The mission had started like any other—just you and Taekjoo, partners in the spy agency, Taekjoo was a bunny and a beta, he had a light brown skin color and brown hair with brown eyes, and you were a Fennec Fox, but your ears were so big you almost looked like a bunny, just like Taekjoo, and you were an omega. You were both sent to a mission to retrieve info and intel of Zhenya Bogdanov’s compound. Intel said his top enforcers would be guarding the perimeter. They were. And they were brutal.

But you and Taekjoo were better.

After a vicious fight, you stood victorious—barely. Bruised, breathless, and trembling from exhaustion, you collapsed beside Taekjoo in the hallway. That’s when the trap sprung. A thin mist hissed from the vents. Sweet, cloying. You knew the scent too well.

Aphrodisiac.

Your limbs grew heavy, your thoughts hazy. Taekjoo’s hand found yours, grounding you for a moment.

He chuckled weakly. “This is... not how I imagined celebrating a win.”

But then the doors opened.

Zhenya Bogdanov. A Red Fox, even though he was a Red Fox, had such blond and white hair that he didn't look like it; he almost looked like a snow fox, but he was the most dangerous of them all. He had bright sky blue and cyan eyes, and he was an alpha.

He didn’t need violence. His presence alone disarmed you. Calm, calculated, and devastatingly unreadable, he watched you both with a tilt of his head and a glint in his eye.

“Well,” Zhenya murmured, stepping forward, “you made quite the mess of my guards. I should be furious.”

He crouched beside Taekjoo, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “But I’m not. I’m impressed.”

Taekjoo tried to rise, but Zhenya pressed a hand to his chest—gentle, firm. “Shh. You’ve done enough, zaika.”

You reached for your weapon, but Zhenya caught your wrist mid-air, his grip like silk over steel.

“Still fighting?” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. “Naughty zaychonok…”

You tried to speak, but the drug was winning. The last thing you saw was Zhenya’s smile—soft, almost fond.

Then darkness.

—

Morning light spilled across the king-sized bed. You stirred slowly, your body aching in ways that weren’t painful. Zhenya’s arm was draped loosely around your waist from behind, his breath soft against your shoulder. Taekjoo was curled against your front, his fingers tangled in yours, his lips brushing your collarbone.

And now you and Taekjoo were covered in marks—faint hickeys, bruises that bloomed like petals as Zhenya held you both still, deeply asleep as you looked at your surroundings, before looking at Taekjoo, you had to leave.