Chapter Text
Quiet.
A rare fucking thing in the dorms. Especially now, with winter approaching, the campus humming with the dry, metallic whir of heaters running on overdrive. For one stupid second, buried under a pile of blankets, he almost enjoyed it.
The familiar, shitty creak of the old mattress he’d gotten on Bunjang.
The faint smell of detergent that never really killed the stink of cheap cotton sheets.
The way the frost had crawled across the windowpane.
His room was a shoebox, but it was unarguably his. A single desk buried under casebooks and half-assed notes. Shelves sagging with used-up binders. The general mess of a third-year law student trying to make a life out of nothing. He was proud of it. It was proof. Proof he’d gotten himself here on a scholarship, proof he was building something real, something that belonged to him and no one else.
Then he moved.
Fire prickling right under his skin. It wasn't from the cold. He knew this feeling.
Fuck.
He knew that feeling way too fucking well.
His heat was coming today.
"Fucking hell," Yunho swore to himself.
He should've stayed in bed. Should've barricaded the fucking door and ridden it out in sweaty, miserable solitude. He’d done it before. It was the safe play. The smart play.
But then his eyes landed on the shitstorm on his desk. A leaning tower of unfinished assignments. The weight of missed classes was already heavy on his shoulders. November meant one thing: preparing for winter finals. Unfortunately for him, every single professor on campus had apparently gotten together and decided their class was the only one that mattered.
He couldn’t afford to skip. Not again. Not now.
His routine was as exciting as his torts textbook. His entire life ran on a shitty schedule: class, library, his part-time shift at the café a block from campus. The scholarship covered the stupidly expensive tuition, but everything else—the shitty textbooks, the even shittier suppressants, the rent for this very room—came from serving six-dollar coffee to trust fund babies who’d never had a real problem in their lives. He’d picked law for one reason—the money. It was a guaranteed ticket out of this, a real job that paid real money. But most days, it just felt like trading one kind of hell for another, one all-nighter and drained bank account at a time.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up. The room did a slow, nauseating spin. His stomach clenched, giving him a warning. Food was out of the question. His hand shot out, fumbling for the little orange bottle on his nightstand. He shook out two pills. Blockers. Bitter fucking chalk. He dry-swallowed them, the taste coating his tongue, sticking in his throat like a damn punishment.
Being tall helped. Taller than most alphas, even. It gave people an easy assumption. They saw the height, the broad shoulders, and their brains just clicked into place. He’d perfected the rest—the clipped tone, the sharp glance, the way of taking up space he’d copied from older alphas ever since he was thirteen and his world had fucking ended after presenting as an omega.
If anyone had doubts, they kept them to themselves. Yunho made sure he never gave them a reason to ask.
Masking his scent was a ritual. Layering deodorant, cheap alpha-targeted cologne, and the chemical cocktail of suppressants until he reeked of sharp, aggressive citrus, pine trees, and clean linen.
Unapproachable. Unquestionable.
Like an alpha. It was the only way.
His dorm neighbor, of course, never had to think about survival.
Song Mingi was everything Yunho hated, packaged in one obnoxiously perfect, stupidly handsome alpha body. The golden boy. Not because of his grades—which Yunho knew for a fact were fucking mediocre—but because of his last name and the money attached to it.
Song.
Just the name was like a bad taste in his mouth. The Song family’s money practically held this whole fucking campus together. Rumor was they owned half of Jeju or some insane shit like that. Yunho had overheard some guys talking once about how Mingi only lived in the dorms for the "authentic experience." His parents had apparently bought out a whole floor of some glass-walled luxury high-rise in Gangnam for him to use as a glorified closet. He just… couldn’t be bothered to live there.
It made Yunho’s stomach turn.
Every stupid party was soundtracked by Mingi’s obnoxious laugh. You couldn't walk into a student lounge without finding him sprawled in the middle of a couch, holding a whole group hostage with some dumb story, his hands always on someone's arm or shoulder like he had a right to them.
Every shared class—a handful of required general eds—felt like a personal insult. Of course the psycho was a psych major. It figured the most fucked up people were obsessed with how everyone else’s brain worked. There was Yunho, killing himself to scrape a decent score on every exam, while Mingi just slouched in the back, looking bored and beautiful, his future guaranteed by a bank account. It all came so easy to him.
Always so fucking cocky.
And beautiful. Fuck, he was. That was the worst part. That sharp jaw, the mole under his eye and the one on his cheek, those stupidly long legs, the way his scent—a rich, expensive cedar and dark amber—cut through every room without him even trying.
Maybe that’s why Yunho hated him. Really hated him.
The feeling was mutual, and Yunho knew it. He tasted it in every condescending smirk Mingi threw his way, every low, challenging growl in a crowded hallway, every glare that lasted a second too long in a lecture. Maybe Yunho was a walking reminder of the expectations Mingi couldn’t be bothered to meet. Or maybe it was because Yunho was the one thing Mingi’s money couldn’t intimidate or buy. Whatever it was, the hate was a live wire between them. Yunho held onto it tight. It was a hell of a lot easier than admitting anything else to himself.
***
By the time he stumbled into class, Yunho’s head was pounding a sick rhythm against his skull. His skin felt too tight, burning up from the inside. Every step was a fight not to trip over his own fucking feet and to keep his breathing even.
Nobody looked at him twice.
Nobody gave a shit.
He collapsed into his usual spot—middle row, where he could see the board but nobody would bother looking at him. His bag hit the floor with a dull thud. The air in the lecture hall was thick, stinking of stale coffee and the hot-metal smell of the radiator fighting a losing battle. The professor’s droning voice was already scratching at the chalkboard, diagramming a convoluted civil procedure timeline that looked like pure gibberish.
Wooyoung, of course, was already running his mouth.
"Finally," he hissed, practically crawling over Yunho's desk like his life depended on it. "I was about to fucking die of boredom without you here."
Yunho almost laughed. It was a fucking joke. He was just a warm body to Wooyoung, a silent prop for his endless stream of bullshit. He forced his hands to work, tugging his notebook open. The pages were a mess of smeared ink and half-legible case briefs from last night. He tried to focus, to make his eyes track the legal principles, but his vision swam. Little black dots flickered at the corners. His body was already betraying him. His own handwriting looked like a foreign language.
Fucking pre-heat.
Calling Wooyoung a "friend" would be a stretch. It wasn't like that. Wooyoung was just... there. Constant, annoying background noise. The kind you left on because the silence was worse. At least he never looked at Yunho like a potential mate. Thank fuck for that. Pretending to be an alpha for everyone else was one thing—having to actually perform for an omega was a whole other nightmare.
Once, some knotheads in their class teased them for always sitting together, calling Yunho Wooyoung's guard dog. Wooyoung had fucking lost it, cackling so loud the professor had stopped his lecture. When the whole room went quiet, Wooyoung just waved a hand and said, "Him? Please. He'd probably grade my performance and give me a C minus."
The memory still made Wooyoung smirk.
Yunho never corrected him. It was a solid excuse. Kept things simple.
"San's here," Wooyoung whispered now, his foot connecting with Yunho's shin under the desk. "Don't look—god, you're so fucking obvious. He's literally right there. Three rows back, by the window..."
Yunho didn't turn his head. He didn't need to. Wooyoung provided a live feed of San's every move—the exact number of times he pushed his perfect hair out of his face, the fact that he was voluntarily watching rugby just to see him run across a field, even though he fucking hated sports. Yunho could have sketched the guy from memory by now.
"New sweater," Wooyoung added, his voice going all breathy and stupid. "Look at the way it's strangling his biceps. I'd let him choke me out with those arms. I think I need to lie down."
Yunho grunted. It was all the encouragement Wooyoung ever needed. It kept the spotlight off him.
Then Wooyoung's tone shifted, going from dreamy to wired in half a second. "There's a party tonight," he announced, like it was a secret. "Theta house. It's gonna be completely insane. You have to come."
"I'm behind," Yunho muttered, his hand moving on autopilot, scribbling a pointless loop that was supposed to be the word 'jurisdiction' in the margins. His pen felt slick and clumsy in his sweaty grip. "Can't. Got shit to do."
"You never come." Wooyoung's whine was too loud, earning a dirty look from the guy in front of them. He didn't even notice, leaning in way too close. "Your entire world is your dorm, the library, and the witness protection program you seem to think you're in."
Yunho's jaw locked up. He'd gone to a few parties, back in freshman year. Stood in a shitty corner, holding a warm beer, watching it all happen. The noise was too much. The air was the worst part—sweat, spilled liquor, and the raw, unfiltered stench of everyone's pheromones all mashed together into one disgusting smell. It was a fucking nightmare.
He couldn't even drink to deal with it. His tolerance was for shit. One time he’d had three beers and blacked out. Woke up in his own bed with no memory of how he got there. That was it for him.
That loss of control, not knowing what he might have said or done, freaked him the hell out. He needed to be in control, always. It was the only way to stay safe. Every single time he went he lived in constant fear that his blockers would pick that night to blow his whole cover. It was a miracle it hadn't happened yet. He couldn't believe guys like Mingi did this all the time, getting wasted like it was nothing.
"You need to loosen up," Wooyoung pushed, his grin turning sharp. "Come on. Maybe you'll even get laid."
Get laid.
The words hit him like a physical blow. His whole body went tight. A desperate need flared up.
Yes.
Need.
Now.
His omega purred. That stupid fucking part of him he couldn't ever fully shut off.
Shut up, Yunho snarled inside his own head, slamming a mental door on the feeling. Shut the fuck up, don't—
He flinched in his seat, his breath catching in his throat. The quick fantasy of hot skin and the press of a knot flashed behind his eyes. He immediately crushed it down hard.
Right.
Reality.
“Not a chance,” Yunho bit out, finally looking up. He leveled a flat stare at Wooyoung. “Go bother someone else. Take San as your plus-one if you’re desperate for company.”
It was the right button to press. Wooyoung’s eyes went wide, all thoughts of Yunho’s shitty mood instantly wiped clean. He launched into a rant about his outfit, whether Yunho thought San liked black or red better, and oh shit, what if he actually said no to going out with him?
Yunho tuned him out. The words just melted into an annoying hum in the background. He turned back to his notebook, his fingers clamping down on the pen like it was the only thing holding him to the fucking planet. The legal doctrines on the page still blurred and danced, but he forced his eyes to follow them, one shitty line at a time. He just had to get through this.
Survive the lecture. Then he could crawl back to his dorm and finally, completely fall apart where no one could see.
***
Yunho stumbled back into his dorm, his whole body shaking so hard he fumbled his keys, the metal clattering against the door before he finally got the damn thing open. The lock clicked shut behind him.
Safe.
The relief was instant and unfortunately short-lived. The first real wave of his heat smashed into him.
It was brutal. It stole the fucking air right out of his lungs. Fire in his veins. Every nerve felt raw and exposed. A door slammed down the hall and the sound was like a physical slap. Someone shouted, laughing, and the noise cut into him. He flinched, curling into a tight ball right there on the floor.
Lock the fuck in, Yunho.
He couldn't just crawl into bed. First, he staggered to his closet, hands shaking bad. He yanked out old towels and a thin spare blanket. He shoved the whole mess against the bottom of the door to form a weak-ass barricade. A desperate try to plug the gap. To keep his smell—that thick, sweet, fucking humiliating scent—from seeping out into the hallway for everyone to know.
Then he finally collapsed onto the mattress, dragging every blanket and sheet he owned over his head, burying himself deep in the dark. It wasn't a thought. It was just instinct, raw and simple.
Nest.
Hide.
Safe.
A traitorous thread of his own sweet scent curled up from under the blankets. His suppressants were fucking losing the fight. He shoved his face into the pillow, biting down on the fabric until his teeth hurt. His body didn't give a shit about his pride or his stupid finals. His body was a traitor and it was fucking winning.
The clock on his phone seemed broken. Minutes dragged into hours. Sleep was a lost cause. Thinking was a pointless exercise. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain flashed unfinished papers, some professor's pissed-off face, the dread of losing his scholarship and this very room. And under all of it, a deep, constant ache that wouldn't quit.
At eleven, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And died.
The usual electric buzz of the dorm cut out, dropping the whole place into a silence so deep it made his ears ring. A second later, the heater choked off with a final rattle. The cold started seeping in right away, cutting through the walls and windows.
"Shit," Yunho hissed, pushing sweaty hair off his forehead. It was a sick joke. His skin was on fire, his shirt soaked and stuck to his back, but the air coming through the window cracks was freezing. His body couldn't figure out if it was melting or turning to ice.
You'll get sick. If you get sick now, you're fucked. No finals. No money.
Nothing.
He kicked the heavy blankets off and stumbled to his feet. The room swayed. He slapped a hand against the wall to stay upright, waiting for the world to stop spinning. He fumbled for the pill bottle on his desk and choked down another dose dry. It was pointless. The suppressants just took the very edge off. They were useless against this.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the black window glass. His eyes looked huge and empty. His hair was plastered to his skin with sweat. He looked wrecked. Like a strong wind would knock him right over.
***
Yunho tossed, turned, buried himself under the blankets, then kicked them off again when the heat got too much to take. Every time he felt like he might finally pass out from pure exhaustion, a cold draft would slice through his shitty nest, jolting him right back into his own burning skin.
By midnight, his jaw was sore from grinding his teeth. His hands were stiff from clutching the blanket like a lifeline. His chest ached from breathing in short, ragged gasps.
And then—
A door slammed hard down the hall. Heavy, clumsy footsteps pounded the old floorboards. Way too loud. Way too fucking careless.
Yunho’s breath hitched. Even wasted, he knew that walk. That voice.
Song Mingi.
The door right next to his own flew open, banging against the wall. A low stream of curses cut through the quiet.
“…fucking joke. What the hell are we even paying for?” Mingi’s muffled voice was a low growl, but it had a raw, nasty edge to it that felt different tonight. Something heavy hit the floor with a thud—a boot probably—and another curse followed, this one was a full, angry snarl.
Yunho shoved his face into the pillow. He shouldn’t know what a drunk Mingi sounded like, but it was the only version anyone on campus ever got after sunset.
But tonight it was worse. There was a new rage in it. The thud wasn't just some rich kid complaining about a life he made for himself—it was pure anger. It wasn't just bitching—it was aggressive.
And to his absolute horror, his own body reacted to it. A shiver shot through him at the sound of the dominant energy on the other side of the wall. His stupid omega perked up with a sick interest.
Fuck no. Disgust twisted in his stomach. Not him. Anyone but that asshole.
He hated Mingi. Hated his stupid money, his easy life, the way he got everything handed to him while Yunho had to fight for a fucking scrap.
But every slammed drawer, every pissed-off growl from next door just made the fire in his gut burn hotter. And he hated himself even more for it.
He was shaking now. For real. His teeth were starting to chatter even though his skin felt like it was on fire. The cold was getting to him. Deep into his bones.
You're gonna get sick. You're gonna get so fucking sick.
He remembered another blackout, way back. Huddling under a thin blanket with his mom, her scent worn out and tired, but hey, it was all they had. The memory made his own scent turn sour.
He shoved it down.
That was then. This is now.
He had to get warm. He had to get clean.
The idea of a shower was awful, but he didn't have a choice. He stank. He reeked of heat. A big fucking sign saying omega here. He couldn't go asking for help smelling like this.
He stumbled into his tiny bathroom. The floor tiles were ice under his bare feet. He peeled off his sweaty clothes, his hands shaking bad as he fought with the shower handle. The water hit him like a thousand frozen knives and he bit back a yell, forcing himself to keep it together under the spray. He scrubbed his skin raw with cheap, harsh soap, slathering the strong suppressant gel over his neck and wrists until the chemical burn was the only thing he could smell. It was a different kind of hurt, one he was in charge of.
He yanked on a clean hoodie, the big fabric swallowing him up. The hood hid his face. He was still shaking, but now he just smelled like his alpha self.
His first thought was Wooyoung. He fumbled for his phone in the dark. It rang twice. Then a low, dreamy sigh crackled through the speaker, followed by Wooyoung’s voice, all slurred with sleep and something else.
“Yunho…? M’sleeping. Got fucked so good tonight…”
Yunho winced. The mental picture was way too clear. “Wooyoung. Listen. The power’s out,” he forced out. “It’s freezing. Can I… crash at yours?”
A long pause. “My parents… Yunho, they’d kill me if I brought an alpha home. You know how they are. ‘Specially this late.” He actually sounded sorry. “I’m serious, man. Sorry. Try someone in your hall. Go snuggle up with one of your neighbors or something.”
If he brought an alpha home.
Right.
The call died. Yunho stood alone in the pitch black. Right. Wooyoung lived off-campus with his family. He couldn't go there anyway, the walk would probably kill him.
Pride was a stupid thing to worry about when you were freezing your ass off. He opened his door. The hallway was dead silent. He tried the door right across from his. Nothing. He knocked on another one, two doors down. After a while, a voice grumbled, “Who is it?”
“It’s Yunho. From down the hall. The power’s out, I was wondering—”
“I’m sleeping,” the voice cut him off, sharp. A lock clicked shut.
"Fucking asshole." he murmured to himself.
That was it. He wasn't friends with anyone here. He never tried to be.
He slumped against the cold wall, totally beat. His body was a mess. Shivering. In heat. His pride completely wrecked.
Then, from behind him, another heavy thud hit the wall. A muffled curse undeniably belonging to Mingi.
“…Come on, turn the fuck on.”
Yunho’s stomach dropped. At that moment, nothing mattered. His body was freezing and on fire all at once, and it had locked onto one stupid, simple fact.
Mingi was awake.
Awake meant heat.
This wasn't some knight in shining armor—this was Song Mingi. The guy who probably had five different space heaters his parents bought him.
But his feet moved anyway, carrying him back down the hall. He stopped outside the door next to his own, his chest so tight he could hardly suck in air.
Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking dare. He’ll laugh in your face. He’ll know.
But his knuckles came up anyway.
They shook once.
And then he knocked.
The sound was too loud in the dead quiet. For a second, Yunho almost hoped Mingi hadn't heard it—that he could just turn around, crawl back to his room, and forget this ever happened.
But then came the sound of footsteps. An annoyed curse. The click of the lock. The door swung open.
And there he was.
Mingi stood there, his big shoulders blocking most of the doorway. His hair was a mess, all wet and sticking up. His eyes were red but still looked sharp enough to hurt. The smell of vodka hit Yunho first, then the sweat on Mingi’s collar. Yunho’s eyes flickered down for a split second. Fuck. The guy was hard, a blatant outline against his gray sweatpants. Had he interrupted him? Was that why he was still up? The thought of that was fucking weird.
“What.” Mingi's voice was deep and flat. It didn’t sound like a question. It sounded like a threat.
Yunho swallowed. “The power’s out.”
Mingi blinked, slow, like the words were hard to understand. Yunho cursed himself out internally, but pushed on before he could chicken out. “It’s freezing. You’re cold. I’m cold. We can… share heat.”
The quiet that followed felt heavy. Yunho’s heart was pounding in his ears. He shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket so Mingi wouldn’t see them shaking. "...It's practical. Nothing else."
Mingi let out a short, ugly laugh. “Share heat? With you? You think I want your stink in my sheets?” He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms, letting his biceps flex. Yunho hated he noticed. “You show up at my door in the middle of the night, shaking like a leaf, and you call it practical?”
Yunho’s chest squeezed. Mistake. This was a huge fucking mistake. “If you don’t wanna, whatever. Forget it.” He started to turn away—
A violent shiver racked Mingi’s frame, his teeth audibly chattering for a second. The cold was winning against his pride too. “…You smell different.”
Ice shot through Yunho’s veins. The cold shower. Fuck. His brain short-circuited. What if the cold shower did something weird. “You’re wasted,” he forced out, his voice tighter than he wanted. “Your nose is fucked. Everything smells weird to you right now.”
Mingi’s eyes narrowed, a half-smirk on his face that didn’t look real. “My nose is never fucked." A pause. "But fine. Get in. You’re a radiator. That’s all you are.” He stepped back, his attempt at an invitation felt more like a threat. “Don’t touch anything.”
Yunho slipped past him, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.
The room wasn't much warmer than his, but it felt heavier—thick with an alpha smell that pressed down on him. It was raw, musky, with something darker under the booze. It was too much. Yunho’s omega instinctively stilled. Almost as if the wolf had found his prey.
He glanced around. The place was a mess, but it was a normal mess. The kind of shit you’d see in any other dorm on the floor: textbooks with energy drink cans, a rumpled comforter, a decent gaming setup. It wasn’t the penthouse suite of designer trash he’d been expecting for someone carrying the Song name. For a terrifying second, it almost looked… lived-in. Human.
And, just as Yunho had predicted, no space heater in sight. Of fucking course.
Mingi dropped back onto his stupidly big bed, sprawling out to take up as much space as possible. He glared at the ceiling like the blackout was something the universe did just to piss him off. “Stop standing there. You’re letting the cold in. Lie the fuck down or get the fuck out.”
Yunho’s body moved before his brain could stop it, lying down stiffly on the very edge of the mattress. The springs groaned under his weight. He kept his hood pulled low, every muscle in his body pulled tight, a good foot of cold space between them. This felt weird.
Mingi let out a low, frustrated snarl. "This is fucking stupid." Before Yunho could form an answer, a large hand clamped around his bicep and yanked. Yunho gasped as he was dragged bodily across the sheets, his back slamming into Mingi's solid chest. The hard line of Mingi's cock was immediate and obvious against his ass, even through the layers of fabric.
“Shut up,” Mingi growled into the back of his hoodie, his breath hot against Yunho's neck. “And stop moving.”
Yunho froze. Mingi was heavy and warm, pinning him in place. The smell of him—booze, cologne, and that deep, alpha musk—was fucking everywhere.
Mingi turned his face and rubbed his cheek against Yunho’s hoodie, a rough, grating motion. “There. Now you don't smell so fucking weird. Smell like me.”
Yunho’s stomach dropped. Scenting. He's scenting me. The realization ripped through him like a live wire. He shoved hard at Mingi’s chest, his voice cracking. “The fuck do you think you’re doing? You don’t get to put your stink on me—what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Mingi just laughed, low and hoarse, like Yunho’s outrage only fed him. His arm snaked tighter around Yunho’s waist, anchoring him in place with insulting ease. “Relax. You were stinking up my room, twitchy little alpha. Thought I’d fix it.” His bloodshot eyes glinted, sharp and feral. “You’re lucky. Smelling like me? Better than smelling like you.”
“You’re insane.” Yunho twisted against his grip, but Mingi was solid, immovable. His voice dropped into a growl, harsh with panic. “You don’t scent someone unless—fuck, you don’t touch someone like that unless—”
“Unless what?” Mingi’s teeth bared in something that wasn’t quite a grin. “Unless I’m proving this is my room? Unless I’m making sure the lost puppy knows whose bed he’s in?” He shoved his face closer, his breath hot and sour with vodka. “Don’t act shocked. You walked in here reeking of challenge. I let you in anyway. And now you smell like me. Problem solved.”
Yunho’s blood ran cold. He forced his voice steady, burying the raw panic clawing up his throat. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” he bit out.
"The fuck do you know?" Mingi just laughed again, a low, drunk sound. He didn't move. "You got a problem with how I smell?" His hand settled on Yunho's hip, possessive and heavy. "Lucky bastard. Bet you don't have to walk around with a permanent hard-on just 'cause your body's a dick."
Yunho’s jaw was so tight it ached. "Just go to sleep, damn it."
"Can't," Mingi muttered, his eyes glazing over. "Rut's a bitch."
The word rut hit Yunho like a kick to the gut. Heat flooded his neck, his ears burning.
He hadn't fucking realized. The alcohol had covered it, but now the smell sharpened, cutting through everything else. Under the liquor, there it was. Thick. Musky. How had he been so stupid? The suppressants had messed with his head, made him ignore his own damn instincts. His omega was screaming at him to run, but the press of Mingi’s erection against him was sending a different, traitorous heat through his veins, soothing the ache the cold had left behind. He was stuck.
Mingi’s eyes locked onto him. He realized Yunho stopped breathing. A drunk smirk spread across his face. “The fuck’s your problem?” he slurred, voice dropping to taunt him. “You’re in my room, in my bed. You don’t like the way a real alpha smells? Get the fuck out.”
Yunho’s mouth opened, then shut. No words came out. His body was hyper-aware—of Mingi’s rut, his god damn sweatpants, the stupid instinct pulling at him. His omega was getting restless.
He forced the words out. “You’re disgusting.”
Mingi chuckled, a low sound that vibrated against Yunho’s skin. "Had a whole line out the door a few hours ago. Nobody was complaining.”
The picture was sudden and gross. Of course. Mingi wouldn't just suffer through a rut. He’d just find a line of willing omegas and betas at that stupid frat house, no problem. No desperation. No shame.
Instead of shutting up, Mingi leaned in, his breath warm against Yunho’s neck. Clumsy, but it wrecked him. Yunho flinched.
Mingi breathed in, slow and on purpose. Then he stilled. His nose brushed against Yunho’s jaw. “The fuck…?” he muttered, drunk and confused. “You smell… soft. Under all that…” He breathed in again, deeper, and a low rumble started in his chest. Not a growl. Something more curious. “Weird. Makes my head spin. In a good way.”
“It’s the alcohol,” Yunho snapped, panic lacing his voice as he tried to twist away. “Go to sleep.”
But Mingi’s hand tightened on his hip, holding him in place. “Nah. It’s you.” His bloodshot eyes dragged over Yunho’s face with a flicker of a genuine, drunk attraction in them. “Knew you were trouble. Pretty face. Always so pissed off at me.” He laughed. “Never had an alpha tremble under me before. It’s kinda hot. Makes me wanna ruin you.”
Yunho’s breath hitched. The words, the heat of him, the hard line of his cock—it was too much. His own body—that damn traitor—was answering Mingi’s call. Fuck, he’s hot. The thought was a gut punch. He really fucking wanted him.
His rational thinking screamed no. His pride screamed louder. But underneath it all, past the pills and all of the lies, his omega leaned into the touch.
“We can’t,” Yunho forced out, the protest felt weak even to his own ears. “We’re both alphas, Mingi. It’s—it’s fucked up. You’re just drunk and in your rut.”
“Ever considered crossing a line, Jeong Yunho?” Mingi growled, his nose dragging down Yunho’s throat. "It's not fucked up..." He murmured over his scent gland.
“It is fucked up!” Yunho snapped, but his voice was breathy and his body was arching into Mingi’s touch. “Jesus, of course I want to. You’re… fuck. You’re all I can smell. But it’s the pheromones. It’s fucking with my head, you're making me think—making me consider—things that aren’t real. You’d fuck anything right now. You’re not you right now, and this… this isn't me. That’s all it is.”
Mingi’s grin was predatory. “But I’m not fucking anything. I’m fucking you. Because you want it too, Yunho. I can smell the temptation all over you, under all that cheap shit.” His tongue scraped over the gland trying to get a taste of who Yunho truly is. “Let me in. Let me really smell you.”
The second Yunho’s back hit the mattress, Mingi was on him. His breath was hot, his eyes dark and blown wide. His fingers dug into Yunho’s wrists, shoving them above his head with a growl that shook through both of them.
"You smell wrong," Mingi muttered, frustrated. His nose was crushed against Yunho’s neck. "Let me fix that."
Yunho’s stomach dropped. His thighs squeezed together. Big mistake. The friction sent a wave of slick through his boxers. His scent filled the air between them.
Mingi froze. His whole body went tight. He took a sharp breath right over Yunho’s gland. Then another. Pure animal instincts. He pulled back just enough to look down, confused. His hips shifted, grinding down, his thigh shoving between Yunho’s legs.
The wetness. The heat. The smell.
"No fucking way," Mingi breathed out. He ground his knee again, making the wet fabric rub against Yunho’s skin. "You're wet. An alpha. So desperate you’re leaking for me." He leaned in with a nasty whisper. “You ever thought about getting knotted, Yunho? Really taken? It’s all omegas ever scream about. That final stretch… being so full… fucking ecstasy. You want that. You can imagine it, can’t you?”
To prove his point, Mingi rutted against him, the thick line of his cock a heavy weight against Yunho’s thigh through his sweats. It was a brutal promise of what was next. The idea of that same cock, swollen and stuck inside him—knotting him—made Yunho’s omega so excited his vision went blurry with humiliating want.
Shit. No. Every instinct told him to go limp, bare his neck, just fucking present—the total opposite of what a real alpha would do in his shoes.
He tried to shove up, teeth bare, his voice rough and breaking. "Get the fuck off— I’m not—"
A deep growl tore from Mingi’s chest. It was the same sound he knew from high school—the sound that came right before a head got smashed into a car door. This wasn’t a warning. This was the wolf, pissed off. Pissed at the resistance.
“You already told me the truth, Yunho.” His eyes were all predator. “Let go.”
Yunho’s fake courage vanished. This was where a real alpha would lose it. Where he was supposed to fight back, not break. He remembered that fight again—the ambulance, the blood on the ground. A bite that had gotten answered with something close to murder. That was how they talked.
Yunho couldn’t speak that language. He threw his weight, a weak try to buck him off.
Wrong move.
Mingi’s hand shot out, fisting in his hoodie. A loud rip echoed as the cheap cotton tore open, yanked down his arms and got thrown aside. His chest and shoulders were bare.
Yunho snapped his teeth, a pathetic lunge for Mingi’s arm. A last try.
Mingi didn’t block it. He took the challenge and upped it. He ducked his head and his teeth sank into the meat of Yunho’s shoulder.
Panic electrocuted Yunho.
A bite.
For one heart-stopped second, his brain screamed bond—then reality crashed down. It was just muscle, just skin. It hurt like a bitch, but it meant nothing. Bonds needed the gland, and this wasn't it. This was just a fucking hole-punch, a way for Mingi to prove he could.
He cried out, the sound choked, his body locking up under the alpha anyway. Because fuck, it hurt.
Mingi pulled back, licking a drop of Yunho's blood off his lip. He’d been ready for a real fight. Song Mingi received a weak struggle and a cry. He felt like he truly won. Because at that moment, he did.
"You are mine tonight," he growled. Then he smashed their mouths together, cutting off any argument Yunho considered in his head. It wasn’t a kiss—it was Mingi taking over. Teeth clashing, tongues fighting, Mingi claiming it all.
He pulled back just enough to smirk, his chest rising and falling fast. He dropped his face into the crook of Yunho’s neck again, inhaling deeply, and then rubbed his own scent gland firmly against Yunho’s jaw, marking his skin with the potent, rut-heavy musk. Mingi needed his scent onto Yunho’s. His free hand slid down, palming Yunho’s cock through his boxers.
"Feel that?" Mingi said, fingers pressing hard against the obvious, aching hardness there. "Hard for me. Your body knows what it wants. Doesn't it?"
Yunho’s hips jerked up with a moan tearing out of him before he could stop it. The sound said everything.
Mingi’s grin was wild. His hands dragged down bare skin, rough palms scraping over his nipples, pulling another sharp gasp from him. He scented Yunho’s chest, rubbing his stubbled jaw over his sternum, marking him there too.
“I'm gonna ruin you,” he muttered, his voice dropping into an incoherent rumble. Yunho noticed that his words were starting to slur together. The alcohol and rut made him less articulate, more single-minded. “All mine. Now.”
Yunho’s nails dug into Mingi’s shoulders, his body arching up even as his mind fought it. "Fuck," he spat, but it was weak, his voice shaking, his legs trembling as Mingi’s knee pressed harder, giving him the friction he needed so bad.
Mingi leaned down, his lips brushing Yunho’s ear with a rough whisper that went straight to Yunho’s core. “You want it. Say it.”
The command just hung there. It wasn't a threat anymore—it was a chance to stop pretending. And Yunho was so fucking tired of pretending. The need took over, smashing through the last bit of fight he had left. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Yes."
“Yes… what?”
"I want it," he whispered, the words flooding Yunho with shame and a heavy relief. "I want you."
That was all Mingi needed. He moved fast, flipping Yunho onto his stomach with a rough shove, his weight pinning him to the mattress. A hand fisted in Yunho's hair, not to hurt—well, maybe a little—but to hold him there, to show who was in charge. “Need to see,” he grunted. “Need to see you take it.”
His other hand grabbed the waistband of Yunho's sweats and boxers, yanking them both down. The cold air hit his skin for a second before Mingi's palm did. His smack stung him so hard it made him yell out.
“Mine,” Mingi growled again. He bent over Yunho’s back, the rough stubble on his cheek—probably hadn’t shaved since his rut started—scratching a hot line down Yunho’s spine. His fingers slid through the slick there like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he wasn't even fucking processing that it was coming from an alpha. He just spread it, rubbing slow, teasing circles right over Yunho's hole. The touch sent a jolt through him, so embarrassing, so fucking good it hurt. “All this… for me.”
The acceptance in Mingi’s voice was the most terrifying thing of all. He wasn't questioning it. He was just taking it. Taking him.
Mingi just laughed, low and dark, his fingers pushing in. "Fuck, you're ready."
The stretch burned, the feeling foreign and rough—but his body welcomed it, squeezing around Mingi's fingers. Mingi let out a sharp breath, curling them deep. “Shit,” he panted against Yunho's skin, his words starting to lose coherence. “So good. Made for this.”
Yunho's vision went blurry. His thighs were shaking. Mingi's fingers pulled out with a wet, filthy sound. The heat of his body left for a second—just long enough for Yunho to hear the sound of a zipper, the slick noise of Mingi spitting into his palm.
The cold truth of what was gonna happen crashed into him. This was it. No going back.
The blunt, hot head of Mingi's cock pressed against him, ready to make good on that promise. Mingi’s hips rolled forward, not pushing in yet, just rubbing against Yunho's entrance, smearing slick and spit, making him shiver.
“Gonna knot you so good, Yunho,” Mingi shifted, his weight settling, getting ready to push. “Take it—”
"Wait."
The word was a ragged gasp, torn from Yunho’s throat.
Mingi stilled above him. His hips gave a shallow, impatient thrust. "Talk."
Yunho took a shaky breath. This was it. The point of no return. His voice was a raw scrape, barely audible. "Just... go slow." He squeezed his eyes shut, the admission torn from him. "I haven't... I've never done this. Any of it."
The pressure at his entrance didn't let up. Mingi went utterly still above him. For a terrifying second, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Then, a low, disbelieving whistle cut through the dark.
"No fucking way," Mingi breathed, the drunk thrill in his voice sharper than before. "Jeong Yunho. All that fucking attitude. Always walking around like you own the place." His grip on Yunho’s hip tightened, his thumb digging in. "You're a virgin?" He barked a laugh. "An alpha virgin, letting another alpha fuck him? I'm gonna be your first? Hell, I'm gonna be your everything."
He leaned down, taunting whispers in Yunho's ear. "You're gonna take my knot before you've ever given one. You know that? You're gonna learn what it feels like to be split open and owned before you ever get the chance to do the owning. How's that for fucked up?"
It was the final twist of the knife, made to shatter any last pretense of pride. And it worked. He forced his body to go limp. He let out a rough, shaky breath and gave one sharp nod into the mattress.
"Do it."
That was all Mingi needed.
The first push was brutal. Just the tip stretching him made Yunho gasp. Mingi didn't stop. He pushed in with a slow, burning stretch that felt like it could tear him in half. Yunho choked, his nails digging into the sheets. He was impossibly tight, his body clenching down in a spasm of panic and pain, physically throttling Mingi's cock.
Mingi shoved forward. Another thrust that buried him another inch. Yunho cried out, a strangled sound.
"Relax." Mingi growled, his voice dropping into something less human.
He tried to pull back and thrust again, but Yunho’s body held him in a death grip, refusing to let him move. For a second, Yunho’s vision swam. His omega was screaming in pleasure at the fullness, but his human mind was stuck on the sheer size of him and the feeling of being fucking impaled.
Mingi’s patience—or at least what little he had—snapped. A warning growl ripped from his chest, the sound so primal and aggressive it shot straight through him. It wasn't a sound you heard with your ears—it was one you felt in your bones, and it said one thing. Danger.
Yunho went completely still, terror finally overriding the pain. Okay, okay, just relax. Just fucking relax. He forced a breath out, desperately trying to make his muscles go slack, to just give up.
The second he felt that little bit of give, Mingi shoved forward. It was a final, brutal push, no holding back this time. He bottomed out with a choked, ragged sound, his face smashing into Yunho’s shoulder.
"Fuck," Mingi panted, his hips pressed flush against Yunho's ass. "Finally. You're so fucking tight." He didn't wait. His hips pulled back—the drag was fucking insane—and slammed forward again, setting a hard, driving pace that didn't let up.
The whole "go slow" plan went right out the window. But Yunho's omega wasn't complaining. His brain pretty much shut off, everything narrowing down to the insane, burning stretch. He thought the bite hurt like a bitch? This was that same bitch on steroids. Like finally scratching a brutal itch, even if you were bleeding from it. It was the only thing that could calm the heat under his skin. His omega, which had been desperate for this, was practically doing backflips inside him. He felt a purr rumble in his chest even as tears streaked down his face.
His rhythm got wilder, less like a person and more like an animal. Mingi's hands dug into his hips, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises, holding him still for every brutal thrust. “Mine,” he grunted, the word a broken record now against Yunho’s skin. His rhythm was all instinct, no thought—just a hard, driving need to claim.
With every deep push, Mingi crushed his chest against Yunho’s back, grinding his own scent gland right between Yunho’s shoulder blades. The smell was insane, that pure, rut-thick alpha musk, and Mingi was rubbing it in like he was trying to cover up every last drop of chemical blocker and fake alpha pheromone Yunho had sprayed on that night. So much for trying to smell like an alpha. He’d reek of Mingi for a fucking week.
Yunho could only moan, the sound getting punched out of him with every thrust. His brain was screaming in protest, but his body was basically high-fiving the guy. His omega was pushing back against the thrusts, a traitorous little shit that wanted him deeper. Any shame he might've felt was getting pounded out of him, replaced by the slap of skin and the choke of his own ragged breathing.
The angle was just a little off, hitting a spot that was more sharp pressure than a good stretch. Without thinking, Yunho tried to shift his hips, to get comfortable, to find a better position.
A low, continuous growl started in Mingi’s chest, the sound vibrating through Yunho’s back. It wasn't a sound of pleasure anymore. It was pure frustration. His hand left Yunho’s hip and his arm hooked around Yunho’s throat, his bicep pressing a warning against his windpipe. His other hand splayed across Yunho’s lower back, pinning him down flat.
“Stop. Moving.”
Held completely immobile, Yunho let out a shaky moan. The sound seemed to piss Mingi off even more. He adjusted his grip, the arm around Yunho’s throat tightening for a second before his free hand slid around Yunho’s hip, his fingers digging into the muscle of his thigh and yanking his leg up higher. The new position sank Mingi even deeper, and Yunho’s breath hitched.
“Fuck, Mingi—”
The curse, the shift, the overwhelming fullness—it was all too much. Yunho’s body clenched down on instinct, a tight, involuntary spasm around Mingi’s cock.
The effect was instant. Mingi froze above him. A full-body flinch. A sharp, warning snarl ripped from his throat. The arm around Yunho’s neck tightened, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make black spots dance in his vision.
“Stop. Squeezing,” Mingi growled, the words slurred and thick, barely human. His hips gave a shallow, frustrated jerk. “’S too tight. Hurts.” And Yunho felt it—a painful stretch as Mingi seemed to swell even more inside him. It was too much.
Terror finally overrode the pleasure. He forced the words out, a ragged whisper. “Okay—okay, just… Don’t hurt me.”
The words didn’t mean anything. The guy on top of him was too far gone to understand words. But the tone—the submission in it—must have gotten through. The second Yunho stopped fighting, his body going slack in surrender, Mingi’s arm loosened. The scary snarl quieted back into that low, approving rumble. He seemed to feel the exact moment Yunho gave up.
As a reward, his hand left Yunho’s thigh. For a second, Yunho thought he was just bracing himself. Then Mingi’s fingers laced through his own and pulled Yunho’s hand back, pressing it flat against the lower part of his own stomach.
Yunho’s brain short-circuited. With every deep thrust, he could feel the hard, blunt shape of Mingi’s cockhead pressing up from the inside, right against his own palm.
Mingi bent his head and his tongue—hot and rough—licked a slow, crude stripe over the bleeding bite mark on Yunho’s shoulder.
He didn’t stop there. He began to mouth at the wound, a series of wet kisses that were more about scenting and tasting than any kind of affection. Each one made Yunho shiver. Then, a miracle—a rough, thrumming sound started in Mingi’s chest. A purr. It was answered by a helpless, shaky purr of Yunho’s own, his omega preening under the attention despite his fear.
Satisfied, Mingi settled his weight again, his chest once more a heavy, warm pressure on Yunho’s back. He resumed his fucking, his rhythm even deeper now, each thrust grinding his scent into Yunho’s skin as his purr vibrated through them both. Yunho’s toes curled into the sheets, a full-body shudder of overwhelming sensation—pain, pleasure, and fear all twisted up together. He was being ruined, and his body was loving every second of it.
Mingi was all alpha now, lost in the raw drive of his rut and the fucking high of having an alpha he fucking hated pinned and taking it underneath him. He growled when Yunho tensed up, nipped hard at his shoulder when he tried to move away—a clear, wordless order to stop fucking struggling and just take it. His knot started to swell, a relentless, stretching pressure at Yunho's entrance with every rough thrust.
Yunho came without a hand even touching him, his orgasm ripped out of him so hard his body clamped down like a vise around Mingi's cock, milking him. Mingi snarled, his thrusts going sloppy and out of control. “Knot,” he panted, his hips stuttering. “Now. Gonna fill you up.”
He shoved in one last time, and his knot popped past the tight ring of muscle, locking them together. Yunho cried out at the insane stretch, the feeling of being way too full as Mingi's cock pulsed deep inside him, pumping hot cum into his guts. The thought—no protection—flickered through the pleasure haze and vanished.
Mingi’s climax hit him like a seizure, his whole body locking up. A raw, gut-level sound tore out of his chest, and he buried his face in the sweaty joint of Yunho’s shoulder again. His teeth sank in deep—a sharp, brutal anchor right next to the first one.
Yunho’s breath hitched. His omega screamed at him to tilt his head, to offer his gland, to make this messy, painful thing into something real. But Mingi’s mouth was nowhere near it. The bite was just… a bite. Deep, and possessive, and probably gonna scar, but it wouldn’t tie their souls together.
The pain was sharp and perfect. For a stupid, heart-stopping second, he let himself pretend—that the bite was something more, that Mingi was different, that this meant something. Then Mingi’s teeth clenched harder, a mindless, animal pressure that was just about holding on as he kept releasing his seed, and the fantasy shattered. It wasn’t a claim. It was just damage. He was just something to bite. The shock of that truth finished him. His body gave out, all the fight and tension draining away until he was just a weight underneath Mingi. Every instinct screamed at him to yield, to bare his throat properly for a claim that was never coming.
Mingi went still. He pulled back, breathing hard, and looked down at the mess he’d made—the deep teeth marks, the blood. He’d braced himself for the shove, for the snarl he’d get from an alpha he just forced into submission. He’d expected a fight.
But the guy was just… lying there. Taken. Submissive. A dark, possessive thrill shot through him. He’d won. Completely now. A drunk smirk twisted his mouth.
“Huh,” Mingi slurred, voice slurred with booze and triumph. He poked at Yunho’s limp shoulder. “Nothing to say?” His thumb smudged through the blood and spit on Yunho’s skin. He leaned in one last time, his movements slow and heavy with exhaustion, and nuzzled his nose against the abused skin. “Good.”
His brain was too fried to argue, too focused on the knot still stretching him open.
Mingi’s hips gave a shallow, insistent thrust, even locked together, a brutal, grinding motion that milked his own orgasm and forced another thick pulse into Yunho’s already overfilled guts. The overstimulation had Yunho shaking violently underneath him, every nerve ending screaming. Too much, too much, oh fuck, it’s too much—
But the thought was a lie his brain told itself. Because underneath the sharp, unbearable sensitivity, his omega was purring. It was satisfied in a way Yunho had never, ever felt. It had been claimed. It had been filled. The brutal taking had soothed the franticneed under his skin into a warm, heavy hum. The part of him that was still Yunho wanted to sob from the overwhelm. The omega just wanted to press back and beg for more.
When Yunho’s body finally shut down, too physically wrecked to even shake anymore, a low growl started in Mingi’s chest. It was that sound again. The pure, undiluted frustration. A snarl. His alpha, still riding the vicious high of the rut, wasn’t nearly satisfied. The knot wasn’t enough. The claiming bite wasn’t enough. The orgasm hadn’t taken the edge off—it had just sharpened it. It needed more. It needed to claim, to use, to prove its dominance all over again. To this alpha, Yunho was just a warm, tight hole now, a means to an end. A possession.
His hand slid between their bodies, his fingers splaying possessively over Yunho’s lower stomach. Yunho was thin enough that Mingi could easily feel the distinct, hard bulge of his own knot from the outside, a blatant distortion under Yunho’s skin. Mingi made a rough, gratified sound—a grunt of approval—as he began to rub himself through the sensitive, stretched skin of Yunho’s abdomen.
The touch wasn’t gentle. It was a firm, demanding pressure, using the tight clutch of Yunho’s body around his knot and the external stimulation to get himself off again. Yunho could only whimper, overfull and oversensitive, trapped by the knot that held him perfectly in place for this. Mingi wasn’t even looking at him anymore—his eyes were glazed over, pupils blown black, focused on some middle distance. He was gone. This was just his body, his base instinct, taking what it needed.
“Mingi,” Yunho gasped out, the name a ragged plea.
There was no response. No recognition. Just the low, rumbling growl that was now a constant noise in the room, and the frantic, rhythmic push of his hand against Yunho’s stomach. The alpha didn’t recognize its name. It only recognized the yielding body beneath him. It smelled omega. It smelled submission. It smelled mine.
Yunho’s own body, traitorous and omega-drunk, reacted to the growl instinctively. A fresh gush of slick seeped out around the knot, a helpless, automatic response to Mingi's total control. The growl stuttered, then deepened, the sound vibrating through Yunho’s back and into his bones. The alpha had smelled it. It was a reward. It was an invitation. The rhythm of Mingi’s hand changed and grew more frantic. His hips gave another aborted, frustrated thrust, the knot pulling painfully at Yunho’s rim. The alpha seemed to realize its own body was working against it, the knot preventing the deeper, harder fucking it craved.
It took longer this time. Mingi’s breath hitched in ragged, open-mouthed pants against Yunho’s bleeding shoulder. His whole body was a coiled spring of frustrated energy with no outlet. He was trying to fuck, but the knot held him prisoner just as much as it held Yunho.
Then, with a broken, guttural groan, he came again. Yunho felt it viscerally—another hot, pulsing flood filling him up, the already overwhelming fullness becoming somehow more. The bulge under Mingi’s hand seemed to swell further, a tight bulge that Yunho could actually see when he managed to tilt his head down. Oh my god. The sight should have horrified him. It just made his omega preen. Full. So full. Ours. His own body clenched weakly around the knot in a helpless, overwhelmed response, milking him dry, and the feeling that followed had spots dancing in his vision.
For one stupid second, everything was still. The growl stopped. Mingi’s weight was a crushing, warm blanket. Yunho’s body gave up, every muscle turning to liquid.
Sleep. Just let me fucking sleep.
The quiet didn’t last a minute.
The low, continuous growl started up again, lower this time, meaner. Mingi’s alpha had finally found what it was searching for on this last day of his rut, and it was way too pleased with this one to stop. It wasn't satisfied. Two orgasms were nothing. His knot was still locked tight, a stubborn, swollen stretch inside him that just ached. He was gonna make sure his final night settled it for good.
His hand slid between their bodies again, his fingers digging into Yunho’s lower stomach, ready to start the brutal rubbing all over again.
Fuck. No, not again. I can’t.
“Stop,” Yunho gasped out, his throat ripped raw. He shoved a weak hand against Mingi’s wrist. “No more.”
Mingi stilled. The growl hitched. Those dark, empty eyes flicked down to the hand on his wrist. A snarl built in his chest, a pure warning.
Yunho’s omega told him to shut up and take it, but the human part of him was just done. A low, hurt sound got out, more of a whine than a word. It wasn't a plea anymore. It was the sound of something breaking.
Mingi’s lip curled, showing teeth. He was mad. Telling him to stop was a challenge. But the sound Yunho made—the pure tiredness in it—seemed to snag on some deeper instinct. His eyes narrowed, the snarl fading into a pissed-off rumble. He didn’t say anything. He just… stopped. His hand dropped from Yunho’s stomach. He seemed to look at the situation again. His knot was still tied to this warm body. The room was freezing. The power was out. His—thing—was shivering under him. A new need seemed to beat out the mindless fucking.
With a scary kind of strength, Mingi moved. He manhandled Yunho’s dead-weight body, flipping them onto their sides. The move pulled hard at the knot and Yunho cried out at the sharp pain. Now spooning him, Mingi’s arms wrapped around him in a crush that felt less like a hug and more like being tied down. One arm was a bar across his chest, the other hand grabbed his ass, fingers pressing right where they were joined. He rumbled, low and satisfied, into Yunho’s hair.
Then he reached for the comforter. His body was heavy and uncoordinated from the booze. He had to fight to grab the blanket bunched at their feet, his movements yanking at the knot and making Yunho gasp. Mingi just grunted, not even noticing, and finally pulled the blanket up over them. He mostly covered Yunho, but left his own back open to the cold room.
The move was so weirdly practical it just confused him. Song Mingi was… tucking him in? Guarding him? Yunho, out of his mind, reached a shaky hand back to try and pull the blanket over Mingi’s shoulders too.
A sharp snarl exploded against his neck. The arm across his chest squeezed like a trap, crushing the air from his lungs. The message was clear: Stop moving. I'm fine. You're the one who needs it. Yunho went still, and the alpha’s grip loosened just a bit, the rumble in his chest calming into a steady, watchful hum. He was protecting what was his from the cold.
Too exhausted to think, Yunho gave up and let sleep take him.
He woke up a few times. Each time, it was from a gut-twisting cramp—his heat, really kicking in now, demanding more. And every single time, the body behind him responded instantly. Mingi was awake. Every. Single. Time. Yunho could feel it in the tight grip that never loosened, in the low rumble that vibrated through his back. He didn't need to see his eyes to know they'd be black and feral, watching, tracking every shift, every caught breath.
The first time Yunho woke with a gasp, Mingi’s hand was already there on his stomach, rubbing hard over the swollen bulge. His nose was rough against Yunho’s neck, rubbing his scent in, while his other hand kept moving fast over his stomach, like he was claiming it all over again. A deep rumble started in Mingi’s chest, a steady sleep, I got you sound that was all alpha, not the douchebag Yunho knew. It was confusing, but his stupid omega just purred back and calmed down. He felt Mingi’s rhythm stutter, then another hot pulse deep inside as he came again, his knot swelling back up. It wasn’t for sex. It was just the alpha making sure his omega was settled, full and asleep. Yunho was too wrecked to care, already sinking back under.
The second time, he felt Mingi’s fingers again, not grabbing, but pressed right against his rim, checking the seal. Making sure nothing was leaking out. Guarding his claim. His face was buried in Yunho's shoulder, breathing deep, like he was making sure Yunho's new scent—a mix of fear, heat, and him—was stuck there for good.
The alpha knew. On some primal level, he fucking knew exactly what Yunho was—an omega in a fake-alpha wrapper. He was acting on it, breeding him, keeping his seed locked in. But the human part of Mingi, the one who knew Jeong Yunho, was buried too deep to get it.
The last time Yunho woke, it was closer to 4 a.m. The cramps were a constant ache now, a building pressure that meant things were about to get a lot worse. His whole body was one big throb, sore in places he didn’t even know could be sore. And the heat… god, the heat was a living thing, coiled tight inside him.
And then he felt him.
Mingi. Still behind him. Still in him.
The knot still there but… softer. Deflating. Not locked anymore. Just big enough to stretch him open, a constant, brutal reminder of exactly what they’d been doing for hours.
A low rumble started in Mingi’s chest, a sound that wasn’t human. It vibrated through Yunho’s back and straight into his bones. Mingi was awake. The rut was back, and it wasn’t playing around.
His hips moved. Just a slow, testing grind that made the base of his knot rub right against that stupidly sensitive spot inside Yunho. His breath hitched. It wasn’t enough to push him over, just enough to make the ache a thousand times worse. A fresh wave of slickness eased the way, his body betraying him completely.
This is on purpose, Yunho’s brain finally whispered. He’s been letting this build. Letting the cramps get bad. He’s saving this.
This was the last round. The one that was gonna break him.
“Mine…” Mingi grunted into his shoulder. His voice was thick, slurred, like he’d forgotten how to form words. It was the only one he’d said for hours.
His mouth found the torn skin of the bite on Yunho’s shoulder. Then his teeth sank in again.
Yunho shuddered. He was so full of him he felt sick with it. But his stupid omega brain was purring, thrilled, begging for more.
Mingi’s hand slid down from Yunho’s stomach, his big fingers pressing right where they were joined. He was feeling himself from the outside, feeling how stretched Yunho was. The sensation made him snap. His grinding turned into real thrusts. Hard. Deep. He wasn’t pulling out, the deflated knot was just small enough to let him move, but still big enough to drag against Yunho’s walls with every brutal shove.
He’s chasing it, Yunho thought, his head spinning. He needs this.
“Mine,” Mingi snarled. The word was so low, so primal it was barely a word at all.
His hand came up and clamped over Yunho’s mouth and nose. His palm was huge, smothering. He forced him to breathe in nothing but his scent. Sweat, musk, them. It was suffocating. Possessive. Yunho’s heart hammered against his ribs.
“Say it,” Mingi growled into his ear, his thrusts never stopping, pounding into him with a rhythm that felt like it would split him in half.
Yunho couldn’t think. He could only moan, a pathetic, muffled sound against Mingi’s skin.
It wasn’t enough. Mingi wanted the words. His other hand tangled in Yunho’s hair and yanked, pulling his head back. “Say it!”
“Y-yours,” Yunho choked out, the admission tearing something loose inside him. “I’m yours.”
A rough sound of triumph tore from Mingi’s throat. He didn’t kiss him. He licked him, a rough stripe from his collarbone to his jaw. Then his mouth crashed down on his. It was all teeth and dominance. He bit Yunho’s bottom lip, and he tasted blood.
When Mingi pulled back, he was panting, wild-eyed. His rhythm turned completely feral, no finesse, just pure, animal need.
“Cum,” he ordered, his voice a raw scrape of sound.
It was a command Yunho’s body couldn’t disobey. It clenched down hard around him, and a weak, dry orgasm was ripped from him. It wracked his whole frame, his vision spotting at the edges. It was too much—way too much, but the omega in him keened.
Feeling Yunho spasm around him was Mingi’s final trigger. With a final, powerful thrust that knocked the air from Yunho’s lungs, he came. This one felt deeper, more endless than the others. A pulsing, hot flood that made the already noticeable bulge in Yunho’s stomach jump. He could feel it, a deep, internal throb that went on and on, pumping him even more full.
Mingi’s whole body locked up, a silent scream against Yunho’s neck. Then, all at once, the tension drained out of him. The continuous growl that had been rumbling through him for hours just… cut off. It was replaced by a deep, satisfied purr that vibrated through his chest and into Yunho’s back.
He was done. The rut was finally sated.
His full weight collapsed on top of Yunho, pinning him to the mattress. One heavy arm was slung possessively over his waist, his big hand resting on the distended curve of his stomach. His nose was buried in Yunho’s hair, his breathing already deep and even.
The last thing Yunho heard was that low, content rumble and Mingi’s final, sleep-thick murmur.
“Mine.”
Then everything went black.