Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gao Tu was exhausted.
His sister’s medical bills, his father’s gambling debts, and—on top of it all—the toll on his body from years of constant suppressant and inhibitor abuse had worn him down. As if that weren’t enough, his boss’s unreasonable demands and subtle degradation of his gender added salt to his wounds.

Yes, he had loved him for over a decade.
Yes, he would die slowly, so long as he could stay by his side.
But some days, it was all just... too much.

Shen Wenlang — S-class Alpha, President of HS Group, the love of his life (L.O.L.), and self-proclaimed omega-hater — was simply too much.

What Gao Tu didn’t know was that today, his routine would change — abruptly and irreversibly.

As usual, Gao Tu arrived at the office, worn satchel slung over his shoulder, dressed in his slightly faded black suit. Whispers followed him as he walked in.

“A new secretary?”
“An omega?”

Colleagues glanced his way, then hushed quickly. A brave beta intern stepped forward.

“Do you know him, Secretary Gao? Is he... President Shen’s...?”

Before Gao Tu could respond, his intercom buzzed. The president was calling for him. He nodded politely and made his way to Shen Wenlang’s office. A sharp knock.

“You called for me, Shen Zhong?”

“Gao Tu, where’s the deck for the Shengfang meeting? And get me my tea,”
President Shen bellowed, eyes not even leaving his screen.

He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. The familiar iris scent of his pheromones lingered in the air — but there was something else. A floral note. Orchids?

“Right away, Shen Zhong.”

Knock knock.

The door opened.

In walked the prettiest omega Gao Tu had ever seen — lithe, elegant, dressed in soft, loose white clothes. He smiled gently. His scent… orchids.

Wait. Orchids? The same scent that clung to Shen Wenlang?

Gao Tu discreetly sniffed again. Yes. Exactly the same.
Why was he here? Why wasn’t his L.O.L. angry?
Why—was that a smile?

Shen Wenlang, notorious omega-hater, smiling softly at an omega?
An omega who wasn’t him?
Since when was he okay with omegas?

“Gao Tu!”

Startled, he turned toward his boss.

“Yes, Shen Zhong?”

“This is Hua Yong. He’ll be working as a secretary and assisting with the Shengfang project. Bring him up to speed.”

“Yes, Shen Zhong.”

His inner omega howled.
Who was this interloper?
Why was his alpha smiling at him?
Why was his scent on Shen Wenlang?
Why was he allowed to be an omega and still work here?

Why him?

They left the cabin together. Gao Tu briefed Hua Yong and handed over the Shengfang deck. Apparently, Hua had just joined the department. They got to work.

His omega finally quieted. The other omega was away from his alpha.
Just a new joiner. Nothing more.

It was time for the Shengfang meeting.

“Welcome to HS, President Sheng, Secretary Chen. President Shen is expecting you.”

Knock knock.

They entered.

Gao Tu froze.

Inside, Shen Wenlang stood intimately close to Hua Yong, his knees nearly brushing the omega’s. One hand gently cupped Hua Yong’s face. Their noses almost touched. Their scents intermingled in the air. And Shen Wenlang — smiling again.

For the second time. At him.

“Oh, you work here?” President Sheng asked, gesturing at Hua Yong.

“What?! If you’re affiliated with Shengfang, you should have mentioned it on your CV, Hua Yong!”

“No, I’m not. We just met at the hospital,” Hua Yong replied smoothly.
“Besides, anyone affiliated with Shengfang can’t work at HS Group. My loyalty is only to HS.”

His alpha said nothing.

He was keeping this omega, despite it all. Gao Tu’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t stay in the room. But he wouldn’t leave without pulling that omega out too.

“Secretary Hua, Secretary Chen — let’s talk in the sitting room. The Presidents will discuss the patents.”

Formal greetings were exchanged. They exited.

His omega was breaking down.
Howling.

That pretty, delicate-waisted omega had the attention of two S-class alphas.
His alpha had cupped his face. Their noses had touched. That position...

Why him?
Why him? Why not me?

Later, Gao Tu washed his face and replaced his suppressant patch. He steadied himself, preparing to see his alpha one last time today.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.

Just as he reached to knock, the door opened.

Shen Wenlang stepped out.

“Shall I get your car, President Shen?”

“No need. Secretary Hua already did. We’ll be leaving together.”

And then he walked out — hand resting gently on that omega’s small waist.
Together.

Why does my heart hurt so much?

Looking at them — they look so perfect together.
The strong, handsome S-class Alpha and his delicate, beautiful omega.

Is this it? Is this the end of ten years of dedication?
Ten years of devotion? Of love?

What happened to hating omegas?

Why can’t you look at me?

Why can’t I be the omega you hold?

Why him?

Mechanically going through the motions, Gao Tu returns home.
His omega won’t stop screaming — begging to go to his Alpha, to feel his hands, to press their knees together, to be held by the waist again. To walk out side by side — together.

He collapses into the silence of his apartment and lets the sobs come — raw, ugly sobs that echo through the empty space. It’s safe here, at least. Safe enough to fall apart.

His eyes land on the frame — the only photo he had with his Alpha.
A moment frozen in time. A lie he let himself believe.

With a strangled cry, he hurls it across the room.
It hits the wall with a sickening crack.

Glass shatters.

Blood drips out slowly. Drip, drip, drip. He picks up a big shard and presses it slowly on his arm, slowly, steadily. Watches the crimson drops, falling down slowly, s l o w l y.  He breaks down with red droplets falling down on their photograph. Drip…d r i p…d  r  i  p… 

Why him? Why not me?

Why 

not

me?

Chapter Text

Days passed in a daze.

Every time something related to the President came up, everything—every task, every conversation—went to Hua Yong. They’d spend hours in his cabin, doors closed, their voices muted through glass walls that once felt transparent to Gao Tu.

What happened to us?

Yes, we were employer and employee.
But weren’t we... more than that? Just a little bit more?

Morning conversations over warm white tea.
Gentle reminders to eat after long meetings.
Lingering chats about nothing in particular.
Side glances exchanged mid-meeting—our own secret language, carved from ten years of loyalty and shared silence.

What happened?

He hadn’t even insulted Gao Tu’s sub-gender all week. Not once.
No harsh “omega” comments. No passive-aggressive slurs.

Gao Tu hated how much he missed them.
He hated that he’d rather be hated... than ignored.

Thursday

Another day. Another absence.

They were in the President’s cabin again. Hours passed.
Gao Tu was summoned once—for the customary morning tea—and then forgotten.

It hurt. More than he wanted to admit.

And his body—his failing, exhausted body—ached in return.
Years of suppressants and inhibitors had taken their toll. He could barely keep food down anymore. Everything came back up.

Just another day spent hovering between nausea and emptiness.

When will this day end?

He clutched his stomach as it rumbled again.
Not now. Not again.

He’d managed some soup earlier… but it was no use.

He ran to the bathroom and threw up. Again.

Gao Tu leaned against the sink, trembling.

He stared at his reflection.

Sweat matted his hair to his forehead. His cheeks were hollow. His collarbones sharp. His body looked wrong—too thin in some places, too heavy in others.

He could never compare.

Not to Hua Yong.

Not to that bright, lithe omega with soft features and elegant grace. Even his scent—bland and herbal like sage—was forgettable. Unlike Hua Yong’s intoxicating orchid fragrance.

Fuck.

If this is how my decade of devotion ends… then what am I still doing here?

He had a good degree. Experience.

Maybe it was time to leave.

Maybe it would be better than breaking a little more every day.

But not today.
There was a board meeting in ten minutes.

He washed his face, reapplied his suppressant patch, and sprayed himself with another layer of hormone blockers.

The show must go on.

The meeting was unbearable.

Gao Tu sat in the corner, barely registering the numbers and graphs on the screen. His eyes were fixed on the spot beside President Shen—his usual seat. Occupied now by Hua Yong.

His head throbbed.

His skin burned.

His stomach curled violently.

The nausea returned full force.

He barely managed a nod at the end of the meeting before he rushed out of the room.

What he didn’t see was the pair of eyes watching him carefully.
President Shen.

From the moment the meeting began, Wenlang had noticed.

The tension in Gao Tu’s shoulders.
The way his skin had paled by the second.

And now he was running.

Something was wrong.

Shen Wenlang stepped out of the board room and waited outside the bathroom.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

No sound. No movement.

"Gao Tu?"

He knocked. No answer.

Worry surged through him.

He pushed the door open.

There—on the floor—laid his secretary. Unconscious. Pale. Barely breathing.

“Gao Tu!” he shouted, rushing to him. “Wake up!”

He checked his pulse. Faint, but there.

The wrist he held felt fragile. Skin rough, bones prominent. He could feel every ridge, every tendon.

How long has he been like this?

How didn’t I notice?

He picked him up without hesitation, bolting through the corridors.

The drive to the hospital blurred into panic.
Wenlang held onto the steering wheel with one hand, his eyes on Gao Tu.

His Gao Tu.

The one who never asked for anything.
The one he barely looked at this past week.
The one who had become nearly invisible... because he let him.

He screamed for help as soon as they arrived.
Nurses rushed in and wheeled Gao Tu away.

Wenlang stood there, helpless, the scent  of antiseptics clouding his thoughts.

He’s so light.
Does he not eat?
When did we stop having lunch together?
What’s wrong with him?

Time passed. He didn’t know how much.

Finally, a doctor approached.

“Are you his guardian?”

“I’m his… boss.”

The word felt cold. Wrong.

“Then you’re the omega-hating alpha?” the doctor said bluntly. ”How psychotic! How can you hate someone for their gender?”

Wenlang blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t know? His body is breaking down from stress, malnutrition, and years of hormonal damage. If you hadn’t brought him in when you did, we might be having a different conversation right now.”

“He… he’s okay?”

“For now. He’s awake. But he needs care. And rest. And food. Real food. Not protein bars and caffeine pills. I can’t say more without his consent.”

Wenlang just nodded.

His mind swirled.

How does he know about my behavior?
And me—a psycho?
All omegas are disgusting and manipulative. Why is he calling me out?

And how does this relate to Gao Tu? Why is he malnourished? Why is he so stressed? I even gave some of his work to Hua Yong so he could rest…

But why is he lying there so pale?
What are you hiding, Gao Tu?

And where is that omega of yours? Why aren’t they taking care of you?

Gao Tu slowly opens his eyes to the sound of machines and smell of antiseptics. He moves slowly to get up and then sees his alpha on his left.

Wait, his L.O.L. was here? How and where exactly was he?

Shen Wenlang. Sitting beside his bed, sleeves rolled up, his sharp features set in a rare expression of concern.

“Why are you not eating, Gao Tu?” he asked, voice low but rough. “What am I paying you for? Why didn’t you take a leave?”

“Sorry for the trouble… Shen Zhong,” Gao Tu murmured.

He was here.

His alpha was here.

A small part of him — buried deep inside his exhausted body — dared to feel warm.
Dared to hope.

Shen Wenlang huffed. “Don’t apologize. What do I even tell HR if you die on the job? Take tomorrow off. I’ll drop you home.”

They drove in silence.

Wenlang’s jaw tightened as they pulled up to a cramped apartment complex. Dim streetlights flickered overhead. The building had no elevator.

“Is this where you stay?” he asked sharply. “Seriously, what am I paying you for?”

Inside, his alpha instincts roared.
A matchbox apartment? No security? No comfort?

And no scent trail. No sign of another presence.

“Where is your omega?” he demanded.

“Omega? I don’t— They don’t stay with me, Shen Zhong,” Gao Tu said calmly. “And… my expenses are high. This is all I can afford. But it’s safe. Thank you for the concern.”

Wenlang stared at him for a second longer, lips pressed thin.

“Hmph. Don’t come in tomorrow. Rest.”

“Thank you. And… sorry for the trouble, Shen Zhong.”

Friday morning brought no reprieve.

Gao Tu woke to the warmth of his own skin, slick already pooling beneath him.

Heat.

Of course.
The timing was perfect — just as his heart had broken, his body had too.

He dragged himself through the routine: patch, blocker spray, silicone plug. He curled up under the thin blanket and willed himself to get through the day.

Saturday morning, he wakes up with the sound of his phone ringing.

Shen Wenlang.

He picked up immediately.

“Yes, Shen Zhong?”

“Can you drop the supplier’s meeting pen drive at Hua Yong’s place? We have an impromptu meeting.”

“…Yes, Sir.”

He showered. Patches. Spray.
The worst of the heat had passed, but his scent always lingered faintly after.

He prayed it wouldn’t betray him.

He rang the bell at Hua Yong’s address.

There were boxes outside — moving boxes?

And then, the door opened.

Shen Wenlang.

His alpha.
At Hua Yong’s house.

Never before had he visited staff at home. Not even on weekends.

And there, just behind him — Hua Yong, barefoot, dressed down.

Gao Tu handed over the pen drive, quick and quiet.
He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Wenlang said. “You seem in a hurry, Gao Tu.”

He sniffed the air.

The sage scent.

Still faint, but there.

“Going back to that omega of yours?” he asked casually.

“Yes, Shen Zhong. Sorry I can’t help more today.”

“Hmph. That’s fine. We have plenty of secretaries on the team. Just clean up that omega stench before returning to the office.”

And the door shut.

That hurt more than any insult ever had.

So easily replaced.
So easily dismissed.

On Monday morning, beta Gao Tu arrived at the office — fully suppressed, inhibitors active. His scent erased. His posture professional.

He looked around.

Hua Yong was on leave.

A small breath of relief.

Today was normal.
Tea.
Lunch.
His seat beside his alpha in the meetings.

For one fleeting moment, it felt like before.

But just before the day ended—

President Sheng Shaoyou walked in.

His scent was unmistakable — orange blossoms, heavy and dominant.

“Where’s Hua Yong?” he demanded.

“He’s on leave, President Sheng,” Gao Tu said, stepping between him and the office door. “You can’t enter President Shen’s cabin. He’s in a meeting.”

Sheng Shaoyou ignored him, shoving past. The door burst open.

“Where is he?” he roared. “Where’s Hua Yong?! Why are you hiding, especially on his days?”

His heat days?

Gao Tu froze.

No. No. Please no.

Then came the worst confirmation of all:

“Of course I did,” Wenlang said coolly. “His gentle face looked so pretty under me, Shaoyou. Sad you missed it.”

“Shen Wenlang!!”

Pheromones exploded into the room.

Irises versus orange blossoms. The air turned thick, suffocating.

And in the middle of it all — Gao Tu.

His heart cracked open.

His lungs screamed for air.
His knees buckled under the weight of it all.

Still — he stepped forward.

Still — he stood between the two alphas.

“President Sheng…” his voice barely a whisper. “Hua Yong isn’t here. President Shen has nothing to do with this. Please… leave.”

Sheng’s eyes flicked to him.
For a moment, something softened.

And then he left.

The door closed.

And Gao Tu fell.

His inhaler fumbled from his bag. His hands shook. His lungs refused to cooperate.

Strong arms caught him — again.
Held him close. Steadied the device against his mouth.

“Gao Tu,” Wenlang’s voice broke through the haze, “you’re a beta. Why are the pheromones affecting you like this?”

“I’m okay… just asthma,” Gao Tu whispered. “I’ll be leaving now, if that’s all…”

“No. I’ll drop you home. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

“No doctor, Shen Zhong. Thank you.”

Back home, Gao Tu walked into the shower.

And crumbled.

The water poured over his shoulders, but couldn’t wash away the ache inside.

His alpha.

His L.O.L.

Had spent his night with another omega in heat.

He sobbed until his throat burned.

But no sound escaped.

Just the quiet, unraveling collapse of a heart that had finally… shattered.

Slowly, he slid the razor on his legs, the same place where his alpha had held him today.

He drew a line and then two and then three.
All the same length, methodical, clean, just like him.

Reliable, logical, unassuming beta omega Secretary Gao Tu.

Red slithered down his legs in slow gentle streams. 

Drip, drip, 

d

r

i

p.

Chapter Text

“Where’s Gao Tu?” President Shen Wenlang asked the Secretariat Head imperiously.

“He’s at the Heci hospital. There was a complication with his sister’s health. They called him there urgently. The surgery has to be moved up, and they’re asking him to arrange the funds as soon as possible.”

Wenlang frowned but didn’t say more. He turned and retreated into his office.

Why didn’t he inform me about this? Wenlang thought, already reaching for his phone.

Without hesitation, he called his banker and quietly arranged the necessary funds.

Meanwhile, at the Heci hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air. The ticking of a distant clock was the only sound accompanying Gao Tu’s racing heart.

“Doctor, can we start the surgery with a part payment? I’ll arrange the rest of the funds—please, just give me a week’s time. Please,” Gao Tu pleaded, desperation cracking his voice.

His baby sister—his only sibling—lay pale and fragile on the hospital bed. He’d promised their mother he would protect her. Now, watching her slip further away, that promise felt like a fragile thread holding him together.

The call that morning had shattered him. He had rushed here, only to be told to wait while doctors ran tests.

Her body was weak; even the shortest walk left her breathless. The surgery was urgent.

“We have to follow certain protocols,” the doctor said softly. “Please arrange the funds as soon as possible, Mr. Gao. We will stabilize her, but time is running out.”

Gao Tu sank into the visitor’s chair, face buried in his hands, silent tears streaming down.

How can I get that kind of money?

His savings were nearly gone, and banks wouldn’t trust someone with his credit history.

But he couldn’t give up.

Maybe his company had emergency aid. Maybe a local lender.

I have to find a way. I have to save her.

He wiped his tears, stood, and washed his face. Then he returned to his sister’s side, gently grasping her hand.

“Gege will save you. Don’t worry. Please stay strong, mei mei.”

Just as he was about to leave, the door swung open.

A senior nurse entered, breathless but smiling.

“Good news! We’ve received the full payment for the surgery—from a Mr. Shen. We can proceed tomorrow. Stay strong, Mr. Gao. There’s still hope.”

Gao Tu stared at her, stunned.

Mr. Shen?

Thank you. Oh God, thank you... my alpha. Thank you.

His hands trembled as he thanked the nurse.

One last look at his sister, then he hurried out.

There was one more person he needed to thank—properly.

Knock, knock.

“President Shen, thank you for your help in such a difficult situation. I’ll repay you in installments. I promise. I’m truly grateful.”

“No need to pay me back, Secretary Gao. Just do your job well and be present during working hours.”

Inwardly, Wenlang’s alpha was pleased—happy to provide for his Gao Tu.

His eyes, wide and glistening, reminded him of a bunny. A cute, bespectacled bunny.

Blushing at the image, Wenlang said quietly, “Get back to work. Also, be ready Friday evening. You’ll accompany me to the banquet at Hotel X, owned by X Holdings. Also, Hua Yong has resigned.”

“Sure, Sir.”

Gao Tu nodded but inside, confusion churned.

Hua Yong resigned? Why? Did something happen?

The clinking of wine glasses and the drone of conversations blurred around Gao Tu as a cold sweat broke across his back.

At first, he thought it was nerves — the tight collar, the close proximity of alphas in the ballroom, the pressure of being exposed to Shen Wenlang’s pheromones. But then the heat curled low in his stomach, sharp and sudden. Too early. Too strong. His suppressants weren't supposed to fail — not tonight. Not here.

His scent was already starting to bleed through.

Panic rising, Gao Tu excused himself with a tight nod and slipped out of the banquet hall, heart pounding. He ducked into the nearest washroom, vision blurring at the edges. There were too many people. Too many alphas. He needed to hide — somewhere dark, somewhere isolated. Somewhere safe.

The staff lounge. It was booked for such nights. To rest in case the events drag through the night. He rushed to the room. Perfect, it was empty.

He shut the door behind him and slid to the floor, trying to hold his breath, trying to ride it out.

But his scent... was already in the air.

Meanwhile with Wenlang,

The banquet was slowly coming to an end, looking around Wenlang searches for Gao Tu. Where’s Gao Tu?

Shen Wenlang made his way through the softly lit corridor of the executive floor, searching for his secretary. 

That’s when it hit him.

Luring pheromones.

Earthy. Deep. Green and warm like crushed sage leaves after rain.

It snagged in his lungs, caught him mid-step. He inhaled again, slower this time. And the scent sharpened — unmistakably omega.

In heat.

But not just any omega. This scent pulled at something beneath instinct. Something older. Something familiar.

Where…?

He followed it, tracking the pheromone trail like a hound. It led him to the end of the hallway, to a seemingly nondescript staff lounge. 

But the scent…

He sniffed the air again, it was thick here. Tangible. Right behind the door. His alpha triumphed at the back of his mind. Omega, his omega was here.

He pushed the door open.

Darkness. Faint moonlight pooled through the slats in the blinds. The lounge was quiet, but not empty.

Breath.

Movement.

Hidden in the dark.

Gao Tu pressed himself into the farthest corner of the lounge, curled behind a low box, trembling.

He came. I didn’t mean for him to follow. Not him.

He should’ve known better than to linger after the banquet. The moment his heat began — unexpected, too early, too sharp — he’d barely made it out of the ballroom. He’d locked himself in here to ride it out in silence. Unseen.

But he hadn’t accounted for Wenlang.

Of all people.

Of all alphas.

Why his alpha?

“Who's there?”

Wenlang’s voice cut into the dark — smooth, but already fraying around the edges. 

Gao Tu didn’t answer. He held his breath.

The alpha stepped deeper inside, slow and deliberate. He couldn’t see him. Not yet.

Gao Tu inched toward the exit, hand skimming the wall. One more step. Just a little closer.

Click.

His fingers brushed the metal of the door handle.

Too late.

A hand slammed against the door in front of him, and Gao Tu barely had time to turn before he was pulled back hard, chest colliding with a solid torso.

A rough exhale against his neck.

“Omega—”

The word wasn’t angry. It was reverent. Starved. Animalistic. 

Wenlang still couldn’t see his face — only feel the heat pouring from him, the scent of sage so strong it nearly drove him feral.

Gao Tu squirmed once in protest, but it was half-hearted — his body already arching toward the familiar, maddening scent of irises.

They Alpha pulled his omega backward together, breathless. The edge of the narrow staff bed caught Wenlang behind the knees.

He fell forward, catching himself with one hand above Gao Tu’s shoulder. His other arm stayed locked tight around the omega’s waist.

With a low grunt, he pinned the omega down, his body hovering above, taut with restraint. Gao Tu trembled beneath him.

Wenlang's pupils were blown, nostrils flared. Still, his voice was strained.

“Who sent you here filthy omega?”

Gao Tu’s lips parted.

But he didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t let his alpha know it was him.

And deep down… a part of him had already surrendered.

If this was the only time — the only night he could have his alpha — then so be it.

~~~~~~from here the explicit content starts~~~~~~

Gao Tu lay face-down on the narrow bed, breath caught in his throat, muscles tense beneath the weight of instinct and scent.

Behind him, Wenlang’s presence grew heavier — his iris-laced scent blooming thick in the air, crashing against Gao Tu’s like a wave. It was suffocating in the most dangerous way. Familiar. Addictive.

The alpha leaned in, breath warm against the back of Gao Tu’s neck. He inhaled — slow, greedy.

“Sage,” he murmured, the word almost reverent. “Beautiful scent.”

Gao Tu flinched, but it wasn’t fear that made him shiver. Wenlang’s hand dragged down the omega’s spine with a kind of brutal tenderness, grounding, claiming.

Then—he shifted his weight.

His hands hovered over the edge of his waist and roughly pulled off Gao Tu’s pants. Pushing his thighs apart, he slowly inserted one finger in the warm, moist hole lathering it with omega’s slick. He slowly inserted another finger and gently scissored the small gushing hole.

One hand braced against the mattress beside Gao Tu’s shoulder. The other slid along inside the omega’s hole, fingers flexing dripping in the sage scented slick. Wenlang dipped closer, mouth just beside the shell of Gao Tu’s ear.

“You didn’t come here by accident.Who sent you here?”

Gao Tu’s throat worked, but he didn’t speak.

Then Wenlang brought his hand up, cupping Gao Tu’s jaw gently but firmly. His fingers brushed across parted lips — and paused.

“Open,” he said.

The command was soft, but absolute.

Gao Tu obeyed, lips parting, breath catching. Wenlang eased the two slicked fingers into his mouth, and the omega closed around them instinctively. Wenlang’s eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide.

“Good,” he murmured. “Taste yourself, omega slut.”

For a few breaths, Gao Tu helplessly sucked, slowly bobbing his mouth sucking and licking the slicked thick fingers.

Then Wenlang sharply withdrew, fingers slipping free — damp and inserted them again in the enticing hole. He pumped his fingers in the hole slowly and then fast, shaking with the effort it took to hold himself in check. 

Wenlang firmly lined his thick cock against the moist gushing omega hole and penetrated him in one swift motion. He grabbed the omega’s head and roughly pulled  him back by his hair.
“Fuck, you are taking my cock so well omega!” He pounded his thick alpha cock into his small omega pussy, rocking his body back and forth. 

At that moment, Gao Tu choked. Never before had anyone been this inside of him. Never before had his hole been abused this thoroughly, this full. He squirmed and tried to move, tried to pull away from the cock…and then 

smack

”Stay still and take my cock like a good omega whore!” Wenlang smacked his ass once, twice, thrice with one hand while the other grabbed his neck in a chokehold. 

In one swift motion, he removed his cock from the wet hole.

“Turn over,” Wenlang said.

Gao Tu hesitated.

But he moved.

Wenlang’s hands guided him, flipping him gently but firmly onto his back. Gao Tu’s breath caught, hands instinctively trying to cover his face. 

Wenlang held him by his wrists.

His eyes dropped to the loosened tie around omega’s neck — slightly askew from the struggle, the silk dark and crumpled against his throat.

Without a word, Wenlang reached for it.

He tugged it free in one smooth motion, the fabric sliding from Gao Tu’s collar with a quiet hiss. Wenlang wrapped it around Gao Tu’s wrists slowly, deliberately, knotting it snug and tight and pushed his hands above his head.

“Stay,” he said, firmly. “Else, I’ll make you stay” 

Then came the scenting — not gentle, not asking. Wenlang pressed his nose to Gao Tu’s throat, dragging it across his skin, chasing the places where the sage bloomed hottest.

His lips grazed the omega’s pulse.

Then his jaw.

Then, just beneath the ear.

Small bites followed — teasing, territorial — not deep enough to mark, but not light enough to ignore. Gao Tu’s breath stuttered with each one.

Wenlang hovered — something caught in his chest.

Like he was teetering on a ledge.

His mouth hovered near the base of Gao Tu’s neck, right where instinct told him to bite. To claim. To take.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

Then he pulled back slightly, and bit into his own hands. Sharp, unyielding. 

Wenlang slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid his fingers on the brown pebbled nipples. He teased and pinched them with one hand while he sucked the other with his mouth. Slowly scenting, marking and biting them. He dug his fingers in the moist hole again without warning and started thrusting them in and out.

Gao Tu whimpered and muffled his moans as his fingers started curling inside him and dragging against his walls. He groaned and moaned as he his hole started gushing with even more slick. 

Wenlang started pounding his pussy aggressively making him wetter and wetter and his cock even harder. As his alpha’s fingers hit his prostate, Gao Tu screamed out and came with a gush. He felt his cock leaking out and pussy creaming with a mix of slick and cum and still the fingers did not stop pounding into him.

Gao Tu tried closing his legs, but the alpha’s hands held him open.

Wenlang growled, ”Keep them spread omega!” At this point the alpha’s fist was inside the omega hole and pounding his walls from the inside. Gao Tu moaned wantonly in pleasure and humiliation. The moment his alpha choked his neck and pressed his fingers against his glands, his pussy released another wave of slick gushingly. 

Wenlang swiped through the slick and cum trickling down the omega’s thighs and scooped it and pushed it back inside with his thumb.

“You are now ready, omega.”

In one fluid, commanding motion, he flipped Gao Tu onto his front.

”Push up your hips filthy omega.” Wenlang thundered.

Gao Tu whimpered, he was wet, so wet and so empty inside. He wanted his alpha’s cock in him. He bared his neck to him. He tried presenting his ass, he moved them up and down and went on his knees. Slicked gushed out of him and he was aroused by the dominance of his alpha. He wanted to be a good omega but why was his alpha not touching him now? He moved his ass again up and down and turned his face to his alpha, slowly moaning, pleading at him for his cock. 

“Greedy omega, already begging for your Alpha’s knot.” Wenlang groaned and rolled his hips forward fucking the omega with his long thick cock. Each time Wenlang slammed inside balls squelching against the tight cunt, Gao Tu gasped and writhed. He suddenly felt something swell and being stretched wide open. He cried out as the knot stretched his virgin cunt, filling him up so full, so tight, so fucking right.

He came again without touching his dick, his aching balls squirting a pitiful cum onto his stomach while his pussy clamped tight around his alpha’s knot.

With a roar, Wenlang started thrusting inside with a punishing pace and spilled all of his cum into the omega’s womb.

Wenlang pulled the omega’s face back and aggressively nipped his lips. He wrapped his arms around the tiny waist and the tension in his body slowly ebbing away as exhaustion took hold. His breathing evened out, deep and steady, eyes closing as he slipped into a restless sleep.

The air between them carried the delicate blend of storm-soaked iris and sweet, calming sage—a scent that was at once fierce and gentle, wild and grounding. It wrapped around them like a silent promise, filling the space with something unspoken but deeply felt.

And yet, beneath the comfort of the embrace, there was an ache—a quiet knowing that this closeness might be fleeting, a quiet moment caught between what was and what could never be. Gao Tu laid there beneath the fading warmth of the alpha’s touch, chest tight with a tangled storm of feelings.

A fragile happiness — sparked by the brief, fierce connection between them.

And beneath it, a quiet sadness, heavy and real, because this night was theirs alone. A stolen moment hidden in shadows, a secret that could never be spoken aloud.

He traced a finger along the silk binding at his wrists, the knot still snug. Tears slipped down silently, tracing paths he didn’t bother to wipe away.

The moment, the knot went down, carefully, Gao Tu slipped from the bed.

His fingers trembled as he loosened the knot, finally freeing himself from the binding. The fabric fell softly to the floor.

He dressed quickly but quietly, each movement deliberate, as if trying to etch the moment into memory.

Outside, the cool night air hit him sharply. His legs felt unsteady, his vision blurred at the edges, and he stumbled on the uneven pavement. For a moment, he had to steady himself against the cold metal railing lining the steps to his house, fingers curling tightly around it as his heart pounded—not just from fatigue but from the weight of everything he carried.

He didn’t turn on the shower when he got home. He couldn’t wash away the scent, the touch, the memory of what had passed between them. He pressed his nose against the alpha’s handkerchief ladled with their intermingled scents, storm-soaked iris and sweet, calming sage and whimpered.

Tears welled up in Gao Tu’s eyes, spilling over silently, tracing warm paths down his cheeks.

He had loved Wenlang for ten years—ten years of quiet longing, of stolen glances and silent hopes.

And now, after tonight, maybe they would never speak again or see each other again.

Yet still, he wanted to hold on to this small, fragile moment—the only proof that what he felt had once been real.

Because sometimes, that was all he had.

Chapter Text

The phone rang sharply, tearing through the silence of the night.

Gao Tu stirred in bed, his body sore and heavy. Every muscle felt bruised, each breath a reminder of everything that had happened two nights ago. He reached blindly for his phone on the nightstand, blinking against the screen.

Caller ID: Gao Ming.

His heart dropped.

His father.

Of course.

He didn’t answer. Let it ring.

The room was dark. Still. The weight of silence pressed down on him as he sat up slowly, dragging his aching body to the bathroom. Under the cold white light, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Red marks bloomed across his collarbone and neck. Finger-shaped shadows ghosted along his hips. 

Bruises.

Bites.

Evidence of a night he hadn’t meant to live through, but one he couldn’t stop reliving.

He could still smell the scent of Shen Wenlang’s pheromones clung to him, as if branded into his skin.

Would he remember?
Would he realize it was me?
Does he already know?

The phone rang again.

Gao Ming.

With a sigh that felt more like a surrender, Gao Tu answered.

“Hello?”

“Gao Tu!” his father barked. “I’ve got a business deal. Great returns. My friend’s launching something. I need 150,000 yuan. Send it tonight.”

150,000. That was three months of rent.

“I can’t,” Gao Tu replied, his voice tired. “I’m still paying off Gao Qing’s surgery. I sent you 100,000 just last month. Right now, the most I can give is 50,000.”

“You call that being a son?” his father snapped. “It’s your duty to support your alpha father. The profit will come back to you! And Gao Qing—ugh, let her go. That girl should’ve died years ago. Useless leech.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Gao Tu cried out. “She’s your daughter!”

But the line had already gone dead.

No apology. No gratitude. Not even anger — just dismissal.

Gao Tu stood in the dim light of the bathroom, phone still in hand, eyes stinging.

He doesn’t care. He never did.

He made his way back to bed, curling into the sheets as the silence returned. He didn’t cry. He didn’t sleep.

He just remembered.

How Shen Wenlang held him that night.
The way he whispered his name.
The way it felt like love, even though it wasn’t.

And a quiet, terrifying thought clung to his bones like frost:

What if he knows?

Monday — HS Group Headquarters

The office buzzed with its usual rhythm — tapping keys, shuffling papers, the faint hiss of the coffee machine.

But Gao Tu couldn’t feel any of it.

His heartbeat was too loud.

He moved through the motions — scan badge, elevator, cubicle — every step on autopilot. His mind was still caught in that hotel room, in the silence afterward, in the bruises fading far too slowly.

He hadn’t spoken to Wenlang since that night.

Maybe he doesn’t remember. Maybe he’ll pretend it never happened.

Then—

“Secretary Gao!”

He looked up. The Head Secretary approached in a rush, visibly flustered.

“You need to go to the President’s office. Immediately. He’s furious. He’s already called for you twice.”

A cold spike of fear stabbed through his chest.

His worst fear clawed its way to the surface.

He knows.

“…Understood.”

His hands were shaking as he smoothed his shirt. He walked down the hallway, the walls suddenly too narrow, the air too thin.

Every instinct screamed: He knows.

He paused outside the door.

Knocked once.

“Come in.”

He stepped inside.

Shen Wenlang stood behind his desk — sleeves rolled up, hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

“President Shen…”

“Lock the door.”

Gao Tu froze.

That voice wasn’t just cold.

It was dangerous.

Gao Tu’s fingers trembled as he reached back and turned the lock. The quiet click echoed like a gunshot.

He turned to face the man he’d loved for ten years.

Wenlang’s eyes pinned him in place.

“Do you have anything to say to me, Gao Tu?” he asked. Calm. Too calm.

Gao Tu’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

“No?” Wenlang said, voice rising. “Nothing at all?”

He suddenly hurled a thick file across the desk. Papers and glossy photographs spilled across the floor like spilled blood.

Gao Tu froze.

Then bent down slowly.

His heart stopped.

Photos.

Him, entering the room.

Him, leaving hours later, collar askew, lips swollen.

His fingers trembled over the images. The proof. The betrayal.

“I asked you a question,” Wenlang growled. “Do. You. Have. Anything. To. Say.”

“I— I didn’t know I’d go into heat,” Gao Tu whispered. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I swear— I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, please!” Wenlang exploded. “You think I’m that stupid? That I’d believe this was an accident? Ten years, Gao Tu. You lied to my face for ten years. You sat in this office, every day, smiling, bowing, pretending to be some quiet little beta— when all this time, you were hiding what you really are.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything to hurt you,” Gao Tu said, stepping forward. “I never meant to—”

“Then what the hell was your plan?!” Wenlang roared. “Trap me? Get pregnant? Blackmail me for the company? Is that what this was? What were you going to do, show up crying with a positive test in hand? Tell me it was fate?”

“No! I wasn’t— I’m not trying to trap you! I didn’t even know I was close to heat! I was— I was careful!”

“Not careful enough,” Wenlang snapped. He strode around the desk, getting in Gao Tu’s face. “You should’ve told me the second it happened. But you stayed quiet. Why? Were you waiting for me to confess first? Waiting to see how useful I could be to you?”

“No— please, Shen Zhong, I would never use you— I— I lo—”

“Don’t.” Wenlang’s voice dropped, low and lethal. “Don’t you dare.”

Gao Tu flinched like he’d been struck.

The alpha’s voice cracked with rage.

“You ruined everything. Do you even understand what you’ve done? You made me doubt my own instincts. My own mind. I woke up thinking I was going insane— thinking I’d attacked someone.”

“You didn’t,” Gao Tu whispered. “You were gentle...Alpha..”

“And how can I believe any of that now?! After all your lies? After the way you played me?”

“I never played you,” Gao Tu said, barely audible. “I’ve loved you since high school…”

Wenlang froze.

And for just a second — one second — his expression flickered.

Something broke in his eyes.

Then it hardened again.

“That just makes this worse,” he spat. “I don’t care what you feel. You had ten years to tell me. To tell the truth. Instead, you waited until you could get a piece of me — body and soul — and then kept lying after.”

He grabbed Gao Tu by the front of his shirt and shoved him back against the door.

“You think I’m going to hand over my name, my company, because of some omega I fucked?”

“Stop— you’re hurting me—”

“What did you want, huh?” Wenlang hissed. “My knot? My property? HS shares? You disgust me!”

The grip tightened. Gao Tu gasped for breath, hands weakly clawing at his wrists.

“Let go... please…”

For one terrifying moment, Wenlang didn’t.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the alpha let go — shoving him away like garbage.

Gao Tu hit the floor, coughing.

“You’re fired,” Wenlang said, voice flat. “You’re blacklisted from Jianghu. I never want to see your face again. Disgusting, manipulative omega.”

Tears blurred Gao Tu’s vision. He forced himself to his knees.

“Please… I didn’t mean to hurt you… I didn’t mean for any of this…”

Wenlang turned his back.

“Get out.”

Gao Tu stood, wobbling on his feet.

One last look.

The alpha who had once smiled at him. Trusted him. Kissed him in the dark like he was the only person in the world.

All gone.

“Thank you… for everything,” Gao Tu whispered. “I’m sorry… Goodbye, Shen Zhong.”

He left the room with his head down.

Outside, he dropped off his ID badge and company property at HR, then walked out the front doors.

Goodbye, alpha.

The days drag on in an endless loop.

Gao Tu drifts through the motions like a ghost, barely tethered to the world around him.

The apartment feels colder now — emptier.

He barely eats, barely sleeps.

Some nights he stares at the ceiling, replaying Wenlang’s furious words like a broken record.

“Manipulative omega.”
“Never want to see your face again.”
“Banned from Jianghu.”

The loneliness wraps around him like a shroud.

No messages. No calls. No one checking in.

He wonders if anyone even remembers he exists.

The only sound in the apartment is the relentless tick of the clock.

His phone rings.

The sharpness of the ringtone jolts him from his dark thoughts.

He fumbles for it, heart pounding in his chest.

“Gao Tu? This is Nurse Wu Wei from Heci Hospital. I’m calling about your sister’s surgery.”

His throat tightens.

“There were complications during the operation. She’s stable now, but her recovery will be long and difficult. The doctors advise that she needs someone to care for her in the coming weeks.”

The room spins.

He feels the weight of the world settle back onto his shoulders.

“I’ll be there,” he says, voice raw.

Because no matter how broken he feels, his sister still needs him.

The hospital smells of antiseptic and sadness.

Gao Tu steps into the sterile corridor, nerves jangling.

He hesitates outside Room 407.

The door cracks open.

His sister lies pale and fragile but still radiates a quiet strength.

She smells of roses—soft, sweet, with a faint undercurrent of something fierce.

Gao Tu inhales deeply and gently scents her.

He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“We’ll get through this mei mei,” he whispers.

Two weeks pass in a haze of sleepless nights and whispered prayers.

The sterile hospital room has become their world.

Machines beep steadily, measuring the fragile thread between life and death.

But every day, she grows weaker.

Her breaths come shallower, the color draining from her cheeks.

Gao Tu sits by her bedside, fingers clenched tight around hers.

He slowly holds her hand and prays, Please, Gao Qing, you need to fight. Please don’t leave me.

“Big brother,” she whispers weakly, her voice trembling but clear. “I know what’s happening… can you please do one thing for me? Can I scent you?”

Gao Tu freezes. Over ten years he has kept his scent suppressed, locked away like a secret. But for her, he will do anything.

Quietly, he pulls off the suppressant patch.

Slowly, his sage scent begins to unfurl into the sterile air—earthy, grounding.

He leans closer, moving his neck toward her face so she can smell him.

“You smell nice, Gege,” she murmurs, a faint smile touching her lips. “Hope we can always be like this. You can be who you are without any fear and I’ll be healthy. And we live happily together.”

The intermingling scents of sage and roses fill the room—fragile, comforting.

Gao Tu breaks down, tears slipping freely.

“I’ll try my best not to hide anymore, mei mei. Please, just be with me. Don’t leave me.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead and settles beside her, the night stretching long and uncertain.

The next day arrives heavy and gray. Outside, rain pours in torrential.

Gao Tu sits silently by Qing’s side, watching her chest rise and fall—slower now, more fragile.

The machines beep in steady rhythm, but suddenly something feels different.

Her hand, once warm and steady in his, grows cold.

The rose scent starts fading.

A nurse enters quietly, her eyes soft with sympathy.

Gao Tu doesn’t need words.

He knows.

Gao Qing has slipped away.

He closes her eyes gently, fingers trembling.

The weight of loss crashes down, suffocating.

He slowly presses his handkerchief on her scent glands.

Trying to hold on to the tiniest piece of her.

She fought so hard.

I wasn’t enough.

He leans over her, whispering broken promises through his tears.

“Gege is sorry, I wasn’t enough mei mei. I’ll carry you with me, baobei. Always.”

Always.

Chapter Text

The day of the funeral is oddly bright.

The sun burns high in the sky, cruel in its clarity. The light has the warmth of summer, the kind that once reminded him of childhood, of rooftop naps and popsicle sticks — of Gao Qing’s sweet smile.

But today, it feels hollow. Too clean. Too bright for death.

The ceremony is a quiet, sterile thing.

Their mother had passed years ago. There was no extended family. Their father didn’t show — likely too deep in debt or drink, or both.

The only people who came were from his old workplace. Not out of sentiment, not even out of politeness.
Only because the Secretarial Head had called earlier that week, asking about a file. When Gao Tu had mentioned — offhandedly — that he was busy arranging his sister’s funeral, they’d awkwardly offered their presence.

He watches them now. A few of them whisper. One pretends to check their phone. Another scans the temple garden like they’re already halfway gone.

Was this all that’s left of me?

No alpha.

No family.

No job.

Nothing.

Just a scent in the air and a hole in his chest.

He can feel it.

They’re scenting him.

Discreetly, carefully — like it’s accidental. But it isn’t.

They smell the sage. The omega in him.

There are no suppressants today. No synthetic masks. No artificial beta act. Just him, as he is.

As he promised her he would be.

It is oddly revealing — and yet strangely freeing.

He can feel the quiet shift around him.
Pity from some. Disgust from others. Curiosity from most.

No one speaks to him beyond the basic condolences. No one touches him. But all of them know.

And for the first time in a decade, Gao Tu doesn’t care.

Let them look.

Let them smell.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

They followed a simple ceremony. There were no elaborate displays, no grand eulogies. Just incense curling into the air, a monk chanting softly under his breath, and the gentle ringing of a bell to guide Gao Qing’s soul on its way.

White chrysanthemums were offered — a symbol of mourning.
A few of her personal items were burned, so she wouldn’t go into the afterlife empty-handed.
Gao Tu lit the joss paper with trembling fingers, bowing three times as tradition demanded.

There should have been family to share the weight.
To fold the paper money.
To carry the grief.

Instead, it was just him.

And silence.

The incense had burned low. The final rites had been completed.

Most of the mourners had already left. The last murmured condolences faded down the temple path, leaving only the rustling of trees and the faint tolling of wind chimes.

Gao Tu remained behind, standing before the sealed urn — silent, unmoving.

He was finally alone.

Or so he thought.

A harsh voice broke the stillness like a jagged stone through glass.

“So this is what you've been hiding all these years.”

The sound rooted Gao Tu to the ground. His stomach dropped.

He didn’t need to turn to recognize it.

Gao Ming.
His father.

The man reeked of smoke and cheap liquor, his suit wrinkled, his shoes dusty. He hadn’t even come for the ceremony — just showed up after, when no one could see.

Gao Tu turned slowly, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Gao Ming, I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said quietly.

Gao Ming snorted. “Didn’t see the point. Girl’s already dead, can’t gamble with ashes.”

The words hit like a slap, but Gao Tu didn’t flinch. He’d expected nothing else.

His father’s eyes raked over him. Then narrowed. “You are an omega?!”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

Gao Tu didn’t answer.

“You’ve hidden this gold mine??” Gao Ming stepped closer, his voice dropping, full of contempt. “No wonder people are whispering. A male omega hiding like that? In a top firm? You think people won’t talk? You think I won’t use this?”

His heart thudded painfully. “There’s nothing left for you to take,” Gao Tu said hoarsely. “She’s gone.”

But Gao Ming smiled — the cruel kind he wore when he was calculating.

“Oh, you’re still useful,” he said. “More now than ever.”

He stepped in close, breath hot and foul. “There are alphas out there who would pay good money for a pretty little omega like you. Especially one who knows how to obey. You owe me, boy. You think this life — all that came free?”

“I’ve paid you everything I could.” Gao Tu’s voice trembled. “And I’ve given up everything.”

Gao Ming grabbed his arm. Hard.

“You haven’t given enough. But, now you will.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off — unbothered, humming under his breath.

Left behind, Gao Tu stood alone, his scent sharp in the cold air — sage, bitter now with fear.

He didn’t have the strength to speak.

He just stood there, staring at the urn.

First his sister.
Now his freedom.
Now even his body was under threat again.

He bowed one last time to Gao Qing’s ashes, voice breaking as he whispered:

“I’ll leave soon. I promise. Before he can take anything else.”

The apartment is cold.

Gao Tu doesn’t turn on the lights.

The soft glow from a streetlamp outside filters through the thin curtains, just enough to cast long shadows across the floor. That’s enough. More than he wants, really.

He moves slowly.

There’s no urgency.

No deadline that matters now.

He takes down the calendar on the wall, the one Gao Qing had decorated with tiny doodles in the margins. Cats. Bubble tea. One little sketch of a cherry blossom she’d never seen bloom.

He folds it once, twice — then can’t make himself fold it again.

It goes into the box like everything else.

At first, he only meant to pack her things.

But the longer he lingers in their room — pulling sweaters off hangers, tucking her books away — the harder it becomes to stop.

Once upon a time, the apartment was theirs.

Now it feels like a museum to a life that no longer exists.

By the time he drifts back into the living room, his hands are mechanical. Detached. He starts with his own desk. Drawers emptied. Letters thrown into piles he won’t read again. Clothes folded without care. Certificates he once worked so hard for now face-down in a box marked simply: Misc.

It’s easier to disappear when there’s nothing left to hold you.

It’s easier to not exist when there’s nothing left to live for.

And for the first time, he thinks about leaving Jianghu altogether.
Not just the apartment.
Not just the job.
Everything.

Maybe if he left the city — changed his name again — no one would remember the omega who pretended to be a beta for ten years.
The disgrace.
The disappointment.
The burden.

But, was there a point in trying anymore? To keep running from Gao Ming all his life? 

Wouldn’t it be easy to just give up instead? For once, on his own terms?

Before he finishes packing, Gao Tu sits at the worn-out desk. The only sound is the scratch of his pen against paper.

He writes a letter to Shen Wenlang.

No anger. No pleas.

Just the bare facts.

“Enclosed is the balance of what I owe you. I’m returning everything. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry. By the time you read this, I’ll be far away from Jianghu and will never show you my face again. I promise.”

He carefully places a cheque inside, the last of his savings — everything he has left.

He seals the envelope.

For a long moment, he hesitates.

Then he pulls on his coat and steps outside.

Under the pale glow of the streetlights, Gao Tu finds a mailbox.

He posts the letter there — knowing it will take three days to reach Wenlang.

Three days before the past fully closes.

Three days before he disappears.

He returns home, the weight in his chest heavier than ever.

The boxes wait silently, packed and ready.

His scent—faint sage—lingers quietly in the still air.

He sits down on the floor, back against the cold wall, knees drawn in.

There is no one left to perform for.

No image to uphold.

Not even enough anger left to feel bitter.

Just the tired weight of being... unwanted.

Maybe it would be better if no one could scent him at all.

Maybe…it would be better if he didn’t exist at all…

Exhausted beyond words, Gao Tu drags himself to the bathroom.

He fills the bathtub with warm water — the only comfort he can find tonight.

Sinking in slowly, the water swallows him, wrapping him in quiet stillness.

In his trembling hands, he clutches two handkerchiefs: one soft, faded with the scent of roses — Gao Qing’s; the other worn and stretched, faintly carrying Wenlang’s irises.

His omega, once fierce and sure, has gone silent since that night. Since the day he last saw his the alpha.

He doesn’t know who he is anymore.

Not a reliable beta.

Not a capable secretary.

Not even a protective brother.

Just a man drifting, lost between roles he no longer fits.

He closes his eyes beneath the water, letting the silence press in.

The world outside feels distant, and for a moment, the weight eases — but the ache remains.

His wet clothes stick to him, as if trying to hold onto him amidst his loneliness, his emptiness.

It’s weird he cannot cry anymore.

There was no reason left for him to live for. All his life, all he had was Wenlang and Qing and now he had none. He will not wait to be sold by Gao Ming.

He raises the temperature of the water, feels the warmth on his skin, pretends it’s the heat of someone who loves him holding on to him for one last time.

He stared at his arms, finally not covered by long sleeves. Places his fingers on the tiny indent marks left due to syringe abuse, feels the rough skin on the cuts he has made over the years.

He knew he had to die. To live another day alone, to be sold like cattle by his father was not a future to live for. And to live, just to see his  alpha love someone else was not something he could live with.

It’s funny how despite hiding everything his road has led here. Alone and finally free of all suppressants.

He quietly picks up his trusty razor and starts marking, one for losing his sister, two for losing Wenlang, three for hiding himself and he keeps counting…

His left hand is covered in lines and he finally presses the blade to his wrists, clean, precise.

He slowly picks up the handkerchiefs again, breathes them in ….and out… it won’t be long now…

The water in the tub has started turning red, he feels himself slowly drifting away, slowly fading…

He closes his eyes beneath the water, letting the silence press in.

Doesn’t see the bath water rippling, nor the floor rumbling beneath…

His breathing slows down and at the end all he thinks..

Shen Wenlang…Alpha… I’m sorry for everything…maybe in another life, things would’ve been different…I’ve loved you always….

Chapter Text

Wenlang couldn’t stop seeing it.

Gao Tu, on his knees.
Those tear-filled eyes.
The way his voice broke when he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And worse — the way he had stood there, towering, shaking with fury, hand still curled like it remembered the shape of Gao Tu’s throat.

He had tried to choke him.

He had put his hands on him. In anger.
What the fuck had he done?

He staggered back behind his desk, breathing hard. His chest ached like something had cracked open inside.

What the hell just happened?

The photos.
The scent.
The memories—

How could Gao Tu have hidden it all for so long?

Suppressants didn’t work that well. Not for a decade. Not without side effects. Not without someone noticing. And Wenlang was a goddamn pharma CEO — he knew better.

So how?

How had Gao Tu masked his pheromones for ten years?

Why didn’t he tell him?

And that night.
That cursed, hazy night.Blood on the sheets.

Bruises on his neck.
Omega Gao Tu curled beneath him, dazed and shaking, and himself, a mess of heat, hunger, and instincts. That damned sage scent.

Was that a trap?
Or was that… something else?

Fuck.
He doesn’t know anymore.

He thought he knew Gao Tu.

His secretary. His constant. His beta.
Always calm. Always precise. Always quietly there.

But now it all felt like a lie.
Every meeting. Every late dinner. Every reminder he didn’t know he’d come to depend on.

Did he fake all of it?

Wenlang growled under his breath and grabbed the nearest object — a ceramic teacup — and hurled it across the office. It shattered against the far wall, porcelain dusting the floor like snow.

Those damned bunny eyes.

Were they real?
Or just another layer of the act?

He hated this.
Hated the not-knowing.
Hated how his chest clenched when he pictured Gao Tu’s face as he walked out — pale, eyes wet, mouth trembling like he still wanted to say something but knew it would fall on deaf ears.

He loved him?
Since high school?

Wenlang laughed — hollow and sharp.

“Fucking liar.”

But the words felt sour on his tongue.

Was he a liar… or just someone who had been terrified?

Was Gao Qing really unwell? Was that a lie too?

Was any of it a lie?

Or had Wenlang just broken something that had always been real — and didn’t realize it until it was already too late?

The frustration spiked again, hot and blind.

He slammed his fist into the glass display cabinet. It cracked under the force, a sharp, spiderweb pattern blooming beneath his knuckles. Blood bloomed next, slow and bright.

But he didn’t even flinch.

He just stood there, chest heaving, staring at his reflection in the broken glass.

And for the first time in years, Shen Wenlang didn’t recognize the man looking back at him.

Two weeks had passed.

The office was the same.

Pristine.

Silent.

Efficient.

And completely wrong.

Wenlang sat at the head of the boardroom table, eyes scanning the printed agenda for the weekly strategy meeting.

Except—
It wasn’t the most recent version.

The updated numbers from R&D were missing. The financial forecasts hadn’t been slotted in. One of the files wasn’t even labeled correctly.

He blinked at it, slowly.

“Where’s the revised report?” he asked, not bothering to look up.

The new secretary — third temporary one in two weeks — shifted nervously. “I—I thought this was the final one, sir. It was in the shared folder.”

Wenlang said nothing.

He just pushed the file aside with a flick of his fingers.

He rubbed his temple, already feeling a headache brewing.

His desk calendar was off by a day.
His afternoon meeting was double-booked.

And the tea—

He stared down at the cup on his desk.

White tea. Or what was supposed to be.

Too pale. Water too hot. Slightly bitter.
No soft honeyed finish. No careful aroma. Just bland, unfinished effort in a porcelain cup.

Gao Tu never got it wrong.

Even when they were drowning in quarterly reviews, investor calls, and back-to-back launches — his tea was always perfect. Delicate. Balanced. Subtle comfort disguised as routine.

Now, the cup felt cold in his hands.

Like everything else.

Wenlang leaned back in his chair and looked around the room.

Everything was in place.

And none of it felt like his anymore.

The silence buzzed.

He had reached for his phone more than once to message Gao Tu about something — the pending merger files, a schedule change, the brand of ink refills he liked — and stopped himself every time, thumb hovering mid-air.

There was no one to message.

No quiet knock on the door.
No precise footsteps.
No steady presence behind him.

That night, he stayed late in the office, just… working.
Staring at reports he didn’t read.
Dragging tasks forward for no reason.

The building grew quiet.
The lights dimmed.
And still, he didn’t move.

No knock on the door.
No damned scent of sage.
No voice reminding him to eat or rest.

Just white tea gone cold.
And a chair that sat empty across from him.

It wasn’t the silence that haunted him.

It was the screaming in his head.

The third week felt heavier than the first.

Whatever anger Wenlang had clung to was now twisting into something sharp and hollow — regret, though he wasn’t ready to admit it.

The office was struggling without Gao Tu.

That morning, an urgent issue arose: the latest investor presentation was missing from the shared drive. The final version, the one Gao Tu had been responsible for, was nowhere to be found.

Wenlang’s patience snapped. “Get Gao Tu on the line.”

The Secretarial head Chi Tian blinked. “Sir… he resigned.”

“I know. Call him anyway.”

A moment of hesitation, then the call connected — and was put on speaker.

“Hello?” Gao Tu’s voice was tentative, cautious.

Wenlang’s chest tightened.

“It’s about the investor deck,” Chi began. “We can’t locate the most recent version. We understand you handled the last edits?”

“Yes,” Gao Tu replied quietly. “The file is stored in a secured folder labeled ‘Project Q,’ with restricted access. I’ll send the credentials immediately.”

There was a pause.

“Are you alright Gao Tu? You don’t sound very well?”he asked, concern creeping into his tone.

Gao Tu’s voice was quiet. “My sister passed away today. I’m making the arrangements.”

“Sorry for your loss. If there’s anything we can help with, please let us know.”

There was a pause before Gao Tu responded softly, “I would appreciate it if you and the team could attend the funeral.”

The call ended.

Wenlang sank into his chair, the weight of the news crushing him.

He didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.

The ache that bloomed behind his ribs was sharp, sudden.

She died.

His sister.

And he hadn’t lied.

She’d really been sick. She’d really died.

And Gao Tu hadn’t called him.
Not even once.

Of course he hadn’t. Why would he?

He’d made it clear — violently, shamefully clear — that Gao Tu wasn’t welcome.

Wenlang sat down slowly at his desk, mind spinning, chest tight.

That night, he stayed long after everyone left.

He poured himself into reading — case studies, medical journals, forums, anything he could find.

Suppressant abuse in long-term use.
Omega identity masking.
Pheromonal burnout.
Hormonal dysregulation.
Suppressed secondary gender syndrome.

All the things he should’ve known. Should’ve paid attention to.

Side effects: brittle immunity, hormone crashes, infertility, psychological fatigue, sensory disassociation, chronic pain.

The cost of pretending.

And Wenlang — pharma CEO, top of his field, expert in clinical trials — had never once thought to ask what it was costing him.

The air felt heavier than ever.

He finally slumped back in his chair, eyes burning, and whispered to no one:

"I didn’t know."

But knowing now didn’t change anything.

Later, after the mourners have gone — when the courtyard is quiet and the ashes are being sealed away — Wenlang watches Gao Tu.

Hidden, Shen Wenlang watched from a shaded path just beyond the stone lanterns — unseen, half-hidden by a carved wooden screen.

He had come only to say goodbye in silence.
A bouquet of white lilies still rested in his hand, untouched, forgotten at his side.

He didn’t know what he expected to see.
But it wasn’t this.

It wasn’t Gao Ming barging in like a stormcloud, reeking of smoke and cruelty, words sharper than knives.

He watched it all.

The way Gao Tu stood there, unmoving, as the man spat on his grief.

The way Gao Ming accused him, threatened him — called him worthless.

The way Gao Tu flinched.

And then…

“There are alphas out there who would pay good money for a pretty little omega like you.”

Something inside Wenlang snapped. He didn’t try to trap him. Is this why he hid?

He gripped the wooden screen so tightly the edges dug into his palm. His heart thundered, his alpha instincts rising to the surface before he could suppress them.

Gao Tu looked so small. So still.

Wenlang watched as he pulled his arm away, as he whispered something to the urn like a vow — something Wenlang couldn’t hear — before turning and walking back down the steps alone.

And still... Wenlang did nothing.

He couldn’t bring himself to move.
Not then.

He waited until Gao Tu was gone.

Then he stepped forward in silence and placed the bouquet of lilies beside the urn.

He didn’t say a word.

He couldn’t.

Because for all the years he thought he knew Gao Tu —
this was the first time he’d truly seen him.

Little does he know, the next time he will see Gao Tu, all he would pray for is to rewind time to go back to today, just for a moment, just to hear his voice one more time.

Wenlang’s steps were heavy as he reached his apartment. A hollow pit churned in his stomach, relentless and raw. His alpha instincts screamed at him—go back. Go to our omega. Go to Gao Tu.

But he hesitated.

The hours dragged on, his mind spinning with doubt and fear. He told himself to wait, to think things through. But by late evening, the hold broke. The pull was too strong to resist.

He grabbed his keys and slipped into his car, the city lights blurring past as he drove toward Gao Tu’s place.

Then, without warning, the ground shuddered beneath him.

Earthquake.

The car jolted, tires skidding. Wenlang’s grip tightened on the wheel. Calm and steady, he guided the vehicle to the side of the road and waited, heart hammering, for the tremors to subside.

When silence finally settled, Wenlang reached for his phone. He called Gao Tu.

No answer.

Panicked he dialed again, then again.

Still no response.

Without a second thought, Wenlang raced toward Gao Tu’s apartment building—the old, rickety structure that suddenly seemed fragile under the aftershocks shaking the air.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, each aftershock rattling the steps beneath his feet. His calls cut through the silence, but the phone rang unanswered.

Reaching the door, he peered inside the dim apartment through the window. Darkness swallowed the space.

He rang the bell repeatedly, then called out, voice cracking.
“Gao Tu! Please, answer me!”

He dialled again. Inside, faint ringing echoed.

No reply.

Fear surged through Wenlang as he slammed the door open.

And then—

The sharp metallic scent of blood hit him first.

A faint, fading trace of sage—Gao Tu’s scent—mingled with it.

Wenlang’s eyes followed the scent to the bathroom.

There, in the tub, water rippled lightly, stained red.

Gao Tu lay pale, fragile, floating with his left hand mangled and littered with cuts.

Wenlang’s heart shattered.

He dropped to his knees beside the tub, trembling, his fingers searched desperately for a pulse—weak, it was fading, slipping away.

His eyes caught sight of two handkerchiefs lying folded on the edge of the tub — one faintly scented with irises, the other with the subtle sweetness of roses. He tied them on Gao Tu’s mangled wrist to try and stop the blood flow from the mutilated arm.

Gently, he lifted Gao Tu’s limp body from the hot water, careful not to cause more pain, then wrapped his own jacket around him, cocooning him against the cold.

Seeing the red scorch marks of the hot water on his skin, the unresponsiveness, panicking, Wenlang grabbed his phone and dialed emergency services, voice shaky but urgent as he gave their location.

Cradling Gao Tu in his arms, Wenlang’s sobbed.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Not now. Not like this!

I still need you Tu.

I..love you too..

Please, please, I’m sorry..

Don’t leave me….”

As the seconds stretched unbearably long, all Wenlang could think was—

Am I too late?

Am I too late?

Chapter Text

The sirens sliced through the night.

Wenlang didn’t let go—not for a second. Gao Tu’s body was limp, head resting against his shoulder, damp skin cooling fast in the night air. The smell of blood clung to everything. To him. To his jacket. To the walls.

He rocked slightly, whispering into Gao Tu’s ear like it would tether him to life.

“Stay with me… please, bunny… I’m right here… I’ve got you…”

The paramedics burst in. Flashlights. Commands. Fast hands.

They pried Gao Tu from his arms, placing him on a stretcher. Wenlang’s body screamed to follow, to not let them take him away—not again—but he forced himself to move with them, steps locked to the rhythm of Gao Tu’s weak heartbeat as they wheeled him to the ambulance.

“BP is dropping!”

“Suspected heat exhaustion and blood loss—trauma—possible nerve damage—”

Wenlang climbed into the ambulance without asking. No one stopped him.

He sat beside the stretcher, gripping Gao Tu’s other hand—his uninjured one—careful, reverent. The hand he’d held a thousand times without even noticing. Now, he was terrified to let it go.

Gao Tu didn’t open his eyes.

The waiting room was sterile, too bright. Wenlang sat with blood drying on his sleeves.

They’d taken him into emergency surgery.

He didn’t know how long it had been. Minutes? Hours?
Everything blurred—except the feel of Gao Tu's scent still clinging faintly to his skin. Sage. Fading, but there.

He buried his face in his hands.

This was my fault. Why didn’t I talk to him at the funeral?

He remembered the night of the banquet. The scent of blood on the sheets. The confrontation. The trembling lips. The soft, broken, “Thank you for everything.”

He’d missed every sign.

Until the water ran red.

“He made it through surgery.”

The doctor’s voice broke through the haze.

“The wounds on his hand were deep—intentional, not accidental. We did our best to save mobility, but nerve trauma may remain. But, he needs to wake up and decide quickly.”

“Decide what?” Wenlang asked, voice hoarse.

The doctor paused.

“…The foetus is alive. For now. But his body is in shock, and with the suppressant withdrawal and emotional stress, it’s delicate. We can’t make guarantees.”

“Foetus? He’s pregnant? How…how long?” Wenlang was petrified.

“Still too early to say, maybe somewhere around three weeks? We also need to contact his alpha. He will need all the support he can get right now. There’s still a high chance that neither of them will make it.”

”No need to contact anyone. I’m his Alpha. How can I help them?” 

Stumbling, Wenlang  stepped into the ICU.

There lay Gao Tu. Fragile. His hand heavily bandaged. Monitors blinking softly around him. An oxygen tube at his nose. His lips slightly parted, dry and pale.

But he was alive. And so was their pup, for now.

Wenlang dropped into the chair beside the bed and leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against Gao Tu’s blanketed arm.

“I should have come sooner,” he whispered. “I should’ve known.”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll wait. We’ll talk…Just… come back to me.”

He lifted Gao Tu’s bandaged hand and kissed it gently.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry..”

There’s still a high chance that neither of them will make it.

The doctor’s ominous words keep circling in his head.

He may still lose both-his mate and his pup. And if he hadn’t reached his home that evening, he already would’ve lost both of them…

Shen Wenlang, S class alpha, HS group CEO wept…praying to any God who would listen that both his mate and pup make it out alive.

Day One

Gao Tu didn’t wake.

The doctors called it “omega drop”
A rare omega response — instinctive, involuntary. Protective.
Especially in early pregnancy, when stress or despair could threaten the foetus.

The body survives by retreating. Going still. Quiet. Safe.

Wenlang didn’t leave the hospital. He sat by Gao Tu’s bedside, every hour, every breath releasing soothing pheromones. He watched the monitors blink. He held his hand — the unbandaged one. And he talked.

About anything.

Everything.

He told him how the office was quieter without him.
How he missed Gao Tu’s tea.

How sorry he was.

“Just open your eyes,Tu Tu. I’m right here.”

Still, no response.

Day Two

It was early morning when the secretary Chi gently tapped his shoulder.

“President Shen?” he said softly. “There’s something for you.”

Wenlang blinked, disoriented. He took the envelope without thinking.

His name was written on the front — in small, neat strokes he knew too well.
No perfume. No signature. Just plain paper.

He recognized it instantly.

Gao Tu’s handwriting.

His hands shook.

He sat back down in the waiting room, the cold envelope resting on his lap like a weight.

He stared at it for a long time.

And then—he opened it.

President Shen,

Enclosed is the balance of what I owe you.

I’m returning everything.
Thank you for everything.
I’m sorry.

By the time you read this, I’ll be far away from Jianghu and will never show you my face again. I promise.

Inside, a folded cheque. He’s certain that this was the last of Gao Tu’s savings.

Wenlang’s chest cracked open.

This is what he was planning. This is what he thought I wanted.

Not anger. Not even goodbye.
Just resignation. Finality. Silence.

And leaving to a place that Wenlang could never ever reach him again.

Wenlang pressed the letter to his chest, breathing hard.

He returned to the ICU. Sat beside the pale, still figure. Took Gao Tu’s hand again.

And for the first time in two days, he didn’t try to talk.

Instead, he whispered:
“I got your letter, bunny.”

His voice broke.

“But I’m not letting you leave me. Not now. Not ever.”

He gently set the letter on the bedside table, like proof.

Proof of what almost happened.
Proof of how close he came to losing everything.
Proof that fate had given him — barely — one more chance.

Day Four

The sound of the monitor shifted.

Shen Wenlang sat upright in an instant, his breath catching.

A twitch. Fingers. Not the injured hand — the other one. Then, slowly, Gao Tu’s lashes fluttered.

His eyes opened.

They were dry. Unfocused at first. Then they found him.

“Alpha?” The voice was barely audible. Dry as dust. Not warmth. Not confusion. Just… tired.

Wenlang leaned forward, gripping his hand gently. “Hey. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Gao Tu blinked, eyes heavy-lidded. He didn’t pull away.

But he didn’t smile either.

“Where…?”

“The hospital. You're safe.”

He nodded slightly, then turned his face away, staring at the IV drip like it mattered.

Shen Wenlang waited for something — relief, emotion, even irritation — but Gao Tu said nothing. No reaction to the bandages. No flinch at the sterile beeping. Just silence.

“Gao Tu…” Wenlang tried again. “You lost a lot of blood. There was nerve damage in your hand. They operated. You’re stable now, but—”

“It hurts,” Gao Tu said, voice flat. “Not the hand. Just… everything.”

Wenlang’s heart twisted. “I know. I’m sorry.”

No response.

The quiet hum of the hospital room was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

The doctor stepped inside, clipboard in hand. Wenlang was sitting close to Gao Tu’s bedside, his hand gently resting on Gao Tu’s arm.

“Good morning, Gao Tu,” the doctor greeted him kindly. “I wanted to talk to you about your condition.”

Gao Tu glanced at Wenlang, then back at the doctor, eyes cautious.

“The tests we ran before your surgery… they showed something important,” the doctor said carefully.

Gao Tu’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

The doctor met his gaze steadily. “You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like a fragile weight.

Gao Tu blinked, silence stretching between them.

Alpha’s fingers tightened on his arm, a small, reassuring pressure.

“I didn’t know,” Gao Tu whispered finally, voice low and uncertain.

“You wouldn’t have,” the doctor said gently. “It’s very early, and given everything you’ve been through, it’s understandable you didn’t feel the usual signs yet. You need to decide if you want to keep the baby or not. With your hormone profile, you will not be able to carry to term without the Alpha’s pheromones.”

Shen Wenlang leaned closer, brushing a thumb over Gao Tu’s knuckles.

“We’ll face this together. I’m here.”

Gao Tu’s lips parted, struggling to form a response, but the weight of the moment left him quiet, lost in a new and fragile reality.

The room felt heavy with unspoken words. Shen Wenlang’s gaze never left Gao Tu’s face, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I should have been here sooner,” he confessed, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I should have known you wouldn’t trap me. I failed you, Gao Tu. And I’m so sorry.”

Gao Tu’s expression remained guarded, the fragile weight of the pregnancy settling over him like an invisible shroud.

“It’s not all on you…I needed help,” Gao Tu said quietly, almost to himself. “And all I wanted was to disappear…Do you…do you want the pup? I don’t want to trap you…if…if I choose to keep the pup, can you support us to the delivery? We can sign a contract waiving off all rights. You don’t need to give us anything…”

Shen Wenlang nodded fervently. “It’s our pup. I want him if you do too. He will have both his parents…you don’t need to sign anything..Please, Gao Tu, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all of the things at the office that day..I’ll get you everything. Therapy, support—whatever you need. I’ll be by your side every step not just during the pregnancy but after that too.”

Gao Tu finally met Wenlang’s eyes, a flicker of something like hope stirring beneath the exhaustion.

The alpha swallowed hard, voice trembling as he brought up the subject that haunted him.

“Tu... there was your letter. Why did you?? I was mad that day, I didn’t mean for you to disappear in a way that I’ll never find you again…I’m sorry, how could I live without you in my life? I…I love you too…I’m sorry…please forgive me…”

Gao Tu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, shadowed by pain and regret.

“I thought… I was a burden…There was no place for me here, not with you not in Jianghu, not anywhere...,” Gao Tu admitted, voice barely a whisper. 

Wenlang shook his head slowly, tears spilling free.

“You were never a burden. You’re Mine — my mate, my responsibility. I should have listened to you that day…instead I just made things harder for you. I promise you, no more silence, no more leaving. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to accept me…”

Gao Tu’s eyes glistened with tears now.

“I’m scared, Alpha,” he confessed. “Scared of everything… some nights…all I want to do is just not wake up the next day... I don’t even know if I’ll be able to carry our pup to term...”

He hugged the omega, voice steady. “We’ll face all of it. Together. You’re not alone anymore.”

The mingled scents of irises and sage lingered in the quiet hospital room. Alpha and omega, finally together, bracing for whatever the future held.

“Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.”
— Coldplay, Fix You

Chapter Text

The room felt heavier than usual, thick with the mingled scents of sage and iris. It had been two days since the night Shen Wenlang broke down at Gao Tu’s bedside, and though the words they had exchanged then still hung between them like an unfinished melody, today brought a whole new battle.

Tomorrow, Gao Tu would be discharged. And neither of them was ready for what came next.

“I don’t want to owe you anything more,” Gao Tu said, his voice soft but firm. “Please, Shen Wenlang. Just let me go back to my apartment.”

“No.” The Alpha’s answer came immediately, sharp as a blade. “Absolutely not. That place is not safe. Not now.”

He stepped closer to the bed, his tone lowering. “I have more than enough space at my place. And you remember what the doctor said—you’re not allowed to stay on your own for some time.”

Gao Tu’s brows drew together. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Baobei,” Wenlang said quietly, “please… can we not argue about this?”

“I don’t understand why!” Gao Tu’s fingers tightened in the hospital blanket. “I have savings…if you haven’t encashed that cheque yet... Also, you can visit me at my place, it’s not a big deal…I promised I’d attend therapy sessions, we’ll check in with each other—please…”

“Of course I haven’t encashed it. I just don’t want you to go back there.” The Alpha’s voice cracked. “Back to where you almost died.”

He exhaled shakily, the veneer of control finally slipping. “I almost lost you, A-Tu. Both you and the pup. Please… just stay with me for a few days. If you still want to move after that, I’ll find you a place close to mine. But I can’t—” his voice broke—“I can’t let you out of my sight yet.”

Something in Gao Tu’s chest loosened. His Alpha’s stubbornness wasn’t only control; it was fear. Fear and care, tangled together. Inside, his omega crooned quietly: Alpha wants us.

But still, there was one last shadow.

“What about Hua Yong?” Gao Tu asked hesitantly, his voice almost inaudible. “Would he… be okay with our arrangement?”

Shen Wenlang blinked. “What about that lunatic? Why does he even matter in this conversation? Bunny… why do you think Hua Yong would have any say in this?”

Gao Tu’s gaze flickered downward. “Isn’t… isn’t he your omega?”

The Alpha stared for a heartbeat, then let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “What? How did you even reach that conclusion?”

Gao Tu stayed silent.

Wenlang knelt slightly, bringing his eyes level with Gao Tu’s. His voice dropped, quiet but fierce.

“Baobei. Listen once, and listen carefully. There’s only one omega who can claim being mine. And that omega is you.”

Gao Tu’s breath caught.

“That lunatic,” Wenlang continued, “he loves Sheng Shaoyou. Everything between us was a sham for him to get his Alpha. He’s not even an omega. Forget about him. I didn’t realize this is what you thought.” His eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”

“But you—”

“There’s only you,” Wenlang interrupted, his tone hot and unyielding now. “You’re the only omega in my life. And you’ll be my mate. I will court you, and mark you, little bunny. Once you’re ready, you’ll be mine.”

His gaze burned, fierce and unflinching.

Gao Tu’s face flushed scarlet. Lunatic? Nothing between them? Our Alpha was never interested in that orchid? Wait—his? And marking? His pulse stuttered, heat rising to his cheeks.

Wenlang reached out, brushing a thumb over his knuckles.

“But before any of that,” he said softly, “let’s just go home tomorrow, baobei. My home. Where you’ll be safe. Turns out, I still have a lot more things to apologize for… and a lot of things we need to talk about.”

For the first time since waking, Gao Tu didn’t protest.

His omega settled quietly under the Alpha’s scent. And though fear still hovered at the edges of his heart, something like hope—small, fragile, and real—began to take root.

The next day passed quietly, the air heavy with cautious peace.

Shen Wenlang didn’t press him on anything—not the way he barely spoke during the car ride, not the way he flinched slightly stepping into the apartment. He just held his hand, firm and steady, and whispered, “Welcome home.”

They unpacked slowly.

Gao Tu’s boxes sat on the living room floor — neatly taped, organized with clinical precision, he never thought he’d be unpacking these again. His small life all cleanly packed in five boxes.

As Gao Tu bent to open another box, Wenlang crouched beside him, picking through the stack of small keepsakes at the top — paperbacks worn at the corners, a cracked photo frame, a chipped ceramic mug.

Then he froze.

In his hand, a photo — the colors slightly faded, but the image unmistakable.

Two boys in uniform, smiling. Gao Tu’s eyes bright with youth, cheeks flushed. Wenlang behind him, one arm slung lazily around his shoulder, grinning like he had the whole world in front of him.

“You kept this?” Wenlang asked, voice low with surprise. “From high school?”

Gao Tu paused, looking over. “Yeah… I did.”

The Alpha’s thumb brushed the edge of the picture, and that’s when he saw it — a small, dried smudge along the border. Rust-colored. Barely there, but not forgotten.

Blood.

His breath caught.

The memory hit like a cold wind.

The bathroom floor. The red pooling around porcelain. Gao Tu’s skin too pale, too still.

Wenlang swallowed hard.

“…When did it start?” he asked, voice quiet. “The cutting?”

The question settled in the room like dust.

Gao Tu didn’t answer right away. His fingers closed slowly over the box flaps, eyes fixed on the photo still in Wenlang’s hands.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked finally, voice soft, like he was asking for permission.

Wenlang nodded.

Another breath. Then:

“The first time… was when I presented,” Gao Tu said quietly. “As an omega.”

He didn’t look at Wenlang. He kept his eyes on the photo in his Alpha’s hand, as if seeing that younger version of himself helped him speak.

“I was fifteen. My mother carefully handed me an omega suppressant like it was a family heirloom. No questions. No comfort. Just instructions. On how suppressants work. Which inhibitors to use. How to apply the injections. Because she knew.”

He gave a hollow laugh.

“She knew that if my father…Gao Ming…found out—he’d sell me. Just like he sold her heats, her body. A omega and a male at that, he’d get a huge bounty out of it.”

Shen Wenlang’s stomach twisted, his hands tightening around the photo.

“I wasn’t even angry at her,” Gao Tu continued. “Not then. She was surviving the only way she knew how. But I…” He paused, breath catching. “I hated myself. For being weak. For being something that had to be hidden. Had to be silenced.”

He swallowed hard, eyes distant.

“And in all that noise — the fear, the pretending — the pain from the blade in my hands was the only thing that felt… quiet, soothing. Controlled. It hurt, but it made everything else stop hurting, even just for a moment.”

Wenlang felt his throat close. Guilt. Rage. Helplessness. He never knew. So long and yet he never knew. His alpha howled at the back of his mind.

He set the photo aside gently and moved toward Gao Tu, kneeling in front of him. His hands hovered for a moment, unsure, before resting lightly on the edge of the box between them.

“Baobei…” he whispered.

The omega shook his head, a fragile smile flickering across his lips. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad,” he said quietly. “I’ve lived with it for so long it’s just a part of me now…”

His fingers tightened on the blanket, knuckles white.

“At the end, it wasn’t really about you, Alpha,” he went on, voice thin but steady. “It was just one more reason… I was tired… Tired of hiding… Tired of living…And if the road ahead only led to a life tied under some stranger’s leash…”

He gave a hollow, broken laugh. “Then it felt better to at least say goodbye on my own terms.”

The words landed between them like shards of glass.

For a moment, Shen Wenlang couldn’t breathe. He reached out and carefully picked up Gao Tu’s injured hand, his fingers gently caressing the cuts, tracing the pale scars with tenderness. His eyes misted, and he pressed a soft kiss to the marks.

“Baobei…” His voice cracked. “You were never a burden. You were never alone in this. I should have seen your pain sooner. I should have been a safe place for you and not an omegaphobic condescending Alpha who couldn’t sniff out of his own nose. I’m so sorry A-Tu…for everything, all those snide remarks, that day in the office…I’m sorry, I should’ve never said that…never done that…”

He held the wounded hand gently between both of his palms, warm and steady.

“No more hiding. No more silence. No more strangers deciding your fate,” he murmured. “From now on, you have me. Not as a leash, but as a shield. As your home. As your Alpha.”

His eyes held Gao Tu’s, dark and earnest.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” Wenlang whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll face everything — the scars, the fears, the darkness — together. You don’t have to be strong alone anymore.”

He leaned closer, voice soft but unshakable.

“You are mine. You are loved. And no one will dare to take you from me, ever. If anyone dares to even lift their finger at you, I’ll cut that hand off Omega. You are safe with me.”

Gao Tu’s breath shuddered out of him, his omega instincts crooning softly beneath Wenlang’s soothing iris scent. The photo lay forgotten on the floor — stained, but not ruined. Just like them.

Exhaustion finally claimed Gao Tu, his body relaxing completely as he slipped into a peaceful sleep—curled softly in Wenlang’s arms.

Wenlang carefully lifted him, carrying him to the bedroom with quiet reverence before laying him down gently and covering his precious cargo with the alpha’s own blanket. At that time, a message flashed on the Alpha’s phone, ‘We’ve captured the worm.’

He straightened and activated his secure line. “Double the patrol around the house. No one is to come near, especially Gao Ming. If anyone enters the premises, all of you lose your right hands!”

Outside, Wenlang’s guards moved silently through the shadows, their watch intensifying as the night deepened. The Wolf was out to hunt. 

The steel door slammed shut behind Shen Wenlang’s men, the echo swallowed by the cold silence of the abandoned warehouse. Gao Ming was shoved roughly into the center, his wrists bound tightly to each other and shoved on the rusted metal chair.

He sneered, wiping sweat from his brow. “Look, whoever you are, I’m no fool. I don’t have the money for the loan but I can give you something better.” His eyes flicked to Wenlang, trying to gauge his reaction. “My son. Gao Tu. He’s got value—more than you know the loan.”

Wenlang’s expression remained unreadable, his voice low and controlled. “You think you can trade your own blood to get yourself out of this?”

Gao Ming smirked. “Clever, right? I’ve got buyers lined up. Strong male omega, virgin, fertile, fit, the kind that fetches a high price.”

Wenlang’s gaze sharpened. “Prove it.”

Gao Ming blinked, surprised. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“Show me proof. Or you keep sitting there.”

Gao Ming’s swagger faltered; he hissed at the ropes and then fumbled for his phone. With a shaking thumb he navigated to a hidden site then held it up for Wenlang to see.

“What’s this?” Shen Wenlang asked, eyes narrowing at the dim glow showing photos of Gao Tu, close-ups of his scent glands, measurements, and messages from anonymous buyers discussing price and availability.

Gao Ming’s grin faltered under Wenlang’s steady gaze. “Private marketplace. Very discrete. See? They’re already bidding. Lots of interested parties. You can have him—instead of the money.”

Wenlang’s hand closed around the phone before the words were finished. He held it up and passed it to his right hand in these things Chi Cheng without a flicker of emotion.

“Chi,” Wenlang said, “wipe every copy of those images from their servers. Trace every buyer who accessed them in the last month. Ensure that they are dealt with permanently within this week. Make sure there’s no remaining trace of Gao Tu anywhere on that web. And then—bring me the names and details. All of them.”

Chi’s nod was a single machine-precise motion. He already had a tablet out, fingers moving as he issued orders to Shen family’s trusted staff who were experts at what the family’s darker wings did when necessary.

Wenlang turned back to Gao Ming. The lights in the warehouse made the older man’s face look smaller, less certain. “You didn’t just traffic pictures,” Wenlang said quietly. “You tried to sell a life. You threatened a child of your own blood for profit.”

Gao Ming tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “You can’t prove anything. He was mine to—”

“You were feeding a market,” Wenlang interrupted. “You lined people up to buy him.” He crouched so his face was level with Gao Ming’s.

”You tried to sell my omega. For this, you will not breathe the same air as him come morning.”

Without another word, Wenlang’s men moved swiftly to restrain Gao Ming more tightly. Wenlang’s voice was calm but icy.

“This ends here. You won’t hurt him or anyone else again.” 

Gao Ming opened his mouth, but the backhand came before he could speak. The crack of skin on skin echoed sharply, his head snapping to the side.

Wenlang didn’t shout. He didn’t have to.

He grabbed Gao Ming by the collar, yanking him forward so their faces were inches apart. “You offered my omega to strangers like a piece of meat. You laughed about it.”

Then, without warning, Wenlang drove his fist into Gao Ming’s gut — once, hard, and precise. The man doubled over, gasping.

“You think this is about debt?” Wenlang growled. “You don’t walk out of here.”

Another signal.

One of Wenlang’s men stepped forward. He pinned Gao Ming’s to the chair, Wenlang gripped his arm. A single, wet crack snapped through the room as he broke it at the elbow.

Gao Ming screamed — the sound strangled by Wenlang’s hand around his throat.

“You won’t lift a hand again. Not to anyone. Not to him.”

Another sharp order, and this time it was the knees.

Wenlang didn’t look away.

When Gao Ming’s body or what was left of it finally slumped down, Wenlang wiped his hands off on a clean handkerchief, straightened his sleeves and stepped back without a word.

He turned to Chi Cheng, calm once more.

“Clean this place. Burn everything. Remove the garbage.”

Chi nodded, already signaling the others.

As Wenlang stepped out into the cold night, the warehouse door clanged shut behind him — sealing away the last trace of Gao Ming’s shadow.

The wind cut through his coat, but he didn’t feel it.

His mind was already elsewhere.

Back home.

Where soft breathing and faint traces of sage lingered in the sheets.

Where his omega slept — safe, finally — curled beneath warm blankets, unaware that a past steeped in violence had just been erased.

Wenlang pulled out his phone.

“Check with the guards if anyone has entered the house,” he told Chi as the car door opened. 

“Yes, President Shen. Have confirmed, no one has entered the house.”

The vehicle rolled forward, headlights slicing through the dark.

Wenlang leaned back, exhaling slowly. The weight in his chest lightened — not gone, but quieter.

The threat was gone.

The blood had been spilled.

And for the first time since he found Gao Tu unconscious on that cold bathroom floor, his alpha was satisfied.

There were no more predators circling his omega.

Not anymore.

And when he reached home, he would hold him.

And this time, he would never let him go.

Chapter Text

Dr. Li folds her hands gently in her lap. Her eyes move between them—Gao Tu curled lightly into one side of the couch, arms tucked in. Shen Wenlang beside him, tense and arms firmly crossed.

“So. How has the past week been?”

Wenlang answers first. “Better,” he says. “I’ve been pausing before speaking and also asking before touching him. Gao Tu’s been sleeping next to me more often.”

He pauses. His voice softens. “Sometimes he even initiates contact.”

Dr. Lin nods, but turns to Gao Tu. “And for you?”

Gao Tu hesitates. Then, carefully: “It’s not all good or bad. Some nights, I feel okay. I like his scent, and the warmth. It helps me sleep. It also helps the baby.”

He swallows. “But sometimes I wake up... and I can’t breathe. It feels like I’m back there. Like it’s happening again.”

Wenlang stiffens. Gao Tu feels it, but keeps talking, “I flinch and leave the bed. Leave him and go to the other room. Sometimes, sometimes I can’t look at him for hours.”

“Do you feel ashamed?” Dr. Lin asks gently.

Gao Tu closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

His voice is thin. “Because part of me still wants him. Even after everything. The trauma of our first time, the words, my brain just can’t shut down. It just…it just keeps replaying those memories in a loop…”

Dr. Lin is quiet for a moment, letting that truth sit in the space.

Then she turns to Wenlang. “How do you respond, when he pulls away?”

The Alpha exhales through his nose. “It used to piss me off,” he admits. “Not at him, but... at myself. At how this is something I just cannot fix immediately.”

He glances at Gao Tu, then back at the therapist. “Now, I just wait. I give him space. And when he’s feeling better and ready to talk, I remind him that I’m still here.”

“That’s growth,” Dr. Lin says. “That’s love with patience. But Gao Tu—let’s talk about the guilt.”

She leans forward slightly. “Liking your Alpha’s comfort doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven what happened. Your body responding to his pheromones doesn’t erase your trauma.”

Gao Tu nods, tears pressing at the corners of his eyes.“I hate how confusing it is.”

“Of course it is,” she says. “Because it’s not linear. It’s messy. And it’s okay to need him one day and not the next.”

Wenlang touches his fingers together, then asks, voice low: “I want us to mate. Not today but at some point in the future? Is it wrong that I still want him? Even though I’m trying not to act on it?”

Her voice sharpened slightly. “Desire isn’t the problem. Entitlement is.”

Both men looked at her.

“Mr. Shen, it’s not wrong to want him. To crave his scent and  touch. Even permanently marking and sex. But you can’t act on that want unless he actively chooses it too. Mutual consent in every part of the relationship is necessary. As your first time, you were ruled by your instincts but that does not erase what you made your partner feel. And this is other than the snide remarks which were made thoughtlessly throughout your equation.”

She turned to Gao Tu. “And Gao Tu — it’s not wrong to like being touched by the person you see as your Alpha. Or to want him one night and not the next. You’re allowed to change your mind. Your body’s response doesn’t override your right to safety. You have had your share of bad Alphas and your perceived necessity to hide and harmful coping mechanisms. The fact that after all of it, you are still reaching out for him, shows your own strength and belief that your Alpha coherently without drunk on instincts would never be forceful on you.”

Gao Tu’s throat felt raw. “It’s just hard to hold both things,” he whispered. “Wanting him… and being afraid of him.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “It won’t always be that way. But for now, go slow. Be gentle. Build something new. Not the bond you had. The one you’re choosing to make.”

Wenlang reached over, slow, careful, and laid his hand — palm up — between them on the couch.“May I?”

Gao Tu stared at it.

Then placed his hand over his.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You may.”

Both Alpha and Omega look at each other slowly. Holding hands tightly.

Then Dr. Lin says, gently: “Next time he flinches, remember this: it doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means he’s healing. And the fact that he’s still here—still coming to therapy, still reaching for you some nights—that means something too.”

Later that night

Gao Tu is curled against Wenlang’s chest. The Alpha’s iris scented pheromones is soothing, lulling him to sleep. His breathing slows. He feels safe.

Until—A hand shifts. A muscle memory. A pressure on his hip that’s too familiar, too close to that night.

He freezes. Then jerks away.

Wenlang startles awake, hands instantly up. “It’s okay,” he says quickly. “You’re safe. I didn’t mean—”

But Gao Tu’s already climbing out of bed, breathing ragged. “I just need—need a different room tonight.”

Wenlang nods slowly and softly says,“I’ll leave the light on in case you want to come back.”

The next morning, Gao Tu comes back into the kitchen with tired eyes. Wenlang is already up, nursing tea.

“Sorry I left,” Gao Tu mumbles.

The Alpha hands him a mug. “Don’t be. You did what you needed.”

They don’t hug. But Gao Tu lets their fingers brush as he takes the cup.

It’s enough.

After a few weeks

The rain poured down softly had started after midnight.

Gentle, steady — a sound that filled the silence between the two.

Gao Tu sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to his chest, sleeves of his white sweater stretched over his hands. One palm softly patting his now rounded belly.

Shen Wenlang stood in the doorway. His Alpha at the back of his mind, crooning at the beautiful sight. His tiny omega, pregnant with his pup, softly loving their baby. He wants to move inside further in the room to hold him, but would his omega be okay with that today?

It had been a good few days.

No arguments.
No flinching.
No flashbacks or nightmares this past week.

Just quiet. More hugs, some soft kisses and his omega’s insistent stubbornness to work till six months of his pregnancy. Sighing, Wenlang takes in the site again. Stares at those soft bunny eyes, tempting red bow shaped lips, the elegant arch of the honey toned nape. How did he get so lucky?

After everything they’d endured...After the hell they’d clawed through...he’s grateful that his omega is here. Safe.

Gao Tu turned his head, looking at the darkened eyes of his Alpha.
The slight hint of storm in the gentle iris scent.

His omega purrs, Alpha wants us.

These moments keep surprising Gao Tu, after everything, Wenlang still wants him.
Just maybe, maybe now, it was okay to take the next step?

His cheeks blush a furious red. Slowly, he releases soft milky sage pheromones. Hesitating, he glances up again to the Alpha’s alluring eyes and shyly asks,  voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you still want to bond with me?”

Wenlang’s jaw clenched in disbelief. His pupils flared—then softened again.
Did they make it? Can they finally…?

He tries to restrain the surge of possessive pheromones. Was his omega actually comfortable? “Yes,” he said. “But only if you want to. Only if you’re sure.”.

Gao Tu looked down at his hands and then peeks up, ears flushing a bright red, “I think I’m ready.”

Wenlang didn’t move.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t reach.

Barely held back by a thread, he says “Say it again.”

Gao Tu looked over at him fully this time.eyes bright and unwavering. “I want you. This time... I’m ready…”

His lips trembled. “Make me yours? Please, Alpha?”

Wenlang stepped forward slowly. Like a wolf circling his tiny bunny. Carefully.

He sat beside Gao Tu on the bed, not touching him yet.

“You can stop at any moment,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything. Just say the word and we stop, okay baobei?”

“I’m not doing this because I owe you Alpha” Gao Tu said, soft and steady. “I’m doing this because I love you. Because I want this—with you.”

Wenlang reached out — to the edge of Gao Tu’s sleeve. Eyes staring into his omega’s, asking for permission.

Gao Tu smiled softly and leaned in.

And kissed him.

It was not rushed, just a soft brush of lips. A soft acceptance. A small declaration,that yes we made it out of the woods. I’m yours Alpha. 

After a few seconds,Wenlang let out a low growl and pressed back, kissing deeper. Nibbling at those perfect, trembling heart shaped lips.

Gao Tu sighed into it. Let the warmth melt into his skin.

Their foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing. Outside the gentle sound of rain filled the space between the two heartbeats. Two halves of one soul, finally joining.

The Alpha’s hands moved carefully, brushing the edge of the soft sweater over the omega’s collarbone.

“May I undress you?” he asked.

Shyly, the omega nodded and turned his face down. Surrendering and submitting to his Alpha.

Softly, Wenlang kissed his forehead and slowly pulled up the sweater.

He quietly took in the sight of his tiny mate with beautiful golden toned skin and the pretty swelled belly. Reverently, he kissed the omega’s stomach and placing his hands on the omega’s chin, he slowly lifted his face and gently kissed him.

The Alpha removed his bunny’s glasses and looked into the beautiful glassy eyes no longer hiding behind the glasses. 

His little bunny.
His mate.

He kneeled to his omega and placed his hands on his bunny’s tiny waistband. Looking up again for permission.

Gao Tu was frustrated. He is happy with how soft his Alpha is being but can they not go a little faster? He sends a small prayer to his pup, Baobei, your papa has learned to be gentle. But sometimes he doesn’t understand he needs to be gentle and fast.

Nodding quickly, Gao Tu presses Wenlang’s hand further on his waist as if to say, yes, I want you, please hurry up. He also presses his hands to the Alpha’s Black shirt and starts unbuttoning him.

Wenlang simply lets the omega fuss over his buttons. Letting out a small laugh, he bent forward and nuzzled the space just under Gao Tu’s ear.

Gao Tu tilted his head instinctively, exposing the side of his neck.

“You smell so good Baobei, I love your sage earthy scent,” Wenlang whispered. “And the added tones of milk. You smell like home, baby.”

He pressed his face to his omega’s hair, then his jaw. Slow. Steady. Letting his pheromones settle gently into the omega’s skin.

Gao Tu purred and pressed closer.

This time, he leaned in to scent his Alpha back.

Soft brushes of nose to his strong shoulder. Jaw to collarbone. His milky sage scent blooming in the between them.

The Alpha let out a shuddered breath.

When their chests touched again, bare and warm, Gao Tu turned his face into Wenlang’s throat. His lips grazed the base of the alpha’s neck — right where the scent gland pulsed just under the skin.

Wenlang went still.

“Can I?” Gao Tu asked.

“Yes,” came the answer. Rough and reverent. “Please.”

No teeth. Not yet.

Just lips. A soft press of lips to the Alphas scent gland.

The Omega mouthed over the scent gland gently pressing, nibbling and sucking the swollen skin. And then, he bit down hard on the gland. Permanently marking his Alpha.

Wenlang’s arms circled around him. As he felt the bite, he tightened his hold on the omega. 

When Gao Tu tilted his own head — offering his scent gland in return — the Alpha no longer restrained, suckled on the swollen gland and bit down hard. Claiming his omega, his mate.

Slowly, he brushed his lips on the omega’s. Moving slightly away, he looked into his mate’s eyes for permission, for the one last step.

The Omega whined impatiently, “Do it slow,” he murmured. “I want to remember everything.”

And his Alpha pounced.

Slowly removing his omega’s pants and boxers, Wenlang fully takes in the sight of his naked mate. Soft honey skin, illuminated by the gentle light, reddened swollen lips, gland bitten and pebbled nipples. He smells the slick pooling in the pretty cunt and the swell of his omega’s tiny cock. Such a tasty and beautiful feast!

He starts from the top nipping the collarbone and chest, leaving blooming red marks as if a map leading to a hidden treasure. His right hand placed on his omega’s nipple with his left he holds his omega’s hands and moves them above his head. Staring at the white pale scars, the Alpha kisses the marks gently and moves again to the round swells on his chest. Nibbling and sucking the tiny bud, he moves on to taste the neglected one. Right as he nips the pebbled nipple, the omega writhes, mewls and cums all over his stomach. Untouched.

“Such a pretty omega!” Mind blown, Wenlang wonders, how many times can his mate cum without touching his cock? 
Darkly he thinks, slowly when these nipples swell with milk, would a tiny suck be enough to make his mate cum all over? He reverently kisses both the nipples and moves lower.

He slowly touches the now flaccid cock and kisses it and moves Gao Tu over. 

The omega is on his front, face flushed, embarrassed at how easily he cummed. He lifts his hips up appetisingly, wanting his alpha inside, filling his pussy up, knotting him.

Wenlang presses his hands to the bubbled buttocks and grabs them tight. He moves down to the moist entrance and slowly licks the slick pooling there. “You taste so good, baobei”  

The Alpha swiftly removes his own pants and boxers and slowly grinds his thick cock over the omegas entrance. He moves slowly, pressing his thick cock between the buttocks, not in the hole yet, just moving up and down watching the omega moan and writhe below him and coating his cock in the warm gushing slick.

Gao Tu moans and impatiently barks, “Faster….Alpha…please.. faster!”

Wenlang darkly chuckles. His impatient tiny omega. First slow and now fast? He smacks his impertinent mate’s ass and quickens his pace. He brushes his hardened cock between the firm buttcheeks. Up and down, up and down.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room. After a few seconds, his omega moans loudly and cums again. For the second time.

Growling, the Alpha impatiently pushes two fingers inside the gushing pussy and starts scisssoring inside the puckered hole. Once his entire fist is inside, he can smell the rise of his omega’s cock. Again. Chuckling appreciatively at how virile his omega is, Wenlang lines up his cock at the entrance of the moist hole. He removes his right hand and swiftly pushes in his hardened thick alphan cock right inside the gushing swollen hole. 

The Alpha starts pounding him aggressively making him wetter and wetter and his cock even harder. As his alpha’s cock hit his prostate, Gao Tu screamed out and cummed with a gush. He felt his cock leaking out and pussy creaming with a mix of slick and cum and still the thick cock did not stop pounding into him!

Gao Tu whined and tried closing his legs, but the alpha’s hands held him open.

Wenlang growled and spanked the his butt again, ”Your Alpha has not yet cummed Baobei, just a little more” At this point the alpha’s cock was still inside the omega’s warm pussy and was pounding his walls from the inside.

The tired omega moaned instinctively in pleasure and tried moving his up even further.
Wenlang smiled darkly and increased his pace and furiously pounded the reddened cunt till his seed spilled entirely in the womb and his knot swelled locking them in place.

He gently manoeuvred the tired omega on his lap and softly kissed his lips. The knot still locking them in place.

Gao Tu smiled at his Alpha, soft and sated and placed his Alpha’s hands on his waist. He looked up at him and nervously asked, “Was I good…Alpha?”

How silly was his tiny bunny. So perfect, so beautiful and now all his. “You were the best Baobei. My mate, my omega.” Kissing his mate’s bond mark, he softly lulls the omega to sleep releasing the gentlest soothing iris pheromones.

He looks at his mate softly. The mess of red blooms on his chest, the mingled cum and slick on the tiny cock. He can see the outline of his cock in the curved belly. Maybe he should always keep his mate like this. Glowing and full of their pups.

Would his omega like traditional courting gifts — collars, hand-carved combs, soft silks— or did he prefer the modern kind? Scented candles, fountain pens and brooches or gourmet mooncakes?

Wenlang didn’t know.

But maybe... maybe he could figure that out tomorrow.

For now, he gently cleaned his omega, kissed the crown of his head, and wrapped him in his arms.

And for the first time in years, he slept soundly.