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Mo Ran’s roommate never smiles. She never says, “Good morning.” She never does the dishes. Mo Ran stopped cleaning up one week to see how bad it would get. After every single dish was used, Chu Wanning simply went to the store and bought another set. The dirty-dish tower on the counter nearly touched the ceiling. When Mo Ran finally broke and washed up, they didn’t have room in the cupboard for all the new plates.
No one will even sympathise with her about it. They all say it’s her own stupid fault for rooming with another alpha.
“No way Chu-laoshi is a bad roommate,” Xue Meng says staunchly. They’re walking home from the market, sipping milk tea from plastic cups. “It must be your dumb dog instincts getting in the way.”
“She’s not even your laoshi,” Mo Ran says, irritated.
That’s the other thing. Everyone thinks Chu Wanning is so perfect just because she’s some kind of professor-genius with five PHDs or whatever. Mo Ran could have five PHDs, if she also lived a miserable cloistered existence and never got any pussy. Luckily, she has her priorities straight.
“Have you tried talking to her about it?” asks Shi Mei reasonably.
“You don’t get it,” Mo Ran says. “She doesn’t talk. She will barely stay in a room with me for five seconds. She acts like I’m–radioactive, like I’ve got a highly contagious disease.”
A little genuine hurt bleeds into Mo Ran’s voice at that. She hopes Shi Mei doesn’t notice.
The sad fact is, Mo Ran used to think Chu Wanning was cool. It’s an easy mistake to make. She always looks so put together with her slick ponytail, high cheekbones and chilly gaze, her white button down with the sleeves rolled up, thick belt with a shiny buckle on her slacks. Half the dykes in the city are falling over themselves to get her number. She’s not exactly Mo Ran’s type–Mo Ran prefers a more accessible kind of beauty, a sweet, rosy-mouthed omega with a pretty pair of tits, like Shi Mei, for example–but there is something magnetic and undeniable about her.
When they met, Mo Ran was a grad student, half-feral, with bitten fingernails, bruised knees and a blue streak in her hair. Chu Wanning was the PHD candidate who advised her on her thesis. She had office hours, a briefcase and a fountain pen. Her life seemed lightyears distant from Mo Ran's. Now they’re older, Chu Wanning still teaches at the same university, and Mo Ran earns twice as much. They share hand towels and freezer space in a shitty apartment. All Chu Wanning has over her now is a few extra university degrees and, apparently, a total lack of manners.
“Chu-laoshi probably has more important things to do than to hang around a scumbag like you,” Xue Meng declares.
“Hey, can you cool it?” Mo Ran scowls at him. “Aren’t we supposed to be family?”
For a second, Xue Meng looks chastened, but instead of apologising, he just keeps going. “I’m just saying, you can’t really expect someone as in demand as Chu Wanning to care about these trivial household things. She’s way too busy.”
“Why don’t you do something nice for her?” Shi Mei suggests. “Extend an olive branch, you know? She’s probably just shy. She’ll feel more comfortable if you make the first move.”
Mo Ran sighs and flings her arm around Shi Mei’s shoulder, drawing her in and kissing the top of her dainty little head. “Meimei, you really are too good,” she says, and Shi Mei gives a teakettle squeak and goes red.
“You’re probably right,” Mo Ran says, releasing her after she has thoroughly satisfied her urge to squeeze. “I’m just an alpha knothead.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” says Shi Mei, still blushing.
“No, but you’re onto something, though. To charm an alpha, I have to think like an omega.” Mo Ran starts mentally rifling through her recipe database. “Chu Wanning hates spicy food, right?”
“Good luck getting her attention with your lousy culinary skills,” says Xue Meng darkly.
Mo Ran beams. She is an objectively fantastic chef. That a rube like Xue Meng can’t tell only proves it further.
-
Mo Ran maybe goes overboard.
It’s a cool grey afternoon, but she’s been simmering broth on the stovetop for over an hour as she does prep for the side dishes, and their tiny kitchen is filled with steam. She cracks a window, but still has to dab her sweaty face with a cloth. Her short hair is standing up in tufts. At some point, she strips out of her sweatshirt, so she’s just in her white muscle tank and gym shorts. Even then, it’s sweltering.
Chu Wanning arrives back from work just after five. Over the bubbling pots and pans, Mo Ran hears the click of the door and the rustle as Chu Wanning hangs her coat up, and Mo Ran has to work hard to contain the urge to bounce to the door and greet her, drag her to the kitchen by the wrist, jiejie, look, look what I made!
Be cool, Mo Ran tells herself. This is no way to behave around a skittish alpha. You have to let her come to you.
She pretends to busy herself, stirring the broth, turned towards the stove, back to the door.
Chu Wanning’s footsteps come to a stop behind her. Mo Ran waits for a “What are you making?” or a greeting, even a grunt of acknowledgement. It doesn’t come.
She breaks.
“So, I made us dinner.”
Chu Wanning makes a very odd noise. It’s a kind of strangled, “Mmm, ah-hm,” and prompts Mo Ran to swivel around and stare at her, concerned she’s having a stroke or an aneurysm.
She isn’t, as far as Mo Ran can tell, though she does look worryingly dazed and glassy-eyed.
Before Mo Ran can ask if she’s okay, Chu Wanning says, “I didn’t know you had tattoos.”
“Oh yeah!” Mo Ran grins and angles towards her, the better to show off the bold black lines decorating her shoulder and bicep, the image of a pawn toppled over on a chessboard. “Do you like it? I actually got this one years ago. My new ones are up here.” She lifts the hem of her shirt, exposing her stomach and the tattoo under her line of her sports bra, a twisting willow vine. “I really like what the artist did with my idea. What do you think?”
Chu Wanning chokes on air. She coughs for a long time. Mo Ran has to pour her a cup of water from the faucet and bring it to her lips. Chu Wanning shoots her an offended look and snatches the cup with both hands. It’s a little rich, in Mo Ran’s opinion, from somebody who can’t seem to open her mouth without disintegrating like wet paper.
“Are you feeling okay?” she says, when Chu Wanning stops spluttering. “You’re not coming down with a cold again, are you? We still have some of that good codeine cough syrup from the last time.” Chu Wanning gets sick more often than anyone Mo Ran has ever met in her life, probably because she’s too consumed with theories and algorithms to remember to put a coat on when it rains.
“I’m not sick,” Chu Wanning says unconvincingly.
Mo Ran clucks her tongue. “C’mere,” she says, and presses the back of her hand to Chu Wanning’s forehead. It’s not just Mo Ran’s imagination; though Chu Wanning’s skin is waxy-pale, she’s definitely running warm.
Chu Wanning jerks away like she’s been scalded. “I said I’m fine.”
Mo Ran brightens. “Okay, great! Sit down and I’ll serve you some dinner!”
Chu Wanning is already backing out of the kitchen. “Not hungry,” she says.
“I knew it,” Mo Ran says, and follows her down the hall. “I knew it! You are sick! Come back here, you should at least have some chicken broth.”
“No thank you,” Chu Wanning says, and shuts her bedroom door in Mo Ran’s face.
“Chu Wanning, you martyred little asshole!” Mo Ran howls, hammering the door with her fist. “Get out here and eat some fucking soup!”
There is no response. Mo Ran keeps up a solid stream of cursing and banging for another minute before she gives up and retreats to the kitchen.
Her pot of broth is still cheerfully chugging steam. The counter is crammed with dishes, freshly-cooked rice, vegetables painstakingly chopped, fried, and seasoned with only the most delicate aromatic flavours to accommodate Chu Wanning’s prissy taste, and at the sight, Mo Ran is suddenly sick with fury. She grabs one of the plates laid out on the table–plain white, supermarket value brand, one Chu Wanning bought–and hurls it at the wall. It shatters, white shards skidding along the floor tiles, and Mo Ran screams, actually screams, her chest contracting so tight she thinks she might throw up. Her face is hot, heart slamming her ribs.
Crazy. She’s acting crazy.
It’s a wolf thing, she figures, some territorial instinct, like Xue Meng said. Knowing that doesn’t stop Mo Ran’s hands from shaking.
She leaves the food in tupperware in the fridge when she tidies up and turns in for the night.
It takes her a long time to get to sleep. She feels pumped up with adrenaline, her skin too tight. She rolls over in bed, her dick half-chubbed and resting heavy on her thigh.
Chu Wanning is just such a bitch, Mo Ran thinks despairingly.
She doesn’t picture Chu Wanning’s small, sullen mouth when she takes herself in hand.
-
The last straw is on a Friday night. Mo Ran, Shi Mei, and Xue Meng are in the lounge, passing a bottle of whisky between them. They’ve worn themselves out playing drinking games, and now Xue Meng has his laptop out on the floor, making them watch trick shot videos, scolding them and rewinding when he feels like they aren’t paying enough attention. Shi Mei is tucked into Mo Ran’s side on the couch. Her face is flushed from the booze, and she’s emanating a sweet, soothing scent like rose and honey, tilting her head back to send Mo Ran secret smiles when Xue Meng isn’t looking.
So overall, Mo Ran’s feeling pretty fucking pleased with herself. Pleased enough that when Chu Wanning emerges from her isolation chamber, Mo Ran raises a hand magnanimously and says, “Chu Wanning! Come drink with us!”
In a panic, Xue Meng slams shut the loud and vulgar Douyin prank compilation blasting from his laptop, and sits up straight. “Laoshi!” he says, sounding about twelve years old.
Chu Wanning’s still in her work clothes, white shirt buttoned all the way to the top, silver belt buckle winking in the soft light. Mo Ran doesn’t think she’s ever seen her wear a pair of sweatpants in the house, let alone pyjamas. She notices, in a hazy, drunken kind of way, that Chu Wanning’s waist looks very slender, pinched in with a belt like that. It’s funny. She probably thinks it makes her look so professional and tough.
“Xue Meng,” Chu Wanning says, inclining her head politely. “We’re not in school, no need to call me that. Mo Ran, I was wondering when you think you’ll be done in here.”
“We’ll be done in a little bit,” Mo Ran says. “Why don’t you stay and hang out?” She holds out the bottle of whisky.
Chu Wanning doesn’t take it. Her eyes sweep over them, taking in the sight of Mo Ran manspreading, bra discarded, tits nearly spilling out of her half-buttoned purple Hawaiian shirt, and Shi Mei curled neatly under her arm, legs bare under her tennis skirt.
Chu Wanning’s nostrils flare, subtle but unmistakable.
“That’s okay,” she says.
Something about the way she says it sobers Mo Ran up. She tries to keep her voice even, though her hackles are rising.
“Are you sure? Just one drink. If you don’t like whisky, we have baiju left over in the kitchen.”
“No,” says Chu Wanning.
Not no thanks, not maybe later, just a flat no. Mo Ran laughs humourlessly.
“Chu Wanning, is there some reason you don’t wanna spend time around us? Time is too precious to waste on mere mortals, huh?”
“Ran-er,” Shi Mei says, at the same time as Xue Meng leaps to Chu Wanning’s defence.
“Mo Ran, you dumb dog, don’t have you have any manners? Laoshi is busy, she can’t just drop whatever she’s doing to go drinking. Just because you’re a lazy pisshead doesn’t mean…”
Mo Ran isn’t listening, her eyes trained on Chu Wanning. Chu Wanning doesn’t spare Xue Meng a glance. She meets Mo Ran’s steady stare, eyes pooling dark in the low light, unreadable.
“Okay,” Mo Ran says, as soon as Xue Meng draws breath. “If you want to work, I can lend you my noise cancelling headphones. How about that?”
Chu Wanning shakes her head.
Mo Ran has to take a steadying breath. “At least give them a try,” she says. “They’re really high quality. You can’t hear anything, even if someone’s shouting in your ear.”
“It won’t help,” Chu Wanning says.
“We won’t be rowdy. Look, we’ll set up the table in the kitchen for you. You won’t be able to see or hear a thing.”
“It’s not the noise,” Chu Wanning says, “it’s the s—” and she cuts off, lips clamping together, looking horrified with herself.
Silence rings. All at once, Mo Ran gets it.
“The what?” She keeps her voice low, soft.
“Ran-er, please,” says Shi Mei.
Mo Ran rises to her feet. At her full height, she’s a head taller than Chu Wanning. She takes a step towards her, so Chu Wanning has to lift her chin to maintain eye contact. “It’s the what? Say it.”
Chu Wanning doesn’t quail, exactly, but her eyelashes flutter, a barely-there hint of weakness. Mo Ran smiles.
“The scent. That’s what you were going to say, right? You can’t deal with the scent?”
“Ran-er.”
“You think you’ve got more of a right to take up space than someone else because of their scent, right? You want me to stop talking to someone because of a biological factor out of their control. Is that what you’re getting at? That you’re a fucking omegaphobe?”
Chu Wanning’s ears have turned flaming red. It’s the most flustered Mo Ran has ever seen her. Good, Mo Ran thinks, furious, and at the same time, not enough, not enough. Her fingers are itching with the urge to slap Chu Wanning’s face. She wants to see the tears glimmering in her eyes, she wants to hear her gasping, sobbing, voice ragged, all of that calm control obliterated. She wants her on her knees, begging for forgiveness.
“I apologise,” Chu Wanning says. “I didn’t–”
Mo Ran scoffs. “If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t be apologising to me.”
She indicates Shi Mei with a jerk of her head, but doesn’t move her gaze from Chu Wanning’s.
“Ning-jie,” comes Shi Mei’s voice from far away. “No need to say sorry. I think this is just a silly misunderstanding. We didn’t mean to disrupt you while you were working. Ran-er, I think there’s a bar just down the road still serving. If you want we could–”
“Why should we have to go somewhere else? I pay rent here too.”
“Mo Ran, you’re the only one here with a problem,” says Xue Meng. “How can you talk to your senior like this?”
“Come on, let’s just go,” Shi Mei urges.
Mo Ran is losing the battle, she knows. She tears her gaze away from Chu Wanning’s face. Xue Meng and Shi Mei are staring at her, Xue Meng, sprawled below on the floor, his forehead creased with confusion and incredulity, Shi Mei, tense and terrified, folded even smaller than usual on the couch cushions.
“Okay,” Mo Ran says, and the shift in the air is palpable, Xue Meng and Shi Mei practically sighing with relief.
Mo Ran turns back to Chu Wanning.
“You two go,” she says. “I’ll catch you up. Chu Wanning and I need to talk.”
“Ummmmm,” says Shi Mei.
“Go,” Chu Wanning says, giving Shi Mei a wan smile. So martyred, as always. Like Mo Ran is a monster, a villain, a deranged gunman holding them all hostage.
Xue Meng and Shi Mei don’t say a word in the hallway. Chu Wanning disappears into the kitchen. Mo Ran hears the click and the slow rumble of the electric kettle starting, the creak and bang of the cupboard swinging open and closed. The slight shape of Chu Wanning flits back and forth through the gaps in the wooden partition.
“See ya,” calls Xue Meng, and the front door slams shut.
From the kitchen doorway, Mo Ran watches Chu Wanning pretend she doesn’t know she’s being watched. She pours a cup of hot water with her back turned. Even from a distance, Mo Ran can see her hands trembling. Cowardly, Mo Ran thinks; barely a real alpha at all. That Mo Ran had once thought her strong seems like a joke.
Chu Wanning takes a slow sip, then sets the cup down on the counter. She stands, head bowed, shoulders hunched, and doesn’t turn to face Mo Ran when she speaks. “I didn’t mean to insult your girlfriend. I’m sorry.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Mo Ran says, with a harsh laugh. “She’s my best friend. She’s the warmest, kindest, most generous person I know. She’s a trained paramedic, and she loves detective novels, and she’s really good at fixing things. But you wouldn’t care about any of that, would you? You just took one look at her and saw omega.”
Chu Wanning flinches. She turns her head and opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, then clearly thinks better of it.
Mo Ran approaches her from behind. She’s expecting Chu Wanning to turn around, look her in the eye like a real alpha, but she doesn’t. Neither does she startle or bolt. She just freezes in place, doesn’t make a single sound as Mo Ran draws closer and closer, crowding her against the counter.
She looks even smaller like this, bracketed by Mo Ran’s arms. Her frame is narrow, shoulder blades jutting. With her head lowered, the pale nape of her neck peeks out from under her ponytail.
Mo Ran breathes out, hot against her skin, relishing the way Chu Wanning twitches. She smells fresh and clean, with a trace of something floral.
“I don’t respect you,” Mo Ran says. “I don’t care if you’re older than me. I don’t care if you’ve read more books than me. I don’t care if you’re a fucking genius. You’re scum. Do you understand?”
Chu Wanning’s breath is coming louder now, hectic and uneven, but she doesn’t respond, so Mo Ran grabs a handful of her ponytail and yanks. The hoarse whimper that escapes Chu Wanning’s throat is–unexpected. Mo Ran’s body recontextualises it instantly, a hot deep pull low down inside of her. The collar of Chu Wanning’s button-up falls just below the spot where her mating gland would be if she was an omega. The skin there looks delicate, creamy. Mo Ran’s gums are aching, her canine teeth lengthening. Her mouth is full of spit.
“You’re not worthy to lick shit off my boots,” she whispers.
Chu Wanning’s head is tilted up, still held in place by Mo Ran’s grasp on her ponytail. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and unfocused, lashes fluttering, lips parted.
“Are you scared?” Mo Ran asks, genuinely curious. She imagined Chu Wanning would put up more of a fight.
This time, when Chu Wanning doesn’t answer, Mo Ran gives into the urge to run her fingertips along the column of Chu Wanning’s pale throat. She finds the bump of her windpipe, digs in her fingers, her thumb resting under the lobe of Chu Wanning’s ear, and squeezes hard enough to bruise, laughing softly when Chu Wanning’s eyes roll back in her head.
“How about now?” she says.
At some point in the last couple of minutes, Mo Ran’s dick has risen and filled out. It’s throbbing now, straining insistently against the zipper of her pants, so maybe Mo Ran is projecting, but when she releases the pressure on Chu Wanning’s throat, Chu Wanning gives a helpless half-gasp, half-moan, and Mo Ran thinks, maybe, just maybe…
“You like that?”
She rolls her hips, a slow grind against Chu Wanning’s ass through the linen of her slacks, and Chu Wanning’s back arches, pushing into the contact.
Mo Ran groans. “Chu Wanning, you sick fuck. How long have you wanted this? You think about getting fucked by another alpha?” Thumb hooked under Chu Wanning’s jaw, Mo Ran slips two fingers between her lips, and Chu Wanning’s mouth falls wider open, proving her right. “You wanna get filled up by my fat alpha cock? You want me to pump you full of seed and knot you to make sure it takes?”
Chu Wanning’s mouth is hot, rippling silk, and Mo Ran pushes her fingers in further, further, brushing the wet, spongy back of her throat, until Chu Wanning makes a pathetic little noise and gags.
“Nasty little slut,” Mo Ran says. She’s breathless and shifting her hips in involuntary, minute thrusts between Chu Wanning’s ass cheeks. “What would people think if they knew the perfect, peerless Chu Wanning wanted such disgusting things? What would your students sa–a–ah, fuck!”
Chu Wanning bites down hard on Mo Ran’s fingers. At the sharp shock of pain, Mo Ran withdraws them, hissing; and then Chu Wanning is wriggling out from Mo Ran’s arms, storming out of the kitchen and down the hall.
“Fine, run away then!” Mo Ran calls pointlessly as Chu Wanning’s bedroom door slams. “Fucking pussy!”
She’s still breathing hard. When she shoves a hand down the front of her pants, she has to bite down on a moan at the skin contact. Her dick is already wet, dribbling at the tip.
What the fuck. What the fuck.
-
Mo Ran can’t concentrate at the office the next day. One of the major perks of having Xue Zhengyong as a boss is his lack of attention to minor details like employees showing up during fixed hours, so she peaces out at two pm and grabs jianbing on the way back to the apartment.
Chu Wanning’s ugly little oxfords are still sitting in the shoe rack. That’s the first sign something’s up. Chu Wanning is never home before five pm. More often, she’s out until past midnight, when the university library closes.
“Chu Wanning?” Mo Ran calls.
There’s no reply. Probably still mad from last night, Mo Ran thinks, taking off her own shoes. She steps over the threshold into the hall, takes a breath, and then–
It hits her, thick like moisture in the air, and before she thinks to stop herself, she’s dragging another breath in deep. It’s a familiar scent, one Mo Ran caught a whiff of the night before, sharp-sweet and floral with something denser underneath, like musk and heat and need.
Mo Ran can feel her senses stirring, sharpening. With each intake of breath, it's as though the hallway gets brighter, every colour more vivid; she can pick out the brush strokes of the eggshell-coloured paint on the walls, the dark spots of grime in the far corners of the shoe rack, a hairline crack in the frame of a painting of haitang blossoms. Mo Ran's canine teeth lengthen, two points grazing her lower lip.
The sound is soft. She shouldn’t be able to hear it so clearly, through the thick walls and solid hardwood door, but she does: a muffled, high-pitched whine.
There's an omega in here. Is Chu Wanning fucking an omega in here? In Mo Ran's house?
“Chu Wanning!” Mo Ran’s voice rises to a bellow. She doesn’t bother knocking this time, just rears back and roundhouse-kicks the door. It swings open, releasing another burst of scent, so thick Mo Ran almost chokes on it.
The sound fills her ears, the rustle of bedsheets, rhythmic panting, soft, stifled, throaty whines. When Mo Ran turns the corner to face the bed, she stops, barely trusting her own vision.
Chu Wanning is lying on her side, naked, the light hair on her slim calves gleaming in the low mid-afternoon sun. There’s a dew of sweat on her lower back, slick glistening on the back of her legs, gathering in the creases of her knees. She has a rolled-up pillow shoved between her thighs, squeezing it, her ass clenching, body undulating as she rocks. It’s a really inefficient way to jerk off. She looks like a virgin, clumsy and desperate. Her usually-neat ponytail has come unravelled, a wild tangle, strands stuck to her neck with sweat. Mo Ran can’t see her face properly, just the way her red, flushed mouth is opening and closing against the white sheets as she ruts.
“Chu Wanning,” Mo Ran says again, voice quiet with danger.
Against the mattress, Chu Wanning bleats pitifully. Chu Wanning, who goes tight-lipped with embarrassment whenever anyone makes a racy joke, who once left the room and slammed the door at a sex scene in a movie, is gone, too out of it to stop, to cover herself up with a sheet, to even lift her head.
“Nnnn, no,” she says, or perhaps, “go.”
Mo Ran’s hands drop to her belt. She unbuckles it, yanks it free of her belt loops. It falls to the floor with a metallic clatter.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning moans, clearer this time, though her voice is still frayed and unrecognisable. “Get out.”
Mo Ran drops her pants, pulls her shirt over her head. Her dick is already tenting the front of her shorts, a damp spot growing.
“Chu Wanning,” she says, crossing the room and climbing, knee-first, onto the bed. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”
She grabs Chu Wanning’s hip and pushes her firmly over onto her back. Chu Wanning’s legs fall open, the rolled pillow springing back to its original shape. Along with the telltale scarlet of Chu Wanning’s ears, there’s a flush building along her collarbones. Her chest is heaving, her nipples mouthwateringly hard. So much skin. Mo Ran’s brain is slowly grinding to a halt. She never could have pictured Chu Wanning would look like this under her prim little work uniform. Her small, soft tits, her dainty waist, the flare of her hips, so clearly omega Mo Ran doesn’t know how she missed it.
Her skin is blazing to the touch. Chu Wanning’s hand comes up to bat at her, knocking weakly against her forearm. Mo Ran catches her, easily, by her narrow wrist. So fine-boned, so snappable, Mo Ran can’t resist the urge to squeeze, just for the way Chu Wanning whimpers.
“Mo Ran,” she rasps. “Stop. It hurts.”
She doesn’t just mean the crush of fingers over bone, Mo Ran knows. She’s deep in the early throes of heat. Her eyes are glazed and nearly black. The mattress beneath her is pooling and sticky with her slick. Waves and waves of scent are rolling towards Mo Ran, every gulp of air she takes making her harder, her whole body tautening with anticipation, primed to mate, to knot, to claim.
She lets out a shaky breath.
Chu Wanning flails again, struggling to tug her wrist out of Mo Ran’s grasp. “Go.”
Mo Ran grabs each of Chu Wanning’s wrists this time, and pins them to the mattress above her head, holding them both in place with one hand. Like this, their faces are inches apart. Mo Ran’s knees bracket Chu Wanning’s thighs, her clothed dick brushing Chu Wanning’s soft abdomen.
There’s drool in the corner of Chu Wanning’s mouth. Mo Ran doesn’t think twice about it, dips her head, laps it up with her tongue. Chu Wanning makes a tiny, distressed sound and twists her head away, her eyes closing like she’s too ashamed to look Mo Ran in the face.
With her free hand, Mo Ran grabs Chu Wanning’s chin and jerks her head back. She sinks her thumb and forefinger deep into the hollows of Chu Wanning’s cheeks until her lips pop open in a comical fishy o, then sinks down to slip her tongue inside. Chu Wanning’s mouth is searing hot and tastes of iron, and when Mo Ran catches her lower lip between her teeth and pulls, a fine tremor goes through Chu Wanning’s body.
Chu Wanning gives another moan of protest, more insistent this time, and Mo Ran shushes her.
“Stupid little baby,” Mo Ran says. It comes out gravelly and deep. “This is all your own fault. You don’t know what’s good for you, do you?”
She leans down, murmurs in Chu Wanning’s ear, “Stop pretending you don’t want it,” and takes her reddened earlobe into her mouth. Chu Wanning jolts under her like she’s been electrocuted.
Easy. She’s so easy, her body like clay. When Mo Ran lets go of Chu Wanning’s wrists, they flop weakly back on the mattress, all the fight going out of Chu Wanning’s body. Mo Ran brings her hands up to play with Chu Wanning’s tits, and Chu Wanning doesn’t bother pretending to try to slap her away.
“God,” Mo Ran says quietly, admiring. They’re a perfect handful each. She knows omegas’ tits can get really sensitive around their heats, so she tests it out, lowering her head and catching her teeth on the hard nub of a nipple, enjoying the way Chu Wanning spasms under her. She kneads Chu Wanning’s other breast with her free hand, dragging her thumbnail over the bumps of her areola. Then she switches, giving each of her tits equal attention, covering them in spit, suckling and squeezing and slapping the soft fat until her Chu Wanning’s skin is coming up crimson and violet.
Her own neglected dick is oversensitive, pulsing and throbbing, trapped between them. It’s leaking copiously through her shorts onto Chu Wanning’s stomach, leaving it shiny-slick. She wants, so badly, to be inside of Chu Wanning. Her mouth is full of saliva, her heart rattling in her ribcage. The only thing stopping her from just shoving her pants down her thighs and her dick inside Chu Wanning’s body is the knowledge–instinctive, marrow-deep, beyond certainty–that Chu Wanning wants it even more.
Chu Wanning has been quiet for the last couple of moments. Mo Ran lifts her head, and immediately bursts out laughing.
Chu Wanning’s hand is stuffed in her mouth. She’s chewing on her own knuckles. There’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and an almost painful expression of concentration on her face, her eyes screwed tightly shut.
“What’s the matter, baobei?” Mo Ran coos.
Chu Wanning’s eyes crack open, a tiny sliver of light under her lashes.
Mo Ran grabs Chu Wanning’s hand, gently pries it out of her mouth.
“You still want me to leave?”
“Yes,” Chu Wanning says on a gasp, her voice wrecked.
Mo Ran hums thoughtfully. She gives Chu Wanning’s hand a squeeze before she places it down by her side on the mattress, then starts her slow passage down the length of Chu Wanning’s torso. She mouths sloppily down Chu Wanning’s ribcage, tonguing Chu Wanning’s belly button in little dragonfly-dips, just to hear the sharp intake of breath from above. She swirls her tongue along the light snail trail on Chu Wanning’s lower abdomen, feeling Chu Wanning’s legs spasm, watching the muscles in her stomach jump.
“How about now?”
It takes Chu Wanning a couple of seconds. “Hnnn–huh?”
“Should I go?”
“Mo Ran,” says Chu Wanning, and, oh, her name sounds good like that, ripped raw from Chu Wanning’s throat.
Mo Ran smiles again helplessly, then licks a bead of slick from the outer lips of Chu Wanning’s pussy, and Chu Wanning cries out like she’s been hit.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Mo Ran says.
The musk of slick is strongest here, gathering in Chu Wanning’s hair and the creases of her thighs, and Mo Ran is getting dizzy, her sense of control slipping. Chu Wanning’s pussy is flushed dark, and when Mo Ran flicks the tip of her tongue over Chu Wanning’s clit, a light tease, she can feel how hard it is, swollen with arousal.
“Wanning,” she says wonderingly, and Chu Wanning moans and arches, bucking so hard she nearly smacks Mo Ran in the face.
Ridiculous, Mo Ran thinks, and presses two fingers inside Chu Wanning as she seals her mouth firmly over her clit.
Chu Wanning is sopping wet. Mo Ran’s fingers meet no resistance. She slides all the way up to the knuckle, beckons, then pulls out; repeats once, twice, and then Chu Wanning’s body tenses, goes tight. Mo Ran hears a soft thump, Chu Wanning’s hand hitting the mattress, then scrabbling for purchase on the sheets; a garbled moan, and then Chu Wanning is clenching, hot and vice-like around Mo Ran’s fingers, twitching and twitching as she comes.
Mo Ran feels the hot rush of slick as she fucks her through it; and then, when she thinks she’s done, that Chu Wanning’s little jerks and spasms have finally subsided, she withdraws her fingers, and more fluid spurts out, spattering Mo Ran’s cheek.
“Oh hey,” Mo Ran says, mildly surprised. She wipes a drop from her cheek with a fingertip, then tastes it.
“Oh, god,” Chu Wanning groans, and throws her arm over her face. So dramatic.
Mo Ran sits back up on her knees, peels Chu Wanning’s arm off, and positions herself above her, so they’re face to face again.
“Wanning,” she says. “Look at me.” When she’s too slow to respond, Mo Ran gives her a sharp slap on the cheek. Her eyes fly open, shocked and wide, dark and opaque.
“Is baby emba-wassed?” Mo Ran singsongs. “Are you ashamed of being such a filthy little slut? Needing my knot so bad?”
She reaches down between them, pulls her dick out of her sodden shorts, and has to suck a breath through her teeth at the sensation as the swollen head slides against Chu Wanning’s hip.
Chu Wanning’s eyes get, if possible, even wider.
“You can’t,” she says.
“Can,” says Mo Ran.
“I’ve never…”
Mo Ran’s jaw drops. “Never?”
A tortured expression flits across Chu Wanning’s face, and her eyes flutter like she wants to close them again, but Mo Ran clicks her tongue in reminder, and they snap back up to her obediently.
“Poor baby,” Mo Ran says. With one hand, she grabs Chu Wanning’s leg by the back of the knee and lifts it, spreading her legs further. With the other, she takes her dick by the base and drags the fat head through Chu Wanning’s slit, tapping on the edge of her entrance, watching Chu Wanning release another spate of slick in response. “It’s a fucking crime for such a pretty little hole to go to waste.”
Chu Wanning’s face twists. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Like what?” Mo Ran’s patience for Chu Wanning’s neuroticism is wearing thin. “Which part? Crime? Hole? Fucking?”
“Pretty,” says Chu Wanning. “I don’t like it when you lie.”
If Mo Ran rolls her eyes any harder they’ll fall out. “Oh, you’re insecure suddenly? Give me a fucking break.”
“I’m not–”
Mo Ran claps her hand over Chu Wanning’s mouth, pushing down hard when she feels Chu Wanning trying to talk against her palm.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” she chants, and then, figuring maybe some good dick will shut her up, she drives hard into Chu Wanning’s pussy.
At the shock of sensation, they both moan. Mo Ran feels the vibration against her palm. Chu Wanning is so tight, so hot, a perfect sheath around Mo Ran’s thick cock. Underneath her like this, she looks so compact, doll-sized, like a toy built for Mo Ran to use. The sight of her cock disappearing into the tight pink little pocket makes Mo Ran suddenly lightheaded with want.
She should take it slow, maybe, if it’s Chu Wanning’s alleged first time. She should check she doesn’t make her bleed. Probably; but at the first slow, experimental roll of her hips, the slick hot friction is so blindingly good that all thought flies out of her head, and she just–can’t hold back anymore. It feels like she’s been on edge for hours, aching with need. Before she knows it, she’s slamming in again, all the way, until her hips are flush with Chu Wanning’s ass.
Chu Wanning is so wet that she squelches with every thrust, the sound loud and filthy in the quiet of the bedroom. Her scent is changing, mingling with Mo Ran’s, turning darker, heavier, spicier. It smells good, smells right; Mo Ran is huffing lungfuls of it, electricity sparking down her spine–but from Chu Wanning’s reaction, it’s hard to tell if she’s into it or not. She’s laying limply, legs fallen wide, gazing pitifully up at Mo Ran while Mo Ran ruts into her, whimpering against her palm. A tear escapes, slides down Chu Wanning’s cheek. Mo Ran can’t tell if it’s from the intensity, or from pain and fear.
“Are you fucking crying?” Mo Ran demands. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”
She takes the hand off Chu Wanning’s mouth and readjusts, roughly grabbing the back of Chu Wanning’s thighs, rocking her back on the mattress and bending her almost double, her ankles dangling in the air. The next time she slams inside, she hits the right angle, and Chu Wanning wails.
Mo Ran fucks her fast and brutal, chasing her own orgasm with short little snaps of her hips. Chu Wanning’s head is flung back against the mattress, her eyes unfocused, unseeing, letting out a long, continuous mewl, hiccuping with the jolt of every thrust. The bed frame is rocking, slamming against the wall, so hard maybe there’ll be dents in the plaster, but Mo Ran doesn’t care. Everything narrows to hot, tight, slick and more. There’s roaring in her ears, sweat cooling on her lower back.
“Wanning,” she groans. The sound vibrates through the roof of her mouth. “Wanning, Wanning.”
When she comes, her knot swells so suddenly it’s almost painful. She tries to rock inside Chu Wanning and finds she can’t. The tiniest shift of her hips has Chu Wanning writhing and kicking underneath her.
“Don’t,” Chu Wanning pleads. Her voice is so unlike herself, high, needy and ragged. “Don’t move, please, please, it’s too big, it hurts.”
Mo Ran wants to taunt her about her whining, but it’s difficult to form words, the pleasure still surging through her body. Her vision has gone dark. “Ah,” she grunts.
Eventually, she can’t hold herself up anymore, and folds forward between Chu Wanning’s thighs, dropping her weight against Chu Wanning’s slight frame. She turns her head, and her nose nudges against the crook of Chu Wanning’s neck. She smells sweet here, like fresh blossoms in spring. Mo Ran can feel the fluttering of Chu Wanning’s pulse. She becomes aware, again, of the ache in her teeth, the throbbing urge to bite, to bond and lay claim. It’s a bad idea, she knows. She just can’t recall why, right now.
When she raises herself back up on her hands, Chu Wanning’s looking up at her with a strange expression. Her eyes are dark and depthless, lips parted, cheeks stained with tears. She looks almost reverent.
Mo Ran kisses her. This time, Chu Wanning kisses back, clumsy and heartfelt. Her hand flies up to the back of Mo Ran’s neck, tangles in her hair and clenches, and Mo Ran breaks out in goosebumps.
As soon as Mo Ran’s knot goes down, Chu Wanning is shifting her hips again, lifting her ankles to lock behind Mo Ran’s back and jerking in tiny restless thrusts, panting hot and wet into Mo Ran’s mouth.
“Already?” Mo Ran mutters.
Chu Wanning makes a wordless, pleading noise.
Who would have known, Mo Ran thinks, braced with her hands on Chu Wanning’s forearms, pushing them into the mattress as she fucks her deep and ruthless. She could never have guessed Chu Wanning would be so pliant, so sweet.
The second time goes even quicker than the first. It’s barely three minutes before Chu Wanning is rising up under her and coming, and then coming again. The third time, Mo Ran gets Chu Wanning on her hands and knees. The long line of Chu Wanning’s back is arched like a bow, and her ass is perfect, like something out of a dream, peachy-soft and round and squeezable. Mo Ran brings her hand down on her ass cheek just to watch the way it jiggles and blooms pink, and Chu Wanning gurgles, “No, don’t–stop,” seizes up, and comes so hard Mo Ran’s whole lower body gets splashed.
At around midnight, Mo Ran decides they need to eat.
“Do you want pork or shrimp balls?” Mo Ran says, swiping through the menu on her phone with her thumb.
Chu Wanning, who is still riding Mo Ran’s dick, rocking with her hands flat on Mo Ran’s shoulders, her neck flushed and sweaty, does not reply.
“C’mon, you have to make a decision,” Mo Ran says, exasperated. “Soon it’ll be rush hour, and then we’ll be stuck with nothing but McDonalds.”
“Don’t wanna,” Chu Wanning says stubbornly. She reaches down for her clit.
The movement catches Mo Ran’s attention. She knocks Chu Wanning’s hand out of the way, and Chu Wanning lets out a long, piteous whine, like she’s really being tortured.
Mo Ran holds up her phone. “Choose one.”
Chu Wanning pouts, and doesn’t stop shifting and grinding on Mo Ran, but she peers at the screen and taps with her finger.
Mo Ran takes her phone back, hits the checkout button, and throws it down on the bed.
“Good baby,” she says, skating her hands up Chu Wanning’s sides. “Come here.”
Chu Wanning sinks down, and lets Mo Ran catch her in a wet open-mouthed kiss.
-
The delivery arrives on time, but they don’t eat until the next morning, sitting up at the table in the kitchen with the pale dawn light casting their faces in blue. They’re both exhausted. Mo Ran’s abdomen and thighs are aching, and there’s a twinging cramp in one of her calves. She’s so hungry she keeps dropping rice down her front in haste to cram it in her mouth.
She hasn’t bothered to get dressed. Chu Wanning has, though. She picked up Mo Ran’s t-shirt from the floor, the better to keep Mo Ran’s scent next to her skin and stave off the next surge of heat. It’s a low v-neck, soft, dark grey, and so oversized on Chu Wanning it barely covers her tits. Mo Ran can’t help but smile at her goofily.
Chu Wanning doesn’t smile back. She’s picking uneasily at her food.
“Thank you,” she says, eyes downcast.
“Huh? Oh yeah, no problem.” Mo Ran lifts her huge takeaway box and bumps it against Chu Wanning’s. “Cheers.”
Chu Wanning doesn’t crack a smile. “I’ll probably be fine now, if you need to go get ready for work or something.”
Mo Ran snorts. “I’m not going to work,” she says, and pops a shrimp into her mouth.
There’s a pause.
Chu Wanning looks at her, brow creased in disapproval.
“You shouldn’t stay off work just because of me.”
“What? Why not?” It comes out indistinct through the huge mouthful of food. Mo Ran swallows. “Time off for heat and rut cycles is covered.”
“For partners and bonded pairs,” Chu Wanning says.
“So?”
“So, you’re not my alpha.”
“Who says?”
Chu Wanning splutters. “I mean,” she says, “you’re not.”
Mo Ran places her chopsticks on the table, gets up, and walks to the other side. She snatches Chu Wanning’s chopsticks out of her hands, too, sets them aside, then steps between her legs. Watches, with satisfaction, the way Chu Wanning swallows and looks up at her through her lashes.
She runs a hand through Chu Wanning’s hair, cups the back of her head, the gentlest of threats.
“You wanna run that by me again?”
“You’re not my–”
Mo Ran tugs sharply on Chu Wanning’s loose ponytail, making her yelp.
“What was that?”
Chu Wanning licks her lips, lashes lowered.
“Alpha,” she says, and moans before Mo Ran’s mouth even touches hers.