo or anything just message me so I can correct it!

1:

“So I was thinking…” Taehyung trails off, glancing up at you through those stupidly long, pretty eyelashes of his and tendrils of black hair hanging just past his eyes. Absentmindedly, he churns the noodles in his bowl with his chopsticks.

Your chewing slows, suddenly suspicious. A swallow, and then “About what?”

“Have you ever squirted?”

God damn him for asking that question right when you had taken a drink of water. You choke, water going down the wrong pipe immediately while somehow also shooting out of your nose.

“Oh my God, y/n, are you okay?” Dropping his utensils at once, he rounds the table to rub your back as you cough and regain your breath.

“What” you wheeze. “The fuck?”

“I’m curious! Sorry,” he raises his hands in mock surrender as he resumes his seat across the small table from you. “You haven’t with me, but we’ve only had sex a few times. So I was wondering. You come right? With me?”

“Yes,” you laugh, heat rising to your cheeks. “I came every time, you know that. I’m not a faker. But to answer your question, no I have never squirted. Not everyone can, right? I don’t think I can.”

Taehyung is silent, eyeing you carefully as he slurps up another mouthful of ramen. You wilt under his dark gaze, averting your eyes back to your own bowl of ramen. When he does finally speak, it’s merely a “Huh.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, head snapping back up to meet him.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I just don’t think that’s true. I think you can, you just haven’t yet.”

“Tae, I know my body. I’ve come plenty of times in my life. Sometimes pretty hard. If I could do it, it would have happened by now.”

A sly smile takes over his face. “Maybe. But that’s not going to stop me from trying.”

 “You can try all you want. I don’t think it’s happening.” Standing, you gather the now empty bowls and bring them to the sink, rinsing them before placing them in the dishwasher. You feel as your boyfriend comes up behind you. He brushes your hair to one side before wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. This relationship is fairly new, you’ve only been seeing each other a few months, but he has always set your skin aflame with his touch. It takes everything in you remain upright, to fight the urge in your knees to buckle.

“Can we try right now?”

Giggling, you lace your fingers in his and pull him towards your bedroom. You came, many times, but despite his dedication, you did not squirt.

2:

Busy schedules keep you apart for a few days until you finally find a lunch break gap you can both take, so you meet at the park for a walk. Clasping hands, you’re enjoying the feel of the sun on your face after the long dark of winter when Tae speaks.

“I’ve been doing some research.”

“About what?”

“Well, apparently about 40% of women have squirted.”

“Tae!” You gasp, looking around the park to make sure there are no tender ears around to hear. “Quiet, we’re in public.”

“Babe, no one is close enough and if someone is eavesdropping that’s their own problem. It’s not like we’re at a playground.”

“Okay, well,” you lower your voice, wanting to make sure you could not possibly be heard by anyone other than Taehyung. “Doesn’t that sort of prove what I said the other day? I just can’t squirt.”

“No! Are you kidding? Think about it, y/n. Whatever that sample size was, it’s obviously not all women, it’s not like every single woman took that quiz, or whatever. And I’m sure there are women that have squirted that are ‘unreported’ so to speak. Also, think about how many women are just living their lives unfulfilled sexually. I mean, let’s be real here, a lot of men don’t even give a fuck if the woman their sleeping with enjoys it at all, let alone comes. And from my understanding, you have to be pretty turned on and come pretty hard to squirt. I would bet you a lot of money that most, if not all, of those women could squirt, they just haven’t because they’re having sex with losers.”

You think back to former relationships. Taehyung was definitely the first man you’d been with that had been so dedicated to making sure you enjoyed yourself. With your first boyfriend, you were so in your head about being ‘sexy’ or good at what you were doing you never even came. Sex felt good, sure, but a lot of the time you were ‘thinking’ too much for it to be anything more than that. With Taehyung, his reassurance, his technique, it wasn’t just good, it was fantastic. He made sure you came, once at minimum, every single time, concerned about how much you were enjoying yourself more than anyone else you’d ever been with. To hear he is so occupied with making you squirt was concerning.

“Tae, you know it’s good for me when we have sex, right? Just because I don’t squirt doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. You’re the best I’ve ever had. It’s amazing every time.”

“I know you enjoy yourself, baby. It’s just that I want to make sure you enjoy yourself to the maximum capability.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I appreciate your dedication. Just don’t take it personally when it doesn’t happen.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “It will. I’d try now but we both have to get back to work. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

3:

You’re relaxing on your couch, enjoying lowkey night in with nothing but snacks and tv, when the ringing of your phone interrupts your show. Pausing the show, you grab your phone to see Taehyung’s name on the caller ID.

“Hey,” you say as you answer.

“Hey. Can I come over?”

You pull the phone away from your head to check the time. It’s only 7pm, but you usually planned date nights in advance. “Um, yeah, sure. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just want to see you.”

You can’t fight the smile that curls your lips. “You’re supposed to see me in two days.”

“Don’t want to wait. Alright I’ll see you in twenty.”

“See you soon, babe.” You hang up and toss your phone to the other side of the couch, becoming immediately engrossed in the television once again. After what feels like no time at all, you hear Tae’s signature knock on the door. Wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, you cross the room to let him in. As soon as you open the door he folds you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your lips that starts chaste and slowly becomes languid and sensual.

Dazed, you pull back. “What was that for?”

He smiles down at you, a glint in his eyes. “I watched a tutorial on squirting. I want to try it.”

You throw your head back and grown. “Oh my God, Tae, this again? Why are you so obsessed?”

“I told you, I want to make sure you enjoy yourself to the maximum ability.”

“Tae,” you say, pulling the blanket tighter around you. You hadn’t considered it before, but you’re starting to wonder if maybe his previous girlfriends were able to squirt, and it’s something he considers lacking in you. “Is it.. bad for you that I don’t squirt? Have you made your previous partners squirt?”

He blanches, mouth dropping open in shock and brows creasing. “I-what? No, babe. Baby, no it’s not bad for me that you don’t. What I’ve done with other partners has no relevance to me and you, but yes I have made others squirt in the past. But I’ve also been with people that haven’t, neither is better or worse when it comes to how it is for me or how it feels. What I am so focused on here is making you feel good, figuring out the science behind it.”

“What science? Isn’t it just pee?”

“No! It’s an entirely different chemical compound.”

“Good lord. So I’m like your science project?”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not my science project. Your pussy is.”

You throw your head back, cackling as Taehyung bends down to lift you up, tossing you over his shoulder and stalking to the bedroom.

4:

Weeks have flown by, and still Taehyung remains fixated on his quest to get you to squirt. You can’t complain, the weeks have been filled with mind-blowing sex. He has tried with his fingers, his mouth, his cock, making you come over and over until you tremble, physically unable to take any more stimulation. But never once has your pussy turned into the fountain he so desires.

“Alright, I think I know where I have been going wrong,” he says, laying on the couch with his head resting on the pillow of your chest.

“Where?” you ask, no idea what he’s even talking about. Taehyung is like that though, his mind always wandering from one thing to the next, keeping you on edge. You never know what is going to come out of his mouth.

“I think I need to edge you more.”

“What? Why?”

“When? Who? Are you going through all the ‘W’ questions?”

“Shut up,” you cackle.

“For real though, you have to be super turned on to squirt. As you get more aroused, your urethral sponge enlarges and hardens and then your Skene’s glands fill up with cum and then with pressure and massage you’ll squirt. I’ve been too eager; you’re coming too fast.”

“Okay Bill Nye. Is this your version of dirty talk? Because ‘Skene’s glands’ is not sexy.”

“It can be sexy! C’mon baby, let me massage your urethral sponge.”

“Oh my God.” You can hardly breathe through your laughing as he buries his face in your chest. “I’m on the rag, I can’t tonight.”

“You know I won’t let that stop me. We should put a towel down anyway for when you squirt.”

“I know it won’t stop you but it’s stopping me tonight. I don’t feel sexy. I feel bloated and gassy and gross.”

He huffs. “Fine, that’s fair. Next time.”

“As long as you don’t say ‘urethral sponge’ again.”

5:

The stars must be aligning in your boyfriend’s favor, because the next time you see him you’re ovulating, meaning just being next to him turns you on. Smelling his signature scent, a magnetic mix of cedar and musk, has your lower belly swirling in anticipation. You’re at his place this time. After spending the day at the beach together, you walked hand in hand back to his place and hopped in the shower to rinse off. For once, he’s said nothing about getting you to squirt. Didn’t even make any comments when you suggested you shower off together. He just hopped in with you, lathering you up with soap and running his hands over your body as if it was nothing. If you hadn’t witnessed his dick getting hard with your own eyes, you would have thought he was entirely unaffected. You kept waiting for him to make a move, the slickness between your legs increasing with every touch of his skin against yours, but he turned the water off and stepped out without a word about it.

“Dry off and meet me in my room,” he says, handing you a towel and pressing a kiss to your lips that was entirely too innocent for your liking before leaving the bathroom. What game was he playing at here?

With a sigh you dry off and pull on the sweatpants and baggy t-shirt you had brought from home. It was one of his shirts he had left at your apartment. Strategically, you never washed it so the smell of him lingered. Given how already aroused you are, it probably isn’t the best idea to physically wear his scent, but what else are you supposed to do? It was getting to the point where you’re so wet it’s uncomfortable.

Taehyung is lounging against the headboard when you enter his bedroom, shirtless and with a pair of tented boxers slung low on his hips. You bite back a smile seeing the effect the shower had on him, knowing it isn’t just you.

“Why are you dressed?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“Didn’t you say to?”

“I said dry off. Take your clothes off. I want to give you a massage.”

“Why?” you ask, pulling his t-shirt over your head like he asked.

“I just do. It was a long walk back from the beach, and you just had your period and that makes you sore sometimes, right? I want to help you relax.”

“You can help me relax in other ways,” you suggest, climbing into the bed once you’re naked.

“Hmm, maybe later. Lay down.” He pats the bed beside him and you huff, trying to ignore your heartbeat pounding in your cunt as you lay on your stomach.

“What is that?” you ask as something warm and wet hits your back.

“Warming oil. I’m giving you a massage, like I said.”

Closing your eyes, you sink into the feeling as his hands spread the oil over your back. Rubbing it in, he keeps his touch gentle as he massages your muscles. He spends extra time on your lower back, the area that that is most stiff and sore when you’re menstruating, and his thumbs ease the muscles before dipping lower. His touch remains innocent, for the most part, even as he massages the length of your legs before returning to your glutes. He spreads your cheeks, his thumbs slipping between your legs and grazing the exterior of your pussy as he massages. You can’t help the groan that slips from your lips at his touch, but he continues as if he didn’t hear anything. With each pass of his hands, his thumbs get closer and closer, until they graze your clit on each pass. He grunts as one thumb slips inside on accident due to how slick and slippery you are.

“Turn around.” The words come out hoarse, his voice deep with barely restrained arousal.

You do as he asks, rolling until you’re laying on your back as he kneels beside you. You eye his dick, ramrod straight, red and leaking at the end, and lick your lips. “Don’t even think about it,” he murmurs, catching your gaze, but he doesn’t stop as you reach for him, grasping his length in your hand and slowly pumping, spreading his pre-cum and using it as lubricant.

“Naughty girl,” he hisses, breath hitching as you squeeze him. His hands return to your body, slick from the oil, massaging your legs and moving up, up, until he reaches your breasts. Leaning down, he takes a nipple in his mouth, teasing with his teeth before suckling at the raised peak of your breast. Coming off that breast with a pop, he moves to the other as his hand reaches between your legs. He trails his fingers lightly along your thigh until they reach the apex, then ducking between your folds as he groans. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“I’ve been wet since the goddamn beach.”

“I know,” he growls, releasing your other nipple from his mouth to speak.

“Then why haven’t you done anything about it.” The words sound whiny even to your own ears as you buck your hips into his hand, squeezing his cock as you continue to pump him.

“All in good time, baby.” He moves up, licking a stripe up your neck before nipping at your ear. You shudder at the combination of sensations. His fingers, slick from the oil and your arousal, begin to swirl soft circles over your clit. It’s so good, but it’s soft, too gentle.

“More,” you groan, and to your surprise he listens, slipping two fingers inside, but he doesn’t pump them. “What are you doing, Tae?” He places his other hand atop your lower belly, pressing down lightly while the fingers inside you press up, dragging along your walls until they hit that perfect spot that has you keening, arching off the bed.

“There?” he asks, grinning as your hand halts on his dick. It’s the last thing you see before your eyes flutter shut, because rather than pumping his fingers, he leaves him fully inside, massaging that one spot over and over. You nod, frantic, hips bucking as your chase your high, until he suddenly removes his fingers entirely.

Your eyes snap open, glaring at your boyfriend, who is currently wearing the definition of a ‘shit eating grin.’ “Taehyung. What the fuck.”

“We gotta take it slow, baby. Ease you into it.”

“I don’t need to be eased into it. I’ve been wet for hours. Make me come.”

Still smiling, he takes your hand off his cock and moves until he’s laying between your legs. “Can’t wait to taste you. You smell so good.” He runs his tongue up the length of your sex, swirling it over your clit before sucking the swollen nub into his mouth while his fingers play with your opening. Almost all at once you’re right back on that edge again, but he releases you before you can tumble over, forcing you to skirt along the cliff-face, but not allowing you to fall.

“If you don’t stop fucking edging me I swear to God-“ You can’t finish the threat because his fingers are back inside you, rubbing at that spot again, increasing the pressure ever so slightly. His tongue is no longer involved, and when you open your eyes for a peak at him he’s got a determined set to his jaw, his eyes black as they’re locked in on your pussy. Just the sight of him would be enough to make you come, the pressure of his fingers is merely icing on the cake at this point.

“Let go baby. Let everything go,” his voice is husky, so low you can barely hear it over the squelching of his fingers in your cunt, and it catapults you into the abyss. You arch off the bed, vision blurring before your eyes squeeze shut and your body convulses. You’ve never felt anything like it, and the sudden gush of liquid down your ass is the least of all the sensations. Taehyung doesn’t give you a break, pulling his fingers from you as you gush and swiping them across your clit, fast until you’re coming again before you’ve even had the chance to come down from the first orgasm, more liquid spurting from your weeping cunt.

“What-“ you heave, trying to catch your breath. “The fuck…” As you come down, you begin to feel just how extraordinarily wet you are. Opening your eyes, you look down at your boyfriend between your legs.

His face is soaked, glistening with your essence, a proud boxy grin on his face. “I told you you could squirt.”

“You,” you said, sitting up to grab his face and pull his lips to yours. You speak between kisses, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Are the most ridiculous, determined, incredible man I’ve ever met. I can’t believe that happened.”

“Can I fuck you now? I’m hanging on by a thread here. I almost came by proxy just from you gushing all over my face.”

“Yes,” you say, laughing against his lips. You tangle your fingers in his hair, scraping your nails against his scalp as he trembles and moans. Reaching between your bodies, he grabs his cock and rubs its head along the length of your cunt. You jerk and twitch, slightly overstimulated but in that sweet spot where it hurts so good.

“You okay?” he asks, breaking away from your mouth so his eyes can search your face.

You could cry at his concern, but you won’t. All the moisture in your body is on Taehyung’s face already.

“I’m okay, just a little sensitive. I can’t believe that happened.” You repeat. “You’re incredible.”

Taehyung actually blushes, ducking his head into your neck. “I knew you could do it. We just had to unlock the code together.”

You put your hand under his chin, lifting his face up to kiss him. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you reach down and grab his length positioning it right at your opening. You lift your hips, sighing as he slips inside.

“You’re…” he trembles in your arms. “So warm. So wet. You feel so fucking good.” His words are slurred as he begins to pump into you, like he’s drunk off your cunt.

“You… too…” you whimper, eyes rolling back into your head as he rolls his hips, ensuring that his cock rubs against that spot deep inside that he had massaged before.

“I want you to come again. With me,” he says before bending to take your nipple into his mouth, the pace of his hips increasing.

“I can’t,” you keen, arching into him.

He pulls away, meeting your eyes before leaning down to kiss you. When he pulls away again, he tugs your bottom lips with his teeth before letting go. “You can, baby. And you will.” Reaching between your bodies, he swipes his fingers over your clit. He sits up, adjusting the angle of his hips so his cock presses against the top of your walls with more pressure.

“Tae. Baby. I’m gonna- nghhh-“ your words turn into a scream as you come again, writhing against Taehyung. Your hips jump so much he slips out of you, and this time you actually see the stream of clear liquid that shoot from you, landing on your boyfriends abdomen just as he comes as well, painting your pussy with ropes of milky cum.

Several moments pass as you both catch your breath, growing from wet to sticky with each passing second. Tae is the first one to speak, looking down at the veritable lake your body created with a goofy and satisfied smile. “Oops, I did it again.”

“Oh my god. Did you just quote Britney Spears after sex?”

“Cunt go crazy, like Britney, baby. You hit me with it one more time.”

Your hands come up to cover your face as you dissolve into laughter. Only Taehyung would complete an epic round of sex with the altered lyrics of his new favorite song.

“You’re so stupid,” you cackle.

Laughing with you, he lays down, covering your body and pressing kisses to your face. “I wasn’t even trying to make you squirt that time. I just wanted you to come with me.”

“Well, it worked. A little too well. This is going to be a lot of clean up.” Suddenly feeling hot and increasingly gross, you gently push him off you and sit up, looking down at your bodies and the soaked sheets. “Let’s go shower again.”

© 2026 leahsfavefics Do not copy or repost without permission.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)

[tonycries]

Unhoneymooners!? - G.S.

Synopsis. The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, unprotected, argument as foreplay, slight enemies to lovers, more like annoyances actually, cunnilingus, oral (male + female), spitting, creampié, one bed trope, rough, Satoru is still EXTREMELY down bad for you, and unfairly hot, forced proximity, cúmplay, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. It’s impossible to not write Satoru without bullying him at least a little bit.

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 2 weeks, and 16 hours ago - not that you were keeping count, of course.

So why was he outside of your resort room blasting “Kill Bill” by SZA like he’s auditioning for the world’s most dramatic comeback tour? On what should’ve marked your fourth anniversary, no less.

Well, given you were the one to lock him out, but still - the stubborn bastard could at least have some decorum. 

With an exasperated sigh, you throw yourself onto the king-sized bed of your honeymoon suite, trying to will away that annoying, grating voice - not SZA, no, more so Satoru singing along at the top of his lungs to the chorus. 

How did you even get here? And with Satoru of all people - your Satoru. Or at least he was this time a little over a year ago. 

You first met Satoru when you were in university, back when he wore those pretentious circled sunglasses and waltzed around those halls like he owned the place. And after a single literature assignment together, he wasn’t just your (self-proclaimed) best friend; he was the reluctantly favorite thorn in your side. 

Like the rest of him, Satoru’s introduction into your love-life was anything but subtle. It wasn’t like he strolled in, gave a polite nod, and blended into the background. Oh no, he bulldozed his way in and dragged you to dance with him on the tables of some dingy frat party in what you could only assume was some joke from the universe at your expense.

And damn him, you think bitterly, you couldn't resist him that night. Spinning you into a dramatic dip, silver chain brushing your face as his half-lidded eyes bored into yours. You couldn’t not kiss him after the way his hands were just searing into your skin. 

God, you’ve never been able to listen to “Gasolina” the same way ever since.  

Satoru was in love as he was in the rest of life - a force of nature, and it was too easy to find yourself caught up in him.

That night at the frat party was just the beginning. From then on was a rollercoaster of everything from heated debates over the best flavor of ramen to impromptu road trips where you’d end up under a carpet of stars. Wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing whispered secrets for an unpromised future - oftentimes where Satoru would crack a joke or two about running away to Tokyo with him. To which you’d laugh it off with a “Yeah yeah, I’d leave everything I’ve known behind in a heartbeat for your dumbass, Toru.”

You just didn’t think that it would be the downfall to your relationship. All the empty promises. 

Because as those heavenly days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, eventually two years had gone by. The whirlwind romance settled into a comfortable rhythm, but with it came the looming promise of graduation and Satoru moving to work under his family company in Tokyo.

Under pressure, it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show, the arguments more frequent, and the silences more deafening. And as your relationship slowly turned into nothing more than a husk of what it used to be - so did the both of you.

Long story short, graduation was a bittersweet goodbye - and you think both of you knew long before it was actually over. Neither of you attended the afterparty - with Satoru on a flight straight to Tokyo and you at home to stuff your face with chocolate. Hey, at least you could blame your tears on finally leaving university, right? 

You had meticulously erased his name from your phone, your social media, and even your dreams - well, almost, the bastard still came around to bother you occasionally. It was messy, painful, and final.

But “final” really didn’t explain your current predicament. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Satoru is that he’s always there - whether you liked it or not. He was there when you needed a partner for that literature assignment, and he was there to turn your world upside down at that dingy frat party.

Hell, he was even there to help you stubbornly chug mountains of ice cream and win that raffle for this five day-long getaway trip to the Maldives. Though, you think he might’ve chugged the ice cream without the promise of a vacation anyway.

But, when ultimately those shiny tickets came in the mail - Satoru wasn’t there. Oh well, it might’ve been a couple’s trip - but you could have a hot girl summer, right? Maybe you could even snag a hottie by the end. You’d almost forgotten that he’d be getting his copy of the tickets as well.

Yet, unfortunately - as the beginning notes of P!nk’s “So What” bursts through the heavy wooden door - you were inevitably reminded of the fact that he was here. Right now. Goading you into coming outside.

You find yourself groaning inwardly (and outwardly) because of course, why wouldn’t he come back even more obnoxious than before? You haven’t seen him in ages, yet here he is, crashing back into your life with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Or - you furrow your brows at his purposefully off-key singing carrying over the sounds of the waves outside - with the subtlety of a manchild with a JBL and a premium account on Spotify.  

Rubbing your temples in frustration, you contemplate how much longer of this it would take before you’re both kicked out of this resort. And after you ate so many ice creams to win this getaway trip? No chance.

With a resigned sigh, you rise from the bed, smoothing out the bathing suit you’d just put on before the devil incarnate showed up knocking at your door. Something hot and prickly pools in your stomach as you approach it, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the situation. So like Satoru.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you shakily reach for the handle. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal actually.

…

What’s the worst that can happen?

Slam! 

The door swings open, and there in all his smug glory stands a very shirtless Satoru. Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru, the same asshole you’ve blocked on even Gmail. 

Except, you’re momentarily struck by how high you have to raise your eyes to meet his. Are growth spurts even a thing anymore? You didn’t have a chance to take a good look last time before slamming the door shut at the first flash of white hair and a smug grin.

But right now, traitorously, your gaze catches on just how broad his shoulders look and…since when was he so chiseled? Damn you, Tokyo - you were doing him too good.

His hair is slightly longer too, curtaining those slightly more mature features, stopping just above that ever-immature grin. One which moves as he hums, “Well, happy fourth anniversary to me, If I knew this came with the suite then I’d have swam here myself.”

You scoff, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious as he wiggles his brows, striking blue eyes sweeping your figure from head to toe. “I’d prefer if you swam back. What are you doing?” 

“Why, just showing up to our room on our lil’ honeymoon, sweetheart.” Satoru sing-songs, leaning against the doorframe to fully prevent you from slamming the door in his (admittedly) pretty face again. “And before you try to break my nose with that door again, I won that ticket here fair and square, y’know. I ate just as much ice cream as you did for it.”

“You ate most of those before you knew about the getaway raffle.” you sigh over his nonchalant shrug, pinching your nose, “And stop calling it our honeymoon, I dumped you five months ago.”

“Well aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving. Keeping count?”

“No. Don’t be a pest.”

“Always thought you had a thing for pests. After all, you did date me.” As Satoru grins impossibly wider, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He winks, “And if I’m a pest then you’re an itch that just won’t go away.”

“At least I’m not the itch that shows up uninvited to someone’s honeymoon suite.” you hiss. And with that you start shutting the door ever-so-slowly, delighting in the panic that overtakes Satoru’s features as he reaches out frantically.

“Hey!” he sputters, “I didn’t know you’d be here! And besides this ‘pest’ forgot his slippers all the way in Tokyo and can’t stand on flaming-hot boardwalks for too long so let me in.”

And sure enough, you glance down to see that Satoru isn’t wearing any slippers on the scorching boardwalk. The realization almost brings a smirk to your lips. This idiot. 

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ at my feet or-”

“I should leave you here to rot just for your pure idiocy.” you deadpan, eyes locked on the way he’s burning his soles off yet still has the audacity to flash you a cocky smile.

“But you won’t.” he hums.

A beat passes. One. Two. And Satoru’s grin almost falters, before you finally relent - opening the door just a crack, cursing his entire bloodline under your breath. “You’re incorrigible” you mutter as he saunters inside victoriously, dragging his hefty luggage behind.

“Why change perfection, sweetheart~” he calls out, heading straight for the bedroom, only to let out a delighted “OooOOo” at the sight of the king-sized bed in the middle. The only bed. “How scandalous, maybe you’ll even fall in lov-” 

“Don’t. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a seashell.” you warn, holding up both keycards threateningly, “I get the bed, you take the couch.”

“But-”

“And I’ve got the keys, so slippers or not you’ll be back out on that boardwalk.” 

A slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips at the way Satoru looked so dramatically crestfallen, you continue - just to be petty, “And no more ‘Kill Bill’ that’s on my angry ex playlist.”

With a heavy sigh he sulkily makes his way to the bathroom, calling out as he does, “Fine. But I’m showering first.”

As he disappears from sight you throw yourself onto your bed, basking in what little peace and quiet you’ll have because of your unwanted guest. This was going to be a-

“And I’m using all of your body lotions.”

“...”

“I will use one of your body lotions.”

Groaning, you sink into the plush mattress, just wishing it would swallow you whole and spare you from this torment. And this was only Day 1? This was going to be a very long five days. 

---

The first night with Satoru, honestly, wasn’t too bad. 

You don’t know what you expected exactly - maybe for him to pour hair dye in your shampoo or something. But he actually stuck to his word, slept on the couch after only a bit of taunting, and used only one of your body lotions. Your best-smelling, most expensive one, but one nonetheless.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, you spent most of the second day at the beach, meanwhile he stuck to lounging by the pool. Add in a bit of pretending you didn’t know him by the salad bar at dinner and that made for an almost-perfect hot girl summer. 

Well, considering that you were rooming with your insufferable longtime ex - in a honeymoon suite of all places. 

The only catch came that night, fully content at the burning soreness from being pushed around by the waves outside. You got ready to splay out on your bed, humming along to the tunes of your playlist and…Satoru’s lamenting?

“I swear my back feels like it’s been run over by a truck. Five of them, and a zoo.” he complains from behind you, dramatically draping himself over the couch - his impromptu bed. 

“Good.”

“What if that was my last straw?”

“Even better.”

His exaggerated, disappointed whine is both embarrassing and almost-endearing as you roll your eyes, resisting the urge to suffocate him with a pillow. “Maybe call your chiropractor guy.”

Satoru shot you a pointed look, his expression a mixture of faux innocence and irritation, which you knew too well. “I wish but he’s trekking through the Himalayas. C’mon~ Don’t you think that lovely king-sized bed is too big for just one?”

“No, but the boardwalk sure is. Maybe you should try it out.” you monotone, getting ready to end this conversation once and for all. 

But when has Satoru ever let you off easy? He sits up abruptly, a devious smile curling his lips. “Ohh, I get it.” he taunts, batting his long lashes mockingly, “You’re scared to sleep in the same bed with me.”

Huh?

“Out of all the idiotic-” you cut yourself off by whirling around to face his smug grin, “Why would I be scared to sleep in a bed with you. I’ve done that far too many times already.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And all those times you could barely last an hour before without keeping your hands off of me. Scared you’ll end up pinned underneath me and stuffed full like old times, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes at him despite the heat burning your face. “The only thing I’m scared of is your icicle feet on my side.”

He laughs, a sound that’s equal parts irritating and endearing, and stands up from where he was slumped on the couch. Making his way slowly, but surely towards you, “Oh, c’mon. For old times’ sake, admit it, you miss me.”

"Yeah, missed the peace and quiet I don’t have because of your big mouth,” you scoff. Finding it hard to meet his twinkling gaze as he comes close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. Your cheeks burn at the proximity - hot enough to match the heat radiating off his body. 

Satoru shakes his head, undeterred by your threats. And suddenly you get the overwhelming urge to throw him out the window and straight into the ocean. “You can deny it all you want, but you still have feelings for me.”

Your jaw clenches at his audacity. “You wish. I’d never.”

“Then prove it.”

Damn, he was good.

Which is probably how you found yourself lying in the same bed as Satoru, with a wall of all the pillows in the room erected between you two - and a few extra from room service just in case. 

“Sweetheart, this is a king-sized bed. Is the fortress really necessary?”

You wrap your blankets tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the figure radiating warm right next to you. Muttering out a muffled little, “Yeah, so you can keep your mitts off of me.”

Satoru groans dramatically, bed creaking as he shuffles what you can only assume to be closer to you. “You keep your mitts off of me, you lecher.” he quips, voice dripping with sarcasm as he inches closer.

You stiffen at his proximity, feeling his warmth seep through the layers of blankets and pillows as he chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine, “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We used to share a bed all the time.”

“That was before,” you interject. God, you didn’t like where this conversation was going. 

“Before what?” Satoru presses, his voice low and insistent. 

Now, you might’ve let yourself be goaded into sharing a bed but these were old wounds better off left alone. You hiss, tone firm, “Before. Now sleep” 

Before when you didn’t have to make a wall of pillows. Before when he would hold you tight and whisper sweet secrets into your ear. That he’d buy you the biggest ring he saw and promise you the world. Before- 

“I missed you, y’know.” Satoru breaks the silence barely audible over the sound of your own thoughts. The word pangs through your mind and claws at your chest. And at your silence he continues, tone a little lighter, “And stop hogging all the blankets, I’m gonna freeze to-”

“Boardwalk.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Goodnight, ma’am.”

And he sinks back into his pillow with a huff, you let out a sigh of relief. Something hot coiling in your stomach as you close try to catch as much sleep as you possibly could with the bane of your existence laying right beside you. The suddenly taller, dangerously handsome, still as-obnoxious-as-ever bane of your existence. 

You just wonder if he remembered “before”.

Oh, how Satoru remembered “before”. So much so that he had sixteen different playlists dedicated to you even after the breakup.

It’s divine punishment - it has to be. Satoru thinks there’s no reasonable explanation for the series of unfortunate events happening to him other than punishment from his ancestors above for being such a pussy and losing the love of his life.

First he forgets his slippers, then he ends up locked out of his own honeymoon suite by said love of his life. Granted, all thoughts of his poor burnt soles went out the window the moment he caught a glimpse of you in that positively sinful bikini. God, were you glowing. A goddess upon Earth - he could really give the Gojo Satoru of five months ago a good, hard kick.

And now he’s stuck in a - very comfortable - prison with you just inches away, tossing and turning in that way he knows means that you can’t sleep either. 

Honestly, very funny universe, the great Gojo Satoru demands a refund. Way to punk’d him into confronting the feelings he’s desperately been trying to bury these past few months - ever since he got on that plane to Tokyo and contemplated faking a heart attack just to get off. 

Realizing just then that he lost the love of his life - and the only woman who’d tolerate his karaoke nights. But with that realization came another, more jarring one: he was too late. 

Every touch, every laugh, and even every time you rolled your eyes was etched into his very soul, and it felt like a montage from a sappy breakup movie directed by a sadistic screenwriter who had it out for him. 

And it really didn’t help that this was the exact suite he was planning once upon a time to propose in. God, how you’d feed him to the crabs if he said anything about that - nevermind the fact that he was actually one that booked this-

But still, some traitorous, annoying part of his heart interrupts, she still hasn’t made you sleep on the boardwalk yet.

Maybe - just maybe - he’ll wake up to a second chance?

…

Ha. As if.

“I can’t sleep.” Satoru groans out loud, more so to drown out his own thoughts than anything.

“Well, I can. Goodnight.”

Ah, his girl was such a lil’ liar. Undeterred, the mattress creaks as he shuffles his weight to excitedly face you, taking a moment to admire how pretty you looked under the dim moonlight. He plows on, “Hey, if you promise not to make me crab food, wanna walk along the beach and watch the stars?”

A beat of silence. One. Two. so deafening and tense that Satoru was half a second away from obnoxiously laughing it off as a joke and pulling out his Emo Times™ playlist. 

“Or I can go back to the couch and-”

“Shut up. Let’s watch the stars, Satoru.”

But what do you know - maybe the universe hasn’t given up on him just yet. 

And, well, if he woke up the next morning breaching your fortress - your warm breath tickling his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, like the lifeline he never knew he needed - then, neither of you mentioned it.

---

“Hey, Satoru. You think we’ll always be like this?” you hum into your boyfriend’s chest, barely a whisper as the looming fears of, well, everything ring in your mind. 

He pulls you close, flashing a mischievous grin before planting a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. “Duh, I’ll always be around to drive you dangerously close to a stroke, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, yet bury yourself closer to his warmth anyway.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if I have to drag you by the leg to Tokyo. Wherever you are is where I belong. ”

---

You’ve come to learn that a resort island is only so big when you’re actively trying to avoid your 6’3 manchild of an ex.

Now that you were rooming with Satoru, sleeping with Satoru (in a literal sense only, of course), and just-so-happening to bump into him at the beach - somehow, talking with him is a little easier, his presence just a bit more exciting than you’d care to admit. 

If the you of four days ago could see what had become of you, then she’d probably slap some sense into you faster than you could say “Kill Bill”. Sleeping in the same bed (still only literally), having dinner, watching the stars - with Gojo Satoru? You’ve gone completely off your rocker. 

But could you really be blamed? These last few days have you feeling like maybe you’ve been dropped into an alternate universe, where you and Satoru never broke up. 

Yet, reality is a persistent little bastard. And with the end of your trip looming dangerously closer, the past you would be cackling mockingly in your face, flashing a large sign in big, red letters reading “I TOLD you so.” 

Whatever. Maybe by this time tomorrow both of you could laugh this all off as a silly little adventure and call yourself somewhat begrudging friends. Maybe you’d even end up unblocking him by the end - on Gmail, at least.

At the very least, dinnertime was a solace - both from your thoughts and the smug bastard talking your ear off about how he could “make that spaghetti better than a thousand Italian grandmothers.”

Until the fourth - and final - night, that is. When the resort, deciding that your current torture wasn’t already enough, arranged a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

Great. Wonderful. Perfect, in fact. Going out with a bang. Was this really part of the all-inclusive package? It was like the universe was playing some twisted joke on you - or some awful version of wingmanning. 

You grit your teeth silently as you’re ushered to the beachside table, thoughts barely audible over the waves crashing against the shore and the soft, romantic music drifting from the band nearby. 

The complete opposite of Satoru, who was already seated at the table and enjoying himself far too much for your liking. He lounged back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you sit opposite him uncomfortably.

You hated to admit it - but God was he dangerously beautiful in that crisp white button-up, one that you knew was from his overpriced collection for special occasions. You found yourself fighting to avoid the amber hues twinkling in his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features.

Pretty? So frighteningly pretty - until he speaks, that is.

“And here I thought our honeymoon couldn’t get any worse. You’re sweating bullets, sweetheart. This your first date with me or something?”

“We’re not on a honeymoon, Satoru. And no, it just brings back memories.” you scoff. Relishing in the way he inches his chair closer to listen, clearly not expecting this sudden sentimentality. “Memories of why I blocked you on every social media.”

All but slamming his head down on the table, Satoru whines out, “Ouch, straight for the jugular. That mouth is still as bitchy as ever, huh? Though I do prefer it choking on my-”

“I’m going to throw you into the ocean.”

“Ooo, kinky~” he hums, swirling his wine glass, “But you know what this reminds me of? That one time we had dinner under the stars.”

You froze, the memories suddenly flashing back to you despite your best efforts to suppress them. “Oh yeah,” you muse. A chuckle leaving your mouth despite yourself, “Wasn’t that where you spilled ketchup all over your shirt and then insisted it was a fashion statement?”

He leans in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey! It worked, didn’t it? I got compliments from everyone including you.”

“I was just trying to stop you from bursting into tears.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at the memory. 

“Exactly, sweetheart. Like moths to a flame.”

“More like to a bug-zapper.”

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, loud and unabashed. A sound that echoes across the beach and makes something warm and sticky strum at your heartstrings. And at that moment, that stupid, little part of you didn’t even mind that you were at a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

And he didn’t even have to goad you into it with SZA this time.

As the orange glow of the setting sun melded into the cool blue of the night, it almost felt like slipping back into an old routine. The food had long since been finished. Jabs and shared memories flowing through the air like the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

The cool air was now thick with contentment and something so unknown yet so familiar that it made your heart race. 

 “I swear.” you groan over Satoru’s loud cackles, “He tried to charm his way out of the bill by flirting with the waitress. In front of me.”

Satoru doubles over, clutching his stomach as he laughs uproariously. “Classic move! If he’s going to be a cheapskate then he should’ve at least been successful with it.”

Damn, was he eternally grateful for these dim candles. Otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flushing tinting his cheeks. How dare you sit there so gorgeous and perfect in front of him. Perfect for him - you haven’t changed one bit.

“Right? She looked ready to fling us both out.” You chuckle, eyes catching on the little dimple just at the corner of his mouth as Satoru shoots you a sly grin. “Mhm, I know if it were me I would’ve charmed us out of the bill successfully.”

You raise a brow, retorting, “Oh please. I’ve had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that ‘charm’. You’d probably end up charming us into washing dishes in the kitchen.” 

Ah, right now, he doesn’t think he wants to be anywhere but here - bickering with you. 

“Ouch, you wound me, woman!” Satoru feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically before leaning down to whisper, low and conspiratorial, “Besides, I doubt you even remember what pleasure feels like since being with me.”

A thrill goes down your spine as you realize the insinuation of his words, steady and searing - matching that of  Satoru’s fingers on yours - which had snuck their way across the table, lazily tracing patterns along your skin. 

When did they even get there? Sly bastard.

Your mouth drops into a soft oh! at the dangerous glint in his eyes. But you refuse to back down, “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. I’ve had other guys make me cum much harder than you have.”

Touch burning. Mapping every curve and dip he’d known so well, and this time - you graze them back. A challenge. God, you missed that warm little flutter in your chest. 

That seems to catch him by surprise, as those darkened blue eyes widen. But there’s a dangerous edge to his grin as he purrs, voice low. “Is that so?” 

And with that, Satoru’s chair is scraping softly against the sand as he stands up, “C’mon, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

Oh. 

Satoru knows that it’s been 5 months, 4 weeks, and 8 hours since you two lasted an entire dinner civilly - not that he was counting, duh.

So when he begged the resort staff into setting the two of you up on this special candlelit dinner, he was expecting you to drown him in the lobster tank halfway through or at least end the night with a slap. 

What he certainly did not expect was to end dinner with you shoved against the closed door of your suite, legs wrapped impossibly tight around his waist, and lips trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down your neck. He angles your neck, body pressing so impossibly close to yours.

Inwardly, you curse his button-up for being so goddamn thin that you could feel his abs rub against you with every little movement. Toned chest rumbling as he groans at your hands tugging at those soft locks - just a tiny revenge, for your body lotion. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, and he breathes it in with an almost-pained sigh - not wanting to part for even a second. Because fuck it took so long to get you back and he wasn’t going to waste a single moment. 

Pulling just a hair’s breadth away, “Tell me what you want. Always knew we’d end up-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, you smug bastard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And, well, who was he to deny you? So he does. 

His lips are searing on yours, hasty and greedy. With a tinge of something so painfully familiar. Your hands make their way onto his chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat against your fingertips - matching that of yours. 

Sweet. You tasted so sweet. Just like honey, and all the dreams where he didn’t leave you behind. Where he didn’t get on that damned plane but instead ran to you all the way from the airport like those sappy romcoms you love. 

He licks at the seam of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck - he probably won’t. 

One hand cups your cheek so gently - a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his lips as he kisses you deeper. Meanwhile the other wanders the expanse of your body, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake.

Satoru parts with a playful nip to your bottom lip - and before you realize what’s happening, the zipper hits the ground. He’s ripping your pretty dress off - mumbling something about “buying a new one” before large hands surge forward, groping and kneading your tits.

His mouth waters at the sight of your bra. Light blue - to match his eyes. “You evil, evil woman.” he mutters into the soft valley of your breasts as you giggle delightedly. Oh, how he couldn’t get enough of you.

And if there was ever a moment that Satoru thinks he could cream his pants right there, then this would be at the very top, followed very closely by the sight of that withering glare you shot after opening that suite door to him just a few days ago.

He unhooks your bra with one hand, throwing it blindly across the room as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Immediately, Satoru drops to his knees with the desperation of a madman, coming face-to face with the heavenly sight of your clothed cunt, soaking through your thin panties. 

“Didn’t specify where I had to kiss, sweetheart.”

Your gaze pierces through him, as it always did. “What are you-” Your words get choked up in your throat as his tongue darts out. Licking a long, languid stripe over your clothed cunt. 

“Shit. So sweet f’me, jus’ like I remember. Just one taste and I feel like m’gonna cum in my pants.” Satoru groans, urgently sliding your wet panties down your quivering legs. 

“F-flattery won’t work.” you stammer out as his hot breath fans your quivering entrance as he waits just a second - one, two.

Drinking in the view of your pretty pussy with dazed, half-lidded eyes. Wet - so wet, he almost wants to tease you - just a bit, to see if you’ll get even wetter. Ah, he doesn’t have enough time to take in this view - probably never will. Would it ruin the mood if he took a picture?

“Oh, I’d say it worked pretty well.”

Cock twitching carnally, Satoru needed to taste you now. He immediately surges forward. Breathing you in so sinfully, pooling your juices on his tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tips his head back back back to let it slide down his throat. 

Shit, if you were the forbidden fruit then he would gladly be cast out of the garden of Eden. 

Half-delirious thoughts running through his mind, Satoru flattens his tongue across your swollen folds. Leisurely sliding between them, catching on your throbbing clit up and down up and down up and-

“Oh- hngh, Satoru faster-”

“So bossy.” he hums prettily around your swollen clit, the vibrations stimulating it just right. But of course, what his girl wants, she will get. 

Lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. Rolling his tongue harshly along your clit, sucking so sensually. Licking at your sweet cunt, dipping just into your sloppy hole. 

You almost miss the long fingers that deftly slide their way up your thigh, spreading your folds with his thumbs. A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as your walls flutter so sinfully around nothing - aching for more friction. 

Urgently, Satoru bullies his fingers past your folds, sinking deep into your plushy walls as his tongue continues its abuse. So warm and wet around him. Curling his fingers just right.

“Ah- fuck, Satoru- Feels s’good.” you gasp as he starts thrusting his fingers back and forth. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and-

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t like my ‘big mouth’?” he purrs, muffled around your clit, “Look at you, sweetheart, now falling apart cos’ of it.”

You scoff, fingers tangling in his silky hair, pushing him deeper into your dripping pussy - mostly because you needed it, but somewhat because you really needed him to shut up. “Yeah, I like it better when you shut the fuck up.”

And with a dark chuckle, his mouth is back on your cunt. Your slick glossy and dripping down the corner of his mouth as he alternates between sucking unforgivingly on your ravaged clit and fucking into you at the same time as his fingers. 

And in the delicious stretch of your cunt, you barely register the metallic clinking of a belt before Satoru presses his clothed erection into you.

Shit. You clench so obscenely around his tongue at the feeling of his clothed, painfully hard and throbbing against your leg. Fuck - as big as you remember. You weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

“You like this, huh?” he murmurs, speeding up the rhythm of his fingers. Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Cracking an eye open you risk a glance downward. Greedily eyeing the hand wrapped tightly around the base, moving up up up. Pumping in small, jerky movements at the same pace of his fingers fucking into you. “Like the way m’getting off to tonguefucking my girl?”

“Like thinking about how this is what I thought about all those lonely fucking night without you?” You arch into his touch, fingers searing on his scalp and angling Satoru just right to make your knees weak. 

He’s so close that you can feel the precum smearing onto your leg. Mouth fucking you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting. 

“Like thinking about how you’re all I can fucking think about.”

“Hngh- Yes, Satoru! Yes-” 

You see stars as you cum - or maybe those were the tears in your eyes. Pulling Satoru impossibly closer to your quivering pussy so that you could ride out your high on his pretty face. And he readily accepts it - letting himself be handled roughly with the conviction of a man that wouldn’t mind dying if it was suffocating in-between your pretty thighs. 

Your vision is hazy, blood still roaring in your ears as Satoru stands up. Not even bothering to wipe away the wet trail of your slick prettily glossing his lips before capturing yours in a searing kiss. 

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he gasps in between heated kisses. “We got a king-sized bed so we better make use of it, hm?”

Your back hits the mattress before you can even react. Reeling from shock and the audacity as you bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“Next time you do that you’re-” 

Whatever insult at the tip of your tongue melts away immediately at the purely pornographic sight of Satoru stalking his way towards you from the foot of the bed. Eyes hooded, cock rock-hard, kiss-bitten lips parted slightly in a way that was so fucked-out.

Unhurriedly approaching you with such a predatory glint in his darkened eyes as he fucks his fist slowly - so agonizingly slowly. Eyes locked on you.

Despite cumming not even minutes before, your pussy jumps in anticipation. Immediately reaching over as soon as he’s close enough - as if in a trance - to replace his hand with yours. 

He was big - so mouthwateringly big. Flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light - every part of Satoru was so unfairly pretty.

So hot and heavy in your hand as you pump him at a steady, methodical pace. Precum smearing on your palm, trailing down your wrist as you pump. Tighter on the base, thumbing teasingly under his slit the way you knew he used to like. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Still remember, huh?” he hisses lowly. Ah, the way he still likes. 

“Mhm.” you hum absentmindedly, thighs clenching together at the way his hips grind in shallow, mindless little motions into your soft hand. Meeting your strokes as if trying to fuck something so delicious out of him.

And, well, you just couldn’t resist a taste. Bending down in one, fluid motion to delicately lick at his angry, hard head. Slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. Tracing lightly - ever-so-lightly - down his prominent veins. 

Satoru groans, low and hoarse with desire, “Shit, hah- you don’ ngh- have to-”

“Shut up, Satoru.” 

And with that, you’re shoving down as much as you can of his throbbing erection down your throat. Cunt clenching at the way he hardens impossibly as you choke and gag around him.

“Shit, oh- Oh fuck, m’girl. Yes yes yes-.” Satoru lets out a guttural moan. Fingers threading through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth. Hips stuttering and jerky with pleasure. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Half-delirious and cock-drunk, you take him all the way till your nose was buried in the tufts of white at his toned pelvis, already so wet with saliva and precum. 

Still got it, some smug, utterly debauched part of yourself titters. 

It was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his heady scent filling your senses. Beginning to move up and down up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. Pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips. 

You moan around Satoru’s thick cock, clawing at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Some truly animalistic part of yourself relishing in the neat, red lines down his milky skin. The sight hazy through the tears that spring to your eyes at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. A relentless, sinful tempo you were steadily losing your mind to.

Messy.  It was so fucking messy.

You just wondered if his orgasm would be the same…

But, alas, one can’t always get what they want. Because Satoru pulls you off of his achingly hard cock with a lewd pop! that rings in his ears and makes your cunt twitch. 

“Shit, sweetheart. Any longer and I’ll have to start thinking about ol’ Prof. Gakuganji to not cum.” he pants through ragged breaths, flashing you a deceptively innocent grin. “Now, lay back and spread ‘em f’me and let me see if your pretty pussy can still handle me.”

And that you don’t argue with. 

It’s almost embarrassing - the way you scramble desperately to sink back into the mattress. Letting Satoru manhandle your legs open so shamefully for him, throwing them over his muscled shoulders. But that’s a problem for the future, not lust-drunk you. 

Right now you couldn’t give less of a fuck as his hungry gaze locks on your glistening pussy. Pausing for just a split-second before spitting once. Twice. Thrice onto your waiting cunt. Making you feel more and more like an object as the warm saliva mixes obscenely with your slick, trickling down to form such a sinful pool on the sheets below. 

And you liked it.

Almost as much as you loved the way Satoru drags his tip along your swollen folds, catching so maddeningly on your clit. Teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. It was so sloppy. And too slow. 

“Satoru, I’ve waited five months too long for this. If you’re going to fuck me then fuck me like you mean it.” you grit out, frustration and pure need boiling over within you. 

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” 

And maybe you were a mastermind, maybe you were an idiot - probably both. Because Satoru immediately pushes in one, long thrust into your dripping cunt. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as he loses grip on whatever semblance of restraint he had - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first. 

Fuck, it feels so heavenly. Oh, how you missed him.

Bowing his body down down down till his damp forehead met yours. Folding you completely underneath him in the way you’ve found that only the smug bastard, Gojo Satoru can. 

You could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, borderline insane, and exactly what you’d been trying to deny that you’d been craving all these past five months. Being split apart on his throbbing cock, feeling like you were about to be absolutely devoured underneath him. 

It seems Satoru was just as needy for you, hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump against your walls matching that of your heart thundering against your chest. 

Or was that Satoru’s? At this point you couldn’t even tell. 

“Oh, god yes-, jus’ like that ah shit shit shit-”

“This what you wanted, yeah?” A low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully your walls were milking him as he pulls back. All the way till his leaking tip was just innocently kissing your sloppy hole - only to ram his cock all the way back into your snug cunt. “To be split apart on my cock?” 

Shit, he could just about pass out right now with the way your cunt was sucking him in so greedily like she never wanted to part. 

Guess she missed him too, he thinks deliriously. Not even having to think about it as he starts fucking into you in shallow, mindless little thrusts. Pushing himself deeper and deeper into your plushy cunt. 

“Äh- fuck, yeah. S’all I’ve wanted.” you mewl, feeling so vulnerable and exposed under the hungry eyes boring into yours. A dark gleam in them as he grins, “Then take it back.”

Disoriented, you gasp out a strangled, “What?” before Satoru’s hips become rougher, chasing his high as much as yours. 

“What you said at dinner.” your lips fall into a soft oh! as you realize just what he’s talking about, “Admit that no man makes you cum as hard as I do.”

God, you don’t think you could answer even if you wanted to, choking on the harsh, purposeful movements of his hips just to fuck your soul out. 

Heavy balls stinging your skin, the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin fills the heady air. Driving you to insanity. An absolutely unforgiving cadence that has the bed creaking in protest. Ah, whatever, he could buy them a new one anyway if this one just so happens to break.

“Take it back yet?” He had to break you first though.

Slick gushes out of your heated cunt, dripping down his length and pooling at his heavy balls, stinging your ass at each merciless thrust. “No.” 

A large hand hastily makes its way down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit. Voice strangled, sweat beading on his forehead, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier. “How about now?”

“Ah- hngh- oh fuck. Satoru!” You could only moan softly in response, broken whimpers leaving you each time his tip kissed your cervix. Angling his hips just right to expertly brush against that one spot he knew so well would have you keening and bucking up into his cock. Your face almost burns at the sheer familiarity of it all. This bastard knew you too well. 

And something about that made such an uncomfortable, prickly feeling pool in your stomach. 

Something which you knew would only be sated if you looped your arms around his neck. Nails digging into his sculpted back as you pulled him impossibly closer.

Kissing his flushed cheeks as he murmurs, “Take it back, sweetheart.”

Despite the thick cock splitting you in half till you probably couldn’t walk tomorrow morning, you find it in yourself to huff out a soft laugh at the way Satoru’s tone teetered on just that endearing side of sulky. “Fine. You win, Toru.” you whisper into his lips,

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and Satoru’s lips gently slotting against yours as he fucked you through your high. Acting as if the fucked-out whimper of his nickname is one he’ll never forget. 

As if he couldn’t cum simply from hearing it leave your pretty lips. And he does, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum painting your plushy walls white with a raw groan of your name. It oozes out of your cunt and onto the mess of sheets below as he fucks his seed into you as a lover would. As he would. 

It was intoxicating - everything from the way you milked his cock so sinfully, to the arms tight around his shoulders. Pulling him close, running soothingly along his skin as Satoru collapses onto you with a final, fucked-out thrust. 

And despite being a lightweight, Satoru’s never been so easily drunk off of something than he was off of you. God how he missed this - how he missed you. 

So much so that he can’t put it into words - and probably won’t ever be able to. But it’s alright, because your sticky body snug against his, and Satoru arms tenderly around your waist - but you didn’t mind. Both of you understood.

Satoru traces his fingers lazily along your side, neither of you bothering to tackle the mammoth task of cleaning up for now. Each movement slow and gentle, as if any sudden movement might shatter the delicate balance between you. 

All is quiet in your little haven, and you could almost fall asleep. The most contented one you’ve had in a while - 5 months, 3 weeks, and 7 hours ago to be exact.

But, of course, Satoru can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing. You jolt out of your reverie as he hastily tries to stifle the startled laugh that huffs out of him. Your dazed eyes meet his in the dim lighting, raising a brow in question.

“It’s just…” he starts, voice soft, “You still call me Toru. Feels like home.”

Ah.

You find yourself chuckling softly with him. Heat rushing to your cheeks, burying yourself deeper into his warm chest, to hide the embarrassingly flustered smile breaking out across your face if anything. 

Chuckling, Satoru shifts closer, touch now feather-light against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips. Faltering ever-so-slightly as you mutter out, “Happy anniversary, by the way. I didn’t say it earlier because someone was being a public menace.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that someone locked me out of my own honeymoon suite.” he laughs, drinking in your pretty lil’ smile. 

Ah, you were perfect. As you always were. Satoru can’t help but utter out a little, “Hey, if I tell you something absolutely stupid, would you promise not to make me fish food?”

“Absolutely not.”

He knew you’d say that. So he flashes you an easy grin, a hint of nervousness in it that he’s sure you see through - you always do. 

“So…” he begins, “First thing’s first, I’m thinking of expanding my father’s company further overseas and it might just so happen that I’m leading the branch development and get to pick where exactly.”

God, you made him feel like such a teenager. At your stunned silence, Satoru could barely raise his eyes to meet yours as he plows on, stumbling so uncharacteristically over his words, “You, I picked where you are.”

You’re breathless, words barely audible as his sinks in. “What? Toru that’s-”

“And don’t be mad but you kinda sorta didn’t-win-the-raffle-so-instead-I-planned-this-getaway-when-we-were-together.”

Any and every trace of breathless euphoria leaves your tone as you narrow your eyes at the very guilty Satoru beside you. Fidgeting under your intense scrutiny. Finally - after what seems like an eternity - you find your senses after his whiplash-inducing information dump. 

A hand immediately shoots out to squeeze his side, right where you knew he was dangerously ticklish.

“You sneaky little-” you scold over his laughed out yells of, “Mercy! No murder on our honeymoon!” squirming helplessly beneath you.

“I can’t believe you let me chug all that ice cream.”

“Exactly- hah- help! You w-would’ve been so sad that you ah- didn’t win.” he manages to choke out under your attack.

Finally relenting, only once you’re sure he’ll be feeling the burn of laughter until your flight tomorrow, you release him from your grasp. A satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you lean in close. “You’re lucky I still love you, you smug bastard” you deadpan.

“Aww, you beat me to it.” Satoru whines. Yet he reaches out to cup your cheek, “And I love you,” words hanging in the air like a promise. “With every fiber of my being.”

You let yourself be begrudgingly pulled into his embrace again, hands caressing along your skin like the highest form of worship. Satoru sighs out a contented, “Best honeymoon ever.” 

But of course, you couldn’t help but bully your idiotic boyfriend. “This is not a honeymoon, Toru.” you mutter into his heated skin.

He only presses you closer to him. Yeah maybe not, fingers deftly dancing along your left hand. But maybe next time. 

“Wanna watch the stars and tell me all about that branch development?”

“Of course, sweetheart, but first can you at least unblock me on Gmail now?”

“...”

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 3 weeks, and 12 hours ago. And as for how long it’s been since he won you back - well, you think it might just be one of the few things you didn’t keep count of.

A/N. Based on my vacay at Lily Beach except I didn’t meet my future husband there :0

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kithtaehyung]

mami pt. 3: killer (m) | myg/knj/jhs

title: mami pt 3: killer (m) series: mami | mami 2: triptych | masterlist pairing: battle rappers!myg/knj x reader(f) , jhs x reader(f)😛  rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au  summary: after you have a conversation with yoongi, things start to twist and muddle in your head. but when work gets hard, you need to blow off steam—turns out, all you needed was a heated encounter. with your roommate.  note: heavy 00s vibes, they are all menaces, including reader what can i say🦋, y’all there’s a lot in here lmao, but trust me!!!, reader is greedy and i encourage it note 2: again this is super unedited i kinda just went off the rails and said that’s good let’s post  warnings: language, tension, namjoon in grey sweats yikes!!!!!, yoongi being irritating in tanks??, jung hoseok is MAD mad, what is happening, feelings™, reader is just so fun istg, stressing, nsfw scenes, angst..?, jung hoseok what is your gd problem, wet hair……., namgi bickering lmao, competitive as hell namgi, yoongi is just a warning himself, blanket kicking scenes LMAO IM SORRY, yes yoongi is a massive problem but so is everyone else, namjoon on the phone....... yeah nsfw warnings: under the cut and there are a lot again lol drop date: april 24th, 2026, 7:18pm est  word count: 9.7k of messy messy rapline | mood: here

nsfw warnings: cursing, choking, smut scenes, uhhhh kissing is considered nsfw here, especially with who it’s with!!!!, cowgirl, breast play, wet wet wet, and even wetter, ……someone makes you squirt…., but who…, protected sex, rough sex, basically we get put through a mattress lol, Feelings??, sauve as hell rapline, is that it?, chains, always those, i think that's it, maybe a little angst??, yes angst

Clad in only a simple tank and sweatpants, Yoongi lazily leans on the back kitchen counter, hair framing his face and eyes downward as he’s busy peeling a small, vibrant clementine. 

When you don’t speak, he slowly lifts his gaze. And his dark rasp shakes you straight down to your bare, curling toes, 

“You have fun?” 

You’re so in shock that your knees almost knock together, mouth struggling to form words in a coherent order, “Yoongi, what’re you— doing—”

“I live here, genius.”

“You… And Joon—”

“Joon? Cute.”

“I—what are you even doing up—” 

“Need a ride?”

You pause, suddenly forced to make a decision with your mind still lust-laced and dizzy. But you finally decide to turn his offer down, which is the best choice considering it would be far too much hassle for him to know you live so close. “I can manage.”

“It’s late as fuck.” Yoongi pushes off the counter before chucking his peels in a trashcan. God, do his bangs really have to shift like that when he turns? Can you focus on anything else? “Lemme drive you. Unless you wanna stand on the back of his pedal bike.”

“Uhh.”

Shit, you don’t want anyone knowing where you live. Which happens to be very, very close. “My friend can scoop me,” you respond, still unmoving like it would further disturb the surrounding air.

“…Still weird.”

And yet Yoongi disrupts it himself. You quickly flip him off as you text, asking a question to his laugh as you hit send, “Is she still here, too?”

The answer is quick and bored, “Nah.”

Figures. “You don’t let them stay, huh.”

At this, Yoongi takes slow strides to your leaning form, eyes roaming over every exhausted inch and holding a spark you haven’t seen in them before. 

When he reaches your silence, his hands softly tug your hips, and you suddenly notice how his thick sweatpants accentuate the fit of his tank annoyingly well. “Wanna find out?”

“You whore,” you meekly grit, starting to push him away before he growls. “You’ve never taken me ho—”

“Goddamn, he went hard.”

Shit. Your hand flies to your neck. “Oh, fuck, really?”

“Yeah.”

Flicking up a brow, you grow very, very curious. “As if you didn’t do the same with whoever that was?”

“Mm.” He leans on an elbow next to your still frame. “Don’t fuckin spill, either.”

“That you’re roomies?”

“Yeah. We’ve known each other for years before moving over here.”

“You’re scheming, huh.”

He only smiles before flicking a finger over your nose.

It’s fucking genius, if not borderline criminal. “So what, you take south side and he takes west?”

“Smart.” He gives you a look of approval. “Why stay in the same circles when we can win both?”

“Well, shit,” you exhale, eyes roaming the floor in thought before you drop your jaw in frustration. “Wait, you even played me! Fuckers!”

Yoongi immediately laughs, and you can very much smell his breath—full of peppermint. Interesting. 

But he doesn’t notice your observing stare. “I didn’t know you’d run into him. How do you even know each other?”

“I see him at the gym.”

“Mm.” A sage nod. “Guess it’s not surprising.”

You look away, a little hurt that neither of them told you but having no basis of why they would. It’s clearly not like they tell each other when they’re bringing people home.

But still, you pout. “Can’t believe y’all.”

“What are we gonna do with you.”

We? Him included? Irony seems to leak from his puffed lips tonight. “Clearly you won’t do anythi—”

A door opens and snips your accusation in half, and you snap your head to see Namjoon leaving his room in a rush, eyes darting between both of you from the end of the hallway. “Oh, you’re… Oh.”

“Ah,” you start, “Hi.”

“Uhh.”

“She won’t tell.”

“K.” He keeps his stare, blinking sleep off before tilting his head at you. “You leaving?”

Damn, why are you feeling so sheepish? “Yeah.. I should’ve told you before. I don’t, umm.” You feel the weight of Yoongi’s stare and Namjoon’s awaiting expression, and they both clash in your gut. “It’s not you. I just don’t ever stay.” 

“Oh.” Namjoon walks down the hall, his grey sweats and lack of a shirt making you so fucking weak you’re already mentally stumbling. When he speaks, you trip even harder, scraped by his drowsy rasp, “You could’ve just told me. I would’ve gotten you a ride.”

That would’ve still meant he would type in your address or see it after you did it for him. You like the sentiment, though. “Maybe next time,” you tease with a wink. 

Thank goodness he’s easily placated. If things got weird already with Yoongi right here? 

“Wait,” Joon blurts, mind whirring behind those eyes, “You said you followed Gloss, but. I didn’t know y’all knew each other.”

Oh. Uhh.. 

When you speak, you ignore Yoongi’s curious yet amused look, astounded that he even let you talk first, “Something like that.”

Instead, the man chuckles in arrogance right after. “Something like that, yeah,” he says through a lopsided line. “Gonna give her a ride home.”

“No need,” you stop him with a hand, and they both zero in on your nails. “I… uhh.” 

Shit. You really don’t want to call a ride for the same complex, and you definitely don’t want them knowing you’re a walk away. So when you look down at your phone, a white lie slides out of your mouth, and you have to deal with a choice, “My ride said they’re gonna be awhile, so...”

Both of them look at each other.

“I could just stay… If that’s cool.”

For the first time probably ever, both Namjoon and Yoongi are silent. But in their brief pause, you just inspect your nails and wonder if you should switch them up again. Maybe back to that set you had at the beginning of last month? You really keep coming back to this color combo, though. “But don’t get any ideas if I do. I just wanna shower and sleep—”

“You can sleep with me,” they both respond in unison, and you can barely hold in your laugh when an argument sprouts.

“She was just with you.”

“My bed is better.”

“We have the same one?”

“Mine’s bigger.”

“It is not.”

“Who’s the one that brought her here?”

You halt them, sparing their neighbors from a verbal sparring match and not wanting to think about that last part. 

Because you’re still a little hurt that one of them really hasn’t taken you here, and the same guy falls a little too quiet.

When you finally offer your own suggestion, Yoongi looks at you first. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Nah,” Namjoon rejects immediately, walking forward and heading your way. “I’ll take it. Use my room.” 

Fuck, this man is fine and considerate? “No no, I’m cool with it.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve slept in much worse places,” you assure, bringing up many, many terrible reminders in your head. “And I think you both need some good sleep, too.” 

“Use my shower then,” Yoongi finally pipes up, and both you and Joon pin him with shock. “I got clothes you can use, too.”

Oh. This is… This is new. 

Blinking, you can’t help but swallow your inner thoughts, wondering why he’s offering and a little giddy about it. Is this Yoongi being accommodating? Or jealous? Either way, it’s adorable coming from him.

Well. If both of them are offering to take care of you, you’ll gladly take them up on it. This is downright delightful. How do you just keep winning?

“You guys decide,” you say with arms folded, pretending to be huffy and internally grinning. Watching their competitive natures collide in real time is just too fun. 

But finally, Namjoon flexes his jaw before heading into the kitchen for water,

“You use my shower next.” 

When you feel Yoongi visibly exhale at your side? This is when it’s undeniable. 

These guys are just big teddy bears. Caustic on the mic and absolutely fiendish when it comes to wordplay and demolition, they’re just boys at the end of the day. And it’s so endearing you find yourself sinking more and more into these apartment walls.

No no. Get real. You have aspirations and dreams. Don’t get too caught up before you achieve them. 

But it’s okay to let go for just a bit. So your eyes follow Namjoon like a fool, winking and beaming at his growing, quiet smile.

To which Yoongi hums at. “You hungry?”

“Not yet.”

“K.”

“I might be later, though. So y’all better feed me.”

They have varying levels of mirthy scoffs, and you go into the kitchen to ask Joon for a water, too, which he’s already handing to you. 

“That thing you did,” you start, knowing you have both of their attentions, “With your fingers.. Do that next time, too.” 

While you really do want Namjoon to do whatever the fuck he just did with you, you’re also showing him there’s no reason to be jealous. If he is. 

And he pulls you in for a kiss, smiling and chuckling at your little bit of shyness. Because he tamed the fuck out of you tonight, and you will give him all the softness you got left. It’s only fair.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers to your ear. 

Humming, you slide a hand along his arm. “Good to know.” When you scratch just a tad, only you can hear his breath catch. “Guess I’ll go clean up your mess now.”

“Gonna take me hours to clean up yours.”

“Mm. Good problems.”

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”

This man is too suave and it’s a goddamn problem. 

When you leave Namjoon’s side with a quickened heart rate, Yoongi’s still on the wall with his phone, foot propped on the floorboard before he sees your look of satisfaction. 

And he actually waits for you before you follow him to his room. 

—

—

In terms of aesthetics, Yoongi’s room is different from Namjoon’s despite being the same level of minimal. Where Joon has posters of rappers and shelves of books and vinyls, Yoongi has basketball players and what looks like production equipment. But they both have desks littered with sheets of paper, journals, and writing utensils, trash cans mostly filled with balled up scraps.

It’s actually… inspiring. They really do the work and it clearly, clearly shows.

“You just gonna stand there?”

“No,” you say, petulant. “Just don’t know when I’d ever be back so I’m taking it all in.”

It’s kinda true. Probably actually true. But you can’t force him to do anything when it comes to you, so if this is your only chance then you’re taking advantage.

Though… he did offer for you to just sleep through the night with him… What does that mean?

Turning with a mind full of thoughts, you see Yoongi quietly watching from his closet before his voice drifts across carpet,

“Come here.”

Silent, you go to stand in front before he pulls you in and slowly pins you against an empty wall. And being in a smaller space with him so close? Strangely, you feel comfortable and a little at home, if only because this is how you both usually end up anyway. 

At home. Irony is dripping from your lips, too. 

“You’ve never taken me home,” you pout to his mouth, deciding to be vulnerable and hating it. “Why?”

You expect to be dismissed. Or even just given an offhanded comment or a quick joke. 

So you’re completely thrown when Yoongi chooses to kiss the side of your neck that isn’t marked to hell, one slow pass after the other.

Ah. He’s avoiding your question. 

That’s fine. He’ll be a much harder one to crack, you assume. Definitely seems a lot more private than most, but you’re the same way so it’s not like you have room to talk—

“Cus you’d never leave,” he murmurs against your skin, going for your shoulder. 

Oh.

Wait, what?

If he’s assuming things about you, he’ll be sorry to note that you’d surpass his expectations. But under his fucking impeccable kissing and godforaken cologne, your reply comes out a lot less confident than you’d prefer, 

“Gimme some credit. I’d show some restraint.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Hmm?”

You get kissed on your jaw before you can register what he means, and he falls really silent after letting up, eyes on your lips as he quietly admits, 

“I’m saying I’d keep you here.”

…Oh. Oh, that’s… 

You blink in stunned silence, stomach flipping when he glances at your eyes before kissing your neck again so languidly it lulls you into a trance. “You’d… do that…?”

“Maybe so.” He brings you into his pelvis, hands rounding to rest just behind your hips. “But I know I’d make you wanna stay anyway.” 

“Prove it later,” you challenge with a hitch. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I’m proving it now,” he corrects with confidence, chuckling deep when your arms sling over his shoulders. “Aren’t I.”

You kiss his neck in response, and he chuckles into his groan because he knows what it means. 

Fuck, his skin feels divine. And his breath is full of peppermint and clean and you sense no trace of whatever you saw him doing earlier. It’s a strange contrast to how he’s acted around you before. You don’t doubt that he’s done this same exact thing with someone else after eating you out—just like you’ve done before. It’s nothing special. 

So why does your chest constrict?

“Fine,” Yoongi breathes you in, clutching at your neck. “There is another reason.”

You freeze. Wondering what the hell he means and washing over with anxiety. “What?”

Another reason he never takes you home? That can’t be good. 

Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gone home with him before, if he’s not even comfortable saying it outright then the two of you aren’t meant to be more than ships passing in the night.

“I…” He sighs, touching his forehead to yours. “I never asked cus I know what would happen.”

Wait. What the hell does that mean? Why is Yoongi being so damn cryptic? “Why? I’m a fun time.”

He huffs away from your face. “That’s exactly why.” 

You stare, and stare some more.

“I,” he laughs again, and it’s not a joyful one. “I even thought about getting your number a thousand times. And couldn’t even ask for that.”

Your chest heaves. What is Yoongi saying? What’s gotten into him? This man is fearless on stage, who is this guy that can’t even look you in the eye right now? “I don’t get it, Yoongi. You don’t know me but you don’t have to be scared of me, so what’s…”

Oh. You don’t like that tiny slanted smile at all. 

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.” When he pushes off the wall, his hand slides off slow. Deep in thought, he turns and goes for a shirt hanging from his rack. “Here. Your favorite.”

He means the color. Your stomach feels funny. “How’d you know?”

“Your nails,” Yoongi responds offhandedly as he fishes sweats from a drawer. “There’s a color you use a lot.”

What. The actual fuck. “Oh. Well, shit.”

He doesn’t mention what you just accused him of, but it’s in his eyes. His whole face. And you are a damn fool. 

When Yoongi hands you a baggy pair of pants, you slowly take it, brain overloaded with thoughts. “There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink. You can use anything in there, too. Just put everything back in the same spot.” 

“K.” 

He just said a lot of vulnerable shit. What the hell are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to walk out of here knowing what you know now? 

You’re not gonna address any of it. That would require way too much thinking and feelings on your own part and you need space to unpack your own shit. 

But you do stop him from leaving his closet, waiting until he turns around to notice your hand on his wrist. “You brushed your teeth.. Why?”

His lips close while his brows slightly bend.

And what he says to the side of his doorframe makes your heart fall a few clouds down, flipping your world and rocking you off balance entirely,

“She didn’t taste like you.” 

Yoongi means it. You know it in your bones.

And if he didn’t move just out of your reach. And if you weren’t taking the couch and sleeping in here instead. 

Something may have shifted even more than it already has tonight. 

Because your heart is starting to beat in two different cadences. Over, and over, and over.

Fuck space.

“Come here,” you whoosh out, spinning Yoongi so hard he rams you back into a wall. And finally, your mouths collide, with you attacking his lips just as much as he does yours. You fully taste peppermint and nothing else and that is crazy considering how much he had to do to be this clean and fuck his kissing is perfect. 

Yoongi knows exactly what to do with you. And he knows exactly what to do to pitch you over the edge in a second. Nails rake into his stupid hair before you feel his annoying hands all over your neck, his fingers all over your head, his chest all over your heart—

Outright fear shoves him back, and your breaths are the only two elements of sound when he freezes a few steps away. Exhale. Exhale. A swallow. Another one.

That was…

He looks…

Fuck.

You use what little logic you have left to speedwalk past Yoongi’s shoulder.

Knowing he’s letting you dip because it’s what’s best for both of you. 

—

—

Namjoon is a gentleman when you come back into his bedroom after pacing a hole in the living room, holding off your shower time a slight tad. From his desk chair, he asks if you’re okay staying and you tell him it’s fine since you do know both of them.

“Also,” he breathes out. “You’re stunning.”

That came out of nowhere. “Oh.. I know, but thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, the man lets out a breathy laugh. “Fuck, I love how you know that. I was just gonna say.. Well.” He fidgets. “Don’t let me keep you down.”

“What?”

“Like.. Yeah. I love going on dates with you and seeing you at my thing.. I dunno, it made me happy as fuck.” He then scratches an ear. “But I know you got a lot going on so it’s okay if—”

“Are you done with me?”

Immediately, Namjoon shoots up and walks straight to your squared shoulders, cradling your chin and responding so deep your mind reels. “Did I say that, baby girl?”

“No.”

“I’m just saying,” he smoothes a hand over your arm. “I’m okay if I’m not the only thing. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. It’s incredible. So if you don’t have time, it’s okay.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’ll be there when you need me,” he says. “I’m okay with just going with the flow. I know you already know, but—uhh—if you wanna see other people, it’s cool.” 

“You… You sure?” Blinking, you frown. There’s an explanation for this switch up and it’s existing and haunting you from the other room. “Is this because of Yoongi?”

His face cannot lie. “Kinda, yeah.” 

“Oh.”

“I saw how you looked at him.” Namjoon slides his hands down, and you follow those long fingers and curl your heart when they do. “And even more than that, I saw how he looked at you.”

Ah. That makes you bite down hard. “We’ve known each other for awhile, that’s all.”

“I don’t think that’s all. But seriously, you don’t have to pretend or anything around me. I’m a big guy, I can take it.”

“Hey, same here.” You lift a hand to smooth the stubble on his chin. “Don’t let me hold you down, either.”

“I am more than happy with you doing anything to me.”

“Joon.” You give him a little pat. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m not?”

Your lips purse. “If you’re really okay with it, I am, too.” When you slip arms around his strong form, you sigh into his chest. “But I’m having so much fun with you.”

He circles you in warmth immediately. “Fuck, same here.” He laughs. “You really got me with that bar line.”

Ecstatic, you try to spit some scheme of your own, slowly petering out the more and more you know you’re losing it, “Really? Got more in the chamber, yeah, I like danger.. Uhh.. Something, something, it’s a.. banger… Ah, damn, I dunno.”

Namjoon fully laughs at you now, his arms circling even tighter and fingers splayed wide across your backs “I’m in trouble,” he bemoans. “You have to stop or you’d be right back in that bed.”

“Next time.” You reach to kiss him, knowing he can taste the peppermint on your tongue but not speaking about it. “I’m really gonna go shower now.” 

“K.”

“And hey.” You hold his forearm. “If you really wanna do this—just us—we can try. You just gotta let me know.”

He hesitates for a second. But it’s enough to clue you into it not being a confirmation. “I will.”

Yup. That wasn’t a now answer. So you smile and head out to go to Yoongi’s bathroom, across the hall from his room. Guess he got the shorter end of the stick in the layout.

It’s fine. You don’t wanna approach his door again yet.

That’s gonna wait until later. 

After you shower and get ready for bed—as well as you can in a bathroom that’s not a woman’s and not yours—you’re so exhausted that can barely keep your eyes open. 

But there’s something you wanna do before sleeping, so you finally knock on the door you’ve been avoiding. 

No answer. 

Well. Guess the universe has other plans. 

But you suddenly hear clacking and a voice to hold on, and you straighten as Yoongi opens up. 

Headphones around his neck, his gaze immediately goes to his clothes on your frame, and you steel your gaze before holding out your hand. “I’m only gonna ask once.” 

He stares. 

“Gimme your phone.”

Yoongi blinks before turning to reach behind him, grabbing his phone off the desk before handing it to you. As you type, he just watches, silent. 

And you start to wonder what he’ll say when you hand it back. “Put whatever you want for my name. If you ever text me, I’m naming you the village idiot.”

He grins wider and wider, looking down and biting his lip in thought. When he moves closer, you stop him in the doorway,

“Don’t.”

“What’s wrong.”

“I…” Sighing, you set a rule, hating yourself for setting a boundary but deeming it necessary for your own good. Both of your own goods, really,

“The next time I go in there will be when you take me home.” 

Yoongi looks at you without words, shifting his gaze between your eyes for any hidden meanings when there are none. “You sure?”

You know what he’s asking. And you flat out ignore the spark you catch in that stare. “We aren’t exclusive,” you say, looking at Namjoon’s door. “We’ve never said we were, so yeah.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you don’t know whether to keep standing there or shove him back and go in yourself. The best choice would be to walk away, though, so you start to do so—

“About that girl.”

You stiffen. “This isn’t off to a good start, Min—”

“She bailed on me.” 

…Wait, what? You heard her for a good amount of time. “When? Why?”

“Uhm.” Yoongi looks away with a shift of his jaw and some teeth. “I was.. distracted.”

Fuck. Just like you were? “Like you two weren’t loud, too.”

“Nah, like… Said the wrong name distracted.”

“Said the wrong… Whose name did you—” You blink. Hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn it, Yoongi.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling, feeling for the poor girl. “That’s the worst you could ever do.” 

So she had to have left in the middle, right? But you swore you heard him for awhile so maybe they kept going for a little before she came to her senses instead of around his di—

“And for what it’s worth,” Yoongi continues with a point, “I don’t bring many people here anyway. She’s the first one in a long time.” 

When he leans on the doorway, you let his eyes drag down your body, knowing he didn’t get to have it tonight and feeling a little smug. “Of fucking course it’d be when you show up, too.” 

Your hum to a lifted shoulder makes his pupils dark. “Could’ve been you,” you tease. When Yoongi doesn’t respond, you ignore it and fold your arms. “But seriously? You don’t?”

“Nope.” His hand dips into his sagging pants pocket, looking towards his roommate’s room. “And no one from where we usually go. Namjoon and I don’t want anyone knowing we live together, so it’s best to keep everyone in the dark.”

That makes sense. But there’s a thought that stands out in your mind. “Wait, but… You both knew I knew your names.”

When Yoongi looks back at you, your chest caves at his expression under those tendrils. “Yeah. And I wanted to take you home several times, so what does that tell you.”

…Several? Yoongi, what the fuck?

Heart beating. Those unwavering eyes. These breaths between your bodies short and waiting. 

Were you… always this into him? Have you really been ignoring how you’ve felt because things with Yoongi were just… easy? 

Is this why he didn’t want to bring you home? Because you really can’t fucking think straight and it’s aggravating.

So you swallow. “I should.. Go to bed.”

Yoongi nods and looks down the hall. “There’s extra blankets on the couch. And he gave you one of his pillows.”

A switch was definitely flipped. You don’t know which one you hit or how you managed to do it, but thank god because this was getting a little too real. “K. Thank you both.” 

“No sweat.” Yoongi looks at you without shame, and you wonder if it’s to remember how you look in his tee. 

Please don’t be the reason. 

“You’re the first one to ever stay,” he murmurs, as a fact and a final good night. “He doesn’t let anyone do this, either.”

Oh. Holy shit. 

“Then I’ll be sure to snore loud as fuck,” you bluff, melting at the way Yoongi shakes his head in a laugh. “Night, Yoongi.” 

He stares at you one more time. 

And you keep staring right back.

One second becomes two, and two seconds become three. 

Screw what you said earlier. All Yoongi has to do is let you in. All he has to do is utter one syllable of invitation and you’re taking residence in his bed.

But in the end, he doesn’t. And you’re completely, totally, seriously fine with that. 

“Night.”

…Right?

—

—

You stay up until you can’t fight sleep anymore. 

— 

—

When you wake, you notice the bright sunshine outside their living room windows. But it’s really, really bright. How long were you out?

There’s a note on the coffee table saying they both left, but there’s a spare key and one of them can take care of your ride. Right next to said items is a covered plate of food, and you have a suspicion as to who made it. 

Well. This is honestly the best outcome that could’ve happened. You don’t have to worry about them knowing where you’re about to go. 

So you take your time and really observe everything, noticing how sore you are and that you’ll need time to recover. The walls and decor in their place are also minimal in the more public spaces, but there’s a lot of earth tones and a surprising amount of plants. Not what you’d expect from two guys tearing up the battle rap scene in two sectors of the city.

Then again, you didn’t expect them to know each other, either. Looks like they’re both really good at putting on masks.

And taking them down when you’re alone with them.

“Kept myself away for far too long.”

“If you’re going steady with him, don’t worry about what I wanna say.”

Your face finds the cup of your palms.

—

—

Bathroom. Freshen up. Walk around their kitchen and observe the little things. Finally sit down to eat.

When you dig in, you savor each bite, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Is this gonna be the last time you’re here? Or is this going to be a turning point in your life and there will be many, many stops at this station?

Guess you’re just gonna have to find out.

Yoongi’s food is damn near enough to convince you to come back, though. Goddamn, he can cook in there, too.

—

—

You purse your lips and shake your head when you time the walk from their building to yours.

Not even two minutes. Oh god, that is so fucking close.

But you join a whole new energy as you open your apartment door, delighted to see your roommate and his newfound obsession with tank tops.

“Damn, where were you?”

“I told you,” you laugh. “Here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You realize what he means, and you saucily lift a shoulder. “Turns out, he’s really good.”

Namjoon? 

Or Yoongi?

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh. “You look a little… I dunno.”

You know what he means. Because even though you should be glowing enough to match his shine, things happened that threw you for a loop. And while you are very good with your quickwittedness and solution driven attitude, this is gonna need a bit more nuance. 

“Just have things to think about,” you summarize. “How was your date?”

“So fun!” Hobi rushes over to the couch and brings over a fun looking accessory. “Look what they got me.”

It’s perfect. A little acorn bag that would go great with multiple items in his closet. “Wow.. Great taste.”

“I know, right?”

He excitedly puts it down before guiding you to your room, and you suddenly seem guilty for whatever the hell you’re doing with him. 

Is Hobi an exclusive kinda guy? Why can you not remember? 

But he takes your bag and sets it all down, and you stew in more complicated thoughts as he leads you to your bed. Are you even gonna go back to sleep at this point? Why does bed sound like the perfect place to be? 

“Those his clothes, too?”

Oops.

Wincing, you slowly find a hard admittance in your throat, “Uhh.. Nope.”

The downturn of his brows comes as no surprise. 

“It’s hard to explain,” you say as you plop down on your made comforter. “But trust me, I had a really good time. I’m glad you did, too.”

Maybe you had too good of a time.

“Scoot over,” your roommate suddenly says, climbing into your bed before you even get to move.

“Hello?”

“Scoot!”

Laughing, you move to the middle of your bed as he tugs up the covers, sliding into the cool den right next to you. “What are we doing?”

“Napping.”

“It’s late in the afternoon?”

“Sweet dreams.” Hoseok snuggles into you, and you feel your shoulders loosen immediately. “Mm mm mm.”

You groan, knowing he can hear the smile inside. 

Is this man aware that he’s the only one that can order you around like this? Because if he is and is now taking full advantage, you may need to tighten your restrictions. 

“You smell expensive.”

Eyes downcast, you pretend to giggle. “I know, right.”

You don’t have the heart to admit you just wanted to keep wearing Yoongi’s clothes, and breathing in Namjoon’s scent. 

— 

— 

For the next two full weeks, work life gets busy for you, so you have to stay focused or else risk falling behind. 

And of course the family is having lots of get togethers when it’s crunch time so your stress is through the roof, so you need need need to blow off some steam more than ever. As much as you enjoy the festivities and cookouts and reunions and random birthdays, you’re getting way too overstimulated too fast. 

Because work is hell.

But showcases happen at night, so you can’t make them because your schedule requires early mornings. Anything starting late is out of the question. 

You don’t hear from Namjoon or Yoongi. But you start to wonder if that means they’re working or writing or even going to the same studio he mentioned. That would be sick if they were working on some record or mixtape together—or even individually? Hot hot hot either way. Your work ethic can’t lose to theirs.

So you brush off the lack of communication and just assume good intent. You haven’t reached out either because you’re so busy, so why should they?

Back to work you go.

—

—

Eventually, on a random Thursday, Joon finally texts you. And it’s so out of the blue that you pick up the phone and call instead.

Namjoon [14:02]: Did I mess up?

It doesn’t take him long to answer the phone, so you dive right in, staring at unfinished work on your laptop, “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t heard from you, so I thought… I dunno.”

This man. Was he really worried this whole time? You wonder how much of these two weeks you got wrong. “I haven’t heard from you, either.” 

“Damn. I’m not good at this.”

You laugh. “It’s my fault, too. I could’ve just asked.” 

“You doing okay?”

That makes you stop, not hearing those words in a minute. Between everyone you’ve seen, only one of your little cousins checked on you solely because you were staring into space in your uncle’s backyard. She probably thinks you’re crazy now, but whatever. “Uhh, I’ve been better. You?”

“Nah, hold on. What’s wrong?”

Your smile is weak. He really is the same guy you met awhile back. “Work is just kicking my ass.” 

“I feel that. I’m sorry.”

“You liar.”

“Huh?”

Grinning, you tuck your phone under your chin and keep typing away. “You are good at this.”

“Oh.” He laughs. “Talking to people?”

“Talking to me.”

“That right? Can I get that in writing?”

Nails paused on plastic keys, you laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.” 

“Sorry.”

“Good boy.”

A hitched breath. A bit of pause on the line. 

Very, very interesting. 

But you spare him this once and say you’re down to hang tomorrow. “We can try a rooftop dinner this time?”

“I wish. But I’m actually gonna be busy.”

“Oh? Studio?”

“Nah, like. Flying out to another city busy.”

“No shit! Okay, I’ll put you down as a no for the rooftop dinner.”

Joon laughs, and it really hits your ear just right. “Yeah, put me down as a no this time.” 

“Both of y’all are leaving?”

“Nah, just me.”

Your pout is super evident in your tone. “What am I gonna do without you?”

“I dunno. Probably cheer Yoongi up.” Your heart stops as Joon laughs, and you can hear a faint set of yells on the line. “He’s been moping all fucking week.”

“Was that him?” You ask with a laugh, already wondering what the hell is happening wherever they are. “What a baby!”

“Tell him yourself!”

So you do, yelling into the phone and knowing it’s gonna come out so crunchy, “Yoongi, get up!” 

There’s more laughing and a muddle of words, but you can’t make them out too much. But just that helped you burn some steam. 

Yoongi? Moping? He gets moody just like you do, but you’ve never seen him moping. What happened? 

Well. You’d ask if he’d fucking text you. But since that hasn’t happened yet, guess you’re left to speculation. 

“But yeah. I miss you, but work is important. Wanna go out sometime next week?”

“You know I do.”

“Perfect. I’m putting it in my phone so I don’t miss it for any stupid reason.”

“Next Friday is best.”

“K. Got it.”

— 

—

The next afternoon, the door to your apartment flings open, and you snap your head to the muffled sound before clutching your phone tight. 

What the fuck? 

You almost think to call for help when you hear footsteps thump to the far side of the unit, and a further door banging shut.

Fuck, that was Hobi. What the hell is up? 

Abandoning your laptop, you rush out of your room and cross the shared living space, lifting your hand to knock on his door but hesitating. 

What are you pausing for? It’s Hoseok, and he’s clearly not happy. He’d be at your door before you could even fling your purse off if you stormed in just like he did. 

For a moment, though, you hesitate. Because you were supposed to have the place to yourself and that meant bare face, low maintenance head, and nightgown on at 3pm. 

But he sounded mad and all you heard were his footsteps and door closing. This isn’t the time to be caught up in appearances. 

So you softly bang on wood before calling his name. “Let me in,” you command. “Now.”

“No.”

Umm, what the fuck? “No?”

“Just gimme a second.”

Lips smushed, you eye the door with such annoyance you try the knob to burst in yourself—

It opens immediately, and you barge in to a sight that makes your tongue loll and your saliva multiply.

Hoseok. Shaking his very wet hair. With nothing on but some very, very wet jeans. 

He gives you a slight look of annoyance while you reach for words, mouth in a line when he asks, “Seriously?” 

Umm. You were checking in on why this man came in hot. And now you’re feeling your own temperature spike through the goddamn roof. Truthfully, the only thing you can think of saying is something born from confusion, “You don’t lock your door?”

A tsk flings out before he sets foot in his bathroom, hanging the towel on a rack before replying, “I never do when it’s just us.” 

“Really?” That makes you feel a little sheepish. Chalk it up to being a severely private person—and a woman—but you always lock your door. “I never knew that.”

“Did you come into my room just to tell me that?”

Oh, you don’t have time for that. All the pent up emotions and stress you’ve felt this week comes pouring down. Couple that with the fact you can’t even fool around with him since he’s still going steady with whoever? You are really deep in the trenches.

“Obviously not, Hoseok,” you sling out his name, catching his attention immediately, “I was just wondering what the fuck was up. I can’t just check on my friend?”

“I told you just give me a second?”

“Okay seriously, what’s with the attitude?”

“Attitude? What’s with the grilling?”

Your mouth snaps shut. “I’m not grilling you—”

“You are.” He flings more wetness from his bangs, and the motion alone makes your core ache. Fuck, he’s not helping your lack of release at all and now he’s raking through his fucking locks your moan is forming so quick you can’t stop—

…Why’s he looking at you like that? 

Shit. Did you… did you do that out loud? 

“What was that?”

Ignore him. You have to ignore him because if you stay you are begging for trouble. And you don’t want trouble for you, nor for him. 

“You know what? Never mind,” you rush out, turning to head out and lock yourself in your room once again. “Forget it. Stay mad or whatever, I don’t care—”

The door closes in front of your nose before you’re spun back, shoved against wood as Hoseok cages you in. 

“Let me go,” you move to shove him off, hands slipping as you palm his slick chest fuck. “You don’t want me in here anyway—”

“Did I fucking say that?”

“No, but I know when I’m not wanted—”

Your roommate presses his pelvis into yours, and your eyes fly wide at the straining bulge in his pants. Fuck, does that hurt him? His pants are soaked. 

“I’m only gonna say this once.” Hoseok grabs your chin to force your eyes to his. “But I always fucking want you so shut the fuck up.”

What—

His lips smash into yours before you groan, your bones smacking against his door and your concerns muffled. 

“I thought— I thought you were seeing someone—”

“Not anymore,” he whooshes out, diving into your neck. “Not after today.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m so sorry,” you moan out, losing yourself in those kisses.

“Don’t be.” 

“You’re mad.”

“Just fucking pissed he took my umbrella.” He shoves his mouth into your column. “Now all my shit is soaked.”

“Lucky me,” you gasp out, grabbing his wet hair and raking down. “I love it.”

You hear him groan deep and raspy, and it scratches your brain just right. “Sorry I came in hot,” you quickly repent. “I’m just so fucking stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“So fix it.”

“What do you want.”

“You.”

And you’re yanked from the wall before being tossed onto a fully made bed. 

Your long gown is hiked up before you even strip your underwear down, but Hoseok slaps your hand away. 

Which can only mean one thing. And you’re rejoicing. 

He slips his pants and underwear off before throwing them into the bathroom, and you yelp at his freezing cold legs before he grins. “Sorry.”

“You are not.”

“I’m not.”

“So fucking cold,” you growl, trying to move away from his skin but end up arching into his chest in the process. 

Which completely destroys any hope you have of avoiding him, because your nipples have now pebbled against your dress, and you know for a fact Hoseok can feel them right through the silken material. 

Your quick suspicion is confirmed with a growl, and the sound that leaves your mouth at the feel of teeth around one slings through all four walls. “Fuck!” 

Shivers. Full body shivers erupt when your roommate buries his face in your chest, the rumbling in his throat searing you through as he inhales before kissing between your breasts. 

…What was that for? 

That wasn’t something you just do during a quick and dirty session. Which is exactly what you expect this to be. Hoseok came in hot after a tragic yet somewhat comical rainy day breakup, and you’re pissed he told you to wait at his door. 

He’s always there and always telling you yes. Hobi never says no to you. 

And you damn well know you would never say no to him, either. 

“Smell so fucking good,” he moans, eyes closed and eyebrows knitted as he sweeps a hot tongue across your chest. “And you’re so warm.” 

“I don’t feel like it.” Your pout makes him laugh, and you blink at how anger is slowly draining out of the atmosphere, and at how you’re just happy to hear his change in demeanor. 

But he still gave you attitude earlier—you will not back down on that—so you need to preserve the last of your pissy mood to give him a good post-breakup vent session. “I know you didn’t throw me on your bed just to use me as a heater and smell me.” 

Fuck. The laughter you hear now is fuller, and his arms immediately tighten around your frame as he collapses onto you. “I didn’t!” 

“Then what did you have in—”

Hobi smushes his lips onto yours, rolling his body against your front and making you gasp like you’ve been blindsided. Which, technically you have, because this is not the way you thought things were gonna go a mere five minutes ago.

“Gonna fix you,” he rasps against your lips. “Remember?”

“Wouldn’t mind fixing you first,” you counter, raking long nails down his bare hip and enjoying his hitched reaction. “I can suck you off?”

“Fuck,” Hoseok shudders out before pinching his brows. “You can’t do that.” 

Huh? “I do that very well actually? Rude.”

“No, no,” he clarifies, subtly moving one of your thighs to the side. “I just meant not now. If you do, I’m not gonna last for shit.”

“Oh.” 

You only get a second before you feel a freezing finger on your underwear, flinching up and watching Hoseok’s eyes slip into the depths of lust and concentration. When he slides the material to the side, your breath stops. “But this right here, I can do all day.” 

Breathing out his name, you have to close your eyes with how good it feels to have him touch you with such softness and precision. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times when it’s only been more like five, and you rock against his fingers just like all the other times before. “Feels so fucking good.”

“So do you,” he praises with gravel, reaching up your body to slowly bring your dress down to reveal your breasts like a slow gift unwrapping. “Really, I could touch you all night.”

“Finish my work for me,” you whoosh out, “And you can.”

Chuckling, Hoseok goes from rubbing to inserting his fingers, and you twitch hard while projecting a moan into his ceiling. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Yell for me.”

Fuck. How the hell are you already so close? “Hobi, I’m—”

“I feel it. Come on, baby.”

How is this happening? He’s going faster and faster and you’re already wet enough to let him and it’s building so fast in your core that it’s shocking. A whine propels from your throat as you keep exhaling hard, and when the pleasure becomes too much to bear you release in the most sinful way—

Oh, shit shit shit, you really—

“Fuck.”

Liquid spews from your cunt and onto his chest, drenching your roommate even more than the rain outside and dripping down his abdomen. Both of you groan at the sight, and you can’t believe you just squirted right onto him with minimal effort on his part how the—

“What the fuck, come here.”

You’re dragged forward and hitched up on his legs, and Hoseok leans over to yank his nightstand drawer out for protection, his necklace brushing cold against your chest. 

Drunk on lust and indescribable pleasure and a wave of strange intimacy, you reach up to suck one of his nipples, laughing into his skin when he visibly twitches and collapses. 

The sound he makes causes your cunt to squeeze, and you hold him with your claws while swirling your tongue all around his chest. When you move to the other side, you give it just as much effort, squirming under his pelvis and rocking against him when you feel his cock. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Lemme put this on.”

“No,” you simply reject, reaching down to stroke him and giggling at his loud moan. “Not yet.” 

“You first,” he strains out, veins in his neck protruding so hard they could pop. “Then me.”

“You really about to come?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t,” you offer, the most simple yet complicated and difficult task. “Or else I’ll have to clean it up.”

“Shut up, please.” 

You kick your head back in a laugh, loving how he’s so puddy in your hands. “Fine, fine. Ready?”

“Hold on.. Just..” Shaking, he slips the condom on before leaning down, flipping you up so you’re on top wait what? “Ready.”

Leering down, you cannot believe he just did that. “You lazy piece of…”

Hoseok rests his head on his palms, smirk so cutting and dazzling. “Bounce for me if you’re so mad.”

Oh, you plan on it. “Gonna snap you in two, bitch.” 

Damn that stupid laugh. “Please do.”

Mm. You get up and sink down, groaning when he does and start to slowly rise and fall, letting your legs warm up and feeling the burn in your thighs. But the feeling of having him inside overrides any pain, so you gladly sink onto him again and again. 

The little curses and raspy praise are enough to keep you going, too. “So fucking hot.”

“Am I?” You pout, mewling when Hoseok reaches to smooth a thumb over a nipple. “I didn’t even do much today.”

It’s true. Pretty much no makeup other than some spray and sunscreen. You planned to stay home forever today, and your roommate was supposed to be gone.

“Doesn’t matter.” He touches you again before sliding slim fingers up to your chin, gripping and holding it high. “Still a killer.”

You suppress a smile before dipping your head against him just a tad. “Thank you,” you strain out, because somehow a genuine word of gratitude is hard. 

And because you start to swirl around, huffing and feeling the heat in your legs build higher and higher. When Hoseok groans low, he grips your hips, starting to match your pace but lifting up instead. The slow, sensual movements loll you forward because holy fuck you feel full, and your moans start to pitch up the more your core starts to wind. 

“There you go,” he goads, kicking his head back and gritting those beautiful teeth. “I feel it, baby.”

“Feel you, too,” you gasp out. “But I—My legs—”

Hoseok’s response is immediate. Without prompt, he flips you around, slamming you into the bed and thrusting up to stay there and torture you. “About fuckin’ time.”

“Huh?”

“Was waiting for my turn.” His mouth curves devilishly when you start to squirm, breathing hard because holy shit this feels way too good when he just stays still like that how is this alone affecting you so bad?

“Hobi, I’m actually—”

“Nope.”

Rocked and rocked again, you yelp high, realizing too late that your roommate is giving you all the business shit shit shit his pace is manic and his thrusts are so deep. “Fuck!”

“Uh huh.”

He does not stop. Every second is counting and you’re losing track of time. This man is hitting every spot just right, gripping onto your hips and going to fucking town. Your body has gone completely limp at some point, and you don’t remember when you’ve surrendered your head to his pillow—or are you even right side up anymore? 

You crumple against his headboard and your legs flop over his shoulders but you don’t care. You are blissed out. Completely gone. Nothing exists except for him and whatever the hell he’s putting you through—the mattress, the floor, the poor neighbor’s wall right next to you, all the above. 

“So fucking tight, fuck.”

Fuck, you feel it. You know you’re about to lose it and there’s almost no time to warn him. “Hobi, I’m—”

“Shit, I’m gonna—” 

He collapses onto you, and you welcome him with arms slinging around his neck as he comes hard, groaning low and stuttering in his movements while you come just as hard, both of you straining and sweaty and slick from completely going at each other. 

That release is exactly what you needed. Even through the breaths you inhale and exhale, beautifully crushed under your roommate's body weight, you're already settling into a state of zen. The stress starts to ebb, leaving you floating through a calmer, more relaxed state.

With even more things to think about.

“You still mad?”

Breathily chuckling at Hobi's straightforwardness, you gasp out, “Not anymore. You?”

Realizing what's happening, he lifts up, teeth gritting as he plops onto his mattress next to you. “No.”

“Good.”

He stares at your eyes before sliding down to your lips, then back up again for another hold. And it's the most confusing mix of things in your chest because you know for a fact he hasn't done that. Ever. Not with you, at least. Not like this.

You're the safety net, though. You both are for each other. So that's how you decide to define this scenario when you slip into a smile you hope's convincing, "Hell of a rebound this time, huh."

Hoseok blinks before he grins. And it shoots you straight through the heart. "Yeah... We're fuckin' good at this."

Your laugh is short but your matching grin is genuine. "The best to ever do it."

"Damn right."

—

—

True freedom comes a few days later.  

On Monday, you’re finally done with work, which completely flips the feel of a normally dreaded day around. 

And what makes this particular Monday even better? 

There’s a showcase tonight.

And you are completely free to go. 

—

—

You’ll always love the energy in these warehouses. Honestly, you’ve been away for so long that you feel quite attached as soon as you walk in with random people onto the wide, bustling floor. 

From the conversations you hear springing around you, to the music booming from the DJ booth, to the shouting and cheering of different rappers trying to make their mark on the scene, you truly bask in it all. It’s a wonder you mostly come to these alone, considering how often you show up. 

Tonight, however, someone seems to keep talking to you and standing beside you for a good portion of the first two battles. And you really don’t need nor want their attention. 

So you start making your way to the side of the crowd nearest to where the contestants enter the stage. By some stroke of luck, if Yoongi is here, you can hopefully use him as a get-out-of-stranger-interaction card because all these weeks of work has your social battery completely drained. 

Like you can’t even muster the energy to tell them you really aren’t interested. And you don’t really see anyone else you know so it would be awkward to just dip. 

Thank god. 

Yoongi is here.

When you peek from the crowd, you’re a few rows away, so you have to get his attention somehow. Do you shout his name? Do you wave? Do you just stare lasers at him and hope he—

Oh. He’s looking at you. 

How did he pick you out of the crowd so quick?

Suddenly, everyone else in the room melts away as your eyes find each other. Colors blur as you watch him pause on the stage stairs, sounds mute as he looks genuinely shocked to see you here. 

You’re so thrown that you can’t even gesture to him that you’re being held hostage by a nice but annoying stranger. All you can focus on is how visceral your reaction is.

Because your breath is stolen and your whole body locks into place. 

That last kiss you shared is all you can think about. That one, singular moment before Yoongi let you walk out of his room. 

It was not normal. 

It was not normal in the slightest. 

But that’s just how you feel. For him? It could’ve just been another kiss and he could compare it to the thousands of lip locks he’s had. Why should you hold so much stock in it if he hasn't this whole time? Play it cool. Relax.

The moment passes, and he’s getting on stage to thunderous shouting and cheers. Like always, he doesn’t look at the crowd nor show much emotion, but you know there’s a storm brewing under that jacket just waiting to be unleashed.

You’re proven correct for two straight rounds. 

It was a good match, though you have a feeling Yoongi held back a bit or wasn’t at a hundred percent. His delivery was rough in the right ways and just incredible on the ears, but you could tell something was missing. His fire wasn't as bright as before.

But everyone has their days. And he fucking won despite his dip in performance, which goes to show just how hard he works for this shit.

So you start leaving, eyes closed in quiet rage that this same person is still walking next to you. Do they think they have a legitimate chance? Awareness level zero.

You let them down easy and sigh in relief when they take the hint. But now you're left alone again with a long ass walk to your car. Great. Here you go.

Three steps towards the exit, you feel a vibration in your purse. Fishing out your phone, you see it's a number you haven't saved.

And your heart thrums into your shoes when you pick up, because you don't even have to answer when you hear one word.

“Wait.”

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tbc :)

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so.. what do we think lmaooo 🦋 | join the taglist :D | feedback box

a/n: and all roads lead to jung hoseok yet again lmfaooooo. but hey, if there's ever a time to be greedy.. it's here LOL. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated. no one is ready for pt. 4 not even meeee :)))

a/n 2: all the names i’m gonna include that aren’t the members (or yijeong lol) are real life battle rappers! since there's no battle rappers showcased in this episode/chapter, let's just link to 2.0 by bts shall we lololol

++ feedback box: feedback box ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist 

🦋 so.. who are you going on a date with if you had to choose?? 🦋

[jaysdimples]

I have no words 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[kithtaehyung]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. iv (3tan) (m) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue (pt. 4) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2 | fugue pt. 3 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: we are finally, finally here. the fourth and last part of yoongi’s second interlude. it’s heavy, it’s deep, and there’s even new main storyline content at the end. 3tan is right back to our main schedule now and seriously i could cry (okay spoiler alert i did lol) warnings: language, tension, reader being the baddest, chains :)) bc why wouldn't there be!!, kissing as a warning, yoongi pov of The Scene, and another yoongi pov of Another Scene, emotional moments, a certain character makes an appearance??, main story content weewooweewoo, fluff, so much fluff, there's just so much in here nsfw warnings: under the cut!   drop date: april 7th, 2026, 7:17pm est word count: 12.5k :))

nsfw warnings: yoongi nsfw pov :))), oral (f rec), unprotected, choking, slapping, egging on because it's yoongi, multiple orgasms, ......love making................., protected, multiple rounds bc they're in fuckin' love what can i SAY!, yoongi's mouth is a warning?, reader's reactions are also a warning??, anyway, chains again, and so much care too<33   

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You ignore him and get right to work. And he feels like absolute shit. 

Why are you doing this? Why aren’t you running? Why are you choosing to stay when he’s been nothing but ice cold? 

Garbage bag in hand, you waste no time gathering up his mania. Do you even see the blood? Do you not care about what just happened?

No. It’s not that you don’t care. 

It’s that you care too much. 

Instead of leaving him to drown, you dive in right after him, swimming deeper and deeper and not caring about saving yourself. And as Yoongi can only stand there, he feels unable to move. Unable to breathe. Waiting for you to turn around and go back up for air but you don’t and it’s killing him. 

It’s when you come back with a broom that he finally snaps into action, gripping your hand that holds the handle and exhaling at your hot touch. 

You’re too good to him. “Stop.”

“No.”

Which makes this so fucking hard to watch. “Just go, please.”

“No.”

Fuck. Your stubbornness stabs into his chest. Over, and over, Yoongi can’t bear to have you witness this yet he’s pained just begging you to leave. It’s layers and layers of hurt and frustration but you. Keep. Swimming. 

Don’t drown with him. Don’t follow him into the dark. 

The crinkle of glass surrounds your feet and it’s too much to bear. He can’t even feel his toes he feels so numb, but having you see all of this pains him to no end because he’d been trying so hard to keep this side of himself from your welling eyes. 

How foolish. 

But if you’re gonna stay, at least let him clean his own shit. Aren’t you supposed to be home? At Yuri’s? Your brother is just as cut and banged up as he is, shouldn’t you be there with him instead? “I got it.” 

“Let me do it.” 

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” As you yank the broom further from his control, you growl out a command so potent Yoongi can’t even push back, “So sit down.”

Sit down? He’d rather do anything else right now. Kiss you. Make you leave. Grab hold of you and never go anywhere else. 

In the end, he can’t do shit. Because you’re a beautiful tempest and he’s letting your storm run free in his living room. It’s for good, for good, for good. Fuck, everything hurts. This is all for good. 

That is all he can tell himself before dumping his battered body at his dining table. 

With each piece you pick up, one by one, you clean out his wounds, you suck up the pain that’s festered for so long with tear-soaked cheeks and spit it all out with your quiet rage. 

The adrenaline from facing serious injury and possibly something worse still courses through Yoongi’s veins. He can’t even sit still, fidgeting in his chair and raking shaky hands through damp strands. 

With one look at your face scrunched with worry, he can’t take it anymore. You have to leave. You have to, have to, have to. Caging you next to his dining table, he stops your strides with finality. “You’ve done enough.” 

“I still need to—” 

“Just.” He looks away from your tears. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.” 

“Do what? I’m helping you.” 

If nothing else is working? There is one way to do this. A way that will change how you perceive him and not in a positive light at all. Light would require at least some semblance of warmth or care. This solution is completely void of it. 

It’s only five words. Only six syllables. But all of them sting and poison him on the way out, because this is downright caustic, 

“Who said I needed it?” 

You immediately recoil.

Shit, shit, shit, this isn’t him. This is fucking ludicrous but he can’t stop himself from surging forward with muck on his legs.

“Yoongi, what? Are you serious?” 

“You think I’m joking?” 

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?” 

“I say a lot of things.” 

Fuck. That wasn’t what he…

…Fuck.

Well. That’s it then. You’re smart, way smarter than you give yourself credit for. Which means you’ll pick up on that vibrant red flag he just swung with both arms and abandon him completely tonight. 

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in a way that tells him he’s two seconds from getting snapped into pieces. And Yoongi knows he damn well deserves it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start to… organize his things? “Like how perfect I am.” You keep going, shifting things around with a tone so alarming his heart may have beat a little. “And how there’s no one else.” 

After a second, you face him again. And it seems like you are wanting to sling heat around too because you know what you’re saying isn’t true and it’s pissing him off. “Those are just words, too, huh?” 

You are perfect. There is no one else. 

If those were just words he wouldn’t have risked his life to—

What a fucking shit show. He can’t speak of what went down tonight so this is going nowhere. 

With this insane dilemma looming over his head, Yoongi is fully aware his next laugh is anything but nice. “Nah… Not tonight.” 

“Not tonight what.” 

“We aren’t doing this tonight.” 

“The fuck we aren’t. Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head, hiding the very obvious cuts that he’s starting to feel more and more the longer this scathing verbal sparring goes on. “But you’re going home.” 

Laced in this silence, there’s still rage. There’s still passion, and it’s a fine line because he hates himself for getting to this point and he doesn’t understand why you’re still here and won’t leave him. So stubborn, so like him, so unbelievably loyal and good and everything he needs to be. 

But you say something that lights his chest and kicks his brain into gear, because he can’t even believe you continue with complete nonsense, 

“So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.” 

Both feet firmly planted and shoulders rising a little higher, Yoongi faces you head on, feeling the most alert he’s been since you rushed in. The fire in his chest licks at his lungs, propelling smoke all the way to his ears. “You’re gonna go there?” 

Your response is immediate. “I am.” 

And it takes everything inside of him to not explode. Treating you like everyone else? You know that’s bullshit. So if you’re just saying all this to fuck with him, it’s fucking working. The only thing he can come back with is a single syllable because if he says anything else, it’s gonna lead to hell fast. “Wow.” 

Suddenly, you dig into the offensive, the chasm between the two of you shaking under the weight of your argument, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?” 

“Do you even know?” 

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!” 

“That’s cus—” 

Fire spews from your lips, scorching everything at his feet and rendering him speechless yet again, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” 

Fuck. Yoongi knows this, he’s the one that started this whole conversation in Jimin’s car—

“If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s all coming back. Everything he did led to this, including not telling you shit, and you’re more hurt than he even imagined. The self-loathing has reached a new high, and he can feel blood from where his teeth bite into his tongue. 

Didn’t he just kill the shadow in his room? Why is he still struggling to breathe?

“And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…” 

Yoongi can’t do anything but stare, and stare, and stare some more. 

He’d been so focused on getting you out of there and keeping everyone safe that he didn’t even think about how afraid you were. How terrified you were after you left in screams and tears that he can still hear ringing about his head. 

“You know what?” Your empty laugh sends shivers to his fingertips. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

And Yoongi finally snaps with another flitter of sparks. Because he is and he knows but this isn’t how he wants to speak to you. Not with a canyon of hurt and desperation between your hearts. “I swear to—I just said not tonight.” 

“No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.” 

…What? 

No. No, no, no, that’s not what he means. You gotta take him at face value. He just means not tonight so you don’t have to see him at his lowest and he doesn’t want to show this monstrous side of him that’s hurting you all over again. “Are you serious?” 

But why would you take him at face value? Why would you give him any slack right now? He sure as fuck doesn’t deserve it with the way he’s treating you. Fuck, he’s even slipping on things he would never do. What the fuck is wrong with him?  

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.” 

This is what he wants, right? This is what he was fighting you for this entire time? He got what he wanted. You’re going back up for air. 

Now he just has to seal your decision the only way he can. Because nothing else has worked so far and he’s been too cowardly—or just fucking sensical—to go here. 

But with a vice clamped around his lungs, he does. Blackout shutters around his soul, Yoongi utters a sentence he would never, in any other circumstance, ever say to you. A question that sends white hot tears to the corners of his tired eyes. 

“Who asked you?” 

Ice fills the chasm between. 

Your eyes penetrate into the deepest parts of him, staring him down like he’s a stranger and rightfully so because this isn’t him. Fuck, this isn’t—this isn’t him and he is crumbling into ashes at your feet but he can’t bear to let you witness him like this another second. 

When your response shakes, Yoongi feels his heart give out. “Who asked me? Who asked me.” 

This is the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. “That’s what I said.” 

How is he still on both feet when you’re looking at him like that? Your silence carves out his heart, but this is how to finally get you to leave. To run. To rid yourself of this burden sinking him lower, and lower, and lower.

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.” 

Rock bottom. It hurts.

None of the hits he took tonight compare to the anguish this is putting him through. Absolutely nothing will. Yoongi is starting to fight out of his own chains because he can’t stand being in them. 

The damage has already been done but he’s drowning now. Get out. Claw a way out!

Dead silence rings in his ears, reaching a stinging buzz and crashing into the sound of rain and thunder. His body is thrashing out of his mind and clawing a way to the surface. 

But you drift further. And further. And further. The waves between you both crest high and fall fast, and Yoongi’s vision swims as he sways. You’re almost gone. Good. Good. You’re almost gone for good. 

…For good? 

No. No no no, that’s the farthest thing from good fuck fuck fuck. 

Yoongi can’t even recall his body tearing through the ocean of his living room so fast but he’s already at the door, slamming it shut and grasping your body for dear life. It all happens so swiftly that his fingers catch between your back and solid wood, his nails stinging from the pain and his ears ringing from your outright shouting—

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—” 

The heart in his chest plummets with each weak thump of your hands. “Whoa, hold u—” 

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—” 

Yoongi’s finally alert. He’s awake. He’s staying afloat and now he needs to pull you ashore because you are flailing in your own current of emotion. It takes everything for him to think straight and just get you to— “Just listen—” 

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—” 

Thank god. 

Doing the one thing that may shut you up and quell your worries, Yoongi smashes his lips against yours, pushing into you so hard water leaks from his eyes. Because you still have to go at some point, which means this could be his last taste in a long time. “I swear to—” 

You almost lost him. 

Which means he almost left you behind. 

What the fuck is he doing fighting you?

Anger from today and frustration with himself seize the reins, and he yanks you back to have you against another wall. There’s madness skimming along his bones and firing in his bloodstream. And Yoongi welcomes all the energy you’re unleashing in return, raking through his hair and his skin and blowing his eyes all the way out. 

He doesn’t even recognize his voice as he rips out a question, “Can’t fucking listen, can you?” 

“No.”  

When you shove him back, Yoongi can feel his soul go obsidian, welcoming the way you tug him into a ravaging kiss, tearing at your clothes because he can’t stand to be even one layer beyond your skin. 

What the fuck is happening? You have to leave. Didn’t he just fight for you to go? What’s his body doing? Suddenly his hand is around your throat and his heart booms at the spark in your eyes. Fuck, he needs you. Fucking hell, why do you have to be so fucking devoted? “Shouldn’t even fucking be here.” 

“When has that ever stopped us.” 

Don’t say shit like that. 

Yoongi drags you backward and into his dining table, careful to not trip you up on the way. As much as he’s relishing your rebellion, there’s a part of him that’s still terrified. “He’s still home.” 

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” His hand lets off your throat now. And for a second, he can’t speak. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.” 

Gripping a bit tighter again, Yoongi gives out of control at your groan. Fucking shit, this is breaking him down so fast and you didn’t even have to do anything. All you had to do was defy his words and call every single fucking bluff he had. 

Because he wanted nothing more than for you to be right here. Nothing else matters. Not the wounds on his body, not the catastrophe of his place, not the thunder and rain outside.  

Only you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.” 

You meet his eyes with fire. 

“Are you.” 

The look on your face tells him everything he needs to know. No words are exchanged as the atmosphere sparks and fizzles, and yet, Yoongi understands every single fucking word. 

The moment you walked in, Yoongi had already lost. “Goddamn it.” 

Giving into the most primal of urges, the most savage of needs, tension snaps with a burst of orange and red. Claws and fangs glint in the night, rage and passion clutching each other before crashing down together. 

Devouring you and letting you have your way with him is ecstatic, a high, all consuming and Yoongi doesn’t know when anger morphs into desperation. But it does, it does, it does, and the outpouring of frustration and relief and realization that you’re here is draining him exactly how he wants. 

Taking while being taken. Worshipping while being worshipped. Everything he’d been feeling over the last three months funnels into this very moment and spills out of his system like an open, gushing wound. Toxins and pain runneth over, releasing and freeing and letting his bones free to stretch and grow again. Though battered and bruised, Yoongi feels whole again. Like he never was, or always was? With you. 

Was this all he had to do? 

All he had to do was let you in? 

You come undone, then you unravel beneath him again. The sight he thought he’d never see again unfolds in front of his very eyes and Yoongi drinks you in like a man starved on the brink of collapse. Maybe he still fucking is, because the burn he feels in his body won’t quell. The pain in his soul won’t ebb. The sobs in his ear won’t stop. 

Wait, fuck fuck, that’s you? “Baby.” 

You don’t quit, so he calls you again. And when nothing else works, Yoongi cracks out your name with a snap and grabs your chin to bring you back. Shit, he should’ve been paying attention. 

Fuck, you look so exhausted. He knows he’s responsible for that pain in your eyes. That anguish in your brows. But Yoongi will deal with that once you’re coherent and present again.

It takes you a bit to come back to him, but you do like the strong, fierce one you are. Fuck, you’re incredible even in your weakest moments. Something he’s come to love and aspire to match. 

When you beg him to not kick you out, Yoongi feels chains tug his heart taut. Pulled in so many directions, he feels the need to take deep breaths himself, and he’s so caught up in your pleas that he births a new nickname that has his brain spiraling,

“Breathe, angel.”

No time to think about that now. The only real explanation for him saying it out loud is the fact he’s thought it so many times his brain decided it needed to be set free. 

You tell him he’s perfect the way he is, and Yoongi falters. Everything you say while in his arms and fighting tears will be burned in his memory forever, and he’ll let those words carry him onto softer shores, sparkling and welcoming just like you. 

He doesn’t even realize he starts to cry until you tell him it’s okay. And he lets himself rest in the solace of your embrace until he remembers that you came in through the pouring rain. 

When you offer to share the blame? That’s when Yoongi can’t fight it anymore. This beautiful, blooming soul in his arms is radiating enough light to wash away his darkness. He has no choice but to surrender to you—his life, his devotion, his everything. 

Of course you would offer to share the blame. It’s so inherently you that Yoongi’s emotions run down with the shower spray, and he clutches onto you like life would stop as soon as he let go. 

Water. Sunlight. Warmth. 

From the mud in his chest, reaching up towards his beloved, Yoongi finally feels new life bloom. 

—

—

Darkness no longer clouds the edges of his eyes, and he can see moonlight crisper and more ethereal than he’d ever seen it before. Washed ashore, lying still, and staring at a sea of stars, Yoongi thinks his view almost looks as pretty as you. But he realizes this is because it is you. He’s there in your eyes, amongst those flecks of light. It’s breathtaking. It’s… 

You give him a tiny smile before turning to leave his bedroom. And Yoongi follows with his vision swimming. 

This feeling… 

You’re both in the kitchen now, his feet planted on warm tile as you grab your phone to do whatever’s in that beautiful brain of yours. God, you’re ethereal just standing there, so gorgeous, so present. His life’s most precious gift. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—” 

Yoongi watches as you give him a once over. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.” 

As you speak, he can’t offer anything. He can’t even move, because something is growing in his chest and it’s starting to feel like he’ll burst. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…” 

This feeling… It’s an urge. It’s an irrevocable emotion. 

It’s all you. All Yoongi sees is you. Light. Shine. Glow. The rainbow that came after the rain, casting color and new life into his dulled existence and clearing his mind of all sludge. His ribs are battered, but this has been the easiest he can breathe. 

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?” 

How does that even make sense? How do you manage to make him second guess his life at every turn? He can be happy, even if it doesn’t make sense now. 

Your radiance is just beyond his cracked, clawed walls, and this need to fight his way out is stronger than it’s ever been. You deserve his best. You want every piece of him. 

Every version of him.

Throat burning and breath short, Yoongi runs across his mind, footsteps unimpeded towards the door he’s been waiting behind, clenching his fist around the knob and yanking it all the way open to pull himself through without resistance and turning towards the shimmering expanse across his eyes. 

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—” 

And sunlight conquers the dark. 

“I love you.” 

You stop as soon as his heart thrums, pulsing with purpose, with the intention of keeping him full and alive because that’s exactly how he feels. 

Alive.

You question what he says, but Yoongi doesn’t answer with words. The emotion pooling in his eyes will have to suffice, because if he says what he really wants to say? You’d probably run from how ahead of himself he really is. 

So instead, surrounded by a kitchen that has seen the worst and best of him, Yoongi simply repeats out loud what’s been fact for months now, 

“I love you, doll.”

It’s okay that you don’t move. It’s okay if you don’t say anything back. 

He almost lost you. And you may have almost lost him had it not been for everyone else there. To even be able to confess is a blessing in itself, and even if you don’t reciprocate, Yoongi is more than fine with that. Because he’s still on this earth, in this lifetime, and this version of him was able to find this version of you. 

And he’ll do it again, and again, and again.

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to. I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—” 

When you rush to embrace him with the utmost care, it proves too much to hide anything else. Yoongi’s walls fully fall with the tears from his eyes as you cry into his skin. Words bump and collide into each other as he fails to express how grateful he is to be alive and to be in your arms. It’s too much to bear. It’s too much to convey. All he can do is fucking sob. “Goddamn it, I love you—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

You didn’t deny him. You didn’t look repulsed, or disappointed, or angry. All the fears that berated him for days prove useless and wrong and there’s no better feeling that exists in the spectrum of human emotion. 

Orange and blue coalesce and intertwine, and his mind shines with a rainbow of iridescence, scintillating and bounding like the suncatchers in your eyes. 

With his next blinks, something happens that renders his mind speechless. 

He slowly looks beyond your shoulder and sees a figment of himself—a younger version with big dreams and a battered heart—standing at the edge of his kitchen and donning a look of trepidation. 

Before realizing that everything’s going to be alright. 

Yeah, kid. Everything is more than alright.

And this only makes Yoongi cry harder, and he watches himself grin before offering a simple nod, walking out with hands in his pockets and fading footsteps.

Healed. 

“Yoongi.” 

His name leaves your lips so cracked that it hurts him in the best way. It takes all of him to hold you tight, finding shelter from his own shower of tears in the crook of your shoulder. 

This is what he’ll remember forever. Your outpouring of emotion receiving his biggest fear with warmth. He should’ve seen this coming, but darkness and trauma has a damn good way of beating your expectations down into dust. Just like the glass shattered across his living room floor not too long ago. 

You still haven’t said anything. But this is more than enough. This is everything Yoongi could ask for and he’s cherishing every millisecond he gets with you in this newfound life, this life beyond his own, this eternity. 

“Yoongi, I—”

He swoops in to catch your words in his mouth, and it’s in this very moment that he realizes that he’s terrified of anything you have to say back. Is that ridiculous? Is that unreasonable? He doesn’t care. There’s a chance these past three months have changed your mind and he’s not ready to hear it if that’s the case. 

Just stay here with him and let him love you. Just stay here by his side and let him watch you with a vision finally unclouded. 

Yoongi backs you up into the opposite counter, smothering you with everything else he wants to say but can’t. Because anything else he wants to confess still scares the living shit out of him.

Your breathy words already hit harder when you finally speak again, “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

He can’t either. Whatever you’re about to say, he fucking can’t, either. Holding your head, he plants his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry,” he rasps out, hoping you can tell he means it, for everything. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.” 

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.”

How can he ever make all of this up to you? The distance, the shutout, the shutdown, the way he tried to get you to leave. All of it weighs his heart down and forces out apologies to his brain. Over, and over, he can only say sorry. And he’s so fucking relieved that he gets to tell you because he made it out and they all survived. 

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, and he immediately calms. Inhaling your natural scent, he lowers his lids as you whisper, “You’re okay, so I’m okay.” 

All you wanted was for him to be okay. And all he needed for that to happen was having you right here. 

This is deeper than love. 

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, he feels so goddamned overwhelmed he has to ball his fists. “I just—fuck.” 

“Babe,” you say with the softest care, “I’m here.” 

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, salt coats his lips and he knows what it means. 

You’re here. He almost got you to leave. And you almost did and he finally, finally, finally fought for you to stay. 

Yoongi plants kisses all over your skin, marvelling at how perfect you are even if you don’t believe it. You’re everything. And he’s so drawn to you that he can feel his body responding without pause. 

But he won’t give into those urges unless you want him to. He can live off your little breaths, your roaming hands, your small hitches as he keeps peppering love along your canvas. This can be enough to keep him going well into the next year or ten. 

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching just how he loves. “If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” He captures your lips again, and he can feel that you want what he wants. And his heart pulses in double time. “You’re so—fuck.”

His hands find yours as he starts to walk to the bedroom, leading you and loving how your fingers slot into his perfectly. When you both reach the bed, you stop him with a little question of concern, “Are you sure?” 

“I’ll be alright, doll.” There’s nothing but care in his movements as he lowers you down, transfixed by how beautiful you are in his sheets. The fact that you’re down to do this again after taking him so well has his mind spinning. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.” 

Giggling, you read him like a story you’ve memorized, “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.” 

“I don’t think so.” A lie. “Lemme get a cond—” 

“It’s okay.”

…What did you just say?

Yoongi needs clarification on what the fuck you just said because he is now convinced this whole night is a dream and he’s hallucinating you in his bed and he’s gonna wake up to none of this happening at all because what the fuck did you just say? “...What?” 

“We don’t…” You swallow, and his heart stops completely at your next sentence. “We don’t have to this time.” 

There’s no fucking way. “You sure?” 

Cradling his face with the softest of touches, you confirm with a smile so shy Yoongi wants to shield you from the rest of the world, “Just for a little bit.” 

And you add something he absolutely needed to hear because his breaths haven’t resumed. “I trust you.” When your eyes slightly waver, Yoongi crumbles at your last words, “And I want to, if you want it, too.” 

Of course he wants this. But hearing the suggestion come from you? That’s new, and he’s not complaining in the least. “I want what you want, doll.” 

“Then it’s okay.”  

His fingers. They’re already fucking shaking. 

But Yoongi’s not going to say anything to change the trajectory of this moment. Something about his bedroom feels different, as if it’s been plucked from this universe and placed in a separate pocket of time where only the two of you exist. 

You aren’t wavering in your gaze. All you do is stare with pools in your eyes as he slowly peels clothes from your legs and his own. Determination is all he can see, and that solidifies his confession that he’ll keep saying again, and again, and again. 

Can you hear how breathless he sounds? Can you feel every shiver running up and down his spine? Do you notice how he could disintegrate at any moment? 

But before you both do this for real, he has to be absolutely sure. One last time. 

And you respond without him having to ask. “Yes, my love.” 

After a kiss he’ll remember forever, Yoongi kisses you back, taking his time and inundating your lips with every bit of him that he deems good. There’s a mix of emotion as he positions himself, and he has to fight the shakes when he feels the velvet touch of your folds. 

Holy fuck, he’s not gonna last. He already knows this won’t take long purely based on the way he’s already fighting hard to keep his fucking composure. 

But you’re so slick that it doesn’t take much for him to slide in, and the feeling of being fully molded into you is so incredible he could pass out. What the fuck. “Holy fucking shit.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Fuck.” 

You’re already clenching around him. Oxygen can’t even reach his lungs. There’s no greater feeling in the world than what’s vibrating in his bones, getting to feel the person he loves just like this. Whole. Yoongi feels so whole and he knows you’re fighting to prolong this feeling just as hard as he is. 

Which only makes this shit even harder goddamn. 

Your giggle barely reaches his ears, “You good, baby?” 

He turns to watch your eyes, wondering when the fuck he got so close and wondering if he’s still even living. “Yeah, just...” He stares before finally taking a breath, exhaling hard from exertion alone. “Just this is about to make me bust.” 

When you laugh, your admittance coaxes a long, lopsided grin, “I was just thinking the same, holy shit. We’re not good at this.” 

Now that is a fuckin’ lie on your part. “No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.” 

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.” 

Fucking hell. You have to know how much power you have in that whine. Preventing himself from coming inside you legitimately hurts at this point. Not that he’s complaining but god. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.” 

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, giggling again and making him weaker and weaker. 

His voice is so strained it’s embarrassing. “You’re a little too perfect right now.” When you shake your head, he will not have any of that doubt in his face. “You are.”

“Nowhere close.”  

You don’t wanna do that. Facing you nose to nose, Yoongi taunts, welcoming this distraction from busting in your beautiful folds. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

Fuck, you take his thrusts so well. His cock is outright throbbing now. “What did I fuckin’ say?” 

“What—”

Another launch has your mouth flopping open, and Yoongi can’t think straight anymore. All he can spit out is everything as raw as you’re taking him, “You think there’s someone else? Hmm?” 

He pushes forward again. And your expression makes him moan so guttural it even gets himself going. Grabbing your chin, he feels sweat under his fingers as he vows, “You’re gonna regret saying that.” 

You just laugh, and Yoongi groans at his next thrust and how deep he goes. When you taunt him again, he can only glower with pride, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and thrashing in passionate waves. “Uh huh.” 

“Make me then,” you gasp for air. “Make me really sorry.” 

How could he ever deny you?

His hands find your body before he dives, breaking loose and ramming into you as hard and fast as his hips allow. The pain in his side rises which each swing, but that doesn’t matter. You feel so perfect around him he thinks he can stay here until he’s physically yanked from this plane of existence. 

Heaven. “Taking me so well like this.” 

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Animal instincts scratch along Yoongi’s brain, blurring his vision and buzzing his actions into staccato jolts. When your jaw hangs, the first thing he thinks to do is smack your cheek, and he grunts when your eyes darken three shades,

“Do it again.” 

Did you just—

“Do it again,” you growl, moaning to the sky when he obliges a second time oh fuck you’re cutting his airway and it careens him into carnal bliss. 

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that everything roars in his core and he turns completely primal, forfeiting all sense of decency and ravishing you exactly how he wants and exactly how you need. What the fuck is his shirt still doing on your body? That needs to go. But too much time would be wasted getting it off, but he can settle with shoving it up and devouring your chest just like this oh yes. 

“Oh, fuck, Yoongi!” 

“Uh uh.” 

“Please—please—” 

Lapping at your tits is one of his favorite things at this point. Almost as natural as embracing you and holding down your beautiful wrists just to watch you preen with a smile. Because this is exactly what you do now, teeth shining in the night and eyes creased and slicing through his beating, beating, beating heart. 

Yoongi’s sure he’s stuttering out words that praise you, but there’s nothing truly registering in his head other than your sinful, angelic sounds. Truthfully, these moans you’re puffing out are enough to send him over the edge because you sound so fucking pretty. 

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—” 

Shit shit shit, he’s gonna— “Shit.” 

The last braincell he has commands his entire body, lunging up and pulling out of his newfound home before spilling mercilessly onto your exposed stomach, shuddering and shivering from lust and passion and something else scarier than the rest. 

Hearing nothing from your lips, Yoongi finally regards you with ragged breaths. 

You look so in shock. And he’s so exposed and snapped lucid that he is now downright shy. “Fuck,” he shakes out with a laugh. “Thought I could hold out.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure, laughing light and offering a smile. “Oh my god, I promise.” 

Something must now be very wrong with him, or the wiring in his brain has been changed. Because every time he sees your lips? There’s an innate need to kiss them. It’s almost blasphemous if he doesn’t. 

Fuck. He winces on the way down. There’s no doubt you saw that, which sucks. He doesn’t want you to worry about him, those lines on your forehead don’t need to be there. 

“Stay there, beautiful.” Shit, getting out of the bed hurts even worse now. I’m not done with you.” 

“Baby, are you sure?” 

He’s sure. You don’t need to lift a single finger tonight unless it’s for him to kiss. 

Walking to the bathroom and facing away, Yoongi can finally let his strong demeanor drop, wincing fully and squinting his eyes in pain. But it should subside in just a bit. Going too hard was probably the worst decision, but there was no way he was passing that shit up if you wanted it. 

From the time he comes back to sit on the bed, to wiping your face and your stomach, Yoongi doesn’t feel your stare let up even once. Which is fine. This is the most calm he’s ever felt in his life, cleaning the love of his life after a connection he didn’t expect to have until you both had reached another milestone. 

But as soon as he stares back, that’s when you look away. And it’s so adorable his heart beats a shade of lavender. “What, love.” 

“I just… nothing,” you whisper. 

“Tell me.” You’re not hiding anything from him now—fuck, he probably shouldn’t lie on this side. But fuck it. “I wanna know.” 

Well. Not on your watch apparently. You command him to lie on your other side, and he’s not gonna be told twice. Shit is hurting like hell right now.

But he settles at your side, ears perked and awaiting your every syllable. “It’s a secret.” 

Huh. “A secret?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Well, this is definitely not what he expected. But anything to entertain and amuse you. Anything you want to tell him, he’ll bring to his grave. Lifting your chin, he softly rubs your cheek before whispering, “I can keep those, you know.” 

That smile is why he fell in love. “Okay, I’ll tell.” 

Why do you look so mischievous right now? Who is this cute ball of sudden energy? Are you not as exhausted as he feels? Yoongi is sure he could fall asleep in your arms right now without so much another breath—

“I love you, too.”

…What? 

The stop of a clock.

Absolute silence.

Soon, every star in the sky glows brighter, the moon shining beams into his room and coating your body in heavenly light. It’s so piercing and true that Yoongi feels little pricks at his eyes, desperately hoping he heard you correctly because if he didn’t, his body would crumble and wash away with the tide. 

“And you deserve more than I could ever give.” 

Oh. 

He heard you right. 

And all he can see is you just beyond the sand under his fingertips, eyes reflecting tangerine and summer sparks and everything he wants to be. 

He doesn’t remember rushing forward, he doesn’t remember kissing you. But he’s locked on your quivering mouth, not faring much better and very sure his tears are coating your tongue, too. 

What the fuck does he say? Every word in every language he knows abandons him, too stunned at your confession and reciprocation that he can only show what he feels in his movements. 

Fuck sleep. 

He’s giving you every ounce of his energy tonight. 

This is how he can thank you. For caring about him, for not giving up on him, for not leaving him when he was at his absolute lowest. 

For loving him. 

For loving him. 

The pain ceases to bother him. Because he’s joining you in the sea now, diving deep between your legs and lapping at your every wave of pleasure. All he can think about is how you taste like magic, like devotion, like home. And buried in your core and away from your moans, he can let his tears flow, eyes scrunched and fingers gripping your thighs as if you’d leave as soon as he lets go. 

When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing. Because he still cannot find it within himself to speak. If he does? You’d surely run. Getting ahead of himself is the theme tonight, and there’s no telling what he’d say next if he doesn’t keep his tongue occupied with your ebb and flow. 

He really could go all night just like this. 

And that thought is so natural that it doesn’t even phase him. 

Your hands jut into his hair before you come on his tongue a second time, and the groan he pushes out rumbles his entire being. 

“Holy fuck, baby—!” 

Your waves crash onto the shore yet again, magnificent and beautiful and sparkling. Even though he’s as close as he could possibly be, Yoongi needs to be closer. So he gets up and lets your cunt breathe as he smothers your lips once more, pouring adoration into your lungs and sacrificing air to do so. 

“Fuck.” He needs you. Yoongi can’t control the dragon in his chest that yearns for connection again, even though he knows this one cannot mirror the last. So he gets up to grab a condom, instantly thinking about how shy you were to show him which ones you got when you re-upped. 

Fucking good ones, that’s for damn sure. He can pretty much feel all of you if he thinks hard enough, even with these on. Minx. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

The look in your eye is familiar. And the words you say are even more so. “One day.”

Fuck, he loves you. 

And for the rest of the night, as much as he can muster, Yoongi shows you just how much. At least, he hopes you can tell from the way he makes love to you, each stroke intentional, each touch of your face tender, each look in your eye full of yearning even though you’re right there with him. 

Is it possible to want someone when they’re right there? 

What does that mean? How does he feel so fucking hungry when he’s so full of you? 

It almost—almost—scares him how he can’t get enough of your body. But it’s probably your soul that he’s holding instead, and you have so much that he can’t carry it all. 

Yoongi’s eyes burn, but not in a blaze of fire. They burn like a hearth, like a calm flame in the heart of a house.  

Because he’s finally home. 

—

—

Spent, satiated, and still wanting more but letting rest take over his tired bones, Yoongi finds himself next to your shimmering eyes and roaming fingers. God, he loves when you play with his hair. If there was one thing that could always calm his storm? This would be it.

That, and your hums. He could live indefinitely in your song.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. When you catch his eyes, you shift from one to the other. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.” 

He doesn’t blame you one bit for that. “I know.” 

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

Ah. Will he ever tell you how close that was to happening? Why does that one question make him feel so fucking guilty? “It won’t happen again.” 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

As he holds your gaze, Yoongi thinks it’s better to wait. But he can at least explain why things went down the way they did. Why you had to be sent away. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he says with certainty. “We all knew that.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Don’t cry. Everything is okay now. Please don’t let this burden you. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.” 

His silent pleas don’t work, because of course you would cry for them. That’s just who you are, and there’s zero need to change that. 

But it doesn’t make this situation less painful. Sitting up, Yoongi has to hang his head between his knees to hide his guilt. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, remembering something else he can tell you that’s okay to divulge. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.” 

“Thank you…” 

A brief touch on his shoulder turns into a calm yet firm hold of his arm. You’re slowly unraveling him, just like a fruit that reminds him of you, and he’s brought into your loving warmth without a word. 

The two of you don’t need to exchange those so much anymore. Not when he can sense what you need, and when you can read him better than anyone ever has.

Only one person knows him more.

And finally remembering there are other people in the world—including the only one he fears—douses him with a splash of water. 

He’s way too deep now. He really has to do something because if he gets pulled away from you ever again, his heart may as well get ripped from his chest. 

“Thank you for letting me in.”

Yoongi’s eyes still.

“It was raining really hard.” 

Fuck. 

There have been multiple doors opened tonight. Not just the one he finally yanked himself through. And with each swing of solid wood, his heart began to breathe easier and easier, its beating stronger and fuller.

But with this last door? This one you just opened with a whisper and a soft touch? 

His whole body freezes. Because it’s a swift punch to his already pained ribcage and all he can do is leak sentences from his eyes. 

“Babe?”

Only you can affect him this potently. Only you can bring him to his knees. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

He doesn’t want to. Fuck, he’s way too timid and fragile right now to even turn your way. Yoongi feels as if all his layers have been stripped bare, lying in one piece around him and exposing his vulnerable state. 

But he obeys. And he can feel the slip of warmth on his face before you spring into action, 

“Oh, fuck, come here.”

He’s gathered in your arms and it reminds him of many things. Like the tug of warm rushing water, and the first time he realized how he felt about you. 

But above all, it reminds him of the loving embrace of his mother, one that he’s been swooped into every time he needed her most. 

And this singular comparison knocks him off balance entirely. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, pressing his face into your neck and soothing him when he doesn’t utter a damn word. “I’m not mad anymore, okay? I’m just glad you’re alright.”

How does one respond when an angel speaks to them? Is it possible to form words when your heart lodges itself in your throat? This proves too difficult. And Yoongi is trying so fucking hard to keep himself in one piece.

Too late. He can’t stop his nose from a sniff. But it’s okay, because he knows he can be like this with you. He can let go, because you’ve always allowed him to be wholly himself. 

For the first time, in a very long time, Yoongi feels… 

Protected. 

He doesn’t have to be strong right now. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be more okay than he is. He can just be and that in itself gives him the most comfort he’s had in years and years. 

The answer was always you. How many other times can he materialize this singular solution in his mind? 

Infinite, infinite, infinite times. 

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi croaks, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

He almost can’t finish what he’s saying. It takes everything to shove it out because he wants to truly say everything he feels. Consequences and potential reactions be damned.

The truth remains. 

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.” 

When you choke out a sob, his body responds, “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Every single bit of it. The truth is so concrete in his chest that he can barely breathe. Sighing, Yoongi sniffs again before letting his weight fall into your loving side. “I mean that.”

You smooth a hand over his hair. Something that he’s missed so fucking much. “Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, surprising himself because there’s so many things that will scare you shitless. But what’s done is done. The future is now, and immediate changes are in order. “But from now on, you can be here whenever you want.” 

Skimming along his strands, you cheekily ask, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?” 

Oh? You know about those? It makes sense, since your brother did attend some and stayed for a bit. “Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” 

You’re silent as he gravitates to your shoulder, inhaling your scent while kissing its curve. “He was worried. And hoping you would show.” Again, you don’t speak, leaving room for Yoongi to keep revealing more and more of his unending string of thoughts, “I knew you wouldn’t. But… I did hope to see you, too.” 

As you resume your gentle touches, your chest rises and falls before you finally talk, “It’s okay. It would’ve been too obvious.”

What, that he missed you? That he wouldn’t have left the same room you were in? That his eyes would’ve drifted to you because the rest of him couldn’t? “What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

Oh. The two of you are so similar. “You already have that.”

Voice softer and more timid, you respond, “You know what I mean.” 

Of course he does. In fact, he wants to see how you’d act if there was nothing holding you back. Because if it were him? Everyone would know who has him cuffed up and chained down, and just how much he fucking loves it—

“My brother was the one that invited me,” you blurt. “To come to those, I mean.”

Wait.. He what? “Huh.”

“I know.” You absentmindedly take his hand and kiss along his ridges, staring off into space and time. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

Does he? Yoongi doesn’t think so, considering he himself is still alive and breathing semi-fine. 

Back in the parking lot, though, things could’ve gotten suspicious as hell once that fucker started mentioning you to him. But the guy from Dalo taunted him first on the court way back when. Of course he’d single him out. 

But still… When your brother told him to get out of the car, he probably lost two of his nine lives. “What if he does?”

You turn, eyes wide. “Does he?”

Focusing on your lips hovering over his fingers, Yoongi runs through every scenario in his mind. The most glaring thing he can think of just happened in your front yard, but your brother told him to break up with his ex. So there’s no way he’d think you were even an option.

So the most obvious answer, thankfully, would be, “No.”

Relief lowers your shoulders. “Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?” 

Ah. He forgot about this single scheme he cooked up days ago, as soon as he was told your brother would be heading out for a surprise trip. 

Getting to tell you in person? This makes his heart sing. “Who do you think you bought those groceries for?” 

Jackpot. That expression is fucking priceless. “What?” 

Yoongi cannot believe he almost let you leave. If you had walked back out into the rain, his future would have looked much different. And, frankly, quite fucking bleak. “I get you for a week, right?”

It’s just for a second, but the wheels spinning in your head can plainly be seen. He can’t help but laugh at the way you scrunch that cute ass nose as you burst, 

“You sneaky little—” 

That look. The look you have when you’re nothing but happy? He wants that permanently etched into your features forever. There’s nothing else he wants more than to keep you shining and shining. 

Giving in to your kisses, Yoongi loses himself in the best way, melting against your lips and feeling warmth pool in his chest. 

Is going behind your brother’s back one more time still mutinous? Yes. But this will be the very last time. All the sneaking, all the hidden truths, all the little lies will be over soon enough. 

You need it to be, your brother deserves for it to be, and Yoongi yearns for it to be. 

“One day,” he murmurs, caught in a sudden determination to rewire his whole framework for your sake, “I’ll be better.”

“Don’t make it just one day, silly.” 

Did you just… What did you just say?

Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion, “We’ll make it as many as we can.”

It’s not enough to say he loves you.

What he feels digs seven leagues farther into his soul, carving out a haven shaped like you just so he can permanently keep you there. Safe. Protected. Glowing like the pop of fireworks and the shine of sunlight through summer leaves. 

Yoongi’s not quite sure of a lot of things. Unfortunately, one of those includes knowing when exactly he’d be okay. Be truly, one hundred percent okay. 

But he’s sure of one thing, and that’s your word. If you’re with him, you’re with him. He’s known this for awhile now, but it doesn’t hit him until tonight, right as you fought to stay while staring his monsters in the eye. 

A light laugh lands on his hair, and Yoongi wonders where your mind is. Probably wandering and trying to find his own, since he knows he drifted off just a bit. 

“At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat.”

Yoongi’s brows perk up at your confidence. 

“Then I’m running away with her.”

Is that right? Maybe he believes you, but who is he to surrender so easily? “Oh, yeah?”

Your pout is priceless. “Yeah. But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

A laugh leaps out of his chest, because technically she did but ultimately came back. You really don’t know half of it, but he has time to tell you everything. Even the parts he doesn’t want to. “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

Alright, he’s had enough. The urge to tickle you roars again, and he doesn’t have to keep his hands to himself. “This much,” he says with his attack, loving your bubbling laughter, “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.” 

“You did threaten to kick me out before.” 

Yoongi stops on your soft curves. “Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up.” Your eyes crease as you watch him stare far into your eyes. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.” 

Oh, fuck, he did! 

The laugh that rumbles from his belly is so fast and loud that his side hurts like hell fuck but he can’t help it because the giddiness gets the best of him. Damn, he really did say that the very first day. From day one, he’s been such a liar. “I should’ve!” 

“You really should’ve.” 

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” Of course you nod. It’s attractive in the best and worst ways, and soon he’s not gonna know what to do with the confident version of you. “Course you are.” 

“You love it.” 

“I do.” 

The sentence he wants to say next is balancing on the tip of his tongue. But it’s even more fun to dangle in front of your awaiting eyes, knowing you have a feeling of what he’s gonna say. 

So he just bites his own lips before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.” 

“No! …Maybe.” 

Adorable. “Guess what.” 

Yoongi doesn’t even acknowledge your suspicion before seizing your mouth, kissing you deep and feeling the arch of your chest into his. Fuck, he loves when you do that. It’s one of his favorite things, even more so when it happens right here in his bed. 

If it ever happens again in yours… 

After a few passes, he raises himself, planting a hand at your side and slotting a leg in between yours. God, your skin. It’s so smooth against his, and yet, you’re so unbelievably strong. So firm. So loyal. It’s never going to fully click that you’re doing this all for him. 

There are multitudes of what Yoongi wants to say to you. But you two have all the time in the world now. He’s gonna shower you with so much appreciation and adoration that you may not know what to do with him. And that’s perfectly okay. 

When he lets up, you move wet lips to whisper, “What were you gonna say?” 

Drawn to your nose, Yoongi gives in to his urges yet again and kisses you there, letting loose and firing another confession into the dark night sky, “I just fucking love you, doll.” 

Oh. You’re trying to duck him now? That’s not gonna work, but it’s fucking cute as hell. “You can’t hide now, babe.” 

“I can!” 

Nah, you can’t run. He has more to say and he’s gonna say it to your face. Or ear. Whatever is willing to take in his sparkling, booming declarations, “I love fucking you, too.” 

“Yoongi!” 

He can’t help but laugh now, holding you tighter and snuggling his nose into your scent. Inhaling, inhaling, exhaling relief. Relief that you are here and relief that he is, too.

That second of terror, not knowing if he was going to survive? It feels so far away and right on his heels all at once. It’s a strange feeling, wondering if the universe intentionally gave him a second chance and now wondering why. Clearly, he now has some soul searching to do. 

But two things are for sure: music, and you.

And to Yoongi, they are one and the same.  

“I miss you.”

What?

Looking down at your head, Yoongi wonders if he wandered too far, “How? I’m right here.”

You lower into his chest, and he feels his heartbeat quicken. “I still miss you.”

Fuck. He knows how that feels. 

Feeling the rush of melancholy, he embraces your sides, knowing that there’s a goodbye to every hello and he knows your dreading this part just as much as he is. 

A flare of blue streaks across his chest. Something burning so hot and searing a decision on the inside of his lungs. 

And fuck, it’s already making him shake. “I can’t do shit like this anymore.” 

You completely still in his arms, and he knows why. But this is the only way he can get all of this out because it’s frightening and he’s running from the one sentence he has to say out loud.

“I wanna do this the right way.” 

He can’t fucking stop his breaths from studdering, and you push up to check on his current shake,

“What are you saying?” 

Just say it. Just fucking say it. He’s ready to walk into fire, knowing a piece of him might disintegrate into ashes. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.” 

It takes a second or two for you to realize what he says. And he gets that. This is sudden, and it’s throwing him into a new state of panic that would destroy him if you weren’t there warming his skin.

The gleam of your tears gives him a will to breathe. 

And Yoongi swallows every shadow and doubt before taking the first step towards freedom, famine, or both. 

For you, for you, for you. Always and forever, for you. 

“I’ll tell him everything.” 

More water engulfs your eyes as you fall silent, and Yoongi can’t quell the beating in his chest. Are you shocked? Scared? Just as fucking frightened as he is? 

Because he has a lot coming for him and there’s no way around it. He just has to hope to everything in the universe and beyond that he can withstand whatever hell your brother will unleash. 

And the guilt waiting for him on its haunches. “Babe?” 

“I’m just…” Your brows deepen as your face scrunches, but what you say makes him blink twice. “I can’t…”

Yoongi’s heart is millimeters from the ground. “What?”

When your hand grips your chest, he feels his whole world pulse with the urge to protect you. You look so scared of something, and it’s probably the same as what’s haunting him. He wishes things were different, he wishes he did things better, he hates himself for—

“I love you so much it fucking hurts.”

Oh. 

You… That’s all you’re thinking about? Him? His throat sears through at how wrong he was. How the fuck will he ever deserve you?

“Maybe cus I’m scared as shit,” you confirm one of his worries, clenching another beautiful hand over your chest. “Or maybe one heart isn’t enough to hold it all.” 

If that isn’t the fucking truth. 

Just saying the words will never be enough. Like it’s laughable how much he feels for you, what he would do for you. The way he went from a bruised heart to growing another just for you inflates his battered ribcage and leaves him breathless. “It’s been hurting for me, too,” he croaks, chest constricted by the rivers on your face. “A lot longer than three months.”

When your palm reaches to cup his cheek, Yoongi can’t hold back the tear that falls into its ridges. Because his capacity for emotion seems to be limitless around your tender heart. You’re his safe haven, his hearth, his home where he can be himself and not feel like he has to hide. 

You’re his everything. And he’s simply yours in every sense of the word. 

“I just wish I was here for those,” you whisper with leaking eyes that match his. “I missed you, Yoongi. I didn’t want to say much, but… It affected me a lot more than I thought.”

“I know,” he responds, cracked and broken beyond repair. “There’s nothing I can say that can change what I did.” 

Your sniffles stab like knives. 

“But listen. Hmm?” He shifts to kiss the inside of your palm. “Never again.” 

When you can only nod, his lungs collapse. “Serious. And you’ll know how serious by tomorrow. K?”

“K,” you breathe out, silent as you watch him pepper more and more kisses along your wrist between inhales. His plan will be fully done by the end of the day tomorrow. There’s a bit to do, but he’s got time. Everything will be worth it just to keep you happy and at peace. 

And maybe this will help him get there, too. 

“Come here, doll,” he whispers, shutting both eyes when you rush to his lips before he even finishes the plea. And your mouth pins his in the best way, smothering with salt and a deluge he laps at, sucks in, smushes closer with a hand to your head. 

When you break away, Yoongi gulps in air as you do the same, hearing your soft sniffs and still wishing things had been done differently. 

But he can’t change the past. And the present is more than he could ever ask for. So there’s no point in dwelling on the roads you both took to get here.

“I love when you call me that,” you admit, breaking into his thoughts. 

“Doll?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Kinda picked up on that.” Ah, you’re trying to hide one more time? Do you know that’s never gonna fly with him? “Huh, now we’re shy again?” 

“Always.” 

“We both know that’s not true.” Yoongi laughs until you latch onto his neck, and blood speeds to his groin as he instantly loses himself in a groan. He doesn’t even register his head kicking back until his words come out strained, “Fuckin’ hustler, fuck…” 

When you chuckle, your vibrations send jolts along his limbs, activating every fucking cell and lighting up his brain until it’s completely blank. 

“Gotta live up to my name somehow,” you joke, pulling away and leaving a cold patch in your wake. “But seriously, that’s all you get. We have to sleep.” 

“What, you don’t wanna see the cat anymore?” 

“I never said that!”

You’re way too easy, but he’d be the same exact way. The last time he got you both up to see your little gift, she wasn’t outside. Will she be there now? 

With tired muscles, you both get out of the bed, and he holds out his hand to guide your zigzag waddles through his apartment that he can finally breathe in. 

“Wait,” you halt with your arm. When Yoongi obeys with a look, you turn to him and show off how logical you are, “There’s probably glass still.” 

He nods, resting you against his door before fetching slippers from his closet. And it hurts like a bitch to lean down, but he slips your pair on so you don’t have to move. Rather him than you anyday. 

And that look of pure adoration he gets in return will always be fucking worth it. 

God. Things really are better when you’re here. 

He can’t believe how stupid he’s been. 

With the proper footwear, both of you slowly make your way through his place, and Yoongi shifts his vision around to check for any large shards of glass to navigate you around. Somehow, it looks like you got most of the damage out. But some tiny specks and chips still remain, and he notes to get them soon—

“If she’s not out there again, I’m gonna cry.”

Yoongi laughs before squeezing your fingers. “Me, too.”

Finally, you both get to the door, and his hand stays flat on the wooden striations for a little longer than necessary. 

How wild to think things could have gone to shit entirely. How foolish of him to even fight for you to leave. 

But, after a moment of him looking down at the doorknob and you giving him the space to pause, Yoongi opens the door and gives a small peek outside. 

Bingo. “Stay there,” he commands, and he leads you forward until you forget he’s there.

Because the damn cat now commands all your attention, lapping at a water bowl until she looks at you. There’s a moment when he knows she’s cautious, but it doesn’t last long before she’s curious enough to inch closer to your side of the door. 

Of course it wouldn’t take long. Yoongi knows how magnetic and gentle you’ve always been. Maybe if he didn’t resist it so fucking much before, he wouldn’t have had to separate himself in the first place. 

“You’re so little,” you whisper. “Hi, baby.”

He smiles down at you both as the little one sniffs at your finger, feeling a calmness in his heart that seems secure and permanent. Is he allowed to feel this way all the time? 

Maybe if he had done things right and told your brother everything first. And maybe he should stop digging this hole and stay in the moment, goddamn. 

“Do you have a name yet?” You ask her instead of him, scratching behind an ear and giggling at a purr. “Did your dad give you one?” 

…Dad? 

Yeah, digging that hole is probably smart. He’s gonna need a whole grave for that one. 

But Yoongi swallows before answering for the one that can’t speak, “I’ve just been calling her cat.” 

When you glare over your shoulder, it’s immensely more cute than intimidating, which causes him to laugh and the cat to scurry a bit away. “You named my cat Cat?”

“Nah, just nothing permanent. Figured you’d wanna do that.”

“We can do it together.” Lips pursed, you sit in thought as she comes back, plopping on her side so you can rub her belly. “It would mean more that way.” 

“Cat means cat,” Yoongi shrugs out, before promptly getting swatted at and laughing. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” You yawn before saying goodbye for now, and judging from the look of yearning on your face, Yoongi knows you’d rather bring her inside. “See you again soon, cat named Cat.”

Cute.

Maybe something short and sweet? Miss Dion has been calling him something a lot lately... And it could fit with how nice this cat is being around you. 

“Sugar.”

You peer up before blinking. “Wait, that's so cute. Where'd that come from?”

Well. You didn't say no, so he's sticking with it.

Smiling, Yoongi helps you up before you both step back inside. “I’ll explain in a bit.” 

That seems to quell any other conversation about it, so you let him lead you back to bed. 

Only he doesn’t do that. Instead, Yoongi leads you just a few steps forward, letting you both stand in the living room and take in the aftermath of his mania together.

Your hand comes down to grip his in a comforting hold, and his shoulders immediately relax. "I don't know what led to this," you start slow, rolling words around in your mouth and plucking them very carefully. Even though you don't need to. He deserves to hear your every critical thought. "But I wanna know..."

When Yoongi turns to face you, he isn't prepared for your question,

"Did it help at all?"

Mm.

It's not that he can't answer because it's too hard. The reason he can't answer you right away is because he doesn't quite know the real answer. Does he feel better because of what he did? Or because you're here, like he said before? "I'm not sure yet," he decides to respond truthfully.

Eyes slipping down to your fingers looped in his, Yoongi admits with quiet confidence, "But none of it mattered as soon as I saw you."

Once again, with one look, he finds himself swimming in those beautiful eyes. Because you don't see him with pity, or rage, or even disappointment. You just... see him. You accept him as he comes.

And one day, when he gets the courage to look you in the eyes long enough, he'll be able to see himself the way you do, too.

"Let's rest, my love," you whisper soft. "I'll yell at you in the morning, I'm too tired to do it now."

There it is.

Chuckling, Yoongi obliges, shivering at how you address him and following whatever you ask. "Good. You're the only one allowed to kick my ass."

"As it should be."

When he's the one that leads you to the bedroom, his heart beats strong. But when you're the one that tucks him into bed with a kiss to his forehead, Yoongi's pulse becomes so tender it robs him of words.

"Hey... I'll always be here, you know," you murmur, sliding a warm hand over his bangs. "Even if it doesn't feel like it, I'm right here. All you have to do is close your eyes, and just..."

When he does, the press of your lips on his damn near brings him to tears. He commits this feeling to every memory center lodged in his brain, and this moment instantly locks itself as one of his deepest, most cherished ever.

"Remember that."

Eyes flittering open, Yoongi softly brings you in for another kiss. "I will, doll."

Your smile gives him purpose. "Good."

And for the first time in months and despite a hurting side, Yoongi sleeps right til the time he has to wake up, without even a breath or pulse out of alignment.

Because his drift to sleep had been a peaceful one, and the only thing he dreamt, felt, or thought of was you.

And the way you told him you loved him.

-

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fin :')

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fugue thoughts!! we did it!! | join the server!

a/n: we freakin' did it i love them i love them i love them!! yoongi's whole interlude is done and it was a monster in itself. now we're back on to the main storyline and honestly i am both relieved and yet still so tender for this yoongi. of course, there are other big situations we have to get ourselves into, but we are in the home stretch of three tangerines so let's finish this all out with a bang bang bang and lights in the sky :')) ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

a/n 2: we did this for 3tanfugue3 and the energy was great! just like last time, some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. no one voted against it last time (honestly, you guys were super encouraging so thank you!) so let's go again!

note goal: same goal as last time, 800 notes is the goal, so when we hit that, 3tan13 will be dropped as soon as it's done! thank you all for reading and would love to hear any thoughts: what did you like about the chapter? how did a certain scene make you feel? what are you excited to see next? any shares, comments, tags, and reblogs with commentary count, and i appreciate anything you guys have to say.

[jaysdimples]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY BABIES I LOVE THEM SO MUCH 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[casnextdoor]

guys— stop liking my old posts pls. Help- i am so embarrassed

[jaysdimples]

CAAAAAASSSSSSSSS 🥺

[babyeaglee]

[choupette-stairo]

Imagine wearing your version of Leon’s mission clothing, specially the form fitting ones, during a job.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he practically drooled, watching you like you were his last meal. He walked a circle around you, taking every detail in—noting how the fabric of your shirt clung to you like second skin and how your pants accentuated the curve of your ass. Was this what you felt when he wore this for you during missions?

“Leon, we have work to do,” you groaned as you tried to snap him out of it. You were quite flattered that you were able to such a state. He waved you off, “Just appreciating the view.” You huffed before an idea passed through your mind.

You stepped closer, chests brushing against each other. You felt his breath stutter slightly at the close proximity. Your eyes met his, a faint tug between you two. You leaned close to whisper, “The sooner we get this over with, the faster you’ll see more of what’s underneath this, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon’s focus was immediately set for the rest of the mission.

—

What a man…Leon “Stud” Kennedy

[jaded-green-eyes]

re9 leon drives a fucking porsche for work... oh i just know that old man spoils you DOWN

[jaysdimples]

Enhypen is 7

[clarks-letterman]

re4 vs re9…. he got wayyyy bigger