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Icy metal restraints dig deep into the skin of your wrists, cold metal starting to rub the surface raw with each of your slight movements.
The failed attempt of fleeing has landed you in a room you've never been in before, where floor to wall windows open up your vision to Seoul’s twinkling skyline. The haze that never leaves this city fuzzes out the bright lights that flicker and shine against the night sky.
It’s a beautiful sight that you’d usually enjoy, if you couldn’t feel a warm tract of blood starting to trail down to your fingertips. You take that as your queue to give up on trying to release yourself from the over-tightened handcuffs.
From the looks of the executive desk you’ve been placed in front of, you’ve been settled in an office. Everything about the space is sleek and meticulous, entirely too refined to belong to anyone else other than him.
Mr. Yoon, or Jeonghan , as he insisted you called him.
He’s got the face of an angel, but your father has told you stories about him that prove he’s everything but. Normally, you’d place blind faith in your father, but you see, Mr. Yoon has been nothing but kind to you since day one of your captivity. Indiscernible due to his lack of scent, sure, but always accommodating.
Something tells you that you won’t be on the receiving end of such hospitality tonight.
Heavy doors open gently behind you, and immediately the quiet air you sat in turns dense. The familiar scent of evergreen forest lets you know that Mr. Yoon doesn’t come alone, then again, he’s rarely seen without his secondhand man.
Delicate footsteps sound from behind and you feel a careful examination of the cuffs, the slight shift leaves you sucking in a sharp breath.
A disapproving tut sounds from behind, followed by an airy sigh, “Who put these on so tight? Will you get these off of her, Wonwoo?”
Phew . The display of humanity brings an air of hope with it.
Relief settles on the pretty man’s features when a bit of the apprehension in your scent eases up, watching you rub over the soreness before handing you the handkerchief that had been neatly folded in his breast pocket, “Here, take this.”
“…Thank you, Mr. Yoon.”
He gives you a polite shake of his head. It’s impressive really—the way he can wear every emotion so beautifully, dawning a bashful smile as he settles into the seat at his desk, “ Please , call me Jeonghan.”
Something screams at you to not get too comfortable with Korea’s most wanted crime lord, pushing out your response as innocuously as you can muster, “I’d rather not, if that’s okay.”
He nods, respectful of your decision, “If you insist.”
Wonwoo settles the cuffs on the desk, and the sillage he leaves has you unconsciously inhaling deeply to drown your lungs with the scent. It’s earthy and warm, blanketing your insides like a cozy duvet on a gloomy winter day. Wonwoo maintains his stoic expression, careful not to look into your eyes before bowing to his superior, heading over to the stainless steel bar cart that sits near the farthest window of the room.
He leaves you under Mr. Yoon’s watchful eyes. They’re a deep raven shade that makes it impossible to see where his iris starts and the pupil begins, pools of obsidian that glimmer even in the low light of his office. He’s this close to devouring your intrigued frame whole till a whiskey neat gets settled onto the desk, it’s accompanied by another bow before Wonwoo makes his way back to his place by the door.
You watch the Adam's apple bob in the man’s throat from a hearty sip, not surprised to see that he doesn’t give the slightest reaction. Based on your two meetings, it would seem that Mr. Yoon doesn’t have a concept of what those may be. He’s always present but never decipherable, wearing an impenetrable mask that earned him a top place as one of Seoul’s most menacing Godfathers.
He sets the glass down with a pinky to silence its landing, “ Cha , to the matter at hand.” Milky white hands clasp atop the pricey Blackwood, “Why the attempt at fleeing? I try my best to give you everything you could possibly want.”
His vision pans to his second hand man who’s posted near the door, hands tensing as they cradle themselves behind his back. The Don gets a teeny glint in his eyes, and your own bulge out when the faintest note of excitement bleeds through his heavily guarded scent.
It’s the slightest hint of white orchid that zaps a crackle of electricity up your spine.
Mr. Yoon’s palms open up as he looks at you with a smile that’s all too knowing, “I even let you fuck my men.”
Shit.
Once . Twice . Regardless of how many times, it all began when your assigned babysitter never returned from his mission. The group of watchmen had been busy devising a backup plan to make up for his loss, and Mr. Yoon delegated your safety to none other than Wonwoo.
The man was quiet but attentive, sighing every now and then as he went over some paperwork in the corner of your designated chamber. The plumes of worry he emitted beckoned you to his side. Where you poked and prodded and let the mellowness of your lavender scent waft over the ample room that had been so graciously provided to you.
You asked and Wonwoo responded, and at some point the questions went beyond the limits of captor and hostage. Each answer led to the conclusion that he’d been a lone wolf, deserted by his own pack. That it’d been that way till Mr. Yoon had saved him off the desolate back-streets of Seoul—Wonwoo’s self-proclaimed ‘guardian angel’, who extended his arm out when he spotted a lonely young boy crumpled into a small ball of bones as he dawned nothing but a tattered tee and shorts in the unforgiving rain.
He provided him with anything a boy like Wonwoo could’ve ever needed, but an Omega as refined as you didn’t exist in their realm. Not the kind who would ask him questions that went beyond the surface, anyway.
It was impossible to resist falling into you, into your display of attention as you ran your warm hands all over his scarred body, showing him things he’s never experienced before. He swears it felt secondhand nature to become unraveled by your touch, years of contained emotions bursting through his over-tightened seams to become gratefully received by your indulgent body.
Wonwoo is a handsome man, so it wasn’t hard to come up with a plan. It was a simple tactic you devised, using your scent to dwindle his defenses. Assigning yourself a lead role in the play of gradually persuading your captor into letting you free, but you went a little off script—The both of you did.
Mr. Yoon placed your cards flat on the table for everyone to see, and now you have to respond for playing dirty. He doesn’t allow you any time to think up an adequate response, sifting through the memory cabinets in his mind, “It’s been a while since you two last met up, correct?”
He rejoices at the effect his revelation had on you both, smiling as he saunters his way over to your stunned body. Physical boundaries don’t exist in his office, he makes that clear in the way he bursts through your personal bubble, upturned lips grazing the soft shell of your ear as he holds Wonwoo’s taken aback gaze, “Is he not cutting it anymore?”
A calculated release of pheromones wafts over the room, it’s a consuming bloom of delicate white orchids and orange blossom that enchants your Omega, sending your eyes to the back of your skull involuntarily. Jeonghan tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning further into you for the sole purpose of letting your nose fall to where the scent emits the strongest, “Need someone more your pace, don’t you? I think I know just the man.”
You subdue a shudder, but they can both smell the dollops of slick starting to dampen your underwear, feel the air grow thick with the rich pheromones of intrigue and lust. A part of Jeonghan wonders in which ways Wonwoo’s face would contort if he were to turn you around and have his besotted second hand man bear witness to the way your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth to stop any unsavory noises from escaping. But he won’t. In fact, the merciless man has grown fond of you. He doesn’t feel the need to humiliate you like that.
Not when your body can do it for him.
The invisible strings of restraint anchoring Wonwoo to the ground are tight, but they have their moment of weakness where they slack up. It's the teeniest pull of fury that tugs at his upper lip, bearing his canines in the process.
Jeonghan finds nothing but pleasure in it, feasting on the never before seen display of ownership running rampant in his office. Jeonghan revels in Wonwoo’s silent threat for a couple seconds before stepping back slowly, eyes lidded with smug accomplishment, “It's a shame really, you two would’ve made the perfect couple.”
Would’ve . The past tense particle pumps an unknown fear through your veins.
He can smell a sharp note of panic leak through your scent. When Jeonghan focuses his attention back on you he can see the tears welling up your eyes, the slight quiver of your gnawed-on lip. He can’t help but coo, losing the little seriousness he’s held for this entire encounter, “ Oh . Don’t look so scared, doll. I’m not going to physically hurt him.” A hand comes up to cradle your cheek softly. The act would’ve been consoling if he didn't have such an ominous tone as he reached for your palm, bowing slightly to dust a featherlight kiss on its back, “I’ve got something better in store for you both .”
—
It’s been weeks and Wonwoo has yet to hear anything about you, Jeonghan has been keeping him holed inside this high rise with nothing to do, no sorts of tasks to take his mind off the fact that he hasn’t heard a single thing about you in weeks .
A servant enters his quarters with a silver platter, atop it a small white envelope. Wonwoo breaks the red seal to see it read, Mr. Yoon requires your presence in his study.
Leather soles come crashing down on the marble flooring as he dashes there, not noticing the way one of the stalky guards is holding a look of sympathy in his eyes, one that his position doesn’t tolerate even on the worst of days.
Wonwoo bursts through the doors and immediately he’s assaulted by pungent florals. His face scrunches up in disgust. He hopes his eyes are deceiving him, that you’re not actually bent over Jeonghan’s desk as he ravishes your body from behind. All the hope in his body dies out the second his ears pick up on a gush of your slick splashing against the marble floor.
The only thing that grounds him back to earth is the sounds of his boss’ belt buckles clinking with each unashamed thrust he feeds you.
Wonwoo thought he was the only one who could make you feel good, bring your scent to full bloom in that way. Jeonghan knew that.
He knew that the second Wonwoo was called back from your quarters smelling like a freshly picked batch of lavender. He confirmed it with a single glance where Wonwoo’s eyes slipped and he looked at you with unsupressable adoration. Jeonghan was aware of just how head over heels you’ve made the unsuspecting man, so he did what he does best.
Break people. Strip them down to bare bones and mangled tendons just to watch them bleed out with an arrogant smile on his face. Because we’re all humans at the core of it all, guided by nothing but our desires, or worse— emotions .
Of course Jeonghan promised not to harm Wonwoo physically, so he decided to wound him where it would hurt the most. To take the one thing Wonwoo has ever held in the palm of his hands right before his eyes.
What’s worse? Jeonghan didn’t even have to try to get you to fold, you did that all on your own.
You try to hide from his betrayed gaze but Jeonghan’s desk faces the door, not leaving you anywhere to turn to so you close your eyes instead.
Jeonghan keeps your attempt at hiding short-lived, yanking your torso up from his desk so your bare back is flush against his suit cladded chest. The heat in your abdomen is roaring, radiating through his cloth covered flesh, “I tried to help myself Wonwoo, I really did.” Jeonghan’s voice is taut as he remembers the way your sweet wails rang through the hallways, the way you stumbled dizzily into his office, “But you should’ve heard the way she was calling for me.”
You were so cute, eyes teary as your knees collided into the marble beneath his feet, mindlessly pressing your face against the bulge in his slacks in hopes that you wouldn’t have to admit just how bad you needed him. The blistering coil in your tummy didn’t even allow for Jeonghan to properly take off his clothes.
He squishes your cheeks, limp tongue falling out and letting warm drool drag down your pinched chin, “I couldn’t just leave her to deal with her heat alone .”
Your only savior is the skin of your eyelids as you clamp them shut, a sliver of you wished to disappear into thin air, but your biology drowned out that thought. Your Omega screamed for Wonwoo to keep his eyes on you for a little longer, to show him how good you can be for him if he just waited his turn.
Wonwoo can smell your scent sweeten as Jeonghan manages to hug you closer so a possessive hand can slink around your neck to give it the slightest squeeze, “Then I mentioned you and she just got so tight .”
Jeonghan peels your sweat coated body off of his suit to peer down at where his cock disappears into your body. He licks his lips over the way your slick has soaked through every thread that makes up the entire front side of his slacks. The strokes he’s feeding you are languid, where the tip of his cock caresses your spongy bundle of nerves with each roll of his hips, “You should feel the way she’s squeezing me right now.”
Your voice is garbled as he dips into your scent gland to inhale deeply. He doesn’t bother refusing the instinct that demands him to roll out his tongue to lave over the sensitive skin there, the sharp canine that brushes against it involuntarily tightens every muscle in his body. The temptation buzzing in his blood seeps into your own.
“ Jeonghan— ” You whimper into the air, pawing behind your back to get him as close as he’d been before.
He obliges to your pathetic, broken plea—like any good Alpha would. Veins surging with ecstasy over the fact that you’ve finally called him his god-given name.
Jeonghan has officially lost the mask he’s learned to wear in this business. The one that won’t let him show any ounce of true emotion because that’s what welcomes any exploitation of his weaknesses. It cracked and slipped off into the puddle of slick pooling beneath his feet.
Each tender plunge into your slippery heat adds another white spec to your fuzzed out vision, paints a drunken smile on Jeonghan's face as he continues to actively stoke the ire burning in Wonwoo's chest. The smoky scent of a raging wildfire only makes Jeonghan establish a steady pace.
The heated coil in Jeonghan’s navel is glowing bright red. It’s futile to try and downplay just how good you feel around him, he doesn’t want to play unaffected anymore. Kisses on the back of his teeth morph into heavy panting that gets drowned out by your heavenly moans. They're light and airy like the cloud of bliss Jeonghan’s got you floating on.
Jeonghan tries to keep his voice steady when you begin to push your ass against him, watching the doughy flesh spill around his tight grip as he pulls you onto his cock. He watches the strings of your arousal stretch and tack up before flickering his attention up to the door, “You know, Wonwoo.”
The mere mention of his name has you collapsing onto the cool wood beneath you. It’s the only thing keeping you up as you feel your lower vertebrae starting to fizz away, one by one dissolving with each meticulous rock of his hips as they kiss into yours with a lewd smack, “If you’re good for us, I just might let you clean her up.”
A fresh batch of pheromones leaks into the air, clearing out the burnt stench from earlier with the crisp air given off by new and rejuvenated trees.
Jeonghan kneads the mounds of your ass before delivering a harsh slap that makes Wonwoo twitch, everywhere . A diabolic smirk corrupts Jeonghan’s features, “ Oh? You like the sound of that? ”