#IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

detectivesparrow · 7 months ago

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I absolutely love this!!!! This was is the best work I have ever read in all my years. The world building, the emotional state from social standards. At no point, did I realize what was going to happen next. Which is what I look for in a story. Unpredictably. My mind is so blown rn, I literally cannot sleep anymore. The way I get Ushijima, Tendou, AND Semi! My heart is so full.

@seijorhi I have never been more proud to be a follower. I hope everything you want comes to you in your life for this blessing!

Everyone, come read this absolute masterpiece!

All In

the beta fic you have been waiting months for <33 Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori x female reader w.c 6.8k tw: yandere themes, a/b/o, noncon, (sorta) smut, nsfw, one mention of blood and oozing wounds, implied stalking, forced claiming

“They’re good guys – good alphas. This won’t be like last time, I promise. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them,” Ayako murmurs, squeezing your hand in reassurance and offering you a brilliant grin. “They’re gonna love you.”

Love seems a bit of a stretch.

But Aya looks so… hopeful. You sigh. “You really like them, huh?”

“I really like them,” she admits, a pretty pink blush tingeing her cheeks. “You come first, though. You’re my beta, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll walk, okay? No questions asked.”

A promise she’s kept more than once. Too many times. Omegas like Aya, young and vibrant and oh-so-lovely, shouldn’t have any trouble finding a pack to settle down with. Hell, alphas should be banging down the door just for a chance with her – to fuck, to bond, anything and everything in between. You’re the sticking point. The reason why Ayako hasn’t bonded into a pack yet.

Alphas have no interest in betas. They do nothing for them – can’t take a knot, don’t have heats. Betas aren’t durable enough to ride out an alpha’s rut. All that compounded by the simple fact that bonding bites between the two don’t last longer than a few months, so why bother?

You’re dead weight. Aya clings to you anyway.

She pulls your hand to her cheek, the tender, delicate spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Scenting, you realise a touch belatedly. Omegas have stronger scents than betas do; florals, spice, indulgent, enticing things – you once knew an omega whose scent reminded you of hot caramel drizzled over apple pie. Ayako smells like lilacs and the rain, a softer scent admittedly, yet one that screams of home and comfort and familiar things.

Your own scent is milder. Now, on top of sea salt and that faint whisper of summer, you’ll smell a little of her. She’s claiming you as pack, as hers. Her beta, exactly as she’d said

A flutter of warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile back at her, the first genuine one of the night.

“You look great, by the way,” she tells you. “Come on, Tendou messaged to say they’re running a bit late and we should head on in without them. Ushijima’s practice doesn’t finish up ‘til about seven, so we’ve got plenty of time for the show.” She winks and lets out a bubbling laugh and you kind of feel like you��ve missed the joke.

Nevertheless, you let her tug you into the stadium. The lady behind the ticketing counter slides across two visitor’s passes on lanyards when Ayako gives your names.

“Practices are closed to the public,” the omega explains in a hushed voice while the two of you make your way towards the door for the stands. “Apparently the team get a few passes they can hand out to whoever they like – pack, usually.”

The pass has your name printed on it. Beneath it, in bold; Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You finger the plastic edges absentmindedly.

There’s other people in the stands, all wearing the same style lanyard draped around your neck. Some, you think, are partners. Friends and family. Pack, like Ayako said. You spy a woman maybe a few years older than you, bouncing a toddler on her lap and pointing animatedly towards the court, another guy sitting beside her, an arm curled over the back of her seat. Others appear to be there in a more official capacity – staff, you suppose, wearing the same white polo edged in blue and gold (team colours, you guess), talking quietly amongst themselves and jotting things down on expensive looking tablets.

They pay you no mind. Ayako does the same, dragging you right up to the guard-rail with an excited gasp. You’d been expecting them to be running laps or tossing balls in pairs or something. You weren’t expecting anything like this.

Without the roar of a crowd, every noise on the court is amplified; the squeaking of shoes, the thwack of palms meeting leather, shouts ricocheting from both sides as they scramble for the ball.

Scramble isn’t the right word, though. It flies through the air between the players, choreographed chaos.

One of the players, a dark haired behemoth, shoots up and connects with the ball, slamming it over the net with a terrifying force – you feel the impact in your chest when it hits the floor.

A whistle rings out.

“Oh my god,” Aya breathes.

The behemoth turns, dark eyes zeroing in on your figure from across the court. His nostrils flare.

Alpha, you realise. He’s one of Aya’s alphas.

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“You know he’s one of the top wing spikers in the country, and he’s on the national team? He’s already got like three Olympic medals! Three!” she gushes. “He’s incredible.”

You hardly hear her. The other players on the court, his teammates, are already re-setting, a blond slapping Ushijima on the back, another hurling a teasing jab across the net – earning him a middle finger in response – Ushijima’s gaze doesn’t shift, his attention doesn’t waver. You swear you see his pupils dilate.

Your breath is caught somewhere in your chest.

“Are you gonna wave at the alpha you dressed so pretty for?”

“Would you stop?” you hiss, tearing your gaze away to jab an elbow into Ayako’s side, which she artfully dodges with a delighted giggle.

“Can’t say I blame you for drooling. I practically melted into a puddle the first time Semi dragged him into the bakery. He’s hot as hell,” she sighs.

The problem is, she isn't wrong. Weird, heavy, way too intense eye contact aside, Ushijima is the textbook definition of ‘hot alpha’; all tall and broad shouldered, his face hewn with clean, strong lines. Add on the ridiculous athleticism, the muscles that clearly aren’t just for show – yeah, no wonder Aya’s got heart eyes already.

On the court below, the whistle blows. More cheers. Another point scored. By the time you glance down again, Ushijima’s lost interest, his focus returned to the game, nodding at something one of the (you presume) coaches yells across the court.

The tight, prickling feeling writhing beneath your skin, that doesn’t fade as quick.

God, you’re way too worked up about this whole thing.

“He’s very, uh…”

“Intimidating? No– impressive? Or were you gonna say sexy? All true, by the way. Ushiwaka’s a beast.”

The other two alphas have finally deigned to grace you with their presence. Wonderful.

Swallowing back a wince, you turn to face the duo. “Good,” you say. “I was going to say he’s very… good.”

Aya had told you the basics, of course; Semi’s the lead singer slash guitarist in a band, Tendou’s a chocolatier. The former used to be a civil servant, the latter recently moved back from a stint in Paris, and both of them played Volleyball with Ushijima in high school.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting. Carbon cutouts of their packmate, maybe, big, brawny, radiating the kind of imposing dominance that forces everyone around them – other alphas included – to sit down and shut up with a look alone.

The two alphas before you aren’t that.

The shorter of the two, more wiry in his build than the redhead beside him, smirks. “Good, huh?”

He’s teasing you. They’re both teasing you. Your cheeks burn hotter. Before you can open your mouth to apologise, try and sidestep you shoving your own foot in your mouth as a first impression, Aya intervenes.

“You should’ve seen her a minute ago, her jaw was on the ground. She’s playing it cool.”

The sound of her laugh digs at you in a way it shouldn’t.

It’s not fair, not when you’re the one who’s acting like you don’t have a single working brain cell and she’s trying to cover for you, but it bothers you when Ayako acts like she has to smoothe over your edges, make you more palatable, more pleasing. You’re not an omega, you won’t ever be an omega, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Aya’s gonna spend the rest of your lives trying to compensate for that.

Her shoulder knocks with yours, a gentle bump, that same hopeful, painfully optimistic look in her eyes.

Guilt, an old, familiar friend at this point, washes over you.

“This is Semi,” she introduces, gesturing at the ash-blond with the ripped jeans, “and Tendou,” the gangly redhead.

“And you must be our beta,” Semi surmises, slowly eyeing you over.

The casual possessiveness rankles you, your tight smile freezing in place. Again Ayako simply laughs, her fingers, very deliberately, lacing with yours once more. “She’s my beta, you have yet to win her over.”

Neither alpha appears all that put out by the prospect.

Tendou, eyes crinkling with a wide, eager grin that takes you a little aback, thrusts a hand out towards you, a white gift bag you hadn’t noticed dangling from his fingertips. “Presents help with the whole wooing thing, right?” he jokes.

From your experience, yes.

Aya’s received plenty. You, as her tag along beta, less so.

One pack brought you a bouquet of pink and white peonies on your first date. Not quite as extravagant as the arrangement of roses they presented Aya with, they had a lovely, subtle perfume and when you put them in a vase and set them atop your nightstand, they brightened up the whole room. You could appreciate that they’d at least tried to make you feel an equal part of this.

They’d been willing to play pretend.

Back then, when Aya first started bringing potential packs around, you were… idealistic. Naive, maybe.

You watched them dote on her. Lap up Aya’s attention like it was the sweetest fix. You saw the hunger. The arousal that flared, thick and syrupy, whenever she did something unintentionally appealing to the alpha inside of them – a simple stretch, nibbling on her bottom lip while she mulled over a menu, the sway of her hips as she walked up to the bar.

Oh, they were polite to you. Drew you into conversations, chatted about your job, your hobbies, the plans the two of you had for the holidays in a few weeks’ time – all the while tracking every movement of the omega beside you from the corner of their eyes.

They were nice to you. You didn’t want ‘nice’. You wanted what they so freely offered to Aya; hunger and captivated attention, a desire so thick in the air you could choke on it.

Foolish, pretty fantasies. There’s no competing with biology, you know that. The most interesting, beautiful beta in the room is still just a beta.

Down below, the court’s quieter, muted chatter drifting up to the bleachers in place of squeaking and thuds and the sharp trill of whistles blowing. Did the practice match finish up?

Aya squeezes your hand. Drops it. As subtle a cue as she can manage.

Brain kicking back into gear, you step closer and pluck the gift from the alpha’s outstretched hand, an odd little shiver trickling down your spine when the tips of your fingers graze his rough palm.

“Ah, thank you,” you say, remembering your manners at last.

Tendou’s eyes flutter shut, breathing in deep, shuddering a little on the exhale. When they open again, there’s a giddy sort of satisfaction creeping from his expression. He licks his lips, smiling wide. “Sea salt.”

“… Sorry?”

“The chocolates,” his chin juts towards the gift. “Sea salt caramel. I had a feeling, went with it. I’m not usually wrong.” He sounds absurdly proud of the fact.

“Oh.”

Beside you, Aya looks as lost as you feel. Semi, on the other hand, snorts, shaking his head. “You might wanna ease up on the beta, dude. She met you all of three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be besties. I can feel it.” Without warning he slings an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close to smush you into his side, unbothered by your startled yelp, the way the bag of chocolates smacks against his torso when the hand clutching it jerks out to steady yourself. “Don’t be jealous ‘cuz I’m already the favourite, Semi-Semi.”

Semi shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back against the centre railing behind him. Slowly, a smirk unfurls. A challenge. “For now.”

Plastered against Tendou’s side, swallowed up by the heat of him, the heady scent of cherrywood – of alpha – thick and strong, and with no sign of him letting you go anytime soon, you dart a glance to Aya.

Your best, oldest (admittedly only) friend, watching the three of you with a quirked eyebrow, expression otherwise indecipherable–

And then, she giggles, rolling her eyes with exasperated amusement. “Can we at least sit while you two fight over my well-earned spot?”

You wonder if they notice the brief look of concern she throws your way as Tendou relaxes his hold and the two usher you over to a seat, Semi snagging the one to your left, Aya taking the right.

Her promise from earlier rings in your head. One word and she’ll walk, no questions asked.

Aya needs a pack. She wants this one. She likes this one, but at some point, she’ll need one.

Omegas don’t do well long term without mates. Right now her heats are okay, manageable with suppressants and toys – eventually those won’t be enough. They’ll get worse, come without warning, more frequently. The suppressants won’t help, she’ll ache and burn up, forgo food, water, sleep…

The lucky ones end up hospitalised. The unlucky ones either end up dead or in situations where it’d be a kindness if they were.

“You okay?” she asks, whisper soft. Her voice won’t carry, the other two aren’t paying attention anyway. Semi’s thigh brushes up against yours when he spreads his legs wide, thumbing out a message on his phone, and Tendou’s leaning over the backrest between you, chin perched on his folded forearms, watching him type.

One word and she’ll walk, that’s what Aya promised.

Down on the court below, the players spread across the floor, stretching out and cooling down, half empty water bottles and sweat towels scattered around them. Ushjima’s lying on your side of the court, one thigh drawn over the other, twisting out his lower back. If he realises he’s got an audience in you and Aya, he gives no indication of caring, holding the stretch for a few seconds longer before repeating the motion with the other leg.

“Yeah.”

If chocolates and overly tactile besties are what you get out of this, you can manage that.

—

While you wait out front of the stadium for Ushijima to finish up, Semi smokes.

A lit cigarette dangles loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing cherry red with every drag. He stands separate from the three of you, a few feet away, because when he’d fished out the slightly crumpled packet from his jacket pocket to pluck one out, Aya’s nose wrinkled. Omegas are sensitive to strong smells at the best of times, and Aya’s loathed the stench of cigarettes ever since she was a kid and her dad would smoke on the back porch of her gran’s place. He died years ago, and to this day she swears up and down that every time she sets foot back there, she smells those Seven Stars.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually said anything, and to Semi’s, he hadn’t kicked up a fuss. He’d shrugged, shuffled on back and lit up anyway. Water off a duck’s back.

Tendou talks loudly and Aya’s giggling laugh echoes louder. Semi watches. Idle – bored, almost.

Until his gaze shifts to you.

And stays there.

From a young age, you’re taught that alphas are stronger than betas and omegas. They’re quicker. Smarter. In the old days, they tell you, alphas were the hunters, the providers – protectors, when the situation called for it. What they mean, dressing the truth up in nicer, more palatable terms is that alphas are, down to their marrow, predators.

Those instincts don’t go away just because society’s a little more civilised these days.

Semi’s expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing particularly dangerous or threatening there, nothing to explain the sudden ball of anxiety that lodges itself in your stomach.

Yet you can’t shake the sense that with that stare, every ounce of his focus rests solely on you. Every breath, every nervous twitch, shift of your muscles, all of it tracked, analysed. He stares, breathing out a slow plume of smoke, and you feel the physical weight of it bearing down on you.

He won’t bite, lunge for the kill – but he could.

His chin tilts, eyebrow lifting. A flicker of amusement, as if he knows exactly the thoughts running wild in your head. You shake them off, ignore the hammering of your heart to follow the wordless, beckoning call to his side, nudging Aya on the way past so she won’t think you’ve abandoned her.

“You realise she’s gonna try and get you to quit,” you tell him in what you hope is a friendly, upbeat tone.

Semi scoffs and takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch, off-kilter, a little dazed as his head tilts back, exposing the long, lithe column of his throat, and he slowly exhales.

With dark, sweeping lashes and angular features, the problem, you realise, is that Semi is distractingly pretty. An artless, grunged up sort of pretty. Pretty like pools of oil on asphalt after it rains.

Pretty in the way that poisonous things often are.

“She’s more than welcome to try.” He plucks his cig from his lips and extends it your way, his expression almost… goading.

You don’t take it.

There isn’t much surprise to be found in your refusal, his pretty mouth pursing as his arm falls by the wayside. “Omega’s got her claws stuck in you good, huh.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it. What all this boils down to. Right from the start, the very first pack you met and every pack since – Aya’s made it clear from the get-go. They don’t get her without you. You’re her beta.

“Is that a problem for you?”

You won’t take the cigarette because Aya has issues with it. She won’t entertain you leaving her because the two of you are too fucking entangled in one another to handle extrication.

You’re pack, you’re family, you’re all each other has left, now that her grandma – the woman who essentially raised you and her – is gone.

You won’t play second fiddle, if only because Aya won’t allow them to push you aside like that. If that’s a problem, a dealbreaker (and, historically speaking, it has been) better they figure it out now, before she – or you – gets too attached and ends up hurt.

Semi regards you for a long moment, taking one last puff of his cigarette before he flicks it away, grinds the smoldering butt into the cement with the toe of his boot. “Don’t know yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

And you nod, because at least that’s an honest answer.

“Tendou came back to Japan for her, didn’t he?” It’d twigged when you’d gone to hand back your visitor’s pass and the lady behind the counter made some casual comment about not expecting to see him ‘til next season.

Not back for a visit, back permanently.

Semi shakes his head, “He was always coming back. Paris was only ever a temporary thing,” he corrects. “But yeah, he made the decision to come home early when we realised the opportunity that’d fallen into our laps.”

While you don’t love the way he makes meeting Aya sound, you understand the gravity of what he’s saying. Tendou uprooted his life for her.

You glance back over your shoulder, fiddling with the handles of the bag of chocolates he’d made for you. They’re still talking, quieter now, both of them subtly – subconsciously, probably – angled towards the two of you; Aya with that same bright-eyed look about her, Tendou like he’s just itching to interrupt and steal your attention back for himself. He, at least, might actually like you.

“And you? Are you all in, too?”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Semi doesn’t owe you an answer, you know that. It’s not fair that you asked, it’s just– you can’t get a read on him. For all his sharp edges and the smirks that make your insides squirm, you don’t know whether this is what he wants. Wanted, maybe.

Semi surprises you. In a move too quick for you to catch, he closes in on you. He doesn’t pin you down per se. You’re not caged in, trapped between his body and a wall. Physically speaking, there’s nothing stopping you from stepping back and regaining that inch of space as he looms over your shorter frame, tilting your chin upwards with two curled fingers like he’s going to kiss you.

Nothing except your suddenly jelly legs.

There’s barely anything separating you. Millimetres. Heat floods your face. Your stomach tightens, blood simmering, writhing beneath your skin. Long fingers encircle your wrist, right where Aya had scented you, his thumb digging in over your fluttering pulse. A noise escapes you then, a distressed sort of whimper you thought yourself above, and Semi’s eyes flick down to your lips, something dark and hungry flaring in response.

Alpha. Smaller than his packmates, but no less.

“Who d’you think called him and told him to get his ass back home, little beta?”

You swallow unsteadily–

“Time to share, Semi-Semi,” Tendou sings, snaking an arm around your waist to haul you away from the blond. To you, he says, “You wanna come say hi to our big, bad pack alpha, don’tcha?”

It’s then you realise that Ushijima, along with several of his teammates, have finally emerged. While they wave each other off, scattering across the carpark, some heading to their cars, others in the direction of buses and the train station, Ushijima halts near the door – Aya already skipping on over.

“Ah… yes?”

Tendou snickers.

“Relax,” Semi tells you with a smirk, clapping your shoulder as he brushes on past. “Ushiwaka doesn’t bite.”

As Tendou nudges you forward like an errant duckling, you fix Semi with an unimpressed look. He winks. Asshole.

Omegas, especially unbonded omegas, tend to be picky about touch and physical affection outside of pack and family. Aya, for all her moon-eyed infatuation, doesn’t throw herself at the alpha. Ushijima offers a single, wooden pat on her head, the edges of his mouth lifting in what you suppose is an approximation of a smile.

She beams all the same.

“– and this is my beta,” she introduces.

You’re not anticipating an overly warm welcome. For one, he looks stiff enough smiling at Aya to suspect he’s not practised with the expression, for another… the whole, weird staring thing from earlier sits all too fresh in your mind. If he’d heard your awkward fumbling with his packmates in the aftermath, you doubt that’s helped endear you to him any.

Nothing prepares you for the way he turns, every speck of goodwill falling from his features when your scent finally reaches him. Cold, remote stone, eyeing you down.

“You smell like lilacs,” he grunts, like the very concept offends him. You, a beta, wearing his would-be mate’s scent.

—

The izakaya the alphas take you to is only a few minutes walk from the stadium, and each one of them passes in near unbearable, stilted tension.

Aya doesn’t question you when you make a bee-line for the bathroom rather than following the others to a table, though the small furrow between her brows says plenty.

You just need a minute.

The single unisex stall offers spartan amenities at best – a sink with a cracked mirror hammered into the wall, paper towels, and a lone, flickering light above.

Braced over the porcelain vanity, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf with remnants of ice-cold water dripping down your face, you will the frantic, sickening churn inside you to ease.

Fuck.

What’s wrong with you?

Ushijima could barely stand that Aya had scented you, and you’re supposed to believe he’d let you bond into the pack with her? And if he did, what kind of life would that be? You, forever on the outside, pack but not really, not in the ways that matter.

What place does a beta have between alphas and their omega?

More to the point, how, after all the packs you and Aya have tried this with, all the the indifference and dismissal you’ve weathered, the cruel insults you weren’t supposed to hear–

Think of it this way, dude; it’s a spare hole for you to stick your cock in while the omega’s busy bouncing on my knot.

–how are you still surprised that they don’t want you?

You let a slow breath out, shoulders sagging. Okay.

Okay.

Straightening up, you rip a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing to remove any trace of distress from your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. Smile, play pretend. A few drinks, some dumplings, yakitori – two, three hours max.

Nothing’s changed.

The alphas want Ayako. Ayako wants these alphas.

In spite of that, in spite of the blushing and fawning and big, lovely doe eyes that bat ever so prettily for her alphas, she’ll hold true to her promise if you ask it of her.

No questions asked, without an ounce of resentment, she’d walk away from them. She’d choose you.

It’d be a few weeks of moping around, picking each other up and dusting yourselves off. There’ll be other packs. Aya’s got a few years yet before her heats really become an issue. You can always try again.

The thing is… you don’t want to anymore.

They like you as a friend. You’re in the way. They wanna fuck you, but only if the omega’s otherwise occupied. You can take care of the household stuff during heats and ruts, right? Maybe one day there could be something more.

They wouldn’t look twice if it wasn’t for Ayako.

Every time it hurts, like clawing out pieces of yourself, and you just… you can’t anymore. You won’t.

So tonight, you’ll be the bestie. Let her have her fun, flirt with the big, strong alphas she’s so enamoured by, and then tomorrow… tomorrow you’ll find a way to cut yourself loose from all of this. Aya gets her pack and you can find a nice, normal beta to settle down with. You’ll both be happier for it in the long run.

Wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye, you suck in another fortifying breath, nodding at yourself in the mirror. A few hours of pretending is nothing. A piece of cake.

Focused entirely on the veneer you have to slip into, you don’t notice the large, muscular frame blocking the door until you quite literally collide with it.

“Oof– Sorry, my b–”

The words wither like ash on your tongue when you look up to find Ushijima standing over you.

Despite the resolution you’d come to mere moments ago, you’re not feeling particularly charitable towards the hulking behemoth of an alpha, and you have every intention of wordlessly skirting around him to head back to the table and join your friend, civility be damned.

You make it all of a single step before a change sweeps over him and he stiffens, nostrils flaring like they had back on the court. His eyes bleed black, and that’s the only warning you get before he seizes your wrist in one giant hand and starts to haul you back into the stall, slamming the door shut behind you both.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss.

“She scented you,” he growls, looking angrier than he did before. “You smell like omega.”

No, this isn’t anger. Not exactly. Ushijima’s shoulders heave with every breath, his whole frame almost shuddering, pulled taut like a bowstring primed to snap–

And that’s when realisation hits.

“You’re in a rut,” you whisper, eyes going wide in horror. “Ushiji–” You don’t get to finish the sentence.

Big should mean slow. Clumsy. Ushijima’s neither.

In an instant he surges into motion, one hand clamping down over your mouth, the other shoving you forward, trapping you on the tips of your toes between his hulking body and the vanity that was your lifeline five minutes ago. Just like then, your hands automatically reach out, clutching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Stupid, when the full weight of Ushijima pins you precariously in place anyway.

Your heart hammers, panic and terror clawing at your stomach. You aren’t an omega, you can’t take a knot. If Ushijima tries to fuck you like he wants – like his instincts are driving him to – he’ll tear you apart. He’ll break you.

But if any part of the mindless, snarling alpha behind you recognises that, he doesn’t care. The warm body in his grasp smells like lilacs, like the omega outside, and that’s good enough.

He noses at your hair and pants, yanking your skirt up to rip at your underwear. The fabric gives easily.

While he rips and claws at his own clothes to free his cock, Ushijima stares at your reflection, watching you shake as the tears well up and spill over. There’s nothing human there, nothing cognizant. The black pits staring back at you are pure alpha, consumed by the need to fuck and breed.

You have seconds – seconds – to brace yourself.

Ushijima drags the head of his cock along your slit just once, bends you over, and without warning or preamble, splits you in two.

Omegas have slick to help with sudden ruts. You don’t.

It doesn’t matter that you’re not prepared to take him, that it hurts worse than anything you’ve experienced before and you’re choking on tears and muffled wails. You scream into his hand and Ushijima grunts, bullying his cock into you one agonising millimetre at a time.

He fucks into you like you’re made to take his cock, every thrust slamming you into the unforgiving edge of the sink while your legs scramble for purchase. You’re fairly sure you’re close to passing out when you feel the swell of his knot start to catch.

Oblivious to your panic, the wheezing cries and pleas dashed against his palm, the alpha snarls in open-mouthed pleasure, his spare hand coming down to cover one of your own, braced against the sink. “Mine.”

With the added weight, the vanity unit rattles against the wall, and you pray that someone’s walking by and hears it, cares enough to come investigate.

You aren’t that lucky, though.

Ushijima hauls you back upright, and as his knot swells, thick and pulsing, stretching you to breaking point and spurts of hot cum coat your insides, you cling on to consciousness just long enough to watch him tilt your chin to the side, lap at a bead of sweat trailing down your neck, and bury his teeth in your skin.

—

Three days after your release from hospital, you wake to Aya knocking at your bedroom.

“S’posed to be at the bakery,” you mumble, curling tighter into the warm cocoon of your sheets. Soft morning light spills into your room. You can’t be bothered reaching for your phone to see the time, however your internal clock tells you that whatever the time is, it’s too early.

Aya sighs, taking that as an invitation to slip inside and plant herself on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Soon. I swapped shifts so I could start a bit later. I didn’t want…” she seems to struggle to find the right words, her shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

That isn’t the problem.

“You remember the day your mom left?” The stark flinch beneath the covers must serve as answer enough. “You wouldn’t stop crying. Gran was so worried you’d make yourself sick, kept bringing you tea, bottles of water, anything to keep you hydrated.”

An omega like her granddaughter, the last of her alphas having passed away a few years before, she’d paced fretfully outside Aya’s bedroom door for hours while you’d sobbed into your best friend’s arms, an absolute wreck.

A bittersweet feeling floods your heart at the memory. No one ever loved you like gran did.

Aya continues, “I made a decision that day. I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to run off with a bunch of alphas to live out some fairytale happily ever after and leave you behind. You can blame me for what happened. I get it. If I hadn’t scented you, he–” she breaks off with a sharp inhale.

He wouldn’t have tipped into a rut.

Wouldn’t have fucked you.

Knotted you.

Bit you.

“You can blame me for it,” she repeats, though her voice shakes and her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall. “Hate me for it if you have to, so long as you know I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my beta, my best friend. All I wanted was to keep us together.”

Aya waits for you to say something. To forgive or condemn, and you try– you genuinely do, because blaming her isn’t fair, and you could no sooner hate her than you could carve out a lung.

Only… you open your mouth and there’s nothing.

The way her expression collapses before she has a chance to plaster over it hits you like a punch to the stomach.

“Alright, lovely girl. I’ll see you when I get back – four-ish probably, unless we get hit with a late rush. I’ll try and steal some of those mini strawberry cakes to bring home too, I know how much you like them,” she rambles, patting your blanket covered knee and rising to her feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aya–”

Already halfway to the door, she turns, perfect brow arched, “Hm?” Like she’s expecting you to ask for another blanket. Some tea. Nothing wrong, nothing amiss.

“Love you, too.”

And it’s like the sun coming out from the clouds. Aya beams a watery smile, and quietly shuts the door behind her.

Sleep drags you back under before you hear the front door shut. The doctors warned you about that; one of the many charming side effects you’d be subjected to over the next few weeks.

Bond sickness, they called it. An alpha’s bite formed a mating bond, and that bond doesn’t respond well when it’s neglected, say by putting several miles of distance between you and the alpha who marked you. For omegas it can be deadly if it goes on long enough. Alphas have a sense of it, but it doesn’t affect them in the same way. They don’t get sick. For you, it means a month or so of lethargy, aches, low grade fevers and chills, nausea, a veritable shopping list of symptoms that’ll ease and fade as the bond itself does.

None of that had stopped one of the nurse’s at the hospital from suggesting that, despite the delicate nature of the situation, it might be beneficial for your health if you moved in with Ushijima and his pack until it did fade.

It was Aya who’d jumped down her throat for that one.

You were still in shock. Numb–

Except for the foreign, slow simmering anger lodged like a thorn between your ribs. A small piece of you that wasn’t you at all.

—

Sometime around midmorning, you stir again.

There’s footsteps in the living room, pattering through towards your bedroom. Dancing on the edge of awake, your brain slow and sluggish, jumps to the most logical conclusion.

“Aya?”

You expect your door to open, that familiar bloom of lilacs to spill into your room along with your best friend, a bowl of noodle soup from the shop on the corner in tow, the strawberry cakes she promised earlier, extra pillows, coffee, her laptop with your favourite movie already queued up; comfort things she knows will help.

The door does swing open, and neither one of the tall, looming frames behind it belong to Aya.

“Sorry to disappoint, little beta,” Semi drawls, crossing the threshold like he has every right to be there. “Your girlfriend’s busy, you’re gonna have to play with us instead.”

The blood in your veins runs cold.

Drawing your legs up tight to put as much distance between you and the advancing alpha as you can, your eyes dart between the two, Tendou lingering in the doorway, fingers drumming against the jamb.

“I didn’t report him. I’m not going to,” you tell them, clutching at the blankets around you so your hands won’t shake. “I know how it’ll go, I’m not i-interested in–”

Semi reaches your bed. That look he’d had in his eyes back at the stadium, dark, focused, predatory – it’s there again, sharp and gleaming. He’s smirking.

“There’s no– you don’t need to threaten me, or-or try to scare me–” His knee hits the mattress and your voice jumps to a squeak as he climbs on up.

You squirm back against the headboard. Semi prowls closer.

There’s nowhere for you to go.

Tendou’s not so subtly placed himself between you and the exit, and even if you could launch yourself out of bed without Semi catching you – without your head spinning and stomach threatening to upheave – they’re alphas. You couldn’t outrun them on a good day, you sure as hell can’t fight them.

“Please. You can go. I-I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Tendou shivers, the deep red of his iris nearly swallowed by black. His fingers aren’t idly drumming anymore, they’re digging into the wood, splintering it beneath his grip.

Inches away from you, Semi suddenly freezes, his attention snapping downwards to focus on something near his right hand. His nose wrinkles, lip curling. “You wanna know what I liked best about the omega?” he asks, lifting his gaze back to you. “I don’t think you really believed me back at the stadium.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know. If they aren’t here to scare you into keeping your mouth shut about Ushijima, then–

A low, husky chuckle comes from the doorway.

“When she’d show up smelling like the sea in summer.”

He strikes hard and fast – seizing your ankle to yank you under him. His mouth finds the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder and he bites down. Hard.

Agony washes you over you, chased by fire.

Panting wildly, your body locks up, arcing against him; against the warmth that crowds you, the hard muscles that cage you, the face now tucked into the crook of your neck, licking at the bloody, oozing wound.

He’s there inside of you, too. Buried beneath your skin, brimming with smug satisfaction.

“Bite her and we’ll take her home to the nest. I’m not fucking her here,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on you. He pats your hair, strokes your cheek. “Little beta needs her mates, don’t you?”

“Course she does!”

You’re gasping for air that won’t come, trembling, heart beating so frantically inside your chest you worry it’ll give out.

Tendou, bounding over with puppy-like eagerness, jumps on the bed and shoves his fellow alpha out of the way.

“A…ya,” you rasp, weakly pushing at the large body crawling atop yours. You’re not sure whether it’s a question or a plea, but you get the sense that it doesn’t actually matter either way.

Semi rolls his eyes – you can feel the flicker of his irritation – while Tendou, pawing at your sleep tee, pushing it up and shoving his face into the soft skin revealed there only groans, huffing at your scent like he can’t get enough.

“Pretty omega like her? She’ll have her own alphas to worry about,” Semi dismisses, a faint frown marring his pretty face as he zeros in on the bandage over your neck.

A split second too late, you realise his intentions.

“No, don’t–”

He rips off the gauze.

Ushijima’s bite is puffy and inflamed. Calloused fingertips drift over the edges of the wound, Semi’s eyes boring into you as you let out a low, anxious whine. As Tendou licks and nips at your chest, working his way upwards, the blond increases the pressure, digging in.

You choke on a cry, pleasure, rather than pain, flooding and overwhelming your senses, and deep in your core, the answering surge of rabid need rips through you so viciously it punches the air from your lungs–

“We don’t fucking share.”

–and you scream as Tendou’s teeth sink into the curve of your breast, claiming you one final time.

2K notes · View notes

angellekookie · 4 months ago

Text

I brag as I say I slightly knew what was expected as I read this chapter, but also proudly I say that the rug was pulled from under my feet in the best way 🥹

Wonwoo's date was so cozy and just when I was thinking how cute it was, suddenly I'm flustered. Suddenly I had to take a tiny lil break to recentre and stop smiling and everything

His grip is solid, firm. “Yeah,” he nods. “Feels fine to me.” But before you can say anything else, he leans in just a little closer—enough that you catch the warmth of his breath, the subtle hint of his cologne. "Because if you really knew me, noona…" His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something heavier underneath it now. "You’d know I don’t care about anyone else."

and that little insight into MC and Wonwoo 🥹 (and her uno reversing the flustering on to him? W move, queen behaviour. But completely understandable that the script was flipped (again)… I mean it's Wonwoo😭)

I did not realise It was gonna be both boys in this chapter 😭😭 ok maybe I did realise but I wasn't ready

Tbh actually I swear I'm like a decent citizen but if Yoongi ever told me we were going on a date and popped up like that then I will 100% be down with being charged for public indecency 🙏🏽

Anything you say pretty boy, I won't argue

Oh my god, you are going to perish. - yes, yes I am. “Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Thought maybe I’d want to think about you here, too.” “You say things like that so casually,” you murmur. Yoongi quirks a brow. “Because I mean them.”

Serenade… sunset kiss… everything he said.... yeah...

Min Yoongi get in the car…

…yes the white dress is intentional.

I'll be waiting impatiently for the rest I'm literally totally fine after this chapter I'm great. Real pic of me below waiting for whatver you cook up next.

(Wait these videos are they MORE - Hobi, and Seven - JK??) 👀👀

Nerd & Nerdier | Chapter 4

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a… rap battle.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, You might 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: NO ROOMMATE RULES this time, Two gorgeous men simping over you - like you ain't gonna find that anywhere else ;) , making out in public (twice!), some mild guilt trip, surprise reveal at the end!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 4.1k (longest one yet!!) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: March 9, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: It's the birthday of the love of my life. I made it part of my writing goals to release a Yoongi fic, but I was not able to do standalone one. Sorry, babe. But I think this has all the trappings of what we love about him, so I hope you like it. HBD to @diame93 and thank you to @angellekookie for steering that Woo date in the right direction.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3

You don’t know what you expected from a date with Jeon Wonwoo. Or Min Yoongi. But you were about to find out. Because, as unhinged it may sound, you had agreed to date both your roommates and at the end of it all, potentially pick one of them to be your… boyfriend? It sounds insane, but this is your life now. Congrats.

So yeah, back to Wonwoo. Just dress casually, noona, he tells you that morning. Made sense. But walking into a neon-lit arcade, the sound of metal clinking and game machines buzzing around you, yeah, this makes sense.

It’s just so him to bring you to a place like this. Look, you're not opposed. You just know he’ll be quietly competitive and the night will be full of little moments where for sure he’s going to secretly gloat when he wins.

Wonwoo’s already got that calm, unreadable look as he loads up a beat up game card from his wallet, handing it to the cashier. When he turns back to you, proffering his juiced up plastic to you, you can’t help but grin.

“What?” he asks, lips twitching.

“Nothing,” you tease, taking the card. “You just seem… confident. Cocky, even.”

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “That’s not true…”

You squint at him, because he is obviously lying. “Are you gonna tell me you’re good at literally every game in this place?”

“Okay. Maybe.”

“Oh my God, you’re going to try to beat me at everything, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “Noona, thought you wanted me to show you how I feel, not go easy on you.”

This punk bitch.

“Alright bet,” you say, rolling up your cardigan sleeves dramatically. “Bring it.”

🎮🕹️👾 Game 01: Air Hockey 🎮🕹️👾

Wonwoo, to his credit, does let you score the first point.

But then the moment he sees the smug grin on your face, his eyes narrow, and you know you’re done for.

“Hey, noona,” he calls out, voice all smooth and teasing.

Your instincts scream at you not to look—but like an idiot, you do.

Which is exactly when he slams the puck with an irritatingly loud clang! into the goal, the disk ricocheting into the slot barely an inch from your slack hand.

“Fuck, that’s cheating!” you blurt out, scowling.

He just laughs, and you have no choice but to just slide the puck back into play.

You groan when he scores three times in a row. “Are you kidding me?”

“You’re the one who challenged me,” he replies, spinning the mallet in his hand smoothy. “I’m just playing.”

“You’re showing off,” you grumble, hitting the puck.

Wonwoo grins, eyes sharp. "Maybe it's ‘cause I want to impress you.”

A comeback never comes as you fight the warmth creeping up your neck. But that doesn’t deter you from wanting to at least score another point to save face. Just one more point goddamit.

You push the puck with the force of a thousand suns and wham! the it hits Wonwoo’s fingers. Hard.

Wonwoo jerks his hand back with a sharp inhale, hissing through his teeth.

“Shit! Wonwoo—oh my god, are you okay?” You’re already reaching for his hand, cradling his fingers in yours before you even think about it.

His palm is warm—bigger than you always seem to remember, his skin calloused from hours of gaming—but right now, all you care about is checking for any sign of injury.

“It’s fine,” he chuckles, but his voice is slightly strained, and that doesn’t reassure you at all.

“It’s not fine!” You glare at him, shifting his hand under the light to check for swelling. “I literally just assaulted you with a plastic disk—oh my god, does it hurt? Can you move your fingers?”

Wonwoo blinks at you.

Then, slowly, deliberately—he intertwines his fingers with yours.

Your brain can only register question marks.

His grip is solid, firm.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Feels fine to me.”

🎮🕹️👾 Game 02: The Claw Machine 🎮🕹️👾

After suffering a humiliating 1-9 loss, you are desperate to humble Wonwoo.

Your eyes land on a pile of plush keychains inside the most rigged contraption in the entire arcade.

“Okay,” you say, grabbing Wonwoo’s sleeve and pulling him toward the claw machines, “if you’re so good, win me one of these.”

Wonwoo raises a brow, eyeing the display. “Really?”

“What? You scared?” you tease.

He scoffs under his breath, tapping his card against the reader. “No. Just wondering how many I should win you.”

You’re about to fire back when something catches your eye.

A tiny, grumpy-looking black cat plushie, its little embroidered frown somehow way too familiar.

You nudge Wonwoo’s arm, snickering. “Oh my god. That one looks exactly like Yoongi.”

Wonwoo leans in, and when he spots it, his lips twitch. “Shit, you’re right.”

You both dissolve into laughter, the absurdity of it hitting you all at once.

But then, before the moment fully fades, Wonwoo clears his throat and—almost too casually—asks, “Is that what you want?”

His voice is quieter than before, and something about the way he says it—hesitant, just slightly weighted—makes you pause.

It’s just a fuckin’ plushie. Just a joke. But for some reason, his question feels like it holds a different meaning altogether.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the sleeve of your cardigan as you glance at the machine again.

Then, as lightly as you can, you point at another plushie—one a few rows back. A small, round purple cat (or is it a fox?) with oversized round glasses.

“I think that one’s cute,” you say.

Wonwoo follows your gaze, and then he beams.

A slow, lopsided, utterly adorable grin that makes your stomach flip, because now he’s the one with the plushie doppelgänger. And you wanted it.

So that’s the one he goes for.

It takes him three tries, but when he finally catches it, he’s so stupidly pleased with himself that you can’t help but be so endeared.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to you, looking way too proud.

“Thank you,” you take it and snap it on your bag’s zipper.

“Anytime.”

🎮🕹️👾 Game 03: Dance Dance Revolution 🎮🕹️👾

“Absolutely not,” Wonwoo makes an X with his arms when you drag him to the dance machine.

“Absolutely yes,” you shoot back, already stepping onto the platform. “You said you wouldn’t back down, remember?”

Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair, sighing dramatically. Fuck. I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yup. No turning back now.”

To your surprise, Wonwoo’s actually… not terrible at the game.

He’s a little stiff at first, but by the second round, he’s matching your energy step for step.

When you stumble slightly, he goads. “Need me to slow down?”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, aiming to push his arm, but he catches your hand and he ends up not letting go until the last beats of Dub-I-Dub rings out.

After two hours of battling it out at nearly every machine in the arcade, you’re both sitting at the bar for a nightcap.

Wonwoo takes a slow sip of his Jack and Coke, his gaze still amused from your last failed attempt at beating him in a game.

"So," you start, resting your elbow on the counter. "How’s the whole streamer life treating you?"

He shrugs. "It’s fun. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t believe some of the weird shit people say in the chat."

You perk up immediately. "Oh, do tell."

Wonwoo gives you a pointed look, but you can see the corner of his lips twitching. "I probably shouldn’t."

"Oh, now you have to," you insist, nudging his arm.

He sighs dramatically, setting his drink down. "Alright, well… the other night, someone offered me, and I quote, ‘one month’s rent to step on them.’"

You nearly choke on your drink. "WHAT—"

"Yeah." He leans back, stretching an arm along the back of your chair. "And they were dead serious, too. Said they could Venmo me immediately."

"I—" You blink, processing this information. "So, did you?"

Wonwoo raises a brow. "What do you think?"

You smirk. "That you seriously considered it."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I did not."

"Tragic. Could’ve been easy money."

"I’m not stepping on people for money."

"Noble of you."

"Thanks."

A beat of silence.

Then, your curiosity gets the best of you.

"Okay, but have you ever been propositioned?"

Wonwoo tilts his head. "What do you mean?" Honestly, you expect him to say, everyday.

"Oh, you know—" You wave your hand vaguely. "You’re cute, you know that. Has anyone ever slid into your DMs like, ‘oppa, I’d let you ruin my life’ or something?"

He snorts. "That’s oddly specific."

"Listen, I know how unhinged people can get in the chat." You narrow your eyes at him. "You have to be getting nudes."

Wonwoo makes a horrified face. "Fuck. I do not want to talk about that with you."

You burst out laughing. "OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE—"

"I HAVE NOT—"

"YOU TOTALLY HAVE—"

"I DELETE THEM." His ears are turning pink, which only makes you laugh harder.

"You could’ve just said no!" you tease, nudging his leg with yours.

"I was trying to say no, but you kept..." He stops mid-sentence, exhaling sharply. Then, shaking his head, he leans in slightly, his voice dropping lower. "Wait–you jealous?"

Your brain short-circuits. You weren’t expecting that.

And now, he’s watching you closely, waiting.

You flounder for a response, but Wonwoo is smirking now, fully enjoying this.

You cross your arms. "Why would I be? Those girls don’t even know you like I do."

"And how do you know me?"

"I—"

But before you can say anything else, he leans in just a little closer—enough that you catch the warmth of his breath, the subtle hint of his cologne.

"Because if you really knew me, noona…" His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something heavier underneath it now. "You’d know I don’t care about anyone else."

The air shifts completely. And in a way, you’re glad. Because all night it’s been friendly, lighthearted, like you’re just two pals hanging out. You’ve been waiting for a moment where it could be something more–this was it.

“You know,” you say, swirling the straw in your long island iced tea, “I didn’t expect this.”

“Expect what?” Wonwoo asks, watching you over the rim of his glass.

“You.” You chuckle, a little sheepish. “I thought it’d be more awkward.”

“Wow. High praise.”

“Shut up, I didn’t mean it negatively.”

Wonwoo’s lips curl into a faint smile. “I’m glad it’s not.”

“What now?”

Wonwoo’s expression softens.

And finally, there’s no smirk, no teasing, no competitive edge—just Wonwoo, kind of vulnerable, looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll break his heart.

The silence stretches between you, until he exhales softly and his eyes drop to your lips.

“Noona…?”

He doesn’t finish the question, but you know. And you feel it too, that pull. For a moment you hesitate.

You agreed to date both of them, to figure things out. You’re not supposed to feel like you’re already losing control—like you’re getting swept up in the way Wonwoo looks at you, in the way he makes you feel like you’re a teenager with butterflies in your stomach as you anticipate being kissed.

And if you do kiss him now, does it mean you’ve already chosen?

But even when your brain lagged, your body has already responded. You nod, just barely, and Wonwoo leans in. You meet him halfway.

His lips are softer than you expect, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours as you share your first kiss, slow and unhurried. He tastes like cola but something else is fizzing in your stomach, warm like rum.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek. When you part your lips, he takes the invitation without hesitation—a gentle, teasing swipe of his tongue against yours, just once, like he only wants the tiniest taste of you for now.

When you pull back, his glasses are slightly fogged, his breathing uneven.

You can’t with how cute he looks in this very moment, lifting his specs to clean with your shirt before settling it back on his nose.

He’s looking at you like he has a million questions.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

He exhales, “Thought it’d be more awkward.” Of course, he’s using your words against you.

You shake your head at him but something is pulling you towards him like a magnet, and you find yourself slipping down from the bar stool to stand in front of his parted legs. Wonwoo takes this as a sign to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into him.

“Wanna know the truth?”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking that it’s worth the wait.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder for a second. You should probably pull away, is this too close too fast, but something about this feels… right. You pull back a bit, this time fixing the collar of his shirt, smoothing it down.

“You always do that,” he murmurs, voice lower now.

You shift slightly. “Do what?”

“Take care of me.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“Hmm—”

“I notice it, you know.” He leans back slightly, just enough to look at you, his fingers still resting lightly at your waist. “How you always remind me to eat. How you tell me to bring an umbrella even when it’s barely drizzling. How you sneak snacks into my room when you think I haven’t noticed. How you try to fix my hair or my shirt and stuff…”

Heat rises to your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal—”

“It is to me.”

The words are soft, but firm, landing somewhere deep in your chest. Because you do dote on Woo. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re older, maybe it’s cause he told you once about his social anxieties and it made you want to protect him.

“I guess I just never thought about it,” you admit. “It’s just… you. I like looking out for you.”

Wonwoo studies you for a moment, his thumb absently brushing against your side.

“But starting tonight,” he says, firmer now, “I want to take care of you, instead.”

Oh wow…

“Did I do okay?”

You exhale a laugh, but it comes out shakier than you expect. Because suddenly, you realize how much this meant to him.

“Yeah.” You tighten your grip slightly on his jacket. “You did more than okay.”

Wonwoo smiles, nose crinkling with genuine glee, and suddenly, you think this—him, this night, everything that’s been building between you—might be a little bigger than you let yourself believe.

Four days after

When Yoongi told you to be ready by 4 p.m., you didn’t ask questions. You figured whatever he had planned would be very Yoongi—low-key, no-frills, but somehow effortlessly perfect.

What you didn’t expect was to find him waiting by the door with a picnic basket in one hand and a guitar case slung over his shoulder.

You blink at him. “Are you… serious right now?”

Yoongi smirks, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “What? You don’t think I can be romantic?”

Oh my god, you are going to perish.

“I just didn’t think you’d be this prepared.” You reply coolly, slipping on your jacket.

He shakes his head at you, but you don’t miss the slight curve of his lips. “Come on. Before the sun disappears.”

The Han River Park isn’t crowded—just a few couples walking hand-in-hand, kids laughing as they run through the grass.

Yoongi leads you to a quiet spot near the water, where the breeze is light, and the sun is beginning to slip lower on the horizon.

“Sit,” he says, kneeling to lay out a gingham blanket from the basket.

You do, watching as he unpacks a familiar looking gimbap—one he’s made many times before, your favorite fruit, and a big thermos of americano.

You start with the fruit and some light conversation.

Yoongi unscrews the cap on the coffee, pouring it into two cups before handing you one.

You take a slow sip, sighing in contentment. "Damn. This hits. You really thought of everything."

"Of course I did," Yoongi deadpans, popping a shine muscat into his mouth. "I had to make sure you wouldn’t whine about being hungry the whole time."

You narrow your eyes. "You say that like I complain a lot."

"You do."

You gasp, pressing a dramatic hand to your chest. "Wow. The audacity. I’m literally the best roommate you have."

"You mean the only one who talks."

"Excuse me—Wonwoo talks too!"

Yoongi scoffs. "He barely says five words unless he’s talking about a game or trying to piss me off."

"Okay, but that’s not my fault. Besides, at least I make things interesting." You lean back on your hands, staring out at the river.

Yoongi hums in amusement. "Speaking of which, did you see the guy in 3B finally left his apartment?"

"Mr. Eyepatch?"

"Yeah. He was outside yesterday, just standing in the hallway staring at this tiny box in his hand."

"Oh my god—do you think he has a tragic backstory?"

"Obviously. No one wears an eyepatch unironically unless they have a past."

You snort, shaking your head. "At least he keeps to himself. Unlike the couple in 5C—"

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “Those two are fuckin’ annoying.”

"I went to do laundry the other night, and they were full-on screaming at each other over piles of underwear."

"God," Yoongi sighs, looking genuinely exhausted. "And then they’re fucking like rabbits five minutes later. It’s exhausting."

"It’s insane," you mutter, shaking your head. Then, after a beat, "So… do you think they actually hate each other or do they just get off on the drama?"

Yoongi raises a brow, considering it. "Honestly? Fifty-fifty."

You nod sagely. "Fair."

There’s a moment of quiet, just the two of you sitting there, sipping coffee, enjoying grapes, watching the river. The kind of comfortable silence that only comes with knowing someone deeply enough to not need to fill every gap with words.

“This is… cute,” you admit, smiling softly.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grumbles.

“Why this?” you ask, curious. “Why here?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances at the river, his free hand absentmindedly drumming against his knee.

“I like it here,” he finally says. “It’s quiet. Gives me time to think.”

You tilt your head. “And you wanted to bring me here?”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something softer.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Thought maybe I’d want to think about you here, too.”

Your breath catches.

“You say things like that so casually,” you murmur.

Yoongi quirks a brow. “Because I mean them.”

Oh he’s so fucking unfair.

You clear your throat, glancing at the food. “You made us food and drinks. What’s next? A serenade?”

Yoongi smirks, reaching for his guitar. “You joke, but—”

You straighten. “No—” you start but he did bring his guitar so obviously he planned on using it.

“Shut up and listen.”

Before you can even process what to say, Yoongi settles the instrument in his lap, fingers moving effortlessly over the strings as he plays a soft melody.

It’s not a full song—just a quiet, unfinished piece, but there’s something achingly personal about it.

Then, halfway through, he looks at you.

And you realize—This is his confession. Just Yoongi, letting the music say what he won’t.

His voice is barely above a murmur when he speaks again. “I kinda wrote it for you.”

You swallow. “Yoongi…”

He exhales, setting the guitar aside. “I know this whole thing has been stupid. But I’m serious about you. I don’t want you to think this is just about… competing with Wonwoo. It’s not. It never was.”

Hearing the sincerity in his voice, you feel your chest tighten. “Now I know.”

Yoongi watches you carefully, his gaze steady and unguarded. “So…”

“So?”

“Can I kiss you now? Or is that too cliché?”

“It’s a little cliché.”

“And?” he murmurs, leaning in just slightly.

“And… I guess I don’t mind.”

A warning bell should be going off in your head right now. Just a few days ago, you were kissing Wonwoo at that arcade bar. Are you really about to kiss Yoongi, too? And if you let him, you can’t take it back. This won’t be something you all would just laugh off in the morning over bowls of cereal like it’s normal. It’ll mean something. It’ll change everything.

But Yoongi stares like he’s somehow smoothing all the wrinkles in your brain and the part of you that should care about the consequences goes poof.

With the barest tilt of his head, he murmurs, “So c’mere.”

He looks at you in a way that steals all the air in your lungs. He doesn’t move an inch, like he has all the time in the world. He doesn’t pull—you’re the one who leans in first, and that’s exactly what he wanted.

The moment your lips meet, something explodes in your chest. There is a confidence in the way his lips slots and moves against yours, unshakably sure.

Yoongi kisses like he’s imprinting something on you—like he wants every bit of him to sink under your skin, settle in your bones, leave something permanent. Fingers slip through your hair, tilting your head to how he wants you. His lips slide across yours, controlled but devastating, his thumb tracing the hinge of your jaw as if he’s grounding himself in the feel of you.

He angles his head the other way, deepening the kiss, swallowing your gasp, and suddenly, you’re dizzy. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket as your heart pounds between you. He licks into the seam of your lips, staking his claim, like he knows you’re already his for the taking. You move your tongue slowly against his, white hot heat dancing low in your belly.

God you’ve never had a kiss quite like this before. Like it’s consuming you whole, ruining you for anyone else.

When he pulls back, it’s not abrupt and it’s not by much. He lingers, teeth barely tugging at your lower lip, like he’s reluctant to let you go. You moan as he moves to nip at your jaw, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You're still breathless. “Hmm?” Is the only sound you can manage, your grip still tight in his jacket.

Yoongi chuckles, low and rough. He is close enough that you can feel him smirk against your skin. You don’t push for any further explanation. He also didn’t seem like he was going to give you one.

He pulls back fully now, a hint of satisfaction lingering in his gaze as he wets his lower lip.

The sky behind him is painted in gold and violet, the sun dipping below the horizon—but right now, you can’t think about anything except the fact that Min Yoongi just kissed you senseless and looks like he’s already planning on doing it again. And you’re so going to let him.

“Sunset kiss,” he mutters, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “Told you I could be romantic.”

You let out a shaky breath, still trying to collect yourself. “I believe you.”

Yoongi watches you, smug but quiet. Then, after a pause, he teases, “You good, or?”

And somehow, that is what makes you laugh, pressing your forehead to his shoulder as warmth floods through your chest as you sit side by side to look at the sky.

“Stop it. I’m fine…” you admit, feeling the tension in his shoulders melt slightly when you lean into him.

“Good,” he murmurs, placing an arm across your shoulder. “Then stay close a little longer.”

Just as the last sliver of sunlight disappears beyond the horizon, he murmurs—casual, offhand, like it’s not about to drive you mad:

“By the way… it’s my birthday.”

You freeze. Pull back just enough to see his face. “Yoongi—”

But he only smirks, shrugs. “It’s okay. No big.”

Your stomach twists. This entire evening, the picnic, the song, the kiss— and he didn’t tell you once?

“You idiot...” You shove his shoulder, but your voice comes out softer than you intend. “You should’ve told me.”

He chuckles, catching your wrist before you can swat at him again. His grip is loose, familiar. Safe.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs. “I just… I wanted to spend it like this. With you.”

And fuck.

If your heart wasn’t already completely ruined by him, it sure as hell is now.

“Happy birthday, Yoongi.” Your voice is quieter this time, but you mean it.

He smiles, a thin straight line that makes his cheeks puff out, fingers lacing briefly with yours before he squeezes once and lets go.

“Yeah... It is.”

A/N: Happy birthday, Yoongi, my love. The absolute man of my dreams. I wish you more days where you only get to smile and laugh and feel happy. And Wonu, my baby, I wish you a swift and safe service. I will miss you so much.

I know this is such a niche and wildly gratuitous story about my two biases. But I am glad you took the time to read it and hopefully enjoy it as well.

Thank you for reading, you beautiful, lovely human xo See you in the next part!

And please leave a comment or give this one a reblog if you're able to! I'd really appreciate it! <3

PS. Made subtle/vague references to 2 BTS music videos in the scene where Yoongi and you are gossiping about the neighbors. If you guess the 2 MVs correctly, I'll give you a prize. :)

Permanent Taglist: (the rest to follow in a reblog)

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

#bts fic recs #svt fic recs #min yoongi x reader #wonwoo x reader #my dearest k ✨️#Finally getting to read this #It was worth the wait #lowkey (the key is actually so high) missing yoongi more and pre-missing wonwoo cause of this #wonwoo's cokiness vs yoongi's smugass is going to be the death of me #at least I'll go happily tbfh #catie's diary

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