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It wasn’t uncommon for their pack house to hum with quiet life even on a day off. With eight of them under one roof—alphas, betas, and omegas all comfortably coexisting—it was never silent, not really, but there was a rhythm to the noise. Footsteps padded through the hallway, the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen, laughter echoing from a game in the living room. Scent trails hung in the air like silk threads—comforting, familiar, layered over years of intimacy and trust.
It worked because they worked. Because no one jostled for power, no one postured. The three Alphas—Yunho, Wooyoung, and Mingi—were close, each so vastly different in temperament that it made harmony possible. Yunho, calm and steady as an evergreen forest. Wooyoung, fire-bright and teasing, with charm sharp enough to disarm even the prickliest omega. And Mingi, their dazzling storm, unpredictable and stubborn but beloved for every inch of it.
Then there was Jongho, the lone Beta, a solid constant, equal parts therapist and referee, moving through the household with a quiet kind of authority that only Betas seemed to possess. He was unshakable, the bridge between dynamics, the one they all instinctively turned to in moments of tension or vulnerability.
And the Omegas—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, San, and Yeosang. Sweet but far from fragile, each as unique as the way their scent layered into the air. San, a walking contradiction of sharp wit and shy blushes. Yeosang, dreamy and distant like moonlight on still water. Hongjoong, bright and stubborn, full of opinions and affection. And Seonghwa, playful and soft-spoken, the kind of omega who made everything around him feel warmer.
It worked. Somehow. It just worked.
Except today, it was quieter.
Today, there were no board games in the kitchen, no music vibrating through the walls, no gleeful shrieking from Hongjoong after Wooyoung cheated at cards. Because Mingi was sick, and when Mingi was sick, it cast a strange hush over the whole house. Like even the walls held their breath.
Yunho sat at the edge of Mingi’s bed, a freshly dampened towel in hand, steam from the bowl beside him still curling upward, gentle and fragrant with the eucalyptus oil that San had dabbed in earlier. The scent barely covered the fevered edge of Mingi’s own scent, something too sharp and too heavy, like mint burned down to its bitterest note.
Mingi lay tangled in sheets, his skin pale and flushed in waves, hair damp at the temples, brow pinched in discomfort even in sleep. He’d been like this for three days now—hovering just below the worst of it, fever flaring and receding in turns, too exhausted to eat much, too stubborn to rest properly unless someone quite literally pinned him down and mothered him.
Which, of course, had become Yunho’s job.
~
He wrung the cloth out quietly, folding it neatly before placing it against Mingi’s forehead with practiced gentleness. Mingi shifted with a faint whimper, eyelashes fluttering against flushed cheeks as he leaned into the touch instinctively, even half-unconscious. It tugged something deep in Yunho’s chest.
“I know, sweetheart,” Yunho murmured, voice barely above a whisper, fingers brushing sweat-damp hair from Mingi’s face. “I know. Almost there. You’re almost through it.”
It was always hard to see Mingi like this. Not because he couldn’t handle weakness—but because Mingi hated showing it. His pride was stitched into his skin, part of the way he carried himself, all fire and flair and fierce independence. Seeing him helpless, soft-spoken and sweaty and too tired to sit up on his own, cracked something raw open in Yunho’s chest. If he could take the fever on himself, he would. If he could shoulder the ache and leave Mingi sleeping peacefully, he wouldn’t hesitate.
But all he could do was bring him tea, feed him more painkillers every few hours, and sit here while Mingi mumbled nonsense into his pillow.
Today, though, he’d been quieter. Not so much unconscious as… heavy-lidded. Lucid enough to register Yunho’s presence, but too fever-drunk to say much. Yunho reached for the thermometer again, but Mingi’s hand—warm and trembling—reached up to clumsily brush at his arm before falling back to the mattress with a breathless sigh.
“Yunnie…”
His name came out slurred, almost a whine, and Yunho stilled.
“I’m here,” he said softly, turning back to him, hand resting gently over Mingi’s wrist. “You okay? Need water?”
Mingi’s lips parted, brows twitching faintly as if trying to piece together thought from fog. “Mm… no. Jus’… Jus’ you. You’re so… kind.”
Yunho smiled, faint and rueful. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“No… not like that.” Mingi blinked slowly, eyes glassy but heavy with sincerity. “You’re… with them. With the others. You take care of ‘em. You’re so good with them…”
Yunho blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden shift. “They’re our pack. Of course I take care of them.”
Mingi shook his head, just enough to dislodge the towel. Yunho caught it and smoothed it back into place. Mingi didn’t seem to notice.
“Not like that. You’re… You’re their alpha, Yunho,” he mumbled, his voice rough, low, a sliver of something vulnerable threading through it like a splinter. “They melt for you. San… especially. You’re so good with him. So gentle and firm. Makes me…”
He trailed off, eyelids fluttering. Yunho leaned closer, heart in his throat.
“Makes you what, Mingi?”
Mingi’s fingers curled weakly into the sheets. “Makes me want it. That. From you. The way you handle them. I want that. I wanna… feel that. I wanna let go. Let you take control.”
Yunho froze.
~
The room went silent save for the distant creak of floorboards outside the door and the rhythmic buzz of cicadas beyond the windowpane. Yunho stared, brain stuttering, heart stumbling over itself.
Mingi was—Mingi was confessing something that wasn’t just fever talk. Something buried deep under years of half-flirtations and posturing. Something real.
He reached out, brushing the towel again, watching Mingi with too many thoughts flying through his head at once.
“Minnie,” he said softly. “You’re not feeling well right now. Your fever’s still too high. You’re just… tired. You don’t mean that.”
Mingi let out a hoarse little laugh, one that curled bitter at the edges. “You don’t believe me…”
“I do,” Yunho said quickly. “I just think… we need to talk when you’re feeling better.”
“You’re just saying that.”
Yunho’s jaw clenched. “Mingi, you need to rest.”
Mingi made a small sound, almost like a sob, and then turned his head into the pillow with a groan. “You don’t love me anymore,” he muttered, broken and childish and all wrong. “It’s okay. You love San. Everyone loves San…”
Yunho’s breath hitched. “Mingi—”
But Mingi was already slipping again, the fever pulling him back under, face slackening into sleep as quickly as the confession had poured from him. Just like that. Gone.
Yunho sat there in the heavy silence that followed, towel limp in his hand, Mingi’s words still ringing in his ears like the aftermath of a bell.
He didn’t love San more. That wasn’t the issue. He loved his pack equally, wholly, differently—but if there was anyone he looked at and ached, it was Mingi.
Mingi, who never asked for help. Mingi, who threw up walls like they were made of silk and expected no one to notice the cracks beneath. Mingi, who in this fevered haze, had bared more truth than he probably ever had while healthy.
And Yunho couldn’t answer yet. Not like this. Not when Mingi would wake up in a few hours and pretend none of it had happened, too proud to speak on it if Yunho dared bring it up first.
So he just sat there, holding his hand, watching his chest rise and fall, heartbeat thundering behind his ribs like it had nowhere else to go.
~
Yunho lingered for a moment longer beside the bed, eyes tracing the softened lines of Mingi’s face as he finally settled into a more restful sleep, breath coming easier now that the worst of the fever spike had passed. The flushed hue of Mingi’s cheeks was still a sharp contrast to the normally sun-kissed gold of his skin, but his brow had unfurrowed, lashes no longer fluttering with discomfort. Yunho let out a soft sigh, the kind that curled with affection and worry in equal measure, and bent down to press a kiss—gentle and unhurried—to the damp skin of Mingi’s forehead. His lips lingered there for a beat longer than necessary, warm even against the heat still radiating from the man beneath him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, words meant more for himself than Mingi, who had long since fallen into the quiet, fever-drugged lull of sleep. “Not now. Not ever.”
With careful fingers, Yunho adjusted the corner of the damp towel that had slipped a little, tucking it back into place with the same delicacy he would use on fine silk or fragile glass. He glanced at the fan he’d set up earlier—oscillating low and slow, just enough airflow to prevent Mingi from overheating in the sheets he refused to kick off—and checked that it was angled correctly. The faint hum of it was soothing in the background, a whisper of wind in the room filled with the subtle scent of illness and Yunho’s own lingering pheromones, a soft cloud of protective cedarwood and cool pine trying desperately to ease whatever it could in lieu of actual healing.
He lingered in the doorway for another moment, reluctant to leave but knowing Mingi needed the rest—and he himself needed a breath of air. His body ached in the specific way it always did at the edge of his rut, a hollow sort of burn in the base of his spine that signaled it was coming soon, soon, soon. It made his shoulders feel heavier, his breath a touch more labored, his skin tighter under his clothes. Normally he had rituals to prepare for it—extra sleep, a few days off from any real responsibility, time to ground himself and seek out comfort—but with Mingi sick, there hadn’t been time to think about his own cycle.
And that was okay, he reminded himself. He had chosen this. He wanted to take care of Mingi. It wasn’t even a question when the first signs of the fever hit. Mingi had curled into him like a cat, eyes glassy, face burning up, and Yunho had practically shoved Wooyoung aside to be the one to take responsibility. The others had understood. They always did.
Still… his body wasn’t so understanding. He could already feel the way his instincts were stirring underneath the surface—protect, touch, claim—and he hated how much it twisted in him when Mingi had looked up at him with those fevered eyes and asked for his touch, not just the gentle caring kind, but something deeper, darker, needier. Yunho had almost broken. Almost given in.
But he couldn’t—not like that. Not when Mingi wouldn’t even remember saying it tomorrow.
~
With that thought, he padded quietly down the hall toward the living room, bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floorboards, the faint low lighting of the common space casting soft gold shadows over the walls. Their shared apartment was warm and full of scent, every inch of it soaked in the markers of pack: the earthy-sweet calm of Yeosang’s rainwater musk, the light floral drift of Seonghwa’s lavender and chamomile, the cherry blossom and fresh apple of Hongjoong, the grounding sandalwood of Jongho, the warm cinnamon spice of Wooyoung, and somewhere beneath it all, the honeyed citrus of San, always subtle but unmistakably him. The moment Yunho entered the room, his tense shoulders dropped slightly, lungs expanding just a bit more as if the room itself reminded his body that he was safe here.
Yeosang was sprawled on the wide sectional couch, a sketchbook open across his knees, pencil tapping rhythmically against the page. He looked up immediately when Yunho stepped into the space, sharp eyes softening.
“Hey,” Yeosang said, setting the pencil aside and shifting so there was room beside him. “How’s he doing?”
Yunho offered a small smile and a tired shrug, running a hand through his already-mussed hair as he moved to sink into the couch beside him. “Sleeping. Fever’s still there, but it’s not spiking like before. Just… weak. He’s completely out right now.”
Seonghwa looked up from where he was curled into the corner chair with his legs tucked under him and a throw blanket around his shoulders, a book resting forgotten in his lap. “You’ve been in there all day,” he said softly. “Come sit. Relax for a bit.”
San, who had just come from the kitchen with a mug of herbal tea in hand, drifted over and perched on the arm of the couch near Yunho’s head, his fingers already reaching down to card gently through Yunho’s hair. “You look like you’re two seconds from collapsing,” he said, voice teasing but laced with concern. “Come on, love. Let us take care of you for a bit.”
Yunho opened his mouth to protest, but the words died when three different scents—familiar, comforting, pack-deep—rose up around him like a blanket. Yeosang’s soothing ocean scent, Seonghwa’s soft florals, and San’s warm citrus immediately began working to calm the tension in his body, scent glands gently flaring as they surrounded him. It was instinctive, the way omegas soothed. Especially their own alpha.
And Yunho was one of theirs.
“Okay,” he breathed, closing his eyes as he leaned into the touch, feeling the weight of their presence like a balm against his skin. “Just for a minute.”
~
San slid down to sit beside him, his warm body pressing lightly into Yunho’s side, and without even needing to speak, Yeosang shifted to curl against his other side, arms draping loosely around his waist. Seonghwa hesitated only a second before joining them, the book forgotten entirely as he padded over to kneel in front of the couch, resting his cheek against Yunho’s knee and wrapping his arms gently around one of his legs. It was a little ridiculous, the way he was instantly swallowed in the sheer weight of affection, but Yunho didn’t complain.
It was exactly what he needed.
“I know it’s dumb,” Yunho murmured after a few minutes of silence, his fingers idly stroking through Seonghwa’s hair as San rubbed soothing circles into his back. “But my pre-rut’s starting, and I’m trying not to let it get to me, but Mingi’s sick and I don’t want to leave him to deal with it alone. I just… I’m trying to keep it under control.”
“It’s not dumb,” Yeosang said firmly, lifting his head to look at him. “Your body is trying to prepare itself for something intense. You’re already doing more than anyone could expect. Let us help you with the rest.”
“Yeah,” San added, his voice low and warm. “You don’t have to burn yourself out trying to do everything on your own.”
Jongho’s voice joined them from the hallway, where he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “I can sit with Mingi for a bit if you need more time. I don’t mind.”
Yunho looked over and gave him a grateful smile, but shook his head. “Thank you, really, but I’ll be okay. He’ll probably sleep for a couple hours now. I just needed to sit. Be near you guys for a bit.”
Jongho nodded, accepting that, but didn’t leave. Instead, he came closer, kneeling beside Seonghwa and reaching up to gently squeeze Yunho’s shoulder. “Just say the word. We’ve got your back, you know that.”
Yunho exhaled slowly, letting himself relax deeper into the embrace of his pack. “I know. I just—he said some things before he passed out. About wanting me. Wanting me like I’ve been with all of you. About watching me and wishing… and I know he was feverish, but it still—it hit me hard. I didn’t think he even noticed.”
San blinked, pausing in his motions. “Mingi’s been giving you the look every time you go into rut, Yunho. I’m pretty sure everyone here but you saw it.”
Yeosang made a small noise of agreement. “It’s not exactly subtle.”
“Yeah, well,” Yunho muttered, rubbing his face with one hand, “it just sucks that the first time he says anything about it, I have to pretend I didn’t hear it. I couldn’t do anything with him like that. He wasn’t really there.”
“Then wait,” Seonghwa said softly, looking up at him. “Wait until he’s better. And when he is… talk to him. Tell him.”
Yunho nodded slowly, eyes closed again, the tension finally starting to bleed out of his body.
He was still tired. Still on edge. Still balancing on the knife’s edge of pre-rut instincts and caretaker tenderness.
But here, in the center of his pack, held and comforted and understood—he could finally breathe.
~
It was several hours later, and Yunho had hardly moved from where he’d been tucked into the center of the cuddle pile, the heavy warmth of his boyfriends draped around him like a protective second skin, their scents layered over his like soft fabric—familiar and grounding. The occasional twitch of a limb, the hum of a chest, the shift of weight as someone repositioned themselves… it all made the hours pass in a blur of comfort, soothing down the worst of Yunho’s tension, even as a faint pressure continued to curl tight in his lower spine, a forewarning of what was to come.
His head rested lightly against Yeosang’s chest, the steady rise and fall of the godlike omega’s breathing keeping time with the rhythmic thrum of his own heart, while San’s fingers threaded absently through Yunho’s hair in slow, repetitive strokes, grounding and gentle in the way only San knew how to be. Seonghwa had tucked himself under Yunho’s arm, his cheek smushed against the alpha’s collarbone, purring softly in a way that always surprised people coming from someone so chaotic. All of them—his beautiful, warm, clingy partners—had filled the room with their own unique scent signatures, wrapping Yunho in layers of calming pheromones, weaving a net to catch him before his frayed nerves could unravel completely.
He might’ve drifted off, or maybe time just stopped meaning anything for a while. But the moment a faint, pitiful whine carried from down the hall, Yunho’s ears twitched, his body immediately alert. The sound was unmistakable—Mingi, soft and needy, calling out for him even in his half-lucid haze.
Yunho barely had time to sit up before the pile shifted with him, San sleepily blinking up at him while Yeosang’s arms stayed looped around his waist like the tide clinging to the shore. Seonghwa, half-asleep but ever attuned to his partners’ moods, let out a groggy little sigh and muttered, “Mingi?”
“He’s calling for me,” Yunho murmured softly, voice already gentling with instinctual care as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks in turn. “I’ve gotta go—he needs me.”
“Don’t overdo it,” San mumbled, still petting through his hair. “You’re gonna burn yourself out.”
Yunho gave him a small smile, a grateful look of fondness blooming through his tired expression. “I’ll be okay. Just need to be there for him.”
And with that, he slipped free of the cuddle pile, warmth still clinging to his skin as he padded quietly down the hallway, re-entering the softly-lit bedroom where Mingi lay tangled in sheets, eyes hazy and body feverish. Yunho didn’t hesitate. He was by Mingi’s side in seconds, wiping a cool cloth over his forehead, adjusting the fan so it circulated more directly toward the overheated alpha. He whispered gentle reassurances, ran his fingers through damp strands of dark hair, and pressed a tender kiss to Mingi’s cheek when he whimpered again, curling toward him like a flower straining for sunlight.
~
The rest of the day blurred, time passing in a haze of tending and soothing, Yunho moving in a practiced rhythm between helping Mingi drink water, checking his temperature, gently applying cooling cloths, and sitting beside him so he wouldn’t feel alone. He barely left the room, only stepping out once or twice to change the water or grab a cool compress from the freezer, always returning before Mingi could notice he was gone. His entire world, for those quiet hours, was reduced to the space within that dimly-lit bedroom—the soft hum of the fan, the rustle of sheets, the smell of sweat and fever and Yunho’s own calming presence anchoring Mingi through the worst of it, and Yunho was convinced by the morning he will have broken the fever.
And then, at long last, night fell again. Shadows stretched long across the floor, and the household gradually fell quiet, the muffled sounds of partners preparing for bed filtering in from the rest of the shared space. Mingi finally slipped into a deeper, more restful sleep, his breathing slow and even, the fever beginning to break under Yunho’s attentive care. The alpha sat there for a while longer, watching him, brushing knuckles along Mingi’s cheekbone, lips soft with fondness as he tucked the blanket higher over Mingi’s chest.
Eventually, when he was sure Mingi would sleep soundly for the rest of the night, Yunho allowed himself to quietly leave the room, padding barefoot to his own room. The door was cracked open already, as if waiting for him, and inside, Seonghwa was curled beneath the covers with only the top of his pastel hair peeking out, the lavender-sweet scent of his rest state already wafting gently through the air.
Yunho didn't hesitate. He stripped down to his boxers, slid beneath the cool sheets, and immediately melted into the warmth of Seonghwa’s open arms. The older omega stirred only slightly, instinct guiding his limbs to loop around Yunho’s waist, burying his nose into his neck and letting out a small, content exhale. The lavender got stronger, filling the room like smoke from a freshly lit candle, and Yunho allowed his eyes to drift closed, exhaustion dragging him under like the pull of the sea.
But sleep didn’t last long.
~
Morning came fast and unforgiving. Yunho woke with a groan lodged deep in his throat, his body already pulsing with that unmistakable pre-rut heat, a creeping pressure curling through his gut and chest like wildfire. His skin felt too tight, like it didn’t quite fit, and his bones ached, muscles twitching with a restless energy that made it impossible to stay still. Beneath the layers of their shared blanket, his scent had thickened, no longer the crisp pine it usually was but something headier, darker, like the musk of an old cabin swallowed by the woods and left to rot with dignity—bourbon and charred wood, spiced soil and the faintest trace of thunder.
He gritted his teeth, careful not to shift too much as he slipped from Seonghwa’s embrace, silently mouthing an apology to the still-sleeping omega who clung tighter for a moment before falling limp again with a sigh. Yunho pressed a quick kiss to his temple, heart soft despite the burn in his blood, and moved through the quiet room with the grace of a hunter, collecting a hoodie to throw over his sleep-warm skin before stepping into the hallway.
The moment he entered the common space, he was no longer alone.
“Yunho,” came San’s voice, warm and alert despite the early hour. The shorter omega had clearly just brewed a pot of tea, the scent of mint and chamomile drifting in the air around him like a veil as he got the heat to time ratio perfect. “You okay?”
Yunho blinked at him, then at Yeosang who appeared beside him a second later, robe loose around his waist and hair tousled like he hadn’t bothered brushing it yet. Both of them reached for him in the same moment, pressing their hands to his arms, shoulders, back, wrapping around him like vines with open concern etched into their sleepy faces.
“You’re leaking scent like a broken faucet,” Yeosang murmured, voice soft and low. “Pre-rut already?”
“Yeah,” Yunho admitted, voice a hoarse rasp. “Started in the middle of the night.”
Yeosang pulled him into a hug without further prompting, chest pressed to his, chin resting on his shoulder while San curled around his back, both omegas layering their calming scents over him in that unspoken language of care they all shared. The contrast was almost dizzying—where Yunho was smoke and burning earth, they were candied oranges and storm-kissed rain, clear skies and hearth embers. They didn’t smother his own scent so much as temper it, reigning in the wild edges and cooling the fire to a slow burn instead of a blaze.
~
“You don’t have to push yourself,” San said, fingers rubbing slow circles into Yunho’s lower back. “You’ve already done so much.”
“I know,” Yunho said quietly. “But Mingi’s still recovering. I need to make sure he’s okay before this gets worse.”
Yeosang pulled back just enough to search his face, brows creased with the beginnings of disapproval, but he didn’t push. Instead, he gave a small nod and said, “Let us help where we can. Don’t burn out.”
“I won’t,” Yunho promised, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Just then, Jongho passed by with a yawn and a piece of toast in his mouth, pausing mid-bite to glance over. “If you need me to take care of Mingi for a bit, I don’t mind stepping in. Just say the word.”
Yunho shook his head, grateful but firm. “Thanks, Jjongie, but I’ve got it, promise. I just needed a second. I’ll head back soon.”
San and Yeosang didn’t argue. Instead, they tightened their hold around him, pressing their foreheads to his chest and shoulder respectively, scenting him once more with focused precision, anchoring him just enough that when he finally stepped back, the fire inside him felt slightly less consuming.
Yunho took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned toward the hallway again.
Mingi was waiting for him, after all.
And Yunho had every intention of being there, right up until his body gave him no other choice.
~
Yunho moved through the hall with slow, deliberate steps, his breath steady despite the churn of heat beneath his skin, the way his blood felt like it was simmering just under the surface. The gentle grounding of San and Yeosang’s scent still clung faintly to his clothes and hair—citrus tea, cool rain, calm—but it wasn’t enough to mask his own anymore. His pre-rut was bleeding into the air around him, thick and heady like bourbon set alight in the woods, pine needles curling beneath the weight of ash, the rich spice of him painting the corridor in a cloud that seemed to hum with static.
He’d just reached Mingi’s door, hand raised to gently knock, when it creaked open on its own.
Yunho froze.
Mingi stood there—shoulders relaxed, expression a little dazed but no longer feverish, his eyes wide as he blinked up at Yunho like he couldn’t believe the alpha was real. His hand braced against the doorframe, his skin still pale but no longer clammy, a flush creeping up the line of his neck that wasn’t from sickness anymore. His hair was tousled, lips parted as though he’d just woken from a dream he didn’t want to leave. The light behind him caught in his lashes, and for a moment Yunho could only stare, utterly still as warmth bloomed in his chest.
“Hi,” Mingi said softly, voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse, but clearer now, steadier. A little shy.
Yunho let out a quiet breath, his features easing into something warm and gentle. “Hey… You’re up.”
Mingi nodded, blinking slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but hadn’t quite decided if he could.
Yunho studied him with quiet focus, reading him in the way he always did—his posture, the slight tremble in his hands, the way he leaned more heavily on the doorframe than he needed to, a trace of lingering fatigue still clinging to him like morning fog. But something else was there, too—something new.
~
“How’re you feeling?” Yunho asked, keeping his voice low and kind, that sweet lull reserved only for moments like this. “You look better.”
“I… am,” Mingi said after a pause, brows knitting like he was still sorting through his own body’s signals. “I mean, I’m tired. But the fever’s gone, and I don’t feel like I’m floating anymore. I actually made it to the bathroom without getting dizzy.”
“That’s good,” Yunho said, relief softening his whole body. “Really good.”
But there was something wrong. Not wrong in the traditional sense, but—off. Different. Yunho’s head tilted slightly as he watched Mingi, noting the way his gaze wouldn’t hold, the way it darted over Yunho’s shoulder and then dropped to his chest, lingering a second too long before flicking away again. His fingers tightened slightly on the doorframe, and his throat worked around a swallow that seemed more emotional than physical.
And then Yunho caught it.
The scent.
It hit him slow and then all at once, like turning a corner and finding the sun waiting on the other side. Crisp, forest-fresh mint wrapped around sturdy fir tree bark, cool and clean—but beneath it was something softer, deeper, like sugar melted in seawater, a sweetness so distinct it made Yunho’s mouth go dry. It was delicious in a way that crept into the back of his throat, soft and sticky, like taffy left to warm in the sun. He could feel his own scent pushing forward in response, his alpha instincts immediately alert, like static crackling under his skin.
“Minnie,” Yunho said quietly, carefully, a hand lifting to gently cup the doorframe just beside Mingi’s head, not to trap him but to ground himself. “Have you started?”
Mingi’s eyes flicked up to his, wide and glassy and far too vulnerable. He gave a short nod, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“I think…” His voice was smaller now, tight in his chest. “I think your scent woke me up. I could smell it before I even got out of bed. I—It was so strong, I thought you were already in the room.”
Yunho’s chest ached with the tenderness of it. He leaned forward just a little, pressing his lips to Mingi’s forehead with a soft breath, letting his hand slide gently to Mingi’s waist without pressure. “Hey. It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice like velvet fraying at the edges. “These things happen, especially with us being this synced up.”
Mingi leaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed like the contact soothed some part of him that was too raw to touch otherwise. Yunho lingered there for a moment longer, pressing comfort into him with the warm weight of his presence, letting the silence say what words couldn’t.
~
Then he pulled back just enough to meet Mingi’s eyes again. “You should probably pair up with one of the others today,” he said gently, though the words made something heavy settle in his chest. “It’s safer that way. With both of us like this… It could get intense.”
Mingi nodded slowly, but there was something behind his eyes—some kind of ache or question he hadn’t yet figured out how to give voice to. His bottom lip wobbled just the slightest bit, and then he bit it, looking away again, arms crossing loosely over his stomach like he was trying to hold something in.
Yunho watched him for a second, then reached out, tilting his chin just enough to coax Mingi’s gaze back to his. “What is it?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath. “You can tell me.”
Mingi hesitated. He looked like he wanted to speak, lips parting and closing again. Then, finally, he murmured, “I just…” He swallowed, brows drawing together. “I kinda… don’t want it to be someone else.”
The confession hit Yunho like a weight to the chest. Not in a bad way—just… heavy. Important.
Mingi flushed immediately after, looking down, his whole body curling in just a bit. “I know, I know it’s not smart. I know we both need to be careful, I know it’d be better to pair off—but I… I missed you. And then you were right there. And your scent is everywhere and it made everything worse but also better and—” He stopped himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry.”
Yunho reached forward, both hands finding Mingi’s face, thumbs brushing under his eyes with careful reverence. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice low and soft and a little shaky with how much he wanted in that moment, how hard he was trying not to let it overtake him. “Mingi, I—fuck. I want you, too. Of course I do. But we have to be smart. I can’t take care of you properly if I lose control. I won’t let you get hurt.”
“I know,” Mingi whispered, eyes glassy but steady. “I know you won’t. I just… wanted you to know how I felt since I can actually think clearly right now. That’s all.”
And Yunho could feel it—this delicate thread stretching between them, tension humming like the pause between lightning and thunder, a moment poised right before the fall. The mingling of their scents was nearly unbearable now, each one winding around the other like vines around bark, the old cabin in the woods welcoming the creeping green of a new spring.
Yunho leaned forward again, touching his forehead gently to Mingi’s, their noses brushing. “Thank you for telling me,” he murmured. “And if we weren’t both on fire right now, I’d kiss you like I’ve been waiting years to.”
Mingi gave a small, breathy laugh, one that cracked around the edges and made Yunho’s heart ache in the best, worst way.
“Me too,” Mingi whispered. “God. Me too.”
And for a moment, they just stood there—pressing heat into one another, not with their bodies, but with their honesty. Their want. Their aching restraint.
Because love wasn’t just about giving in to the fire.
Sometimes, it was about holding back—for the sake of the one you’d burn for. Even if the embers didn't have long before they'd ignite.
~
The rest of the day passed in a hazy, golden blur that neither of them would fully remember later—at least, not in the way one remembers normal things. It was a blur in the way a fever dream clings to you even after waking, a film laid over the world where colors felt too saturated and every sound echoed just a little too loudly. Yunho and Mingi moved through the shared spaces of the house like magnets forced to repel each other, orbiting the same rooms without touching, their every movement soaked in restraint.
They spent the day wrapped in domesticity—making meals, folding blankets, sharing quiet conversations with San, Hongjoong, and the others—but beneath the normalcy was a constant undercurrent of tension that buzzed louder with every passing hour.
Yunho caught glimpses of Mingi across the kitchen while Yeosang stirred soup with an absent hum, the steam fogging the windows and making the whole place smell like miso and home. Mingi sat curled into the corner of the couch beside San, cradling a mug between his palms, his face relaxed but his eyes distant—like he was trying to stay inside his body and not let it betray him. His scent was softer than it had been that morning, no longer billowing but simmering, restrained. But every now and then, it would spike just slightly, enough to make Yunho’s head snap toward him with a low pulse of instinct he could barely keep leashed.
When Yunho wasn’t looking, Mingi was.
And when Mingi wasn’t watching, Yunho always was.
Every shared glance was too much.
Yunho would catch Mingi staring while he played with Hongjoong’s hair absentmindedly, the omega lying with his head in Yunho’s lap, purring softly from the comfort of it. Mingi’s gaze would land there like a burn, and Yunho could see it clearly: the twitch in his jaw, the little wrinkle between his brows, the way his thighs pressed together ever so slightly, betraying how hard he was trying to stay composed.
And Yunho hated how much he liked it.
Because he wanted Mingi there instead. Pressed into his lap, trembling and pliant. He wanted to bury his nose in Mingi’s neck and breathe him in until the only scent in the world was mint and fir and that insufferably sweet undercurrent that was driving him mad. He wanted to scent him until he couldn’t smell anything else. Bite him so deeply he left a mark no one else could question. Pull sounds from his mouth until he cried, until he shattered in Yunho’s arms.
And he knew—he knew—Mingi wanted it too.
~
Mingi tried to hide it, tried to smother the heat beneath thin layers of distraction. He helped Seonghwa bake cookies in the early afternoon, his hands busy with dough, laughing when the flour puffed up onto his face—but Yunho saw the way his fingers trembled as he handed Seonghwa a tray to put in the oven. He saw the stiffness in his posture, the way his eyes flicked constantly toward the hall, as if Yunho might appear there at any moment.
Which he did. Too often.
And every time they brushed past one another—whether Yunho reaching above Mingi for a glass, or Mingi moving behind him to grab a towel—they nearly lost control.
It was unbearable.
Mingi felt it like a shock every time their skin so much as grazed. His breath would hitch and Yunho would flinch, stepping away like he’d touched fire—but Mingi was fire, and the longer they avoided it, the more it built. The sparks turned to embers, and the embers were fast becoming flames.
By late afternoon, Yunho had taken to keeping his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, shoulders rolled forward in a defensive hunch, like it could somehow protect him from the heat crawling up his spine. But it was no use. His scent kept leaking through—spice and smolder, earthy and wild. Whenever Mingi came too close, Yunho had to leave the room or risk lunging.
Mingi wasn’t faring much better.
He curled up with San in the den sometime around sunset, tucked under a heavy knit blanket, pretending to be asleep while San scrolled quietly through a book on their tablet. But he wasn’t asleep. Not even close. His body was tense under the blanket, every nerve pulled tight, thighs squeezed together beneath layers of cotton and wool. His forehead rested against San’s shoulder, but all he could think about was how wrong it felt—not because he didn’t love San’s comfort (he did, deeply), but because it wasn’t Yunho.
It wasn’t the weight of Yunho’s arms around him, the pressure of a thigh between his legs, the heat of a mouth pressed to the crook of his neck. His rut hadn’t even fully started, but he felt like he was already unraveling from the inside out.
His scent flared, thickening just slightly, and across the room Yunho looked up from his spot on the floor with Hongjoong in his lap, catching his eyes.
And fuck—it was too much.
~
Because Mingi saw it—the flash of want that Yunho didn’t even try to hide. His pupils blown wide, his throat bobbing with a shallow swallow, his jaw tightening like it hurt. Yunho looked like he was barely holding it together.
And maybe he was.
Because Yunho wasn’t thinking about the soup or the chores or even Hongjoong curled trustingly against his chest. He was thinking about Mingi’s scent—how it stuck to the air like the echo of a kiss, clinging to the corners of every room Yunho entered. He was thinking about the way Mingi looked that morning—still tired, still soft, but open. About how his mouth had looked when he said hi, like he wanted to say so much more but didn’t trust himself not to beg.
He was thinking about the way Mingi had pouted when Yunho told him to go to someone else. That quiet heartbreak.
He was thinking about how good Mingi would taste.
And if he was honest with himself, Yunho wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.
He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad, hadn’t expected their bodies to spiral so fast—but now it was too late to reverse course. His rut would hit within the next twenty-four hours. He could feel it coiling like a serpent under his skin, waiting to strike. And if Mingi’s had truly started first—if it really was Yunho’s scent that triggered it—then it was already too late for him.
Yunho clenched his fists in his pockets, biting back a growl as Mingi shifted slightly under the blanket, the movement dragging the scent of him across the room like a temptation Yunho had no right resisting.
They were going to break.
He didn’t know when.
He didn’t know how.
But one more brush of fingers. One more glance.
And they were going to fall.
~
Eventually, night settled over the house like a weighted blanket, all the tension of the day pressing down with it—heavy and slow, the sky outside dimming from a soft indigo into the deepest hues of blue-black. One by one, the pack began to retreat into the safety of their rooms, slipping into the rituals of rest that they’d all grown accustomed to over time. They said their goodnights like they always did—quiet, affectionate, familiar.
But everything still felt off.
Yunho barely noticed the way Seonghwa leaned against his side, limbs soft and warm and scent sweet like honeyed lavender. Normally, he’d breathe that in without thinking, let it soothe the restless edge of his alpha instincts, the grounding presence of an omega so easy to sink into. But tonight, his body was too tight. Every muscle buzzed with restrained energy, every thought kept circling the same name, the same face, the same scent he couldn't escape even when Mingi wasn’t in the room.
He tucked Seonghwa in gently, running fingers through his hair until the omega’s eyes fluttered shut, chest rising and falling with the peace of sleep. But Yunho didn’t sleep. Not really. He drifted. Half-aware. Eyes closed, but blood still boiling slow and hot beneath his skin. He hoped, foolishly, that a few more hours might reset things. That he could at least last until the next night before rut devoured him whole.
But the universe had other plans.
When Yunho’s eyes snapped open in the morning, it wasn’t gradual or gentle—it was instant. His body woke before his brain caught up, blood pounding in his ears like war drums, sweat already slick along his collarbones and spine. His breath caught, then hitched again, and he realized all at once that it was here—the full flood of it, his rut crashing through him like a tidal wave.
His scent, which had been manageable yesterday, now poured from him in thick waves, the room stinking of earthy spice and smoke, grounding and heady and undeniably alpha. His sheets were already damp, twisted around his hips, and there was no denying the hard line of arousal that pulsed between his legs, demanding—aching—for contact, for relief, for someone to help him through this.
For Mingi.
Yunho groaned low in his throat, dragging a hand down his face, trying to orient himself. “Shit…”
He looked to his side—but Seonghwa was gone.
The spot where the omega had slept was cool to the touch, already abandoned, and Yunho could only assume he’d left sometime in the early hours of dawn, probably when Yunho started spewing scent so thick it could knock someone out. Smart, honestly. The last thing Seonghwa needed was to get caught in the storm about to break.
But then the door slammed open, and everything else dropped away.
“Yunho—hurry the fuck up!” Wooyoung was panting, eyes wide with urgency, hair a mess like he’d just woken up in a panic. “It’s Mingi. He—he needs you, like, now.”
Yunho was already standing before Wooyoung even finished the sentence.
“He’s in full rut?” Yunho asked hoarsely, grabbing for the closest pair of sweats, not even bothering with a shirt.
“Woke up sobbing—sobbing, Yunho. First thing out of his mouth was your name. Jongho tried to calm him down, San tried scenting him, even Seonghwa—nothing worked. He’s—fuck, he’s gone feral.”
Yunho didn’t need to hear more. He was already moving.
~
The hallway felt like a gauntlet, his own scent trailing behind him in thick clouds, every step fueled by a heat in his veins that had nowhere to go, his instincts screaming for contact, for skin, for Mingi. He barely registered the warmth in his chest at the thought that Mingi had called for him, had asked for him first—because he could smell it now, even before reaching the door.
Fir sap.
Sugared mint.
Desperate, needy Mingi.
By the time he reached the room, the scent was overwhelming—sweet and sharp and cloying, layered with salt from tears and heat from sweat, so much of it Yunho had to pause and brace himself for a second before he opened the door.
Then it hit him like a blow to the chest.
Mingi was sobbing—sobbing—in a pile of pillows and blankets, a makeshift nest that had clearly been thrown together in a panic. His face was red, eyes puffy, cheeks wet with tears that hadn’t stopped for a second. His limbs twitched with need, skin flushed all the way down to his collarbones, and he was clutching at a pillow that reeked of Yunho’s scent like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
San and Hongjoong were holding him back gently, one hand each on his arms as Mingi thrashed forward, his voice breaking again and again on the same word:
“Yunho—Yunho, where is he—Yunho—!”
“I’m here,” Yunho breathed, stepping inside. “I’m right here, baby.”
Mingi’s head snapped up.
The second his eyes landed on Yunho, everything else in the room faded.
He lunged—hard—body completely consumed by instinct, every muscle pulling him toward what he needed. It took both San and Hongjoong to hold him back, not out of aggression, but pure desperation. He cried out again, a raw, wounded sound, the kind that made Yunho’s heart crack wide open.
“Please—please let me go, I need him—Yunho, please—!”
“It’s okay,” Yunho said quickly, dropping to his knees at the edge of the nest, arms open. “Let him go. I’ve got him.”
San hesitated only a moment before releasing him, and Hongjoong followed a second later.
~
Mingi practically launched into Yunho’s arms, tackling him in a sobbing, trembling hug, fingers digging into his bare back, breath hitching and breaking against his skin like waves. His scent hit Yunho like a brick wall, dizzying and delicious, all sugared mint and forest pine and the unmistakable edge of sweetness underneath it, and Yunho groaned, wrapping his arms tight around Mingi’s waist, dragging him flush against him.
“Shh, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Yunho whispered, voice low and steady against Mingi’s hair as he pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’re okay. You called for me, yeah? I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mingi was practically vibrating, burying his face in Yunho’s neck and breathing him in like it was oxygen, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. “Hurts—Yunho, it hurts, I can’t—please, I need you—need you so bad—” He was trembling, gasping out little hiccups of breath as his fingers clawed at Yunho’s shoulders. “Why did you wait—I’ve been—I’ve been burning—”
Yunho pulled him tighter, cupping the back of his head, kissing his temple over and over, murmuring soft, grounding words between every touch. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I should’ve come sooner—gods, Mingi, I wanted to—I’ve been losing my fucking mind, you have no idea—”
“I do,” Mingi sobbed. “I do, I’ve been—I’ve been dreaming about you, I can’t think, I can’t—please do something, please, it’s too much—”
Yunho could feel the heat rolling off Mingi’s body in waves, his skin practically glowing with it, every inch of him radiating need. His rut was in full swing, and the ache between his legs was only part of it—it was the way his whole soul seemed to be crying out for Yunho, the way his scent clung to Yunho’s skin like it already belonged there.
Yunho had spent the last twenty-four hours holding himself back, trying to do the right thing.
But now?
Now, there was no right or wrong. There was only Mingi.
Mingi, pressed against him, sobbing into his throat.
Mingi, begging for him like he was the only thing that could make it stop.
Mingi, who had chosen him.
And Yunho was going to take care of him—completely.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Yunho said, voice dropping into something softer, deeper, as he brushed Mingi’s damp bangs from his face. “Let’s get you comfortable, yeah? I’ve got you now. We’ll do this right.”
Mingi whimpered, nodding frantically as Yunho gently guided him back into the nest.
And just like that—the storm had found its center.
~
Yunho worked quickly, hands both trembling and careful as he adjusted the mess of blankets around Mingi’s body, cocooning him in warmth and weight, anything to keep his poor overstimulated senses grounded. Mingi had gone pliant in his arms, blinking up at him with tear-slick eyes and cheeks flushed a high, feverish pink. His skin was too hot, almost glowing, his thighs twitching restlessly even as he clung to Yunho like a lifeline, breaths sharp and shallow, every inhale bringing more of Yunho’s scent into his system and making him whimper.
“You’re okay,” Yunho murmured, sweeping Mingi’s hair from his eyes again and leaning down to kiss his brow, “I’ve got you, baby. Just breathe. I’m right here.”
He grabbed a shirt from the edge of the nest—one of his, soft and worn-in and already faintly smelling like him—but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. He brought it to his neck and rubbed it over his skin, over the glands beneath his jaw, along his collarbone, down his chest where his sweat was thickest, until the fabric practically reeked of him. Then he passed it over.
Mingi snatched it with shaking hands and immediately shoved it against his face, breathing it in like it was oxygen, the sound he made so needy and broken that Yunho nearly lost control right then and there.
“Better?” Yunho asked, voice low, already half gone with the way Mingi was looking at him.
Mingi just nodded rapidly, moaning softly behind the shirt as he buried his nose deeper, whole body curling in on itself like he was trying to absorb the scent into his bones.
Yunho exhaled shakily, then turned his attention to the others still in the room. San, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa lingered near the door, all visibly unsure whether they should stay or go. San, of course, looked suspiciously like he had no intention of leaving at all.
“Alright,” Yunho said firmly, not unkindly. “Out. It’s… it’s going to get a little crazy in here.”
“A little?” Wooyoung echoed from the hall, his tone dry.
“I’ll guard the door,” Jongho offered immediately, already pulling San by the elbow. “You two do what you need to do. We’ve got the rest covered.”
“But—!” San started to protest, only to be bodily hauled out by Wooyoung, who muttered something about “pervert instincts” and “boundaries” as he closed the door behind them.
And just like that—it was just them.
Yunho and Mingi.
Alone.
The moment the latch clicked shut, something snapped.
~
Yunho didn’t wait another second. He crossed the nest in two strides, reaching for Mingi, and the second their eyes locked, all the tension they’d been holding back for days—weeks—exploded.
Yunho’s mouth crashed against Mingi’s with a force that knocked the air from their lungs, teeth clashing, lips slick and desperate as they kissed like they were starving, like they’d been waiting their entire lives for this moment. Mingi whimpered into it, a choked-off, high-pitched little yip that had Yunho growling low in response, fingers tangling in Mingi’s hair as he tilted his head for more.
The scent was overwhelming now, thick in the air like fog—mint, pine, spice, heat, sugar, them, completely raw and unfiltered.
When they finally pulled apart, both panting and wide-eyed, their lips swollen and red, Yunho didn’t hesitate—he leaned in again, this time pressing his face into Mingi’s neck, nuzzling, scenting, breathing him in like he needed him in his lungs, on his tongue, coating every part of him.
Mingi let him, trembling beneath the weight of his body, gasping softly as Yunho’s nose skimmed over his scent glands, his jaw, the dip of his collarbone, tongue darting out to taste the sweat collecting there. He moaned outright at that, shivering under Yunho’s touch, his legs falling open a little wider, body aching to be claimed.
“You smell so fucking good,” Yunho rasped against his skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his throat. “Like you’re mine. Like you want to be mine.”
“I do,” Mingi choked out, eyes fluttering, body going boneless. “Yunho, I—fuck, I do, please, please—”
And then Mingi did something Yunho didn’t expect.
He tilted his head to the side, baring his throat.
Exposing himself.
Submitting.
Alphas aren't supposed to do that.
Yunho froze.
~
For a long moment, he just stared at the vulnerable curve of Mingi’s neck, the way he’d gone perfectly still beneath him, trembling but willing, eyes hooded and glassy with need.
“Minnie,” Yunho breathed, voice cracking. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Mingi said, voice trembling but sure. “I don’t—I don’t know why, it’s just—I feel like I need it, Yunho, I want you to take the lead, I want you to—fuck, I just want to be yours.”
That was all it took.
Yunho surged forward again, teeth sinking into the crook of Mingi’s neck—not breaking skin, not yet, but enough to mark, enough to claim, as his hips rocked down hard against Mingi’s, drawing a sharp cry from his lips.
The grinding started slow, almost hesitant, but quickly devolved into something filthy—needy and frantic, rut-driven, both of them gasping as they rutted against each other like animals, hard cocks grinding through layers of sweatpants and thin cotton, friction just shy of unbearable.
Mingi was feral beneath him, arching and twisting, his nails digging hard into Yunho’s hips, leaving angry red crescents in his skin as he dragged him closer, closer, closer, moaning openly now, shameless and loud and desperate.
“Fuck, Yunho, please,” he whined, “I need you to—please, I need it, I need your cock, I need to be knotted, I can’t think—”
Yunho growled deep in his throat, sitting back just long enough to yank his sweats off and throw them aside, then helping Mingi out of what little clothing he had left. Shirts torn, pants kicked off, underwear pulled down and discarded with frantic urgency until they were skin-on-skin, nothing between them anymore.
The air was thick with heat and scent and sweat, and Yunho didn’t even hesitate—he went right back in, pressing Mingi down into the mess of blankets, biting and nipping at his shoulder, his collarbone, the soft skin over his ribs, marking every inch he could reach as Mingi writhed beneath him.
Mingi was panting, eyes glassy and wet, lips parted in a soundless moan as Yunho sucked a bruise into the base of his throat. “Please,” he whimpered again, “please breed me, fill me with your pups, please Yunho, I need to feel you inside, need you to fill me up, make it stop—”
“Fuck, you sound so good,” Yunho groaned, cock twitching as he ground it against Mingi’s entrance, not pushing in yet, just rubbing, teasing, coating the hole with the precum practically flowing out of his cock. “You want my knot that bad, baby? Want me to fuck you until you’re crying?”
“Y-Yes,” Mingi sobbed, nails dragging down Yunho’s back, thighs twitching. “Yes, please, give it to me, I’m—I’m losing my mind, please—”
Yunho leaned down again, kissing the corner of Mingi’s mouth, his cheek, his temple, each one softer than the last.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with love and lust and need. “I’ve got you. I’m gonna give you everything.”
And then he pressed inside.
~
The moment Yunho pushed fully inside, inch by slow, aching inch, both of them let out matching, trembling sobs—pure relief wrapped in overstimulated, burning pleasure.
Mingi’s body accepted him so well, too well, like he’d been made for this—soft, pliant, heat-drenched and tight around Yunho’s cock, gripping him in pulsing waves like he needed to keep him there, like he didn’t want to let go. The stretch was deep and consuming, every ridge of Yunho’s thick cock dragging along nerves that had never felt a real partner before, only toys or fingers, only cheap substitutes for the real thing. But this—this was different.
Mingi’s spine arched against the nest, head tilting back into the pillows as he gasped, mouth open in a perfect, silent O, eyes glassy and wide as tears clung to his lashes.
“Fuck, Mingi,” Yunho groaned, stilling for a breathless second as he bottomed out, cock buried to the hilt, his hands braced on either side of Mingi’s hips. “You feel so good—so fucking good, baby, I can’t—shit—”
Mingi couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. His voice had abandoned him entirely, swallowed by the overwhelming fullness in his gut, the way Yunho filled every inch of him, the slight, teasing pressure of the alpha’s cockhead brushing against his deepest wall. All he could do was moan, long and drawn out, his arms trembling as he grabbed at Yunho’s forearms, hips already squirming like he couldn’t get him deeper.
His own cock lay flat against his stomach, leaking into a growing puddle, twitching with every pulse of pleasure that Yunho gave him, but he barely registered it. All that mattered—all that existed—was the stretch, the heat, the perfect fit of Yunho buried inside him.
“Please,” Mingi whispered finally, breath stuttering around the word. “More, please, don’t stop—please move, fuck, Yunho, I need it so bad—”
Yunho groaned again, hips twitching, but he held himself still for one more second, giving Mingi a moment to adjust, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against the slick skin of Mingi’s thighs, the sight of him spread open and flushed and ruined already nearly undoing him.
“You’re taking me so well,” Yunho said softly, voice low and reverent, his gaze flicking between Mingi’s flushed face and where they were joined. “So fucking pretty like this—fuck, baby, I didn’t think you’d be this tight.”
“‘S different than toys,” Mingi slurred, blinking up at him like he wasn’t all there anymore, his mind somewhere foggy and sweet and gone, “It’s warm—‘s real—feels like I’m supposed to have you inside me—please, I need more—”
That broke Yunho.
He started to move.
~
Carefully, at first, just shallow thrusts, easing in and out, letting Mingi’s body adjust to the rhythm, to the pull and push of it—but it wasn’t long before Mingi was whining, hips pushing back, nails digging into Yunho’s skin as he choked on his own breath.
“Harder,” he begged, breathless and wrecked. “Yunho, please—fuck me like you mean it, I can take it, I want it, need your knot, I—fuck, please—”
Yunho snarled low in his throat, instincts snapping like a taut wire, and slammed back in with a force that rocked Mingi against the nest, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud and wet and filthy. Mingi cried out—high and needy, legs locking around Yunho’s waist as he welcomed every brutal thrust like it was salvation, his body trembling from the effort of taking all of it.
“That what you want?” Yunho panted, fucking him deeper, harder, faster now, his balls slapping against Mingi’s ass with every stroke. “Want me to treat you like a needy little omega, huh? Want me to fuck you stupid, fill you up, knot you until you can’t walk?”
Mingi sobbed, clinging to Yunho like a lifeline. “Yes—yes, fuck, yes, I want that—please Yunho, I want to feel it, want you to claim me, I want your knot, I want your cum, please—”
“Look at you,” Yunho growled, lowering his mouth to Mingi’s neck again, biting and nipping wherever he could reach, leaving blooming marks across his pale skin. “You’re so desperate, baby—so fucking perfect like this, letting me ruin you, letting me make you mine.”
Mingi keened at the praise, his cock now smearing more of his own pre-cum across his stomach as he writhed beneath Yunho, completely helpless to the pleasure now overtaking every inch of his body.
Yunho’s thrusts grew messier, less rhythmic and more instinctual, and he didn’t stop his mouth from moving either—dragging kisses up Mingi’s throat, catching his lips in another searing kiss, licking into his mouth like he couldn’t get close enough. When he broke away, it was only to pant more filth directly against Mingi’s lips.
“You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made to take me, weren’t you?”
“Y-Yeah,” Mingi gasped, eyes fluttering. “Only you—only want you—”
“You’re gonna beg for my knot, sweetheart,” Yunho told him, licking at the shell of his ear. “And when you do, I’m gonna give it to you. Gonna knot you so deep you’ll feel me for days, fill you up with my pups.”
Mingi whimpered, his brain officially gone, melted into a puddle of aching heat and blind want. His nails scratched down Yunho’s back, pulling at his hair, tugging him in for another kiss, and then another, like he couldn’t bear any distance between them.
~
The pressure started to build—too fast, too soon, Yunho’s knot beginning to swell, tugging deliciously against Mingi’s rim with every hard thrust, and the feeling made both of them whimper in unison, hips locking together in desperate, frantic rhythm.
“Getting close,” Yunho panted. “Fuck—baby, I need to knot you, I need—need to hear you beg for it, c’mon, I know you want it.”
Mingi nodded frantically, hips bucking up. “Please,” he cried, voice wrecked. “Please, Yunho, knot me, knot me, fill me up, I wanna feel it stretch me open, wanna keep you, please Yunho, please—”
“Good boy, fucking hell Minnie-” Yunho growled, one hand suddenly wrapping around Mingi’s leaking cock—he couldn’t ignore it anymore, couldn’t bear to leave him untouched. He wrapped his hand around Mingi’s flushed length and started stroking him in time with his thrusts, rough and fast and perfect, his palm squeezing just right.
Mingi screamed.
The stimulation—the pressure, the friction, the stretch, Yunho’s voice in his ear—it was all too much. Mingi’s body bowed off the bed, spine arching, mouth open in a soundless cry as his orgasm slammed into him like a truck. Cum shot across his chest, thick and hot and endless, dripping over Yunho’s fingers, his own knot swelling in Yunho's hand, and his inner muscles clenched down hard, milking Yunho’s cock like he needed to pull him over the edge too.
Yunho cursed violently, one last growl bursting from his chest before he buried himself all the way in—his knot swelling fast and locking them together with a satisfying, final pop.
And then he came.
It was endless—hot and heavy, spilling deep inside Mingi in wave after wave, his hand still working Mingi’s cock as they both trembled through it, bodies locked together, scent and sweat and cum filling the air in an overwhelming cloud.
Mingi clung to him, shaking, panting against his neck, little aftershocks twitching through his body as Yunho kissed his temple, his cheek, his lips, again and again.
“Yunho,” he whimpered, dazed and breathless, “so full—so fucking full—you really knotted me—”
“You took it so well,” Yunho whispered, brushing hair out of Mingi’s face. “So fucking beautiful like this, baby—look at you, so wrecked.”
Mingi whined softly, but it was all contentment now—his eyes fluttering closed, his body finally stilling in the afterglow.
They were still joined, knot snug and pulsing, locking them together in the most primal of ways—but neither one moved. There was no rush.
Yunho stayed pressed against Mingi’s body, forehead to forehead, lips ghosting soft kisses over his damp skin, holding him as the heat began to fade, as the haze gave way to something slow and tender.
Something sacred.
Something that felt, even in the mess of it all, like love. So, so much love.
~
Mingi wasn’t sure how long they laid there, limbs tangled, skin sticky with sweat and sex and pheromones, Yunho’s knot still locked deep inside him and pulsing every so often with the last few lazy twitches of afterglow. His mind was foggy, pleasantly numb, and his whole body felt like it had melted into the nest—boneless and heavy and content, his breathing slowing as the fire in his veins slowly, finally, began to cool.
Yunho had adjusted their position sometime during the haze—managing, even while still knotted, to shift them into something more comfortable. Now Mingi was draped over Yunho’s chest like a blanket, their legs tangled, his cheek pressed just over Yunho’s heart, which was still beating strong and fast beneath his skin.
Neither of them spoke at first. There wasn’t really a need to. Everything had been said in the way they touched, the way they moved, the way Mingi had begged and Yunho had given. The silence stretched, warm and easy, broken only by the sound of their still-shaky breaths and the quiet hum of contentment vibrating between their bare chests.
Eventually, Yunho tipped his head back and sighed. “What the fuck just happened,” he muttered, voice raw and wrecked and slightly dazed.
Mingi snorted weakly against his skin. “We… I think we just mated like feral fucking animals.”
“That’s what that was?” Yunho laughed, wrapping an arm around Mingi’s back. “I thought I blacked out for a minute. You were—fuck, Mingi, you were unreal.”
“You knotted me,” Mingi whined, but there was no heat behind it. Just a fluttery kind of disbelief, his voice soft and floaty. “You actually did it. You really—holy shit.”
“You begged for it,” Yunho teased, shifting his hips slightly and making Mingi twitch where they were still joined. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Mingi made a soft, breathy sound and buried his face in Yunho’s throat. “I was so gone… I can’t believe how good it felt. Like, I knew it would be good, but it was—fuck, Yunho.”
“I know,” Yunho whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ve never… it’s never been like that with anyone else.”
Something quiet passed between them again. Something that wasn’t just pleasure or heat or lust—but something else. Something that settled low in Mingi’s belly, softer than the burn and sharper than the desire. He didn’t name it. Not yet.
But he curled a little closer.
~
They stayed like that until Yunho’s knot finally began to shrink, the pressure easing slowly, leaving both of them flushed and sticky and still panting just a little. When Yunho pulled out with a low, drawn-out groan, Mingi whimpered at the stretch and the emptiness, his hole fluttering around the absence, leaking Yunho’s release in lazy dribbles down his thighs and into the nest.
He barely had a moment to catch his breath before he felt it—Yunho shifting down, settling between his legs again.
“Yunho?” Mingi blinked, dazed.
“Just—hold still,” Yunho said, voice low and definitely up to something.
Mingi yelped softly when Yunho’s tongue licked a slow, wet stripe up the inside of his thigh, chasing the slick. “Yunho, what—”
“I made a mess,” Yunho murmured, licking delicately at the mix of fluids leaking from him. “I’m cleaning it up.”
“You’re a freak,” Mingi gasped, covering his face with both hands.
“You liked it,” Yunho chuckled, his mouth pressing hot kisses to the abused rim of Mingi’s hole, his tongue teasing over the tender skin. “You’re still leaking. Fuck, it’s so hot.”
Mingi whined, legs twitching. “Okay, okay, Jesus—enough, I need a minute, I’m not gonna survive round two without food and water—”
Yunho laughed, finally relenting. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned up to kiss Mingi’s shoulder. “Alright, alright. Let’s refuel. But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”
“I never assumed you were,” Mingi muttered, trying to sit up. His legs felt like jelly, thighs trembling, but he managed to swing them over the edge of the nest and plant his feet on the floor. Barely.
Yunho looked smug. “Need help?”
Mingi scowled. “No,” he said, wobbling upright like a newborn deer. “I can walk, asshole.”
“Uh-huh.” Yunho was already wrapping a blanket around his hips, throwing Mingi a second one. “C’mon then, champ.”
It took them a moment to gather themselves—neither of them particularly graceful, especially not with the stickiness between their legs and the soft ache blooming in Mingi’s lower back—but eventually they made it to the door. Mingi had just reached out to turn the handle when—
The door creaked open on its own.
And standing directly outside, not even pretending to be casual, were all four omegas.
~
San, Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Seonghwa stood in a neat little row, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, clearly caught in the act of eavesdropping—and behind them loomed Wooyoung, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then—
“Holy shit,” San breathed, blinking slowly as the scent from the room hit him like a wave, thick and heady and undeniably feral. His knees buckled slightly. “You guys smell like—like heat.”
Yeosang’s mouth was parted in open awe. “That’s definitely not just rut. That’s like… fucking mating season.”
“Oh my god,” Mingi whispered, his voice mortified.
Wooyoung let out a low whistle, his gaze sweeping from Mingi’s flushed face to the blanket haphazardly tucked around his waist, taking in the clearly visible bite marks scattered across his neck and shoulder, the angry red scratches down Yunho’s chest, and the vaguely smug, post-sex glow radiating off both of them.
“Damn,” Wooyoung said, half impressed, half amused. “Y’all went full feral, huh?”
“Wooyoung,” Mingi hissed, trying to step behind Yunho. “Shut the fuck up.”
But Wooyoung just grinned wider—and subtly adjusted his jeans over his crotch.
Yunho arched a brow. “You hard right now?”
“I wasn't until your boyfriend started moaning like an omega in heat for your knot,” Wooyoung said casually, and Mingi nearly died on the spot.
“Oh my god, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
San, unbothered and horny as ever, tilted his head. “Can I watch next time?”
“NO!” Mingi and Yunho shouted in unison.
Wooyoung reached over and clapped a hand over San’s mouth, laughing as he wrestled him into a headlock. “Down, boy.”
Yeosang just smiled dreamily. “They’re cute when they’re all knot-drunk.”
Mingi whimpered, burying his face in Yunho’s shoulder as Yunho tried and failed not to laugh.
“You guys done?” Yunho asked finally, voice full of amusement. “We just came out for snacks.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wooyoung said, waving them past. “Go hydrate. Don’t forget to stretch. And debrief the rest of us later, or we’re never letting you live this down.”
Mingi muttered something inaudible and beelined for the fridge with what little dignity he had left, yanking it open and grabbing the first bottle of water he saw. Yunho followed, grabbing some leftover takeout and shoving it in the microwave, both of them half-wrapped in blankets and trying very hard to pretend they hadn’t just been caught red-handed post-rut, absolutely wrecked and glowing and reeking of each other.
Still, there was a smile tugging at Mingi’s lips as he leaned into Yunho’s side, stealing a bite of his food as the rest of the pack kept teasing, voices loud and familiar and full of affection.
Yunho pressed a kiss to his temple. “Worth it?”
Mingi looked up at him, eyes soft.
“So worth it.”
~