Beru And Jinwoo’s Unfiltered Bond

The corridor outside Jinwoo’s safehouse entrance was too quiet in the way that only meant something was about to start screaming. Beru’s weight dragged against the threshold as if the world had turned into a magnet and his body was the only metal that mattered. Jinwoo felt it through the vibration in his boots - metallic, subtle, like the building itself was bracing. Beru’s fingers dug into his sleeve with desperate possessive strength, the kind that didn’t ask permission.

Alarm tones began to thread through the air from somewhere deeper in the building. Not loud yet, but sharp enough to make every sound feel like evidence - footsteps measured by someone who didn’t want to be heard, a door latch clicking too carefully, distant voices muffled by concrete. Jinwoo stepped forward anyway, keeping his shoulders loose, letting his shadow armor settle as he moved. Beru followed like he’d been tethered to Jinwoo’s ribs. The ant-king’s body - curvy and too soft for how lethal he was - pressed close at the worst possible angle, thighs locking around Jinwoo’s waist as if the corridor could be held back by sheer cling.

“Jinwoo,” Beru murmured, breath warm against the side of his neck. The way he said it wasn’t a question. It was an order to reality. “Don’t leave.”

Jinwoo didn’t look down at him at first. He couldn’t afford to. He kept his eyes on the corridor mouth, on the slick shine of the floor where light died before it reached the corner. He could hear the tiny scrape of Beru’s nails as they shifted for balance, could feel the tremor in his grip when another alarm chirped. “I’m not leaving,” Jinwoo said. His voice came out calm on purpose, like a blade laid flat. “Come in.”

Beru’s answer was immediate - his whole body leaning into Jinwoo’s movement, hips shifting with that restless need to be right there, right now. It was intimate in a way that made Jinwoo’s patience burn. The omega pull in Beru didn’t hide; it wrapped itself around Jinwoo’s senses, scenting the air with something thick and sweet, warmth turned into insistence. Beru’s throat worked as if he was swallowing hunger. “Here,” he breathed, pressing his mouth near Jinwoo’s collar. “Your door. Your - ” He shuddered, words catching. “Mine.”

The corridor didn’t belong to anyone. It belonged to whoever was listening.

Jinwoo’s instincts snapped tight when the first real sound hit - boots on the far end, approaching with disciplined speed. A shadow moved across the corridor wall, stretched too long and too smooth, like it had been laid there intentionally. Jinwoo tightened his hold on Beru’s back, guiding him forward without breaking the illusion of casual movement. He slipped his hand to Beru’s waist, firm enough to ground him, not enough to make it look like restraint.

“Stay quiet,” Jinwoo murmured, eyes still forward.

Beru’s ears - small, pointed, twitching - flicked at the sound of Jinwoo’s voice. His grip didn’t loosen. “They can’t take me,” Beru whispered, and the way he said it was almost tender, almost helpless. “Not when I’m with you.”

The boots got closer. A shadow fell over the corridor’s entrance arch, and then a figure appeared at the corner - one of the building’s security silhouettes, uniformed and too still. The person paused as if scanning for a threat that wasn’t visible. Jinwoo felt it in the air: attention like a spotlight, cold and precise.

Beru stiffened against him, the cling turning into a coiled readiness. His body angled toward the approaching figure, hips still wrapped around Jinwoo even as his shoulders tensed. “Jinwoo,” he hissed, voice suddenly sharp with possessive fear. “That one - ”

“I know,” Jinwoo said, cutting him off before Beru could escalate. Jinwoo shifted his stance, letting his shadow armor take the smallest step forward. He kept Beru half-hidden behind his shoulder like a secret he could control.

The security silhouette’s head tilted. “Access breach,” the person said through a clipped comm, the words distorted by the corridor’s acoustics. “Identify yourself.”

Jinwoo didn’t respond immediately. He let the silence stretch just long enough for the other side to feel how wrong it was. Then he spoke, soft and controlled, like he belonged here. “Wrong corridor.”

A pause. A recalibration. The silhouette’s hand lifted toward a device on their wrist - some kind of scanner, its faint hum starting to rise. The hum made Beru flinch; his fingers dug into Jinwoo again, nails threatening to leave marks. The omega inside Beru didn’t know how to be discrete. He smelled wrong to the world - too alive, too intimate, too hungry for Jinwoo’s protection.

Jinwoo felt his power reach for the shadows, a reflex he could almost taste. He could end this fast. He could silence the scanner. He could turn the silhouette into nothing but a memory in the dark.

But Beru was here. Beru was pressing his body against Jinwoo like he might break if let go. If Jinwoo went violent, it would draw more than a security guard....