Tomie @tqmies - Tumblr Blog

Two Peas in a Pod

Pairings: Omega! Jake Sim x Alpha! fem reader Wordcount: 17k+

Summary: You love Jake, but believing you are a Beta who can never truly satisfy his Omega nature, you push him away only to realize during a dramatic twenty-first birthday presentation that you were his fated Alpha all along.

Warnings: Omegaverse/ABO Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Emotional Angst (Insecurity/Guilt/Separation), Miscommunication, Bullying (Past/Childhood), Late Presentation (Female Alpha), Heat & Rut Cycles, Pheromone Influence, Possessive Behavior. Smut F/M (Female Alpha x Male Omega), Internal Knotting (Vaginal Locking), Mating/Claiming Bites, Begging/Whining, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Scent Marking, Raw/Unprotected Sex, Mating Bond.

A/N: so uhhh I saw a Jake edit at work and wrote this at work 😭even though I see him as a soft dom I really wanna take care of him! Anyways hope you guys enjoy this. It was supposed to be a short Drabble I SWEAR IDK WHAT HAPPENED. Like always Please Like, Reblog and Comment! They are very appreciated.

[Masterlist]

The day the Sim family crossed the border into the Silver River Pack territory, the sky was the color of a bruised plum. It was late autumn, the air crisp and smelling of damp earth and decaying leaves.

You were five years old, a scrap of a thing with scraped knees and your father’s stubborn chin. Being the daughter of the Head Alpha meant you walked with a certain swagger, even in your light-up velcro sneakers. You felt like you owned the woods.

You were playing near the community center, digging for worms in the mud, when the old station wagon rolled in. It sputtered and died right in front of the intake office.

Two adults stepped out first. They were quiet, unassuming people. They kept their heads lowered, their shoulders hunched—universal body language for we mean no harm. They smelled like nothing. Just soap and nervousness. Betas.

Then, the back door opened.

A boy climbed out.

He looked to be about your age. He was wearing a yellow raincoat that was two sizes too big, the sleeves swallowing his hands. But it was his face that stopped you mid-dig.

He was the prettiest thing you had ever seen.

He had a mop of soft, dark hair that fell into his eyes. And those eyes... they were enormous. They were dark pools, wide and shimmering with a mixture of terror and wonder. When he blinked, you swore you could see galaxies swirling in them.

He looked around, clutching a stuffed puppy to his chest. He looked at the towering pine trees. He looked at the gruff Alpha guards standing by the gate. And then, he looked at you.

You stood up, wiping your muddy hands on your overalls. You marched over to him.

The boy flinched, taking a half-step behind his mother’s leg. He peeked out at you with those big, sparkly doe eyes.

"Hi," you announced, your voice loud in the quiet clearing.

"Hello," he whispered. His voice was soft, like wind chimes.

"I'm Y/N," you said. "My dad is the boss. Who are you?"

"Jake," he said, hugging the stuffed puppy tighter.

"You have mud on your face," he pointed out, pointing a tiny finger at your cheek.

You scrubbed at it, probably making it worse. "I was hunting worms. Do you like worms?"

Jake wrinkled his nose. It was an adorable motion, scrunching up his entire face. "No. They're slimy."

"That's the best part!" You grinned, showing off a gap-toothed smile. "You want to see?"

He hesitated, looking up at his mom. She gave him a gentle nod.

Jake stepped away from her leg. He walked toward you, his yellow raincoat swishing. "Okay. But if they touch me, I'm going to scream."

"Deal," you said.

That was the beginning. It wasn't an explosion; it was a seed taking root.

Pack dynamics are brutal, even for children. Wolves value strength, lineage, and scent. Even before presentation, children mimic their parents.

Jake was an anomaly. His parents were Betas, "drifters" who had joined the pack late in life. They didn't have the rich history of the founding families. They didn't have status.

And Jake... Jake was soft.

He didn't like roughhousing. He didn't like play-fighting. While the other boys were tackling each other in the dirt, growling with their baby teeth, Jake preferred to sit on the swings and look at the clouds. He liked to collect shiny rocks. He liked to hum to himself.

This made him a target.

It happened on a Tuesday. You were six.

You were looking for Jake during recess. You found him behind the equipment shed.

Three older boys—Marcus, Tyler, and Sam—had him cornered. Marcus was eight, big for his age, and already smelling faintly of his Alpha father’s aggression.

"What's wrong, stray?" Marcus sneered, kicking dust onto Jake’s shoes. "Cat got your tongue?"

Jake was pressed against the wooden wall. His big eyes were filled with tears that threatened to spill over. He wasn't fighting back. He was trembling, his lower lip wobbling.

"Leave me alone," Jake whispered.

"My dad says your parents are useless," Marcus laughed cruelly. "Just worker bees. You're going to be a useless worker bee too. You don't even smell like a wolf. You smell like air."

"I am a wolf!" Jake cried, his voice cracking.

"Prove it," Tyler taunted. "Growl. Come on. Let's hear it."

Jake opened his mouth, but only a small, choked sob came out.

The boys laughed. It was a mean, sharp sound.

You felt a heat rise in your belly. It wasn't the hormonal rage of an adult; it was the pure, righteous indignation of a best friend.

You dropped the pinecone you were holding. You didn't think. You just ran.

"HEY!" you screamed.

You barreled into the circle, shoving Marcus with all your might. He wasn't expecting it, and he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on his butt.

"Leave him alone!" you yelled, standing in front of Jake. You spread your arms wide, making yourself a shield.

Marcus scrambled up, his face red. "Move, Y/N. This isn't your business."

"He's my friend!" you shouted back. "And if you touch him, I'm telling my dad!"

The ultimate threat. The Head Alpha.Marcus paled. He looked at you, fierce and muddy, and then at Jake, who was peeking out from behind your shoulder with wide, terrified eyes."Whatever," Marcus muttered, trying to save face. "He's just a crybaby anyway. Come on, guys."

They ran off, hooting and hollering.You turned around immediately.

"Jake?" He was crying now, silent tears tracking down his soft cheeks. He looked so small. So fragile.

"Are you okay?" You reached out, wiping a tear from his chin.

Jake sniffled, looking at you like you were Superwoman. "They said... they said I'm not a real wolf."

"They're stupid," you declared firmly. "You are a real wolf. You're just... a nice wolf. You're not mean like them."

"You saved me," Jake whispered. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your middle, burying his face in your shirt. He smelled like baby shampoo and rain.

"I'll always save you," you said, patting his back. "That's what friends do."

Jake pulled back, his eyes sparkling again, the fear replaced by adoration. "I want to be strong like you, Y/N."

"You will be," you promised, having no idea what you were talking about.

By the time you were eight, you were inseparable. The pack elders called you "The Shadow and the Shield." Where you went, Jake followed. He was clingy. It was the only word for it. He didn't like being alone. If you were watching TV, he had to be sitting next to you, his shoulder pressed against yours. If you were walking to the bus stop, he was holding your hand. If you were eating lunch, he was stealing food off your plate just to have an excuse to lean close.He was tactile in a way that defied his gender. Usually, boys at that age were going through the "cooties" phase. Jake didn't care about cooties. He only cared about you. One rainy Saturday, you were having a sleepover at his house. His parents, sweet Betas who baked excellent cookies, had built you a fort in the living room out of couch cushions and blankets.You were lying inside the fort, flashlight on, reading comic books."Y/N?" Jake asked. He was lying on his stomach, his chin resting on his folded arms. His eyes were reflecting the flashlight beam, making them look like pools of honey.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'll be a Beta?"

The question hung in the air.

"My mom and dad are Betas," he continued softly. "So I'll probably be one too. Right?"

You looked at him. He was so delicate. His eyelashes were long and dark against his pale skin. He was soft-spoken and kind. He rescued spiders instead of squishing them. He cried during sad movies. "Probably," you said honestly. "But being a Beta is cool. My uncle is a Beta and he flies airplanes."

"I don't want to fly airplanes," Jake said, rolling onto his back. "I want to be an Alpha."

You giggled. "You? An Alpha?"

"Hey!" He kicked your shin gently. "I could be! I'm growing! Look at my muscles!"

He flexed his arm. It was a noodle. A very cute noodle.

"Wow," you teased, poking his bicep. "So scary. Marcus better watch out."

"I'm serious," Jake said, his face growing solemn. "If I'm an Alpha, I can be the boss. And if I'm the boss, I can make a rule that no one is allowed to be mean to you. Ever." Your heart did a funny little flip.

"I don't need rules, Jake. I can take care of myself."

"I know," he sighed, shimmying closer until his head was resting on your shoulder. "But I want to take care of you, too. You always protect me. I want to take a turn."

"Okay," you whispered, turning off the flashlight so the room was plunged into darkness. "When we grow up, you can take a turn."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He fell asleep like that, breathing softly against your neck, his hand clutching the sleeve of your pajamas.

Fifth grade at age 10 brought the dreaded "Pack Biology" unit in health class.

The teacher, Mrs. Gable, pulled down a chart showing the three dynamics: Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alphas: The leaders, the protectors, the ones with the ruts and the knots. Strong, aggressive, dominant. Betas: The backbone, the stabilizers, standard biology. Calm, steady. Omegas: The nurturers, the heart of the pack, the ones with heats and slicks. Rare, precious, submissive. You sat next to Jake. He was staring at the chart with intense focus.

"Statistically," Mrs. Gable droned, "Two Beta parents have a 95% chance of producing a Beta offspring. There is a 4% chance of an Alpha, and a less than 1% chance of an Omega."

Jake slumped in his chair. After class, you found him sitting on the swing set, dragging his feet in the woodchips.

"What's wrong?" you asked, swinging next to him.

"95 percent," he grumbled. "That's basically 100 percent."

"So? What's so bad about being a Beta?"

"Betas are... boring," Jake said, kicking a rock. "And they can't mate bond. Not really. They don't have the bite."

"The bite sounds painful anyway," you shrugged.

"It's not about the pain," Jake looked at you with those big, earnest eyes. "It's about the connection. My dad says Alphas and Omegas are tied together by their souls. Like... magic. Betas just... like each other."

"Well, I like you," you said. "That's enough, isn't it?"

Jake looked at you. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over his face. He looked otherworldly pretty and handsome. "I guess," he murmured. "But I want the magic."

"Maybe you'll get lucky," you said. "Maybe you're the 4 percent."

"And you?" he asked. "What do you think you are?"

You thought about your parents. Your father was a massive, commanding Head Alpha. Your mother was a beautiful, elegant Omega.

"I think I'll be an Omega," you said confidently. "Like my mom. I like taking care of people. And I like soft blankets. And I hate fighting."

"You fought Marcus," Jake pointed out.

"That was different. That was for you."

Jake smiled, swinging a little higher. "Okay. So, if you're an Omega... and I'm the Alpha... then we're a perfect match."

"We're best friends, Jake. That's already a perfect match."

"Yeah," he said, looking at the sky. "Best friends."

The summer you turned twelve was the last summer of true childhood innocence. Puberty was knocking on the door, but it hadn't kicked it down yet.You spent every day in the treehouse your dad had built in the backyard. It was your sanctuary. No parents allowed. No bullies allowed. Just you and Jake. It was a hot August afternoon. You were lying on the wooden floorboards, drinking juice boxes and sweating. Jake was sketching in a notebook. He was getting really good at drawing. He was drawing you. "Stop moving," he mumbled, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

"It's hot," you complained, fanning yourself.

Jake put the pencil down. He crawled over to you.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"What happens if we present and... things change?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like... what if I become an Alpha and the pack tells me I have to find an Omega? A stranger?"

"You just say no," you said simply.

"Can you do that?"

"You can do whatever you want, Jake. It's your life."

He looked unconvinced. He picked at a loose thread on his shorts. "I don't want a stranger. I want to stay with you."

"We're neighbors, Jake. We're going to the same middle school. We're not going anywhere."

"No, I mean..." He struggled for the words. He was twelve, and the feelings were too big for his vocabulary. He just knew that the idea of being separated from you, of having a life that didn't revolve around you, made his stomach hurt. He lay down next to you, his head resting near yours. He turned so he was facing you.

His eyes were so close. You could see the flecks of gold in the brown. They were sparkly, innocent, and full of a blind trust that terrified you sometimes.

"Promise me something," he whispered.

"What?"

"Promise that no matter what we present as—Alpha, Beta, Omega, alien—we stick together. Two peas in a pod."

"Obviously," you rolled your eyes, reaching out to flick his forehead.

"No, say it. Promise."

"I promise, Jake. Me and you against the world."

"And..." he hesitated. "If you turn out to be an Omega... promise you won't let any big, mean Alphas take you away. Unless I say they're okay."

You laughed. "You want to approve my boyfriends?"

"Yes," he said deadly serious. "I have to vet them. If they can't beat me in Mario Kart, they can't have you."

"Deal," you giggled. "And if you turn out to be a big, scary Alpha... I promise to make sure you don't turn into a jerk like Marcus."

"I could never be a jerk to you," Jake said softly. He reached out and took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. His palm was clammy.

"I love you, Y/N," he said. It was the platonic, intense love of a child.

"Love you too, Jakey."

You lay there in the heat, holding hands, listening to the cicadas buzz. You didn't know then that biology was already writing a different script. You didn't know that the soft, sweet boy with the sparkly eyes who wanted to be your protector was carrying the genetics of a rare, high-level Omega. And you didn't know that you, the girl who wanted to be soft like her mother, had a beast sleeping in her chest that would one day wake up and burn the world down for him.For now, you were just two kids in a treehouse. Two peas in a pod. Waiting for the rest of your lives to start.

Age 14 Puberty hit Jake Sim like a freight train, but instead of awkwardness and acne, it brought angles and height.

It happened over the summer before freshman year. You went away to a leadership camp for three weeks. When you came back, the boy waiting for you on your front porch wasn't the boy you left. He stood up as your dad’s car pulled into the driveway. He was taller—at least three inches taller. His shoulders, once bony and narrow, had broadened out, filling his t-shirt in a way that made your mouth go dry for a split second before your brain caught up. His jawline had sharpened, cutting a striking silhouette against the afternoon sun.But then he smiled, and the "Hot Stranger" vanished, replaced instantly by Jake. "You're back!" he yelled, bounding down the porch steps with the same puppy energy he’d had at five. He engulfed you in a hug, lifting you off your feet. He smelled different, too. Not the pheromones of a presented wolf yet—you were both still technically "pups"—but he smelled like deodorant, laundry detergent, and something distinctly warm and masculine.

"Put me down, you giant!" you laughed, slapping his back.

He set you down, grinning. "Did you shrink? Or did I just win the genetic lottery?"

"You grew," you accused, looking up at him. "It's unfair." He leaned down, bringing his face close to yours. And there they were. The eyes. Despite the sharp jaw and the new height, his eyes were exactly the same. Dark, shimmering, and impossibly round. Boba eyes, you called them. They still held that galaxy of innocence, that wet, shiny look that made it impossible to say no to him.

"Missed you," he whispered, the playfulness dropping for a second to reveal the clingy attachment underneath.

"Missed you too," you admitted.

Age 15 High school was a strange ecosystem. As everyone waited for their secondary genders to manifest, hormones were running rampant. Jake became popular by accident. He was quiet, he was athletic (soccer star), and he was devastatingly handsome. Girls—and some boys—would whisper when he walked down the hallway.

“Is he an Alpha? Look at those shoulders.”

“He has to be. He’s too hot to be a Beta.”

Notes appeared in his locker. Girls would "accidentally" bump into him. Jake didn't just reject them; he didn't even notice them.You were at your locker one morning, struggling with a jammed zipper on your backpack. "Here," Jake appeared out of nowhere, his chest pressing against your shoulder as he reached over to fix it. He was always in your personal space. He treated your personal bubble like it was his vacation home.

"Thanks," you muttered.

A girl from your math class, Sarah, walked by. She stopped, twirling her hair, looking at Jake with hungry eyes. "Hi, Jake. I like your sweater."

Jake didn't look up. He was focused on your zipper. "Thanks."

"Are you going to the pep rally?" Sarah pressed, stepping closer.

"I'm going with Y/N," Jake said, finally freeing the zipper. He zipped your bag up and patted it. "Done."

"Oh," Sarah’s face fell. She looked at you with a mix of confusion and jealousy. "You guys are... always together."

"Yep," Jake smiled, draping his arm heavily over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Two peas in a pod."

He turned you around and walked you to class, leaving Sarah standing there.

"You're rude," you whispered, though you leaned into his side.

"I'm not rude," he said, bewildered. "I answered her question."

"She was flirting with you, Jake."

"I don't care," he shrugged, resting his chin on the top of your head as you walked. "I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"Hanging out with you."

It wasn't a grand romantic gesture. It wasn't in the rain. It was in his bedroom, on a Tuesday afternoon, while playing video games.

You were sitting on the floor, leaning back against the edge of his bed. Jake was sitting between your legs, his back resting against your chest. It was a tangle of limbs that would have looked scandalous to anyone else, but for you two, it was just Tuesday.

You were both sixteen. The pressure of "Firsts" was heavy in the air at school. First dates. First kisses. First presentations.

"Jacob kissed Jessica under the bleachers today," Jake said, his eyes glued to the TV screen as he mashed buttons on the controller. "Gross," you commented, braiding a small section of his hair. "Was it sloppy?"

"He said it was... wet. And electric." Jake paused the game.

The silence in the room shifted. It became heavy, charged with the curiosity of two teenagers who were too close for their own good.

Jake turned his head. Because he was leaning back against you, his face was upside down from your perspective. "Do you think it's electric for Betas?" he asked softly. "Or is that just an Alpha/Omega thing?"

"I don't know," you whispered. You stopped braiding his hair. Your fingers were resting on his scalp. "We could check," Jake said. It wasn't a proposition. It was a scientific inquiry. Or at least, that's what he pretended.

"Check?"

"Kiss," he clarified. "To see if it's electric. Since we haven't presented yet. We're the control group."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You knew, logically, this was a bad idea. Friends didn't test-drive kisses. "Okay," you breathed out.

Jake shifted, turning his body so he was facing you. He sat cross-legged, his knees bumping yours. His boba eyes were wide, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. "Just a test," he whispered.

He leaned in.

His lips were soft. That was your first thought. They were chapped from the cold, but soft.He pressed his mouth to yours tentatively. Closed mouth. Innocent.

But then, he sighed. And you sighed. And the kiss deepened. Jake’s hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You instinctively grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. It was electric. It wasn't the biological spark of a mate bond—not yet—but it was the terrifying, white-hot electricity of realizing that the person you loved most in the world tasted really, really good. Jake made a low sound in his throat, a tiny whimper that sent a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head, his nose brushing against yours, and pressed harder. For ten seconds, the world dissolved. There was only Jake. Jake’s warmth. Jake’s smell (still just laundry detergent, but somehow intoxicating). Jake’s lips moving against yours with a clumsy, desperate hunger.

Then, he pulled back. You were both panting slightly. His lips were red. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated. He looked at you with a terrifying amount of hope.

"That was..." he started. Panic set in. If you acknowledged what just happened—that you liked it, that you wanted to do it again—everything would change. The friendship, the safety, the "peas in a pod." What if you presented as something incompatible? What if he met his fated mate later and you were just a mistake?

"Scientific," you blurted out, your voice cracking. Jake’s face fell. The light in his eyes dimmed just a fraction. "Right," he swallowed, pulling his hand away from your face. "Scientific. No electricity."

"Nope," you lied, your heart breaking a little. "Just... lips."

"Okay." He turned back around, picking up the controller. But his hands were shaking. "Level four?"

"Yeah. Level four."

You didn't talk about it. But the air between you had changed. It was thicker now. Heavy with things unsaid.

Age 17 The kiss haunted you. To escape it, you did what any confused, panicked teenager would do: you tried to find "normal." You started dating Caleb. Caleb was safe. He was a year older, a newly presented Beta. He was nice enough. He played guitar. He smelled like cedar chips (a standard Beta scent).

Jake didn't take it well. When you told him, he went quiet. His face went blank, shutting down in a way you rarely saw.

"Oh," was all he said. "Okay."

He didn't make a scene. He didn't fight for you. He just... retreated. He stopped coming over every night. He stopped touching you constantly. He still sat with you at lunch, but he sat across from you, not next to you. The loss of his physical presence felt like phantom limb pain. The relationship with Caleb lasted three months. And it was terrible.Caleb was insecure. He didn't like how close you were with Jake.

"Why does he look at you like that?" Caleb asked one night while you were watching a movie.

"Like what?"

"Like he owns you."

"He's my best friend, Caleb."

"He's a guy. And he's not presented yet. He could be an Alpha waiting to happen. I don't like it."

You tried to make it work. You created distance with Jake to appease Caleb. You ignored Jake’s texts. You stopped going to the treehouse. And then, Caleb cheated. You found him at a party, making out with a girl from the drama club. The breakup was messy. Caleb was defensive, calling you "frigid" and blaming your obsession with your "little pet Jake." You walked out of the party, tears streaming down your face, feeling hollowed out. You didn't call your mom. You didn't call your dad.

You walked three miles in the dark to Jake’s house.

It was 1:00 AM. The Sim house was dark. You threw a pebble at Jake’s window.

He opened it almost instantly, as if he had been waiting. He was shirtless, wearing pajama pants, his hair tousled from sleep. He looked down, saw you crying on his lawn, and didn't hesitate.

"I'm coming down."

He met you at the back door. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't ask why you were there. He took one look at your tear-streaked face and opened his arms.

You collapsed into him. "He... he..." you sobbed, unable to get the words out.

"Shh," Jake whispered. He pulled you into the living room, onto the big plush sofa.

He sat down and pulled you into his lap. You were seventeen, almost fully grown, but he held you like you were five. He wrapped his legs around yours, his arms banding around your waist, burying his face in your neck. "He's an idiot," Jake murmured into your skin. The vibration of his voice soothed the ache in your chest. "Whatever he did, he's an idiot."

"He cheated," you choked out. "And he said... he said I was cold."

Jake stiffened. His arms tightened around you, his grip bordering on painful. "You're not cold," he growled. It was a low sound, surprising for an unpresented boy. "You're warm. You're the warmest thing I know."

He rocked you back and forth. He used his thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his touch incredibly tender.

"I hate him," Jake said quietly. "I want to punch him."

"Don't," you sniffled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "He's not worth it."

"He made you cry. That makes him worth hurting."

Jake looked at you then. The moonlight was filtering in through the window, illuminating his face. He had grown into his features so well. He was beautiful. But his eyes... those boba eyes were shiny with unshed tears of his own. He was crying because you were crying.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I'm sorry I pushed you away."

"Don't do it again," Jake said, his voice cracking. He pressed his forehead against yours. "Please. I can't... I can't function when you're not there. It's like trying to breathe underwater."

"I won't," you promised. "No more boyfriends. Just us."

"Just us," he agreed. He didn't kiss you. He could have—you were vulnerable, you were close—but he didn't. Instead, he just held you. He ran his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp until your breathing evened out.

"Sleep," he commanded softly. "I've got you."

You fell asleep on his chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart. You woke up the next morning in his bed (he had carried you upstairs). He was asleep next to you, his hand gripping your waist even in his sleep. You looked at him and realized that Caleb was right about one thing. Jake did look at you like he owned you.

But as you watched him sleep, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, you realized something else. You wanted to be owned.

Your eighteenth birthday was supposed to be the start of your life. In the Silver River Collective, eighteen is when the biological clock strikes midnight. It’s the unveiling.

You spent the weeks leading up to it terrified and excited. Would you be a regal Omega like your mother? A commanding Alpha like your father?

The day came. You woke up. You checked the mirror.

You looked exactly the same. You smelled exactly the same.

You waited a week. Then a month.

Nothing. The pack doctors ran tests. "Late bloomer," they shrugged, marking your chart with the clinical code for Unpresented/Presumed Beta. "It happens. Not everyone gets a wolf." You watched the light in your father’s eyes dim just a fraction. He didn't love you less, but the expectation of a legacy had evaporated. You were just... Y/N. Normal. Boring. Invisible. Then came November. Then came Jake.

Jake Sim turned eighteen and the universe didn't just knock; it kicked the door down.

His presentation was violent and immediate. One day he was the beta boy next door; the next, he was one of the Pack’s Crown Jewel.

He presented as a Male Omega.

In your pack, Male Omegas were unicorns. They were prized for their high fertility, their potent scents, and their rarity. When Jake returned to school after his first heat week, the atmosphere shifted gravitationally. He walked down the hallway, and heads turned. Alphas stopped mid-sentence, nostrils flaring, tracking the scent of peaches and fresh rain that trailed behind him like a royal cape. He had filled out. His skin glowed with that distinct Omega luster. His lips looked softer, redder. He was undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

And you? You were the shadow walking beside the sun.

People stopped seeing you. They looked right through you to get to him.

"Jake, want to sit with us?"

"Jake, did you finish the calc homework?"

"Jake, you smell amazing."

You expected him to drift away. It would have been natural. He belonged to the elite now, the hierarchy of scents and instincts. You belonged to the background.

But Jake didn't drift. He anchored. If anything, his presentation made him more obsessed with you. "They're so loud," he complained one day at lunch, pressing his face into your shoulder to hide from a group of staring Alphas. "Can we go to the library? I need to smell your detergent. It quiets my brain."

"I'm boring, Jake," you muttered, stabbing at your salad. "Go sit with Sunghoon and Jennie. They're Alphas. They're your crowd now."

"They smell like warm body spray and ego," Jake mumbled, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer. "I'd rather sit with you."

Sophomore year of college. The dynamic was set in stone. Jake was the campus idol—the Music Production major with the face of a model and the scent of heaven. You were his "friend." The Beta bodyguard. It was a Friday night in October. Jay, a popular Alpha and friend of Jake’s, was throwing a massive house party. "I don't want to go," you groaned, lying on your bed.

"Please?" Jake pleaded. He was standing in your doorway, dressed in a black band tee, and ripped jeans. He looked dangerous. He looked edible. "Jay invited me, and he said I could bring a plus one. I'm not going without you. If I go alone, I'll get eaten alive."

"You love the attention," you accused, though you were already reaching for your shoes. "I hate the attention," he corrected. "I only want attention from one person."

He gave you that look—his eyes, wide and shimmering—and you crumbled. You always crumbled. Jay’s house was a sensory nightmare. The bass was shaking the floorboards. The air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and a cocktail of pheromones. You stuck to the wall, nursing a red solo cup. Jake was seated on the main sofa, a king in his court. He was laughing at something Jay said, throwing his head back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat. He looked radiant.

You watched him, a familiar ache settling in your chest. You loved him. God, you loved him. But you were a dud. A non-entity. You couldn't give him what he needed. He needed a mate. He needed a bite. He needed an Alpha.

"Hey."

You looked up. A girl was standing next to you. A Beta you recognized from History class. "You're Y/N, right? Jake Sim's... friend?"

"Yeah."

"Is he single?" she asked, shouting over the music. "My roommate is dying to ask him out, but she's scared of you."

"Scared of me?" You let out a bitter laugh. "Why? I'm nobody."

"You have a vibe," she shrugged. "Like a guard dog."

You looked back at the sofa. The mood had shifted. A woman had sat down next to Jake. You knew her. Kim Minji. A senior. A Female Alpha. She was stunning—tall, sharp-featured, radiating a scent of crushed mint and leather that cut through the room. She was everything you weren't. Powerful. Presented. Compatible. She was leaning into Jake’s space. Her hand was resting on the back of the sofa, fingers inches from his neck. She whispered something in his ear. Jake smiled. It was a polite smile, tight at the corners, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. Social etiquette for an Omega dictated he be polite to high-ranking Alphas. Then, Minji moved. Her hand slid from the sofa to Jake’s knee. A red haze dropped over your vision.

It wasn't rational. It wasn't logical. It was primal. The sound of your plastic cup crushing in your hand was lost in the music.You felt a growl vibrating in your throat, low and dangerous. Get your hands off him.But you were just a Beta. You had no right.

"I'm leaving," you snapped at the girl next to you.

You turned and shoved your way through the crowd, heading for the door. You couldn't watch it. You couldn't watch him be claimed by someone worthy.The night air was cold, biting at your heated skin. You marched down the sidewalk, angry tears stinging your eyes.

"Y/N! Wait!"

Footsteps pounded on the pavement behind you.

You didn't stop. "Go back to the party, Jake. Minji was just getting started."

"I don't care about Minji!"

Jake caught up to you, grabbing your arm. He spun you around.

He was out of breath, his chest heaving. His band shirt was slipping off one shoulder. He looked frantic. "Why did you leave?" he demanded.

"Because I don't belong there!" you shouted, ripping your arm from his grip. "I'm not part of your world, Jake! I'm just the background character holding your bags while you get flirted with by real Alphas!"

"Real Alphas?" Jake scoffed, stepping closer. "You think she's a real Alpha? She smells like mouthwash and desperation. She touched my knee and I wanted to vomit."

"She can give you a bond!" you yelled, the truth finally spilling out. "She can knot you! She can bite you! I can't do anything! I'm just Y/N! I just have... this." You gestured vaguely to your body. "It's not enough for an Omega."

Jake went silent. He stared at you, his eyes searching your face in the streetlights. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.

"Is that what you think?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "That I want a knot? That I need some biological lock to feel safe?"

"It's what you're built for."

"I'm built for you," Jake hissed.

He stepped into your space, eliminating the distance. He grabbed the lapels of your jacket and yanked you close.

He kissed you. It wasn't the innocent, scientific kiss from when you were sixteen. This was desperate. It was angry. It was hungry.

He tasted like beer and peaches. He kissed you like he was trying to breathe you in, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you. You froze for a second, then you broke. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hauling him flush against you. You kissed him back with all the pent-up frustration of the last year.

"My place," Jake gasped against your lips. "Now."

Once yo reached his place you stumbled into his room, lips locked, hands roaming.

The door slammed shut, locking out the world.The room smelled like him—concentrated, sweet, safe. But tonight, the air was crackling with a different kind of energy. Jake broke the kiss, shoving you gently towards the bed. He looked frantic, his eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

"Take it off," he ordered, his voice shaking. He was pulling at his own band tee shirt, ripping it over his head. You stripped quickly, your hands trembling. When you were both bare, the silence in the room was deafening. You stood there, feeling exposed, feeling inadequate.

"Jake," you started, "I don't know if I can—"

"Shh," he silenced you, stepping forward. He placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you around. You faced the wall, your heart hammering against your ribs. You felt the mattress press against your knees as he guided you down.

"I want to show you," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to show you that I don't need a knot. I need to be inside you. I need to feel you."

He pushed you forward until you were on your hands and knees. It was a submissive position, one usually reserved for Omegas, but tonight, he was flipping the script. He wanted to claim you.

You felt him move behind you. He was shaking. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the sweet, cloying scent of an aroused Omega filling your lungs.

"Y/N," he whined, a high, needy sound that made your toes curl. He pressed himself against your back. His skin was soft, burning hot. He wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging to you like a lifeline. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his wet eyelashes fluttering against your skin.

"Please," he whimpered. "Let me."

You nodded, unable to speak. He guided himself to your entrance. He was trembling so hard it took him a moment to find the rhythm. But when he pushed inside, a sob tore from his throat. "Oh god," he cried, the sound muffled against your shoulder. "You're so warm. You're so warm."

He didn't take control like an Alpha would. He didn't dominate. He moved with a desperate, clingy need. He kept his chest pressed to your back, his arms locked around your waist as if he was terrified you would disappear if he let go.

He began to move. It wasn't a power play. It was a plea.

With every thrust, he made a sound—a soft, broken whine that was pure Omega. He was the one penetrating you, but he was the one unraveling.

"Do you feel me?" he sobbed, biting gently on your shoulder to ground himself. "I'm right here. I'm connected to you. No knot can do this. Only us."

You gripped the sheets, your head falling forward. The sensation was overwhelming—not just the physical pleasure, which was sharp and blinding, but the emotional weight of it. He was literally pouring himself into you.

"Jake," you gasped.

"I love you," he cried, his hips snapping forward, driving deeper. "I love you so much it hurts. Don't make me find an Alpha. I don't want them. I hate them. I only want you."

He was crying openly now, his tears dripping onto your bare back. He sounded so pathetic, so needy, and yet he was the one holding you down, the one filling you up.

"I'm yours," you whispered, the truth finally slipping out.

"Say it again," he begged, his pace quickening, his breath hitching. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Jake. I'm yours."

That was it. That was the trigger. Jake let out a long, high-pitched wail, his body tensing. He thrust into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and collapsed against your back. He held you with a crushing grip, shaking violently as he came.

You felt him pulse inside you, and you shattered with him, your own climax hitting you in a wave of white light. He didn't pull away. He couldn't. He stayed there, slumped over your back, his face buried in your neck, sobbing quietly. He was heavy, warm, and smelled like peaches and salt. "Don't leave," he mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep and exhaustion. "Stay inside. Stay close."

You reached back, running your hand through his sweat-damp hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

The morning sun was cruel. It illuminated the dust motes and the reality of the situation.You woke up with Jake’s limbs tangled in yours. He was the big spoon, curled around your back, his arm heavy over your waist. He was still asleep, his breath hitching every now and then like a child who had cried themselves to sleep.

Panic set in. Cold and sharp.

What have I done?

You had crossed the line. You had slept with the pack’s most eligible Omega. You, the unpresented nobody. You had taken something that should have been saved for a real Alpha who could take care of him properly.

Jake stirred. He tightened his grip on your waist, nuzzling your shoulder.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice raspy and content.

You carefully untangled yourself from him and sat up. You pulled the sheet around your body, creating a barrier.

The smile froze on Jake’s face as he felt the loss of your warmth. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Y/N?"

"We... we shouldn't have done that," you whispered, staring at the floor.

Jake looked like you had slapped him. "What? Why? It was... it was perfect. You felt it."

"It was a mistake, Jake. I got jealous. I let my emotions get the better of me."

"So?" Jake asked, his voice rising, panic creeping in. "I wanted you to! I've been waiting for you to get jealous! Does this mean we're... are we together now?"

He looked so hopeful. His eyes were wide, pleading. It killed you.

"No," you said, forcing your voice to be steady, even though your heart was breaking. "We can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because look at you, Jake! You're an Omega! A high-level Omega! And I'm... I'm nothing. I'm a dud. I can't knot you. I can't bite you. Last night... last night was great, but eventually, your biology is going to demand those things. Eventually, you're going to meet your fated mate."

"I don't want a fated mate!" Jake yelled, grabbing your hand. "I want you! I don't care about the knot! Didn't I prove that?"

"You say that now," you said, pulling your hand away. "But you're eighteen. You don't know what's out there. I won't be the reason you miss out on your true mate."

You took a breath, steeling yourself to offer the only compromise you could live with. The only way to keep him without ruining his future. "But... if you want... we can keep doing this. Until you find someone else."

Jake went still. He stared at you, his eyes welling with fresh tears. "You want to be... friends with benefits?"

"It's better than nothing, isn't it?" you said, hating yourself. "I can take care of your needs. I can keep the Alphas away. But no labels. No promises. Because I can't promise you a future I can't give."

It was a cowardly offer. You were terrified of losing him, so you built a cage of "no strings" to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.

Jake looked down at his hands. He looked at the empty space in the bed where you used to be.He knew he should say no. He knew he deserved a mate who would claim him proudly in the streets. He knew he was worth more than a secret.

But he looked at you—his best friend, his protector, the person who let him cry while he fucked her because he was so overwhelmed with love.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice small.

"Okay?"

"If that's all you can give me," Jake looked up, a single tear tracking down his cheek. "I'll take it."

He crawled to the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab your hand again. He pressed his cheek against your palm, submitting to your terms, even though it broke his heart.

"Just don't leave me," he begged. "Please don't leave me alone."

"I won't," you promised, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

That was a year ago.

Now, you are both twenty. The "situationship" has become a lifestyle. To the outside world, you are best friends. To the walls of Jake’s apartment, you are everything.

You sleep together almost every night. You know every inch of his body. You know that he likes to be the one in control, but he needs to be praised while he does it. You know that he cries when it’s too good. You know that he needs to be held for exactly twenty minutes afterward before he can speak. He is still the talk of the campus. Alphas still bring him gifts. He politely declines them all. "I'm busy," he tells them.

He comes home to you. He crawls into your lap, smelling of other people's perfumes and colognes, and scrubs his face against your neck until he smells like you again.

"You're mine," he whispers in the dark, when he thinks you're asleep. "Even if you won't say it. You're mine."

And you? You hold him tighter, consumed by the guilt and the pleasure, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the day the universe corrects its mistake and takes him away.But for now, in the dark, he is yours. And you are his loser, his unpresented mistake, his secret keeper.

The lie began on a Thursday afternoon in the lecture hall of the Science Building.

Jake was sitting in his usual spot, third row, tapping his pen against his notebook. He was tired. His cycle was approaching—he could feel the pre-heat itch under his skin—but the calendar said he had at least another week. He was managing it. He was fine.Then, the door opened.A girl walked in. She was late. She was a transfer student, someone Jake hadn’t seen before. She was tall, with sharp eyes and a confident stride.She walked right past Jake’s desk to get to an empty seat.

As she passed, the air shifted. It hit Jake like a physical blow. Cinnamon . Leather. Woodsmoke. It was the scent of a dominant Female Alpha. And not just any Alpha—a compatible one. Jake’s biology betrayed him instantly. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. His mouth watered. A sharp, cramping heat coiled low in his stomach, seizing his insides. His Omega instincts, usually dormant and suppressed by blockers, woke up and screamed: Pack. Protection. Mate.

He gasped, dropping his pen. The girl paused. She turned, looking down at him. Her eyes flashed red for a microsecond—her Alpha recognizing a distressed Omega.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice low and rumbling.

That voice. It vibrated in Jake’s bones. It told him to bare his neck. It told him to submit.

And Jake hated it.

He hated the lack of control. He hated that his body wanted to bow to a stranger just because she had the right hormones. He hated that for a split second, he forgot about you. "I'm fine," Jake choked out, grabbing his bag. "I have to go."

He scrambled out of his seat, ignoring the Alpha’s confused look, ignoring the professor calling his name. He ran out of the building, bursting into the cold autumn air. He leaned against the brick wall, hyperventilating. The heat was already rising. The encounter had triggered a biological override. His heat wasn't a week away anymore. It was coming now. He pulled out his phone. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely type.

Y/N.

He needed you. He needed your scent—your neutral, detergent scent. He needed your hands. But he couldn't tell you the truth. If he told you that a Female Alpha had triggered his heat, you would do the "noble" thing. You would tell him to go to her. You would push him away, convinced that biology knew better than love. You would leave him. The thought made his chest ache more than the heat did. He swallowed the bile in his throat and typed the lie.

Jake: I think my suppressants failed. It's starting early. Can you come over? Please

You got the text while you were in line at the campus bookstore.

Panic, cold and familiar, washed over you. Early? You abandoned your place in line. You called your boss at the library and told him you had a family emergency. You emailed your professors that you were sick.

Then, you went to the grocery store. You moved through the aisles with robotic efficiency, playing the role you had carved out for yourself: The Beta Caretaker.

Items:

Gatorade (Blue, his favorite).

Protein bars (he wouldn't want to cook).

Soft blankets (he liked new textures when he was nesting).

Peaches (canned, in syrup—comfort food).

Painkillers.

You arrived at his apartment twenty minutes later. The hallway already smelled faintly of him—a sweet, rising dough scent that warned of the storm to come.

You unlocked the door.

"Jake?"

The apartment was dark. The blinds were drawn.

"Bedroom," a voice croaked. You walked in. Jake was buried under a pile of blankets on his bed. Only his eyes were visible—those big, shiny boba eyes, now glassy with fever. "You're here," he whimpered.

He scrambled out of the blankets. He was wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. His skin was flushed a deep, rosy pink.

He practically tackled you. "Whoa, easy," you said, dropping the grocery bags as his weight hit you. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. He made a frustrated sound.

"You smell like the bookstore," he complained, rubbing his cheek aggressively against your collarbone. "I need you."

"I'm here, Jake. I'm right here."

You walked him back to the bed, though he clung to you like a koala. You sat down, and he immediately straddled your lap, wrapping his arms around your neck. "It hurts," he whispered, pressing his hot forehead against yours. "It feels heavier this time."

You ran your hands up and down his bare back, trying to soothe the tremors running through him. You felt the guilt rise in your throat.

"Jake," you said softly. "The books say the second heat is more intense. The body is... demanding a mate."

He stiffened in your arms.

"So?" he challenged, pulling back to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated.

"So... maybe we should call someone. Not a stranger. But maybe... Jennie? Or Jay? Someone safe. Someone who can help you properly."

It tore your heart out to say it. The thought of Jake with anyone else made you want to vomit. But you were a dud. A placeholder. If his heat was this bad, could you really satisfy him?

Jake’s expression shifted from pain to pure, unadulterated anger.

"No," he growled.

"Jake, be reasonable. I can't knot you. I can't—"

"Shut up!" he shouted, his hands gripping your shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Stop trying to give me away! I don't want them! I don't want an Alpha! I want you!"

"But why?" you cried, frustration leaking out. "I can't give you what your body is screaming for!"

"You don't know what my body is screaming for!" he yelled back, tears spilling over. "It's screaming for safety! It's screaming for Y/N! If you bring an Alpha in here, I will bite them. I swear to god, I will hurt them."

He collapsed against you again, sobbing into your shoulder.

"Don't leave me," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please don't make me be with them. They smell wrong. They feel wrong."

The lie hung in the air between you, unspoken. He wasn't just rejecting Alphas; he was rejecting the memory of the girl in the lecture hall. He was fighting his own biology to keep you.

You sighed, wrapping your arms tight around him. You were weak. You should be stronger. You should force him to do what was right for his health. But you couldn't deny him."Okay," you whispered into his hair. "Okay, Jake. No Alphas. Just us."

"Just us," he echoed, his grip tightening. "Promise."

"I promise."

The evening passed in a haze of tension.

Jake was unbearable. The pre-heat hormones stripped away his filters. He was needy, demanding, and incredibly sensitive.

He wouldn't let you leave the bed.

"I need water," you said, trying to untangle yourself from his limbs.

"No," he whined, pinning your leg down with his own. "Stay."

"I'm thirsty, Jake."

"I have spit," he offered, completely serious.

You laughed, despite the heaviness in the room. "You're gross."

"I'm dying," he corrected dramatically. "I'm dying of need and you want water."

Eventually, you managed to get the water and the snacks. You fed him peach slices in bed while he watched you with predatory, hazy eyes.

"You know," he murmured, licking syrup off his thumb. "You smell better than them."

"I don't smell like anything."

"To me you do," he insisted. "You smell like... stillness. Like the eye of the storm. Alphas smell like noise. You're quiet."

He crawled over to you, pushing the bowl of peaches away. He pushed you down onto the mattress.

"Sleep with me," he commanded.

"I am sleeping with you. I'm right here."

"No. Sleep." He emphasized the word. "I need to wake up with you. If I wake up alone..." He shuddered. "Don't make me wake up alone."

"I won't."

You lay down. Jake curled himself around your back—usually he liked to be the big spoon, claiming you, but tonight he wanted to be held. He backed into your chest, grabbing your arms and wrapping them around his waist.

"Hold me tight," he whispered. "Like a seatbelt."

You squeezed him. His skin was radiating heat like a furnace. The scent of peaches was thickening, turning from fresh fruit to something darker, heavier. Like fruit left in the sun too long. Intoxicating and overwhelming.

You fell asleep with your nose buried in his hair, breathing in the scent of your best friend, your lover, your forbidden Omega.

You didn't wake up to sunlight. You woke up to movement.

It was the gray hour of the morning, just before dawn. The room was heavy. The air felt thick, humid, and tasted of sugar and salt.

Jake was moving.

You were lying on your stomach—you must have rolled over in the night. And Jake... Jake was on top of you.

But not in the usual way.He was straddling your thighs, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He was panting, short, sharp breaths that sounded wet in the quiet room. "Jake?" you mumbled, sleep still clouding your brain.

He didn't answer. He couldn't.

The heat had hit. He was in the throes of it. His logic was gone. His human inhibitions were gone. He was pure instinct now. And his instinct was confused, beautiful, and desperate. Usually, an Omega in heat would be submissive, presenting, waiting to be taken. But Jake... Jake had always been a little different with you. He felt safe enough to take what he needed. You felt him shifting, his hips grinding against your lower back. He was slick—so slick. You could feel the wetness soaking through your pajama pants. "Y/N," he whined. It was a high, broken sound. "Need. Need."

He fumbled with your waistband, his hands clumsy and shaking. He shoved your pants down, exposing your skin to the cool air, which was immediately replaced by the searing heat of his body.

"Jake, wait," you tried to push up, but he shoved your shoulders down.

"Mine," he growled. It wasn't an Alpha growl—it didn't have the bass. It was a possessive, desperate snarl. "Don't move. Please. Don't move."

He wasn't asking for permission to top you. He was asking for permission to use you as his anchor. He positioned himself. You felt the tip of him—hard, weeping pre-cum, hot as a branding iron—press against your entrance.

"I love you," he sobbed.

And then, he sank into you. He entered you from behind, collapsing forward so his chest was pressed against your back.

"Oh god," you gasped into the pillow.

He was so hot. Inside and out. It felt like being filled with lava.

He didn't wait. He began to move immediately. It wasn't the rhythmic, controlled lovemaking of your usual nights. This was frantic. This was survival.

He was humping you, his hips snapping forward with a violence that shook the bedframe. But the sounds he was making... they broke you.

He was crying. He was whining. He was babbling nonsense into your skin.

"Right there. Good. So good. You're so warm. My Beta. My Y/N."

He reached around, his arms wrapping under your chest, locking his hands together to hold on for dear life. He was clinging to you like a sailor to a mast in a hurricane.

You reached back, grabbing his hair, trying to give him some resistance, something to ground him."I've got you, Jake," you gritted out, the friction building rapidly. "I'm here."

"Don't let go," he pleaded, his thrusts becoming erratic, shallow then deep. "I feel empty. Fill me. No, let me fill you. I don't know. I don't know."

The confusion of his biology—needing to be filled but needing to claim you—was making him delirious. He solved it by trying to merge with you completely.

Then, you felt it.

His teeth. He turned his head, finding the sensitive curve of your neck.

He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate.He bit down.

"Ah!" you cried out.

It wasn't the mating bite. He didn't have the Alpha fangs to pierce deep enough for the soul-bond, and you didn't have the gland to receive it. But it was hard. It was primal.

He clamped his teeth onto the muscle of your shoulder/neck junction. It was a hold. A scruffing. He was holding you in place, grounding himself through the taste of your skin, the texture of your flesh. The pain was sharp, but the pleasure was sharper.

Feeling him claim you like that—like an animal, like he had every right to leave a mark on you—sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

"Jake," you moaned, pushing back against him.

The bite seemed to trigger him. The taste of you, the submission of you lying there letting him use you... it pushed him over the edge.

He let go of your neck with a gasp, his head falling back.

"Y/N! Y/N!"

He slammed into you, once, twice, three times—deep, ruinous thrusts that hit your deepest spot. He came with a shout. It was a raw, shattering sound. You felt him pulsing inside you, twitching wildly as his heat-fueled orgasm ripped through him.

He collapsed completely.

He was dead weight on top of you. He was panting, his breath hot and wet against your ear. He was trembling so hard his teeth were chattering. You lay there, pinned beneath him, your own body throbbing with the aftershocks of his intensity. The room was silent for a moment, save for the harsh breathing. And then, the scent hit.

It exploded.

Before, he smelled like peaches. Now?

The room smelled like a peach orchard that had been set on fire. It was thick, sugary, smoky, and heavy. It was the scent of a satisfied Omega in the peak of his heat.

It was so strong you could taste it on your tongue. If you were an Alpha, you would have gone into a rut instantly. If you were an Alpha, you would have lost your mind.

But you were Y/N. You were a Beta. So instead of a rut, you just felt... love. And an overwhelming, protective fieriness. Jake shifted. He didn't pull out. He stayed inside you, keeping the connection. He nuzzled his face into your messy hair.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, his voice wrecked. You reached up, touching the stinging spot on your neck. It was definitely going to bruise.

"No," you lied softly. "You didn't."

"I bit you," he confessed, sounding horrified. "I tasted you. I'm sorry. I just... I needed to make sure you were real. I needed to hold you."

"I'm real, Jake. I'm not going anywhere."

"You smell like me now," he murmured, sounding pleased, almost drunk on the hormones. "You smell like my heat. No Alpha will come near you. They'll smell me all over you."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes," he hissed, tightening his arms around you again. "I want everyone to know. You're taken. You're the Omega's. You're mine."

He kissed your shoulder, right over the bite mark, soothing the skin he had just abused. "Round two," he mumbled, his body already reacting again, defying the laws of exhaustion. "Please. Don't make me move."

"I'm not moving," you promised, closing your eyes and letting the heavy, sweet scent of him lull you into submission. "Do whatever you need."

And he did.

The seventh day of an Omega’s heat is not a slope; it is a cliff. It is the biological finale, the "Crest," where the body stops asking for a mate and begins to demand one with a ferocity that overrides logic, dignity, and sanity.

For six days, you had been enough. You had been his anchor, his cool washcloth, his hydration, his comfort. You had held him through the tremors and the fever dreams.

But on the morning of the seventh day, the atmosphere in the apartment shifted from heavy to suffocating. Jake woke up not with a soft nuzzle, but with a frantic, jerky movement. He was thrashing in the sheets, his skin burning so hot it felt dangerous to touch, like a fever that had spiked past the safety zone. His scent—usually peaches and rain—had soured. It didn't smell like fruit anymore. It smelled like burnt sugar and ozone. It smelled like distress.

"Jake?" You sat up, reaching for him. "Jake, look at me."

He opened his eyes.

They were swimming. The dark, warm brown you loved was swallowed by a dilated pupil, rimmed with a hazy, golden desperation. He looked through you, not at you. His wolf was at the surface, scratching at the controls.

"Hurts," he whimpered, a broken, reedy sound that tore at your chest. "It hurts. Inside. Everywhere."

He clawed at his own neck, his nails digging into the sensitive skin over his scent gland. The gland was swollen, pulsing visibly beneath the pale skin, desperate for the release of a claiming bite.

"Don't do that," you said, grabbing his wrists to stop him from hurting himself.

"Need," he sobbed, his body arching off the mattress. "Need... tight. Need to be held. Need... Alpha."

The word hung in the air, sharp and cruel.

He didn't mean to say it. He didn't even know he was saying it. But his biology knew what was missing. He looked at you then, his eyes focusing for a split second. He saw you—his Y/N, his safe place. And he lunged.

He didn't attack you. He collapsed onto you. He pushed you back against the pillows, his weight heavy and feverish. He wasn't trying to dominate you in the way an Alpha would; he was trying to merge with you. He was trying to climb inside your skin because his own was too painful to inhabit. "Help me," he cried, his hands fumbling blindly with the waistband of your pajama shorts. "Please. Help me. Fill the empty. Make it stop."

You helped him. You always helped him. You shimmied out of your clothes, your heart hammering against your ribs. You lay back, opening your legs for him, offering the only thing you had: your body. Your Beta body.

Jake didn't wait. He couldn't. He positioned himself between your legs, his movements erratic and clumsy with heat-shakes. He was trembling so violently that his teeth chattered.When he entered you, he didn't thrust with power. He sank into you with a sob.

"Oh god," he wept, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Y/N. Y/N."

He felt huge, hot, and desperate. He filled you completely, but the physical connection wasn't enough to quell the storm in his blood.

He began to move.It was heartbreaking. He wasn't fucking you for pleasure; he was fucking you for survival. He ground his hips against yours, seeking friction, seeking depth. He wrapped his arms around your torso, locking his hands together under your back, clinging to you as if the bed was a raft in the middle of the ocean.

He didn't scream. He didn't roar.

He whimpered. With every thrust, a soft, high-pitched cry escaped his throat. It was the sound of an animal in a trap.

"Please," he babbled into your skin, his tears wetting your collarbone. "Please, please, please."

"I've got you," you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer, running your hands down his sweat-slicked back. "I'm right here, Jake. I'm holding you."

"Not enough," he moaned, the truth slipping out in his delirium. "It's not... it's not locking. Why won't it lock?"

He was searching for the knot. The biological mechanism that Alphas had (and he needed) to lock inside him or, in rare cases, the reaction that would lock him inside a Female Alpha. But you were a Beta. Your body was soft, welcoming, and warm, but it didn't have the clamp. It didn't have the biological key to his lock.

He picked up the pace, his desperation mounting. He was chasing a horizon he couldn't reach.

Then, he turned his head.

His nose brushed your neck. He inhaled deeply, searching for the pheromones that would trigger his release. He found only your detergent and your fear.

"Bite," he begged, nuzzling your pulse point frantically. "Mark me. Claim me. Please, Y/N. Bite me."

Your heart shattered. You knew it wouldn't work. You knew your teeth were flat. You knew your saliva lacked the enzyme. But hearing him beg, feeling him throb inside you, knowing he was in pain... you couldn't say no.

"Okay," you choked out. "Okay, Jake."

You turned your head. You found the swollen, pulsing gland on the curve of his neck.

You opened your mouth and bit down. You bit hard. Harder than you ever had. You put all your frustration, all your love, all your desperate desire to be enough into your jaw. Jake gasped, his back arching.

"Yes!" he moaned, a long, shaky sound. "Yes, yes, there. Take it."

For a moment, the sharp pressure was enough. It tricked his brain. He felt teeth on his gland, he felt you inside him (or rather, him inside you), and he felt the pain spike. He drove into you, his hips snapping forward in a frantic rhythm. He was chasing that sensation, trying to force the bond to snap into place. "Harder," he whined, tears streaming down his face. "Break the skin. Make it stay. Don't let go."

You bit harder. Your jaw ached. You tasted the salt of his sweat. You felt the skin under your teeth yield slightly, but it didn't puncture. It didn't tear. It just bruised. You were gnawing on him like a dog with a bone, but you couldn't break the seal. You couldn't give him the chemical rush of a mate claim.

Jake’s whimpers turned into sobs. "Why?" he cried, his voice wrecking. "Why isn't it working? Alpha... where is Alpha?"

He wasn't calling you Alpha anymore. He was calling for an Alpha. Any Alpha. The abstract concept of the thing that could save him.

The realization made you loosen your jaw. You pulled back, gasping for air.

You looked at his neck. It was a mess. A purple, angry welt was forming where you had bitten him. It looked painful. It looked ugly. It wasn't a claim; it was an injury.

"No," Jake whined, feeling you pull away. "Don't stop. Don't leave me."

"I can't," you whispered, tears blinding you. "I can't do it, Jake."

"You have to!" he cried. He slammed his hips into you one last time, his body seizing.

The orgasm hit him, but it wasn't the wave of relief he needed. It was a crash.

He cried out—a sharp, keening wail of overstimulation. He stiffened, pouring himself into you, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. But instead of the relaxation that should follow, he kept shaking. He was overwhelmed. His system was flooded with heat hormones that had nowhere to go because the bond hadn't grounded them.

He slumped forward, collapsing onto your chest. He was dead weight.

He didn't drift into a peaceful sleep. He passed out. It was a blackout induced by exhaustion and biological frustration. His brain simply pulled the plug because the body couldn't handle the stress anymore.

"Jake?"

You touched his cheek. He was burning up. His breathing was ragged and shallow. He was unconscious, but even in sleep, his brow was furrowed in pain.

You lay there, pinned beneath him, feeling his seed inside you and his tears drying on your chest. You looked at the bruise on his neck. It was a brand of your failure.

You carefully, slowly pushed him off you. He rolled onto his side with a soft groan, curling into a fetal position instantly, seeking warmth.You sat up. You were shivering. The room was cold now that the heat of the moment had passed.

You looked at him. He was beautiful. Even now, messy and exhausted and bruised, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

And you were killing him. It wasn't a metaphor anymore. You were physically hurting him. By keeping him in this situationship, by pretending that your love could override millions of years of evolution, you were denying him the one thing his body needed to be healthy: a true mate.

If he had been with an Alpha—Jay, Jennie, even that girl Minji—they could have bitten him. They could have knotted him. He would be asleep right now with a smile on his face, the bond humming in his blood, the heat broken and satisfied.

Instead, he was passed out from trauma, sporting a bruise instead of a bite.

"I'm sorry," you whispered into the silent room. "I was so selfish."

You thought you were protecting him from Alphas who might treat him like a trophy. But in reality, you were the one treating him like a possession. You were keeping him for yourself because you needed him, ignoring the fact that he needed something else.You stood up. Your legs were shaky. You felt liquid running down your thighs—a stark reminder of the intimacy you had just shared, and how futile it was.

You walked to the bathroom.You showered. You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, trying to wash off the scent of burnt sugar and failure. You watched the water swirl down the drain, taking your hopes with it.

You dressed in the clothes you had arrived in a week ago. Jeans. Hoodie. Sneakers. They felt like armor. You went to the kitchen. It was quiet. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound. You opened the pantry. You needed to do one last thing for him. You couldn't leave him to wake up hungry. You pulled out the ingredients for Kimchi stew. It was his comfort food. You moved automatically. Chopping the kimchi, slicing the tofu, measuring the water. You stood over the stove, stirring the pot, letting the steam warm your face. You poured your love into the food because you couldn't pour it into a bond.When it was done, you ladled it into a glass container. You placed it on the top shelf of the fridge, right at eye level. You grabbed a sticky note.

You held the pen, your hand trembling. What could you say? I love you? No. That would make him chase you. I'm sorry? Not enough.

You wrote:

Jake,

Stew is in the fridge. Drink the Gatorade.

- Y/N

It was cold. It was practical. It was the note of a friend, not a lover. It was a wall.

You walked back into the bedroom.

The air was still thick with his scent. It made your wolf—the tiny, dormant thing inside you—whine in protest. Mate, it whispered. Don't leave mate.

"Shut up," you told yourself. "He's not ours."

You placed a fresh glass of water and two painkillers on the nightstand next to his head.You looked at him one last time. You memorized the curve of his eyelashes, the slope of his nose, the way his lips parted slightly in sleep. You memorized the ugly purple bruise on his neck so you would never, ever forget why you had to leave.

You bent down. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss the bruise and apologize.

But you didn't. If you touched him, you wouldn't leave.

You straightened up. "You need an Alpha, Jake," you whispered, your voice cracking. "Not a Beta who plays pretend."

You grabbed your bag. You walked to the door. You stepped out into the hallway. The click of the lock sliding home sounded like a gunshot.

The walk back to your apartment was a blur.

It was late. The campus was quiet. The streetlights blurred into streaks of light as your eyes filled with tears you refused to shed.

You made it to your building. You made it up the stairs. You made it into your apartment.You locked the door.And then, you collapsed.You slid down the door until you hit the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your face in your arms.The tears came then. Not quiet, polite tears. Ugly, heaving sobs that shook your entire body. You wailed into your knees, the sound muffled by the fabric of your jeans.

You cried for the boy you loved.

You cried for the biology that hated you.

You cried for the bite you couldn't give.

You decided then and there. No more situationship. No more "friends with benefits." No more holding him while he cried for someone else.You had to be the villain. You had to be the one to cut the cord.He would hate you. He would scream. He would cry.

But eventually, the pain would fade. Eventually, his heat would come again. And without you there to enable him, he would be forced to seek out an Alpha. He would find someone who could truly claim him. He would be happy.

And you?You would be the Beta in the background. The guard dog who finally opened the gate and let the wolf run free.You sat there on the floor of your dark apartment, crying until your throat was raw, mourning a relationship that was doomed before it ever began.

The Next Morning Jake woke up to silence.

The sun was streaming through the blinds, hitting him right in the face. He groaned, shielding his eyes. His body felt like he had been hit by a truck. Every muscle ached. His head was pounding. His neck...

He reached up. His neck throbbed with a dull, bruised pain.

Memory washed over him in fragments.The heat. The desperation. The biting. The failure. "Y/N?" he rasped.

He rolled over. The other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cool.

"Y/N?" he called louder, panic starting to prickle in his chest.

He sat up, ignoring the dizziness.

"Y/N!"

Silence. He saw the water on the nightstand. The painkillers.

He scrambled out of bed, his legs weak. He stumbled into the kitchen.

Empty.He saw the note on the counter. He picked it up.

Jake,

Stew is in the fridge. Drink the Gatorade.

- Y/N

He stared at the handwriting. It was neat. Steady.

He crumpled the note in his fist.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no."

He ran to the front door. He yanked it open and looked out into the hallway, as if hoping you were just standing there.

Empty. She was gone. She had packed her bag. She had cooked him food. She had medicated him. And she had left.

Jake slid down the doorframe, clutching the crumpled note to his chest.

He felt the bruise on his neck throb. It wasn't a claim. It was a goodbye kiss.

Tears welled in his eyes, hot and fast.

"You idiot," he sobbed into the empty apartment. "You think you're saving me? You're just breaking me." But he was too weak to chase you. His heat was broken, but his body was exhausted. He curled up on the doormat, holding the note, and cried for the Alpha he didn't want and the Beta he couldn't keep.

The silence between two people who have shared a soul since childhood is not empty; it is heavy. It is a physical weight that presses down on your chest, making every breath a conscious effort.

For the first two weeks after you walked out of his apartment, Jake didn't let you go easily. He was Jake. He was the boy who had clung to your leg on the first day of kindergarten. He didn't understand the concept of giving up on you.

His name lit up your phone screen constantly.

Jake (8:02 AM): Y/N, please. Just talk to me.

Jake (12:30 PM): I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said during the heat. I was out of my mind. It wasn’t real.

Jake (7:45 PM): I’m outside your door. I know you’re in there. I can hear you walking. Please open up.

Jake (11:00 PM): Did I hurt you? Is that why? I’ll never ask for a bite again. I promise. Just come back.

You read every single one. You read them sitting on the floor of your living room, your back pressed against the door he was knocking on.

You listened to his knuckles rap against the wood.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Then a pause.

"Y/N?" his voice muffled, thick with unshed tears. "Please."

It took every ounce of willpower you possessed not to rip the door open. Your body screamed at you to go to him. Your heart ached with a physical sharpness that felt like a heart attack. But then you would remember the bruise. You would remember the way he looked at you with golden, delirious eyes and screamed for an Alpha. You would remember the way your teeth had failed to break his skin, leaving him sobbing in frustration. You weren't saving yourself. You were saving him. So you stayed silent. You let the tears stream down your face in the dark, biting your own hand to keep from sobbing aloud, until his footsteps finally retreated down the hall.

By the third week, the knocking stopped. The texts slowed down to a trickle, then ceased.

Jake Sim was sweet. He was kind. He was the type of boy who rescued spiders and apologized to inanimate objects when he bumped into them. He wasn't the type to harass someone who clearly wanted to be left alone.

He respected your decision, even though it was killing him.

But the campus was small, and the pack was smaller. You couldn't avoid seeing him.

The first time you saw him after the "breakup" (if you could call it that), it was in the cafeteria. You walked in, tray in hand, head down, trying to be invisible.

You looked up and froze. Jake was sitting at a large round table in the center of the room. He was surrounded. Jay was there, laughing loudly. Sunghoon was leaning in, saying something that made Jake smile—a small, polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. There were other Omegas there too, giggling and preening.

Jake was the sun. He had always been the sun. Even when he was an unpresented, shy kid, people were drawn to his warmth. Now that he was a presented Omega with a scent like heaven, he was a gravitational singularity.

And you? You stood by the condiment station, alone. You realized, with a crushing wave of clarity, just how much of your social life had been Jake.

People didn't talk to you because you were Y/N. They talked to you because you were the gatekeeper to Jake. You were the Shield. Without the person to protect, you were just... a Beta. A background extra in the movie of his life.

You took your tray to a small table in the far corner, near the trash cans. You sat with your back to the room. You didn't see it, but across the cafeteria, Jake had stopped eating. He was staring at the back of your head. His hand was gripping his fork so hard his knuckles were white.

"Jake?" Jay asked, touching his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jake whispered, tearing his eyes away from your lonely figure. "I'm fine."

Pack Nights were mandatory for the Silver River Collective. It was a time for community, for reinforcing the bonds that kept the wolves together.

Usually, Pack Night was your favorite. You and Jake would sit on a blanket near the fire, roasting marshmallows, making fun of Marcus, and sharing earbuds. You were a unit. A two-person pack within the pack.

This month, you went alone. You arrived late, slipping into the shadows at the edge of the clearing. The fire was roaring, casting long, dancing shadows against the pine trees. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and the intermingled scents of a hundred wolves. You sat on a cold log, pulling your knees to your chest.

You scanned the crowd. You found him instantly. It was impossible not to.

He was sitting near the Elders, a place of honor for high-ranking wolves. He was wearing a thick cream-colored sweater that looked soft enough to melt into. He was flanked by Heeseung and Sunghoon—two powerful Alphas who looked like his personal bodyguards. Heeseung was peeling an orange for him. Sunghoon was draping a blanket over his shoulders. They were taking care of him. They were doing your job. And they were doing it better. They were Alphas. They could offer him protection you couldn't.

A lump formed in your throat, hot and choking. You felt a wave of jealousy so potent it made your vision swim. That's my spot, you wanted to scream. That's my blanket. That's my Omega. As if he heard your thoughts, Jake turned his head.

He looked past the fire, past the Alphas, past the crowd. His eyes locked onto yours in the darkness. Even from fifty feet away, you could see the devastation on his face. He didn't look happy to be pampered. He looked lonely. He looked like a kid who had lost his mom in the grocery store. He made a movement to stand up. He placed his hands on the ground, ready to push himself up and come to you.

You panicked. If he came over here... if he looked at you with those sad, wide eyes... you would break. You would beg him to take you back, and the cycle would start all over again. The heat. The failure. The pain. You stood up abruptly. You turned and walked away, disappearing into the tree line. You didn't see Jake sink back down onto the blanket, his shoulders slumping in defeat. You didn't see him push the orange away, his appetite gone.

Three more weeks passed.

You were approaching your twenty-first birthday. The cutoff. The day you would officially, medically be declared a Beta for life.

But instead of settling into acceptance, your body was revolting.

It started subtly. You were in your dorm room, trying to study for a Business Law exam. Your roommate, Sarah, was chewing gum.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Usually, you could tune it out. Today, it sounded like a gunshot next to your ear.

"Can you stop?" you snapped, your voice harsh in the quiet room.

Sarah jumped, looking at you with wide eyes. "Whoa. Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you gritted out, rubbing your temples. "It's just loud."

"It's gum, Y/N."

"Just stop!" you slammed your book shut.

The anger was sudden and white-hot. It felt like a physical thing living in your chest, a caged animal throwing itself against your ribs. You stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving Sarah bewildered. Then came the nights. You couldn't sleep. You would toss and turn, kicking off the blankets because you were burning up, then pulling them back on because you were freezing. You woke up every morning soaking wet. Your sheets were damp with sweat. You showered three times a day, scrubbing your skin raw, but you never felt clean. You felt... sticky. Heavy. Like your skin was too tight for your body. "You look terrible," your reflection told you in the mirror. You had dark circles under your eyes. You looked pale, gaunt. But your eyes... there was something strange about your eyes. They looked brighter. Sharper.

"Stress," you told yourself. "It's just stress. Heartbreak is a physical illness."

You were starving. Always.

You ate four meals a day and were still ravenous. You craved meat. Rare meat. You found yourself ordering steaks at the campus diner and eating them like you hadn't seen food in weeks. "Growth spurt?" the waitress joked as she cleared your third plate. "Something like that," you muttered, feeling shameful. You stopped going to lectures.The lecture halls were too loud. Too smelly. That was the worst part—the smell. Suddenly, your nose was a superpower you didn't want. You could smell everyone. You could smell the Alpha in the front row who hadn't showered. You could smell the Omega three rows back who was wearing cherry blossom perfume. You could smell the fear on the students before a test. It was overwhelming. It was a sensory assault.So you stayed in your apartment. You drew the blinds. You sat in the dark. You were convinced you were having a nervous breakdown. You were convinced the grief of losing Jake had finally snapped your mind.

Jake noticed.

He noticed you weren't in your usual seat in Business Law. He noticed you weren't in the cafeteria. He noticed you hadn't been to the library in a week.

He was terrified.

He sat in his Music Theory class, staring at his phone. He typed out a text.

Are you okay? (Deleted)

I haven't seen you. (Deleted)

Please just tell me you're alive. (Deleted)

He respected your space because you asked him to. He loved you enough to let you go. But the silence was driving him insane. He started walking past your apartment building at night. He would stand on the sidewalk across the street, looking up at your window. The lights were always off.

"Where are you?" he whispered to the cold wind. "Y/N, where are you?"

He didn't know you were right there, sitting on the floor in the dark, clutching a pillow that smelled faintly like him, shivering through another wave of cold sweat.

The agitation became aggression.

You went to the corner store to buy water (you were so thirsty, all the time).

A guy bumped into you in the aisle. A tall, burly Alpha.

"Watch it," he grunted, not looking at you. Usually, you would have mumbled an apology and moved on. You were a Beta. You stepped aside for Alphas.

Not today. A low, vibrating sound started in your chest. It wasn't a word. It was a growl. The Alpha stopped. He turned slowly, looking at you. He looked confused. He was looking for the source of the sound, but he was looking right over your head. He didn't register you as the threat.

"Did you say something?" he sneered. You looked up at him. You felt a strange, cold calm wash over you. You looked at his neck. You visualized exactly where the jugular vein was.

"I said," you spoke, your voice dropping an octave, sounding rough and unrecognizable, "You're in my way."

The Alpha blinked. He took a step back. He looked unsettled. He couldn't explain why—you were just a small girl—but his instincts were telling him to move.

"Whatever, freak," he muttered, hurrying away.

You stood there, shaking.

What is happening to me?

You ran home. You locked the door. You curled up in your bed and cried.

Jake couldn't take it anymore. He had heard rumors. People were saying you looked sick. People were saying you had snapped at a professor. He bought a birthday gift. It was a small box. Inside was a silver bracelet with a charm shaped like a pea pod. Two little peas inside. He walked to your apartment. He stood outside your door. He could hear movement inside. Heavy, pacing footsteps. Like a caged animal.

He raised his hand to knock. But then, he smelled it. Through the crack in the door, a scent was leaking out. It wasn't your usual detergent scent. It wasn't the smell of illness. It was faint, but it was there.

Burnt Cedar. Honey. Dark Rum. It was the scent of a dominant Alpha. Jake froze. His heart hammered.

Is she with someone?

The thought nearly brought him to his knees. Had you moved on already? Was there an Alpha in there with you? Was that why you were missing classes? Were you... nesting? Tears pricked his eyes. He lowered his hand.

He couldn't interrupt. If you were with a mate, if you had found happiness... he had to let you have it. That was the deal. He placed the small box on the doormat. "Happy Birthday, Y/N," he whispered, his voice cracking. He turned and walked away, leaving you alone with a monster you didn't know you were becoming.

You were dying.

That was the only explanation. It was 11:00 PM. One hour until you turned twenty-one.Your apartment was a wreck. You had ripped the sheets off the bed because they were too rough. You had thrown a lamp across the room because the light was too bright. You were pacing the living room, naked, sweating profusely.

Your skin felt like it was splitting open. Your bones felt like they were lengthening, cracking, reshaping. The pain was blinding. You fell to your knees on the rug.

"Jake," you groaned. You didn't want to say it. You had promised to let him go. But in the face of this agony, your brain reverted to its default setting.

Jake. Jake. Jake. You needed him. You didn't know why. You just knew that if you didn't smell peaches and rain right now, you were going to shatter.

You crawled toward your phone, which was lying on the floor where you had dropped it hours ago.

You picked it up. Your vision was blurry, red around the edges.

You dialed his number. It rang once.

"Y/N?"

His voice was breathless, panicked. He picked up on the first ring.

"Jake," you rasped. Your voice sounded terrifying. It sounded like gravel grinding together.

"Y/N? What's wrong? You sound... are you sick?"

"Help," you choked out. "Hurts. Dying."

"I'm coming," he said instantly. No hesitation. No questions. "I'm coming right now. Don't move."

The line went dead. You dropped the phone. You curled into a ball on the rug, shivering violently. The clock on the wall ticked.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

11:58 PM.

11:59 PM.

The heat inside you hit a crescendo. It wasn't a fever anymore. It was an explosion.

A wave of energy ripped through your body, starting at the base of your spine and shooting out to your fingertips. You screamed, your back arching.

And then, the dam broke. The scent exploded out of you.

Thick. Heavy. Dominant.

Cedar forests burning in the night. The sharp tang of lightning (ozone). The deep, intoxicating warmth of spiced rum. It filled the room instantly. It saturated the furniture, the walls, the air.

12:30 AM.

You weren't dying. You were arriving.

The door burst open. The door didn't just open; it slammed against the wall, the handle punching a hole in the plaster.

Jake stood in the threshold, chest heaving, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat from his sprint across campus. He had burst in expecting a tragedy. He expected to find you sick, dying, or worse—nesting with the Alpha whose scent he had smelled outside.

"Y/N!" he screamed, scanning the dark room.

Then, the air hit him. It wasn't a drift of scent anymore. It was a tsunami.

It rolled over him in a physical wave—thick, suffocating, and terrifyingly potent. Burnt Cedar. Honey, dark Rum. It was the scent of a Prime Alpha, a dominant force of nature entering a Presentation Rut.

And it was coming from you. You were on the floor in the center of the rug, curled into a ball, shaking violently. You were naked, your skin glowing with a feverish, supernatural sheen. Jake froze. His brain short-circuited. There is no other Alpha, his mind whispered, the realization shattering his reality. It’s her. It’s always been her. And then, his biology answered.Jake’s suppressants, which he had been taking religiously since you left, evaporated instantly. The sheer force of your pheromones reached into his genetic code and flipped a switch.

His knees buckled. He gasped, clutching the doorframe, as a bolt of liquid fire shot through his veins. It wasn't the slow build of a normal heat. It was a flash flood. His scent glands flared open, dumping a concentrated cloud of Ripe Peaches and Heavy Cream into the room to meet your Cedar.

"Y/N," he groaned, the sound wrecked and wet.

You lifted your head. Jake stopped breathing.

Your eyes were no longer the soft, familiar color he had known since kindergarten. They were glowing. A deep, burning, bioluminescent red. The color of embers in a dying fire. The color of a predator.

You looked at him, and for a second, he saw the animal inside you assess him.

He stared back. His own irises flooded with gold, the pupil blowing wide until his eyes were pools of molten honey.

"Jake," you growled.

It wasn't your voice. It was a command that vibrated in the floorboards.

"It's you," Jake whimpered, stumbling forward, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. He didn't lock it; he didn't care. "It was you all along." You didn't answer. You couldn't speak human words anymore. Your brain was entirely offline, replaced by the singular, driving need of a rutting Alpha who had just found her mate.

You uncoiled from the floor with terrifying speed. You didn't stand; you launched yourself at him. Jake met you halfway. You collided in the center of the living room with the force of two planets crashing. You grabbed him, your hands searing hot against his cold leather jacket. You slammed him back against the wall, the impact knocking a picture frame to the floor."Mine," you snarled, burying your face in his neck. You inhaled violently, dragging the scent of him into your lungs like oxygen.

"Yours," Jake sobbed, grabbing your face, forcing you to look at him. "I'm yours, Alpha. I'm yours."

You kissed him. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was a devouring.

Your mouths clashed, teeth grazing lips, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate war for dominance. He tasted like salt and desperation. You tasted like fire.

Jake made a noise against your mouth—a high, needy whine that drove you insane. He wrapped his legs around your waist, jumping into your arms, trusting your new Alpha strength to hold him up.

You caught him easily. You felt powerful. You felt limitless.

You carried him to the bedroom, not breaking the kiss. You kicked the door open and stumbled toward the bed, which was stripped bare to the mattress.

You threw him down. He bounced on the mattress, looking up at you with those wide, golden eyes. He was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He reached for the zipper of his jacket, his hands shaking so hard he couldn't grasp the metal.

"Help me," he begged, his voice cracking. "Take it off. Please. I need skin. I need you."

You didn't have patience for zippers. You ripped the jacket open, popping the mechanism. You tore his t-shirt over his head. You shoved his jeans down his hips.

He helped you, kicking wildly to rid himself of the fabric.

When he was finally naked, sprawled out on your mattress under the moonlight filtering through the blinds, he looked like an offering. His skin was flushed pink, his nipples hard, his scent gland pulsing on his neck.

You crawled over him. The visual of you—a Female Alpha, powerful, muscles defined by the tension of the rut, eyes glowing red—hovering over him broke Jake completely. "Alpha," he whined, reaching up to trace the line of your jaw. "You're so beautiful. You're so strong."

You didn't wait. You couldn't. You settled between his legs. The heat radiating from him was intense, scorching your inner thighs. He was slick—his body producing the natural lubricant of an Omega in distress.

"Fill me," Jake pleaded, his hips bucking upward, seeking contact. "Fix me. You're the only one who can fix it."

You aligned yourself with him. This was different from before. Before, you were two friends trying to make biology work. Now, you were lock and key.

You guided him to your entrance. He was hard, weeping, desperate.

You sank down. "Oh, god!" Jake screamed, throwing his head back into the pillow.

The sensation was blinding.

Because you were presenting, because you were in a rut, your internal anatomy had shifted. You were tighter, hotter, your muscles gripping him with a possessive intensity that felt completely different.

You took him all the way in, until your pelvis ground against his.

"Y/N," he babbled, his eyes rolling back. "So hot. You're so hot."

You began to move.It was primal. You grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the mattress above his head. You dominated him completely. You set the pace—a punishing, grinding rhythm that forced cries out of him with every thrust.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixing with his wet, broken moans and your low, guttural growls. You leaned down, capturing his mouth again. You kissed him deeply, your tongue sweeping his mouth, tasting him, owning him. You swallowed his cries, drinking them down like wine.

Jake was a mess beneath you. He was thrashing, his hips snapping up to meet yours, trying to get deeper, trying to fuse his body to yours.

"Deep," he mumbled against your lips. "Deeper. Don't leave any space."

"I'm right here," you growled against his neck. "I'm inside you. I'm keeping you."

Your wolf was singing. Mate. Mate. Perfect Mate. He smelled right. He felt right. The way he submitted to you, baring his throat, hands around your waist to pull you closer—it was exactly what your Alpha instincts needed.

The tension built rapidly. This wasn't a marathon; it was a sprint to the claim.

You felt the pressure in your lower abdomen spike. It was a cramping sensation, heavy and inevitable. Your body was preparing the trap. "Jake," you panted, looking down at him. Your red eyes bore into his golden ones. "I'm going to lock."

Fear flickered in his eyes for a microsecond—the fear of the unknown—but it was instantly drowned out by longing.

"Do it," he commanded, his voice raw. "Trap me. Don't let me go. Never let me go."

He thrust up, burying himself as deep as he could go, and held it there.

You let go. You cried out, a roar tearing from your throat as your orgasm hit.

And then, it happened.

Deep inside you, the Alpha muscles—the mechanism you didn't know you had until today—slammed shut. It was a violent, powerful contraction. Your internal walls rippled and clamped down around the base of him, creating a vacuum seal. It was tighter than anything you had ever felt. It was a vice grip.

Jake screamed.

"Y/N! Y/N! Oh my god!"

The sensation of being gripped that tightly, of being literally milked by your body, sent him over the edge instantly. He shattered. He convulsed in your arms, his body bowing off the mattress. He poured himself into you, his release unending, triggered and sustained by the crushing pressure of your lock.

"I can't—it's too much—Alpha!" he sobbed, shaking violently.

But you couldn't stop. You were locked. Your body had him. You were holding him prisoner in the most intimate way possible. You collapsed forward, your chest heaving against his. You were fused together.

But the ritual wasn't done. The heat was broken, the rut was satisfied, but the bond needed the seal. The scent in the room was now a perfect, swirling nebula of your combined essences. Burnt Cedar and Peaches and Cream.

You lifted your head. Jake was panting, his face wet with tears and sweat. He looked wrecked. He looked divine. He saw where you were looking. He saw your eyes fixate on his neck. He didn't flinch this time. He didn't cry out for a stranger. He tilted his head back, exposing the gland. The bruise you had left weeks ago had faded to a faint yellow shadow. It was ready.

"Please," he whispered, his golden eyes locking onto yours. "Make it permanent. I don't want to be anyone else's. I only want you."

You lowered your head. You licked the skin first, tasting the salt, tasting the pulse that fluttered frantically beneath the surface.

Then, you opened your mouth. Your canines—longer now, sharper, designed for this exact moment—grazed his skin.

You bit down.

Crunch.

It was a sickening, beautiful sound. Your teeth pierced the tough skin of the scent gland, sinking deep into the muscle. Jake cried out—a sharp, high sound of pain—but he immediately grabbed the back of your head and shoved you closer.

"Yes!" he hissed through his teeth. You clamped down. You felt the connection snap into place like a physical tether. It wasn't just blood you tasted; it was his soul. A flood of emotions that weren't yours crashed into your brain. Relief. Safety. Overwhelming love. Belonging. You pushed your own feelings back down the bond.

Possession. Adoration. Protection. Forever. You held the bite, your jaw locked, marking him, changing his biology, writing your name on his very DNA.

After what felt like an eternity, you slowly released the pressure. You licked the wound, your saliva sealing the puncture marks, leaving behind the jagged, raised scar of a Mated Omega. You pulled back to look at him. Jake was limp beneath you. His eyes were rolling back in his head, a look of pure, drugged bliss on his face. He was floating in the endorphin rush of the bite. "Mine," you growled, your voice rough.

Jake blinked, focusing on you slowly. He reached up, touching the fresh mark on his neck. He smiled—a messy, tear-stained, radiant smile.

"Yours," he whispered. "Finally."

The lock didn't release for twenty minutes.

You stayed there, joined, breathing the same air. The red faded from your eyes, settling into a warm, dark brown. The gold in Jake's eyes softened back to his deep doe-eyed color. He ran his hands up and down your back, tracing the muscles that had emerged during your presentation. "I knew it," he murmured, his voice raspy.

"You knew what?" you asked, kissing the tip of his nose.

"I knew you weren't a Beta. I knew you were special." He chuckled, a weak sound. "Though I didn't expect... this." He gestured to the intensity of the room. "You're a powerhouse, Y/N."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, resting your forehead against his. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I made you wait."

"Shh," he silenced you with a soft kiss. "You didn't make me wait. You were cooking. You needed to bake until you were ready."

He shifted his hips, wincing slightly as the knot finally began to loosen.

"Besides," he smirked, a flash of his old playful self returning. "The stew you left was really good."

You laughed, a sound of pure relief. "You ate the stew?"

"Of course I ate the stew. It was made with love. And guilt. But mostly love."

The knot released. You pulled away slowly, the separation leaving a phantom ache. You rolled off him, collapsing onto the mattress beside him. Jake immediately rolled over, draping his arm and leg over you, burying his face in your neck. He took a deep breath of your new scent.

"Cedar," he hummed happily. "I love cedar now."

"I love peaches," you replied, wrapping your arm around him.

The sun came up, but you didn't move.

You were in a nest. Sometime during the night, instinct had taken over. You had pulled every blanket, pillow, and piece of clothing within reach onto the bed.

Jake was asleep on your chest, drooling slightly. The bite mark on his neck was angry and red, but it was healing. It was real.

You traced the line of his spine. You felt different. The anxiety that had plagued you for years—the feeling of being invisible, of being a "dud"—was gone. You felt grounded. You felt heavy in a good way. You knew exactly who you were.

You were Y/N. The Alpha. Jake’s Mate. Jake stirred. He lifted his head, blinking sleepily. He looked at you, then at the bite mark on his reflection in the mirror across the room.

He grinned.

"Happy Birthday, Alpha," he whispered.

"Best birthday ever," you agreed.

"So," he traced circles on your chest. "Since we're mated now... and since you're in a rut... and since I'm in heat..."

"Yeah?"

"We have about four days of lost time to make up for."

He climbed on top of you, his eyes darkening with intent.

"Can you handle it?" he teased.

You grabbed his hips, flipping him over so you were hovering above him again. You flashed your eyes—just a flicker of red—and saw him shiver with delight.

"I can handle you, Jake Sim," you promised. "I was made to handle you."

"Two peas in a pod," he breathed, pulling you down for a kiss.

"Two peas in a pod."

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