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Vernon wasn’t sure when it all went wrong in his many years as an idol.
He’d gone through their debut without a hitch, gone through years of dance practices, award shows, recording, and living in a dorm crammed with all 13 members without even a hint of anything unexpected about his nature.
But something was very wrong.
At first, he figured maybe he had caught a cold traveling back from their most recent performance, or maybe that the jet lag was hitting him harder than usual. But as he stared into the mirror, his eyes wide, breath fogging the glass of the mirror in front of him, he suspected that something was inherently, internally wrong.
They had just finished a particularly long and grueling dance practice, the evidence of which could be seen in the sheen of sweat that covered his face, dripping down his neck, a drop occasionally falling into the porcelain sink his hand gripped the sides of tightly.
But that had ended 20 minutes ago, with Vernon disappearing only seconds after, nausea building in his stomach and throat as he hurled himself towards the bathrooms just across the hall.
He had hunched over barely in time, his head practically thrown towards the thankfully recently clean toilet bowl. And though throwing up the meager contents of his stomach had helped ease the nausea, the cramps and sweating that followed were almost worse.
So here he was, his slender fingers clenching around the side of one of the sinks, trying to ignore the roiling, cramping heat building in his gut.
Breathing in and out slowly, deliberately with his eyes closed seemed to help a small amount, giving him enough motivation to remove his sweat palms from the sink to splash water onto his face. He practically sighed at the relief the cold water gave him, washing the sweat off of his fever-red face.
And in that brief moment of peace, he just stared at his reflection, at the red blush on his face, the water droplets already heating back up.
His observance of his features were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone in his back pocket, followed closely by another, then another.
He sighed, drying his hands and wincing as another cramping sensation took over his middle as he reached behind him for his phone. Unsurprisingly, it was a myriad of concerned texts from some of the older members, confused at his sudden disappearance and lack of response to their previous messages.
He couldn’t help the roll of his eyes at a particularly long text from Wonwoo, the concern of the alpha annoying his briefly. He knew that being the ONLY beta in a group containing 12 alphas made a majority of their concerns and care go towards him to satisfy some ridiculous alpha instinct to protect, but it could sometimes be extremely annoying.
Vernon was a grown ass adult, he could handle a bit of nausea and cramps without them doting and freaking out on him.
He usually didn't mind that much, but the cramps and nausea must have twisted his mood, turning any slight annoyance up a notch.
So he just responded with a brief ‘I’m fine. I’ll be at the dorms soon, just gonna stop by the store real quick’ and shook his head, turning on do not disturb as another flurry of texts appeared on the screen.
He gave himself another once-over in the mirror, before drawing in a sharp breath and opening the door. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like anyone had lingered, so he returned to the practice room to grab his bag, and hauled it over his shoulder as he headed towards the exit.
He let out a shudder when the sliding doors opened, the cool air rushing against his skin with a cooling sigh to his still flushed skin. Usually, it would be much too cold this time of year to wander anywhere in only a tank top, but the thought of putting his sweatshirt back on had him grimacing.
He was already far too hot for his liking, and decided a cool drink would do him good, despite the nausea that surged at the thought of putting anything into his stomach.
He was definitely now slightly concerned as he opened the door to a convenience store down the street, the bell chiming loudly as his gut twisted particularly painfully, his hand coming to press hard into his lower stomach in an attempt to curb some of the pain.
Maybe he should consider buying some stomach meds, or tylenol for that matter too. Regardless, a cold gatorade or two would do for now. So he grabbed two blue bottles from the cold cases, eyeing a bag of gummy worms that he snatched up without another thought, placing them all on the counter.
His eyes screwed shut just as he’d placed the second bottle down, the heat spearing through his gut with a pain that he could only describe as being stabbed by a hot knife.
“Oh honey, are you okay?” The cashier, a sweet looking lady who couldn’t be younger than 70 or taller than 150 centimeters.
He forced his eyes open and gave her a smile that was more grimace than smile, nodding glumly.
“Pre-heat cramps?” She said with pity in her voice, not giving him time to respond before she pulled out a small goody bag from behind the counter. “Don’t worry about the money sweetie, it's on me.”
He couldn’t find words for some reason, his hand on his stomach as he just stared at her with large, confused eyes.
“Take this too okay? There’s some goodies in there that I like to give out to omega’s who need it okay?” She slid the small bag towards him, giving him a wide smile, her eyes crinkling slightly as she turned around, returning to a room behind the counter without another word.
He blinked after her, cramps momentarily forgotten. But he just shrugged, appreciating her generosity despite getting his subgender wrong.
He wasn’t in pre-heat or whatever, he was just a beta who was jetlagged, stressed, and probably coming down with a cold.
But he took the bag anyway, tucking in under his arm as he pushed the door back open, cracking open a bottle of gatorade simultaneously, downing half the bottle in one go as he began walking down the sidewalk.
The cold and sweetness of the drink helped for all of five seconds.
By the time he reached the corner, the heat in his stomach had crawled higher, licking up his ribs, settling under his skin like a fever that refused to break. His steps felt uneven, his breath catching every few strides. Even his excuse of stress and jetlag was starting to feel flimsy.
He was halfway through another sip when someone barreled into him from the side, the impact jolting the bottle and sloshing cold blue liquid onto his fingers.
“Watch it,” Vernon muttered automatically, more out of habit than irritation, his usual small frown plastered on his face.
The guy he’d bumped into, tall, broad, definitely older and an alpha if his smokey scent was any indication, turned with a slow, deliberate smile. It made Vernon’s skin crawl instinctively.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” the man said, voice low, too smooth. His nostrils flared subtly as he drew in a deep breath. “But… damn. You smell sweet.”
Vernon just blinked at him, face screwed up. “…What?”
The man stepped closer, invading his space with the kind of confidence only an alpha with no social awareness seemed to have. “Like… really sweet. Didn’t expect that from you.”
Vernon stared, deadpan, the same expression he used whenever Seungkwan said something unhinged. “Okay… whatever weirdo.”
He sidestepped, fully intending to leave the interaction behind forever, but the man’s eyes followed him, hungry in a way that made Vernon’s stomach twist even harder, this time in fear rather than just pain.
“Bet you’re close,” the alpha called after him, voice dipping. “Bet you’re real close.”
Vernon didn’t dignify that comment with a response. He just kept walking, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, the heat in his body now pulsing in amplified uncomfortable waves. His skin felt too thin, too reactive, with every brush of cold air making him shiver.
By the time he reached the next block, his legs felt like they were made of jelly as he breathed shallow, his fingers trembling around the bottle.
Something was wrong.
Something was really really wrong.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself forward, because the dorm was only a few minutes away. He could make it, he just needed to get home, take a shower, and sleep off whatever this was.
But halfway down the street, the cramps hit again with another sharp, twisting, almost blinding hit. He stumbled, catching himself on a lamppost, his forehead pressing against the cool metal as he sucked in air through his teeth.
His scent, which was normally a muted, light spritz of orange felt like it was leaking out of him, the scent taking on a warm and syrupy undertone, clinging to his skin. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did as the air started to smell more like a creamsicle than a freshly-peeled orange.
“Beta,” he whispered to himself, as if saying it aloud would make it true. “I’m a beta.”
So why was he suddenly feverish, sweating, cramping, smelling sweetly and being mistaken for an omega in pre-heat two times within a 5-minute time-frame.
Because the world around him felt different. His body felt different.
And the worst part was that he wasn’t sure he could make it home before whatever was happening to him got worse, before he came up with a reasonable explanation for what was happening to him.
Thankfully he made it that last few blocks, but by the time he reached the dorm building, he was shaking.
He fumbled with the keypad, missing the numbers twice before finally getting the door open. He shoved his shoulder into it, stumbling inside with far too much force.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, his knees buckled.
He hit the carpet hard, the impact jarring up his legs, a sharp cry escaping him as the cramps seized his entire middle. His gatorade bottle flew from his hand, bouncing once before rolling away. The bag the cashier had given him spilled open, scattering its contents—omega-safe snacks, heat patches, a tiny vial of scent-neutralizer, a soft cloth, even a small emergency suppressant packet—across the floor.
He stared at them, wide-eyed, horrified, breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
“What the—Vernon?” Junhui’s voice was the first to reach his ears, sharp with alarm.
Then Seungcheol was there, dropping to his knees beside him. Jeonghan appeared a second later around the corner, followed by Joshua, all of them looking at him with wide eyes and rising, concerned alpha scent.
Vernon curled in on himself instinctively, arms wrapping around his stomach as another wave of heat tore through him. Tears pricked at his eyes, unwanted and embarrassing.
“Hey, hey, hey—Vernon, look at me,” Seungcheol said, voice low, steady, but Vernon could hear the panic underneath.
His fingers dug into his own sides, trying to hold himself together as the cramps twisted deeper.
Jeonghan appeared beside Seungcheol, dropping to his knees with none of his usual grace. “He’s burning up,” he murmured, reaching out but stopping short of touching him.
Joshua hovered behind them, eyes wide, voice tight. “He’s shaking. He’s—he’s shaking.”
Seungcheol’s hand finally landed on Vernon’s shoulder, warm and steady. “Hansol, breathe. Just breathe for me.”
But breathing felt impossible. Every inhale dragged in the familiar scents of his pack, warm, grounding alpha scents, and something inside him reacted sharply, painfully, like a spark catching dry tinder.
He couldn’t look, couldn’t do anything except gasp as the syrupy sweetness of his own scent thickened, filling the air, reacting horribly with the strong alpha scents surrounding him.
But none of them noticed it yet.
They were too focused on him, on the way he trembled, on the tears gathering in his eyes, on the way he curled tighter with every cramp.
“Did he eat something bad?” Joshua asked, voice rising.
“He said he felt sick earlier,” Junhui murmured, brushing sweaty hair off Vernon’s forehead. “But not like this. This is—this is different.”
Another wave hit, ripping a strangled sound from Vernon’s throat. Jeonghan flinched, eyes softening with worry.
“Cheol,” he whispered, “he’s in real pain.”
Seungcheol’s scent softened instinctively, trying to soothe, trying to calm. “Hansol, you’re okay. We’ve got you. Just stay with us. We’re gonna take you to the hospital okay?”
Vernon tried to stay present, really did. But the heat was climbing higher, his skin burning, his breath hitching, his vision blurring at the thought of leaving this safe space he’d finally entered.
“N-noo..” He protested weakly, his voice practically a whine at this point. “Just- agh - bed. Please.”
Seungcheol just looked at him with his eyes wide, a confused look on his face, but before he could respond, Jun’s hand froze where it hovered over Vernon’s back.
“…Do you smell that?”
Jeonghan blinked, confused. “Smell what?”
Joshua inhaled once, sharply, and his eyes widened.
Seungcheol’s head lifted, nostrils flaring just slightly as the room went still.
Vernon whimpered, curling tighter, the syrupy sweetness of his scent blooming thicker in the air, reacting to every alpha breath around him.
Jeonghan’s hand hovered over his shoulder, hesitant. “His scent is…very sweet right now”
Joshua swallowed hard. “That…doesn’t smell like a beta scent.”
Another cramp hit, worse than the last, and Vernon let out a strangled sound, tears spilling over as he pressed his forehead to the carpet.
“I don’t—” he choked, voice cracking, “I don’t know what’s happening.”
Seungcheol’s scent softened instantly, instinctively, the way leaders did when calming distressed pack members. “It’s okay. We’ve got you. Just breathe.”
But Vernon couldn’t breathe, not properly, not when every inhale dragged in alpha scent and made his own spike in response, his thoughts changing from wanting anything to ease the pain to needing his alphas to ease the roiling heat within him.
He was shaking uncontrollably now, sweat dripping down his temples, his tank top clinging to his overheated skin.
Junhui eyed the fallen items on the floor and reached for the spilled bag, eyes widening as he took in the contents. “Guys… this is all omega stuff.”
Jeonghan’s breath caught. “Oh my god.”
Joshua exhaled slowly, voice barely above a whisper, but shock present in his tone nonetheless. “Is he…presenting.”
Vernon whimpered, curling tighter, the truth hitting him harder than the cramps.
He wasn’t sick, wasn’t jetlagged. He was presenting, late, violently, and painfully, as an omega.
And in an apartment surrounded by twelve alphas.
Their leader didn’t seem to know what to do as he just clung to Vernon, his own palms beginning to sweat where they were wrapped around Vernon’s arm.
“Whatever is happening, we have to get him somewhere more comfortable.” Joshua said thoughtfully, gently peeling a stunned Seungcheol’s hand off of Vernon, replacing it with his own and tilting Vernon’s chin up so he could look at him while he spoke.
Everywhere Shua’s slender fingers touched him felt like trails of pleasant fire tracing across his skin, and he found himself momentarily forgetting the miserable cramps that had forced him to the floor in the first place. He just stared into Joshua’s wide eyes, thinking briefly how perfect they were as they stared at him with a deep rooted care, concern leaking into his scent in waves.
Vernon registered that Joshua was saying something to him, but the sound felt muted, like he was talking to him through a barrier, only the barest sound leaking through as a muffled whisper.
So when his face took on a questioning look, Vernon just found himself nodding slowly, eyes falling shut for a moment as he focused on the amazing feeling of the American’s fingers on his skin.
And when the fingers were suddenly pulled away, his eyes shot back open and a small whine left his throat. He actually whined, loud, high, and keening.
But he barely felt the smallest hint of embarrassment at the sound, choosing not to dwell on Jun and Seungcheol’s open-mouthed stares. He didn’t feel anything really, until he felt lithe arms circling around his back and behind his knees as Jeonghan lifted him off the ground in one quick swoop.
And Vernon definitely preferred this to being huddled up on the floor in pain. Because the second Jeonghan stood up fully, Vernon’s arms were circling around him and he found himself shoving his nose into the crook of his hyung’s neck, nuzzling with his nose at his scent gland and greedily breathing in the scent.
“Jesus don’t drop him!” Cheol finally spoke up, rising from his stupor on the floor when Jeonghan’s legs bucked slightly at the attention to his gland.
“I won’t he just–” Jeonghan started, then found his words cut off when he felt Vernon’s tongue glide across the surface of his neck in one long stripe.
The four of them just stood there stunned, mouths open as Vernon’s plastered more affection to their second-oldest member.
“Um–” Jeonghan managed to get out, blinking rapidly.
“Couch?” Joshua suggested, breaking out of his stupor first, leaning down to pick up the remaining fallen items.
Vernon briefly removed his tongue from where was working overtime to whine, whispering a soft “No. Bed” into the crook of his neck.
“Okay. Bed. Sure.” Jeonghan seemed to say in a daze as his feet somehow found the urge to move, stepping hesitantly towards the room Vernon shared with Seungkwan.
When Jun sped past them, going to open the door however, Vernon reached out and slapped his hand away from the handle, an uncharacteristic pout on his face.
“Huh?” Was all jun said, staring in confusion at the expression on his face.
“Minghao.” He said exasperated, like they should have known that was what he meant when he had whined “Bed.” Moments earlier.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol just shared a brief look before the leader just shrugged, gesturing to Minghao’s room down the hall.
Joshua maneuvered past them, practically sprinting to open the door prior to their arrival, peaking his head in the shout something at Minghao, who lay on his bed, laptop open his hands typing away at something.
He looked comically small curled up on the huge bed. Their apartment had of course, being so big to accommodate all 13 of them, included a nest room, huge bed and all. But because they had no omega, a long rock paper scissors bout determined who got to claim it as theirs. Minghao has come out on top, claiming the huge mattress with glee.
But now, resting against the oversized padded headboard with his laptop propped on his knees, he slammed it shut when he saw Jeonghan enter, Vernon held in his arms, with the latter having resumed his attack on the older’s neck.
“Um, what is wrong with Vernon? And why does it smell like…a popsicle?” He said exasperated, getting to his feet and placing his computer on the bedside table.
“Um…” Joshua said, looking slightly crazed, with the now five of them making slightly uncomfortable eye contact in a room that was beginning to fill with the unmistakable scent of an omega in heat, while the only sound was said omega snacking on Jeonghan’s delicate skin.
“We think… well…um” Jeonghan started, though it was extremely hard to focus on words when Vernon gave a particularly hard suck to his scent gland, his hand now tangling in his long, dark hair.
“Well?” Hao gestured exasperated, “Spit it out? Why did you come running in here with Vernon in your arms and WHY is he trying to eat hyung.”
Surprisingly Seungcheol was the next to speak up, putting it in a blunt way none of the others seemed to be able to, the truth of the situation finally settling over all of them as he spoke the words aloud. “Well, first Vernon is apparently an omega, second he is probably almost in heat, and third he requested to come to your room.”
Minghao’s mouth gaped open, eyes moving between Vernon and Seungcheol and the rest of their faces, looking for any sign that this was all a joke. “What?!” He exclaimed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Oh god…thats…”
“Yeah…” Their leader replied, scratching his head in thought.
Meanwhile, Jeonghan had stepped closer to the bed, intending to finally lay Vernon down onto the plush mattress. But the moment Jeonghan attempted to lower him, Vernon’s fingers tightened, his entire body curling inward like a frightened animal refusing to be separated from the one thing grounding him. His legs pulled up, hooking around Jeonghan’s hip with surprising strength, dragging the older down with him.
“Whoa—Hansol—hey, hey, easy,” Jeonghan gasped as he toppled onto the mattress, catching himself on his elbows while Vernon burrowed into Minghao’s blankets like they were the only safe place left on earth.
Vernon’s face pressed into Jeonghan’s throat again, breath hot and uneven, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt before slipping under, fingers sliding across Jeonghan’s taut stomach. His entire body trembled, overwhelmed, feverish, instinctively clinging to the nearest source of comfort.
Minghao blinked at the sight, mouth falling open slightly. “He—he’s not letting go.”
“No,” Joshua said, voice thin, “he’s not.”
Jun hovered near the foot of the bed, eyes wide, hands half‑raised like he wanted to help but had no idea how. “Should we… do something?”
Seungcheol exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “We need to calm him down first. He’s scared and confused.”
“And he’s overheating.” Jeonghan shifted slightly, wincing when Vernon let out a distressed sound and clung tighter. “I don’t think he can calm down with all of us hovering over him debating.”
Minghao swallowed, scooting slightly closer despite the thickening sweetness in the air. “So… what do we do?”
Vernon whimpered when Minghao’s hand tentatively patted his head, softly weaving through the thin strands of his hair.
As he sighed, his scent pulsed, syrupy and warm, filling the room in waves that made every alpha instinct in the room go taut and alert.
Seungcheol’s voice softened. “Obviously we stay with him and don’t leave him alone.”
Minghao nodded slowly, eyes flicking from Vernon to the scattered omega items from the bag that Joshua had placed at the foot of the bed.
“Okay,” he said quietly, the shock settling into something steadier. “Then he stays here.”
Jeonghan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, adjusting his hold as Vernon burrowed deeper into the blankets.
“I guess we should…probably tell everyone?” Jun said hesitantly.
“Yeah…” Cheol said, though it sounded like the last thing he wanted to do.
Minghao just sighed, standing up, “I’ll go gather everyone and…explain the situation.”
Without another word, he slipped out. Jun followed after him thoughtfully, returning a minute later with his arms laden with no less than 5 pillows, and at least 3 comforters clearly stolen from the nearby rooms.
“What are you doing?” Joshua asked, confused when Jun placed them all in a heap at the foot of the bed. “Hey, is that my blanket?”
Jun just rolled his eyes at Joshua, but smiled when Vernon gasped, practically shoving his previous source of comfort (a disgruntled Jeonghan) off of him, crawling towards the blankets.
“Shua, he’s an omega.” Jun said pointedly, hands on his hips.
“Thank you, I am very well aware of that now.” Joshua shot bad, the same attitude filling his voice.
“When we bought this apartment, this was the designated nest room, but we didn’t have an omega, so it just became another bedroom.” Jun explained, trying to get Joshua to understand.
“Oh-“Joshua said, understanding lighting up his face. “This is the nest room-“
“And he is an omega in heat, so he needs a nest.” Jun shrugged, turning from them to stare at where Vernon was now rifling through the stack.
And Vernon didn’t just rifle. The moment his fingers touched the pile, something in him shifted, his movements becoming oddly purposeful, instinctive, almost delicate despite the feverish tremble in his hands.
He pulled pillows toward him, arranging them in a half‑circle, then paused, head tilting as if listening to something only he could hear.
The room fell unnaturally silent as four alphas watched, breath held, as Vernon began building, shaping.
He tugged one comforter free, shaking it out with surprising strength before layering it across the mattress. He folded up another, then a third. He stacked pillows, rearranged them, pressed his cheek briefly against one before discarding it and choosing another.
It was like watching a time‑lapse video in real time, all fast, focused, instinctive motion.
But then he froze, his gaze locked on Jeonghan who still lay on the bed, wide eyes taking in his work.
More specifically, his gaze was on Jeonghan’s sweatshirt.
Vernon crawled toward him, eyes wide, fingers reaching with a desperate urgency that made Jeonghan blink in surprise.
“Hansol—what—?”
Vernon tugged hard, causing Jeonghan to let out a startled laugh. “Okay, okay— you don’t have to rip it off me— here.”
He peeled the sweatshirt off, handing it over.
Vernon snatched it like it was the oxygen he needed to breathe, burying his face in it for a brief moment before adding it reverently to the growing nest, arranging it right in the center.
He only had to look at the other three with just one glance, wide‑eyed, feverish, pleading and instantly, without hesitation, three articles of clothing flew his way.
Into the nest went Joshua’s hoodie, Jun’s soft shirt, and Seungcheol’s worn practice tee.
Vernon gathered them all, pressing each briefly to his cheek before placing them carefully into the nest, arranging them with a precision none of them had ever seen from him, and one that they couldn’t possibly understand.
The room was still silent.
They were awestruck. Starstruck.
None of them had ever seen an omega nest before, not in person, not built by someone they loved, not filled with items that smelled like them.
Minghao returned then, breathless, followed by the remaining members, all talking over each other.
“What happened—”
“Is he okay—”
“Why does it smell like candy—”
“Is he dying—”
“Should we call someone—”
“Why is it so warm in here—”
But the moment they stepped inside, the words died, as they too froze.
Their eyes widened, mouths falling open.
Because Vernon was in the middle of the bed, surrounded by blankets, pillows, and clothing that smelled like all of them, building a nest with trembling hands and fever‑bright eyes, moving with instinctive purpose, arranging their scents around himself like a shield.
Even Minghao, who had been ready to scold someone, stopped mid‑breath as they all watched their omega nest for the first time.
And none of them dared to speak, lest they disturb the wonderful sight in front of them.
His movements had a dreamlike quality, like he was drunk without alcohol. He pushed a pillow toward the headboard, Jeonghan’s pillow, recognizable by the faint lavender of Jeonghan and nudged it into place with his cheek. Not his hands, his cheek.
Like an animal scent-marking territory.
“Vernon?” Soonyoung’s voice came out softer than he meant it to. Vernon didn’t turn, just kept arranging, hands slow and deliberate, tucking a blanket here, smoothing a shirt there.
Vernon, oblivious or uncaring of his audience, had moved on to Wonwoo’s gray cardigan. He’d found it draped over the chair next to the bed and was now curling it around the headboard, threading the sleeve across the padded slats. His movements were slowing though, the initial frenzy of his nest-building was giving way to something more deliberate.
“Is he—” Mingyu started.
“Nesting,” Seungcheol cut in. His voice had dropped an octave. “He’s nesting.”
But they didn’t need his confirmation, they could all see what was happening, the way Vernon’s body settled differently on the mattress. The dip of his lower back was more pronounced. The column of his throat, exposed when he tilted his head to inspect his work, seemed longer.
And the scent, god, the scent.
It was changing still, the already sweeter, creamy orange deepening into something heady that made Seungkwan’s grip the doorframe tighten. The scent that made Jihoon’s pulse jump at the hinge of his jaw. Seungcheol’s hands had curled into fists at his sides, knuckles going white.
Then Vernon pushed himself up onto his knees, swaying slightly, and surveyed the nest he’d built.
His nest. His nest.
Oh god, his nest.
The word registered fully now in every alpha’s mind like a stone in still water.
Vernon had built himself a fortress of their scents, a sanctuary made of pack and safety and claiming. His fingers traced the edge of Jeonghan’s pillow, absent and gentle.
Then his body went rigid as a tremor ran through him. It started somewhere low, somewhere they couldn’t see but could suddenly sense, it rippled up through his abdomen and made his shoulders curl forward.
A sound escaped him that was not quite a gasp, not quite a whimper, something caught in the throat that tried desperately to be neither as he faught against it.
The scent in the room shifted one last time.
What was sweet became intoxicating, what was dry became wet. A new note bloomed in the orange, something unmistakably, irrevocably sexual, and every alpha in the doorway knew what it was the moment it touched their lungs.
Slick.
Vernon was producing slick for the first time. His body, which had apparently decided that tonight, now, with no warning and no preparation, that it was ready to embrace its omega nature.
His body was preparing itself for something Vernon clearly hadn’t expected, because his eyes had gone wide, brown irises swallowed by pupils, and his hands had flown up to grip his own shoulders.
“I—” Vernon’s voice cracked. The first word he’d spoken in a while. “I don’t know….”
His gaze cut to the doorway to the twelve alphas, bandmates, packmates, men he’d laughed with, performed with, shared convenience-store ramen with at 3 AM standing frozen like statues in a museum of their own wanting.
He saw them then, their expressions, the way Seungcheol’s chest was rising and falling too fast, the way Mingyu’s knuckles had also gone bloodless on the doorframe alongside Seungkwan. Saw the way Minghao’s careful composure was unraveling at the edges, his own scent permeating strongly into the room alongside the others.
And at that Vernon’s knees slid apart on the mattress.
It wasn’t intentional, really, his body was moving in ways his mind hadn’t authorized, answering a call none of them could hear lest he speak it, but one all of them could smell.
The slick was soaking through his sweatpants now, the grey fabric going darker, a damp patch spreading across the inner thigh. Another tremor rolled through him, and this time the sound that came out was definitely a whimper.
The nest seemed to pulse around him, waiting for something, anything to happen. For someone to say something for someone to do something.
And Vernon could take it no more, so with a whine that was closer to a sob, he fell forward lying down on his stomach, a knee to the side with his face shoved into a pillow.
“I’m sorry.” He said, shaking voice muffled by the pillow, but he didn’t raise his face, lest the tears streaking down his face be visible. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
He kept saying it, chanting it like a mantra so they would understand that he didn’t ask for this, that he didn’t expect to present like this. Hell, he’d thought he already had presented.
Seungcheol broke formation first as Vernon’s muffled sobs started against the pillow, the words gone and replaced with only soft cries and whimpers.
He crossed the threshold, and the shift in the room’s atmosphere was immediate. The alphas behind him tensed, because their leader was moving, and every instinct screamed to follow, to surround, to protect the fearful omega.
“Everybody,” Seungcheol said, and his voice was barely recognizable, “just stay back for now, okay?.”
He said it while staring directly at Vernon.
Who had raised his head and stared back, eyes wet, chest heaving, his hips making micro-adjustments against the mattress that he clearly couldn’t control.
His lips parted and a thread of silver saliva caught the lamplight as his mouth worked around words that wouldn’t come.
Seungcheol reached the edge of the bed and leaned in close enough to touch, close enough that Vernon’s scent enveloped him entirely, saturated the air in his lungs, made his own body answer with a rush of heat and a dangerous, aching pull.
Instead, he knelt, knees finding the floor beside Minghao’s bed, bringing himself to Vernon’s eye level. Behind him, ten other bodies held their breath.
Vernon blinked as another tear cut down his cheek, unexpected and hot, and he didn’t know if it was from terror or relief or the overwhelming sensory flood of twelve distinct scents suddenly sharpening in his perception.
He could smell them individually now, and could distinguish Seungcheol’s cedar from Jihoon’s amber, Mingyu’s sea-salt from Wonwoo’s smoked-salt.
And Minghao, above them all, he could recognize the alpha’s distinct, almost spicy scent.
He could taste them all on the air, but he needed more than just that.
“I want—” The words barely scraped out of him.
And Seungcheol leaned forward, not touching him, but close enough that Vernon could feel the warmth radiating from him, a boundary of heat just beyond his skin.
“What do you want?” Seungcheol asked. “Vernon. What do you need?”
Vernon’s hips rocked forward once more, just enough to press the soaked fabric of his sweatpants against the rumpled sheets, and the friction made his spine arch, his head tip back, his throat bare itself to the room. The sound he made was nothing like Vernon. It was all omega, unabashed pleading and utterly new to all of them.
“I don’t—” He gasped, gripping the blankets beneath him until his nails threatened to tear. “I don’t know. I don’t know. It hurts. It wants.”
The last word hung heavy in the amber lamplight.
Wants.
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened as his gaze flicked sideways to Jeonghan, who had crawled up the bed farther and materialized at his shoulder without a sound, whose expression was surprisingly calm.
He looked to Minghao, who looked like he was about two seconds from crawling across the floor and pouncing back onto his bed.
Then he looked back to Vernon, whose body had decided to stop waiting for permission or for the abundance of alphas around him to take action.
He had rolled onto his back as his hand slid down slowly, like he was still fighting it. Like some part of him was still just Vernon, still in control, still operating under the rules of a world that hadn’t just suddenly rearranged its expectations around him.
And just as his fingers found the waistband of his sweatpants, Minghao’s bedroom door shut with a decisive click.
When Vernon's fingers slipped beneath the waistband and wrapped around his hardened, soaking length, the relief was immediate. A sigh escaped his lips, his shoulders dropping from where they'd been hunched around his ears. His hand moved up and down without permission, without thought, guided by a body that had suddenly rewritten all its operating instructions.
The slick had soaked through everything, his boxers, sweatpants, and the sheet beneath him. The fabric clung to his inner thighs, warm and wet and utterly foreign.
And he felt his fingers move, sliding through it now, finding skin that felt different than it had this morning. Softer. Hotter. Ready.
"Oh," Vernon breathed as his finger found purchase, pressing gently inside. The word came out fractured, mewling. "Oh, that's—"
He didn't finish as his hips rocked into his own palm, a tiny motion, barely more than a twitch, but the friction sent something electric zipping up his spine. His eyes fluttered and his mouth opened. The lamplight caught the sheen of sweat gathering at his temples, the flush spreading down his throat.
At this, Jeonghan moved, one moment he was a silent presence at his shoulder; the next, he was hovering near Vernon’s ear.
"Easy," Jeonghan murmured. His voice was the same voice he used to talk Seungkwan down from pre-show anxiety, low and rhythmic and utterly unhurried. "Easy, why don’t you let hyung help?"
Vernon's hand stilled, one knuckle still inside him. His eyes, glassy and dark, tracked Jeonghan's face with the wariness of a cornered animal and the desperate hope of something that had been alone too long.
"You don't have to figure it all out by yourself.”
Jeonghan's fingers found Vernon's jaw with the slightest pressure as he tilted Vernon's head to the side, exposing the long column of throat that had been driving every alpha in the room slowly insane since the scent first shifted.
And then he leaned in, his nose brushing the hinge of Vernon's jaw first—a scenting so delicate it might have been accidental. But then he moved lower, nosing his pulse point and the place where Vernon's heartbeat fluttered against his skin rapidly.
Jeonghan breathed him in, and something in his expression flickered.
"Jeonghan." Seungcheol's warning came from the floor, where he was still kneeling, white-knuckled, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to climb onto that bed and never leave.
Jeonghan didn't answer as his tongue touched Vernon's neck.
He gave Vernon a taste of his own medicine and licked a stripe slowly from collarbone to jaw, tasting salt and orange and the heedy chemical cocktail of a first heat. Vernon's whole body seized, and his hand, still trapped in his boxers, clenched reflexively. The sound he made wasn't a gasp or a whimper but something between—a keening note held too long, a string pulled taut past its tuning.
"That's it," Jeonghan whispered against his skin. "That's good. You're doing so well."
Mingyu made a noise from the doorway, the sound of a man whose restraint was actively killing him.
At that, Seungcheol stood, the motion drawing every eye in the room. His knees popped, he'd been kneeling longer than he realized, but his presence didn't diminish with the change in altitude. If anything, standing made him more commanding. The head alpha surveying his pack and making decisions.
"Everybody out."
A beat of silence before the clamor of annoyed voices began.
"Hyung—" That was Mingyu. His voice cracked on the single syllable.
"Out." Seungcheol didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. "Jeonghan is going to..." He paused, searching for words,"Help. I guess. The rest of you need to give them space."
It was the right call, every alpha in the room knew it was the right call. As a newly presented omega, overwhelmed by sensation and scent and the sudden rearrangement of his own body—Vernon needed calm and fewer than twelve pairs of alpha eyes watching him fall apart.
Chan was the first to move. His wide eyes had gone wider still, something like relief flickering beneath the confusion. He'd been rigid since the scent hit him, himself newly presented and inexperienced enough to be more terrified than aroused.
Jun put a steady hand on Chan's shoulder and guided him backward.
But Vernon's voice cut through the shuffling as the rest of them filed out.
"Minghao." Vernon's head turned toward the doorway, toward the one alpha who hadn't moved, the alpha whose bed this was, whose pillows formed the foundation of the nest, whose room had been commandeered.
Minghao stood, his sharp features were unreadable in the low light. But his hands were not, they had curled into the fabric of his own shirt, twisting it, knuckles pressing white through the thin cotton.
"Minghao." Vernon said it again, and this time it was definitely a plea. "Stay. Please. Please stay."
The word please landed like a blade, especially since Vernon had said it as he closed his eyes, his hand moving once more, slowly.
Seungcheol's gaze cut to Minghao. Vernon had built his nest here, in Minghao's bed with Minghao's pillow pressed to his cheek while he worked.
"Jeonghan?" Seungcheol's voice had gone rough, the question in his voice clear.
Jeonghan, still curved around Vernon's body like a shield, lifted his head. His tongue was still wet, and Vernon's skin glistened where he'd licked it. "He's asking for him, Cheol. It’s his nest, he decides. "
Vernon's hips rolled again, his hand still moving inside his boxers, inside himself with a slow rhythm he clearly didn't know he was keeping. The slick sounds were audible now, wet and rhythmic and devastating to every alpha still breathing the same air.
"Please." Vernon's voice splintered. "Minghao. I don't—I can't—" His throat worked around words that wouldn't form.
Minghao's breath caught, and it all broke him at once. His scent of sweet orange that was thick enough to drown in now, the previous image of Vernon on his knees in the nest, and the one now of him slick up and splayed out on the nest he’s built in Minghao’s bed.
Because in a life of cameras and choreography and thirteen personalities colliding constantly, Minghao had been Vernon's quiet, and his comfort.
And Vernon had chosen his bed to fall apart in.
"Okay." Minghao's voice came out steadier than he felt. "Of course I'll stay."
Jeonghan was already in the nest, already scent-marking, already providing whatever physiological comfort Vernon's newly-adapted omega brain needed. But Minghao, Minghao had been chosen. Not by Seungcheol or by circumstance, but by Vernon himself.
Minghao crossed the room, his bare feet making no sound on the floorboards. He stopped at the edge of the mattress and looked down at Vernon, flushed and trembling and still touching himself under soaked fabric—and then at Seungcheol, who was still standing sentinel beside the bed.
"Tell me what to do," Minghao said quietly. "Whatever he needs, I’ll do it."
Seungcheol's jaw worked. "You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." Minghao's voice cut through with unexpected steel. "I'm choosing to. He asked for me."
Beyond the door, Soonyoung was herding the others farther down the hallway. Seungkwan's protests were muffled but persistent—"We shouldn't leave, what if something happens, what if he needs—"—and then Wonwoo's low murmur cutting him off. Footsteps retreated as a door closed somewhere deeper in the dorm.
Jeonghan, still curled around Vernon, met Minghao's eyes over the curve of Vernon's shoulder. Something passed between them, an understanding, maybe, an alliance secured with the shared goal of saying their omega.
"He needs lots of scent," Jeonghan said. His hand had found Vernon's hair, fingers working through the sweat-damp strands. "Pack scent and familiarity. He needs to know he's safe while his body..."
He trailed off as Vernon's hips bucked. "While his body does what it needs to do."
Minghao climbed onto the bed then, suddenly engulfed by the nest. That was the strange thing, the pillows and blankets and borrowed clothing seemed to welcome his weight, to recognize him as part of its architecture. His scent was already woven through every layer.
He positioned himself behind Vernon, who had rolled onto his side, putting his chest to his back.
"I'm here," Minghao murmured against the nape of Vernon's neck. "Right here. Not going anywhere."
Vernon's whole body shuddered at the contact. His hand, still working beneath his waistband, sped up. The slick sounds grew louder, wetter, more urgent as his head fell back against Minghao's shoulder.
"Don't leave." The words came out broken. "Don't leave. Don't. Hao, stay please. Don’t leave."
Jeonghan caught Seungcheol's eye over the tangle of bodies and raised an eyebrow. The question was silent but clear: Are you staying or going, leader?
Seungcheol looked at Vernon then, panting and pleading and falling apart to his own hand between two alphas who had rarely seen him like this.
He looked at his own hands, still trembling with the effort of restraint and looked at the door, where the rest of his pack had gone down the hall.
"The door stays open," he said finally. "Just a crack. So he knows we're all still here."
And then he stepped back, letting the omega's wishes dictate the remaining alpha's actions.
From the bed, Vernon made a sound that was somewhere between gratitude and desperation. Minghao's arms tightened around him as Jeonghan's mouth found his throat again.
Minghao's chest then pressed flush against Vernon's spine.
The contact drew a sound from Vernon's throat that wasn't quite human, something between a sob and a sigh, relief and desperation tangled together.
His head lolled back onto Minghao's shoulder, exposing the long line of his throat, and Jeonghan took the invitation again immediately, mouthing at the sweat-slick skin just below his jaw.
"Okay," Minghao breathed against the nape of Vernon's neck. "Okay, Vernon-ah. I've got you."
His hips rolled forward tentatively.
The thick ridge of his cock, trapped beneath his own joggers, pressed into the curve of Vernon's ass through two layers of soaked fabric. The slick had made everything slippery and hot. The friction of cloth on cloth wasn't friction at all, but a glide, wet and obscene, and Vernon's whole body arched into it.
"Oh," Vernon gasped. "Do that again, don't stop."
Minghao’s hands found Vernon's hips then, his confidence already growing. His fingers, precise and strong, dug into the softness there and he could feel the heat radiating through the sweatpants and smell the orange intensifying, sharpening, demanding.
Jeonghan lifted his mouth from Vernon's throat long enough to catch Minghao's eye over Vernon's shoulder. Something flickered in his expression. Approval. Permission. Keep going.
Minghao ground forward again, and this time, Vernon's answering moan was loud enough to carry through the cracked door. Somewhere in the hallway, someone sucked in a breath. Maybe Mingyu. Maybe Seungkwan.
The specifics didn't really matter. What mattered was the way Vernon's hand flew down to his own waistband, fingers fumbling with the drawstring like it had personally offended him.
"Off," Vernon said. The word came out fierce and frustrated, nothing like the broken pleading from moments before. "Off. This needs to be—I need this off."
His sweatpants were already half-sodden with slick. The fabric had gone dark from waistband to inner knee, clinging to his thighs in a way that must have been unbearable. His fingers caught the elastic and shoved, and the pants didn’t go very far, tangled around his hips, caught on the angle, the position.
"Fuck," Vernon snarled.
It was so unexpectedly Vernon, that particular brand of casual blunt profanity delivered with mild annoyance, that Jeonghan actually laughed with a huff of air against Vernon's collarbone.
"Hold on," Jeonghan murmured, and his fingers joined Vernon's, working the drawstring loose with “Lift your hips a little. Yes. Just like that."
The sweatpants came down and the boxers went with them, peeled away from skin that glistened with slick, and the scent intensified—orange and musk and something honeyed, something that made Minghao's mouth water and his hips stutter against the bare flesh now pressed against his joggers.
Vernon was naked from the waist down in the nest.
His cock curved up toward his belly, flushed dark and leaking, and between his thighs—God, between his thighs was wet. Slick coated the soft skin, dripping down, catching the lamplight like liquid gold. The nest beneath him was ruined and soaked. The sheets would probably never recover from the smell of oranges.
"Better," Vernon breathed. "That's better. That's so much—" His hand wrapped around his own cock without thought and pumped once, then twice with a rhythm that was too fast, too desperate, clearly not enough. "I don't know…I don't—Minghao, I don't know what I'm doing...I need more. Please."
The confession cracked through the heat-dazed room.
Minghao's arms tightened around him. "I’ll try my best to help. I’m here.”
"Me too," Jeonghan added. His hand had found Vernon's hair again, stroking through the damp strands. "We're both here. You're not alone in this."
Vernon twisted in Minghao's grip, not to escape, but to face him, to get closer, to eliminate whatever distance still existed between their bodies. The movement was graceless and urgent and it nearly knocked Jeonghan sideways off the pillows.
"Sorry—" Vernon started.
"Don't apologize," Jeonghan said, already resettling, already pressing back against Vernon's side. "Don't you dare apologize."
Vernon's hands found the hem of Minghao's shirt and tugged. The message was clear even if the words weren't: Off. You too. Need to feel you.
"You want—" Minghao started.
"Yes." Vernon's voice had gone high and tight. "Yes, I want. I want everything. I want—" His fingers scrabbled at Minghao's waistband, clumsy with desperation, slipping on the button. "Why is this so hard? This shouldn't be hard. It's just a button. It's just a stupid—"
"Here." Minghao's hands covered Vernon's. Steadying them, guiding them. "Slow down. The buttons aren't going anywhere."
"They are," Vernon insisted, and the absurdity of it—arguing about the permanence of buttons—made Jeonghan snort against his shoulder.
"You're doing great," Jeonghan said. "The buttons are very intimidated."
Vernon made a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sob, entirely overwhelmed by the situation. But as Minghao’s fingers worked, the button came free, then the zipper pulled down.
Minghao lifted his hips to shove the joggers down, and Vernon's hands were on him immediately, palming his cock through his boxers, then shoving those aside too—a much easier task than the pants— and then they were skin to skin, hot and hard and pressed together in the center of the nest.
"Oh," Vernon breathed a sigh that was filled to the brim with relief. "Oh, that's—you're—"
His hips rocked forward instinctively. His cock slid against Minghao's, and the slick spread between their bellies made everything glide so smoothly. The friction was perfect and not enough and exactly what Vernon's body had been screaming for.
Jeonghan watched them rut against each other, Vernon's frantic rhythm meeting Minghao's slower, more deliberate pressure.
"Minghao," Vernon gasped. "Minghao, I need—can you—your fingers—"
Where the request was heading was obvious. Vernon's body was producing slick for a reason. And Minghao's breath caught in his throat because yes, he knew what Vernon was asking for, and yes, he wanted to give it, and no, he'd definitely never done this before.
"Show me," Minghao said quietly. "Tell me what feels good. I don't—I want to do this right."
Vernon's head tipped back and his throat worked around a sound that was gratitude and frustration and desperate arousal all tangled together. "You're asking the guy who didn't know he was an omega until twenty minutes ago to give instructions on how to finger him?"
"I'm asking Vernon. Who knows what he likes, I hope?." Minghao's voice had steadied, a low murmur against Vernon's temple. "You've touched yourself before. You know your body. Tell me."
The moment stretched, almost uncomfortably, then Vernon's hand closed around Minghao's wrist and guided it down between their bodies. Past his cock and the slick-slicked curve of his stomach. To the place that was hottest, wettest, most urgently alive.
"Here," Vernon whispered.
Jeonghan's hand reached around and pressed flat against Vernon's chest, over his heart. Feeling the frantic rhythm and grounding him. His mouth found the shell of Vernon's ear.
"We've got you," Jeonghan murmured. "Both of us. Whatever you need."
Minghao's finger pressed against the slick opening, and Vernon's body pulled him in greedily.
Minghao's finger sank into heat, and the sensation removed all the air from Vernon's lungs. There was no pain, nothing sharp, nothing wrong, only a fullness, sudden and foreign and devastatingly right in his mind.
His body barely clenched around the intrusion, then yielded, slick easing the way until Minghao was knuckle-deep in one smooth slide.
"Oh," Vernon breathed. The syllable cracked. "Oh, that's—Minghao, that's—"
"Good?" Minghao's voice shook. His thin hand, trembled inside his body. "Is that better?"
Vernon couldn't answer, because words had abandoned him somewhere between Minghao's first press and this impossible stretch, this pressure that made his hips rock forward without permission. His cock jerked against Minghao's belly, leaving a wet smear across toned muscle.
"Another," Vernon managed. "I think—can you do another?"
Jeonghan’s palm remained flat on Vernon's chest, counting heartbeats. "Slowly, he's never—" The sentence died as Vernon's body clenched again, a visible ripple beneath sweat-sheened skin. "He's never done this before."
"Neither have I." The confession came through gritted teeth. Minghao's free hand gripped Vernon's hip, grounding himself. "Tell me if it's too much."
"Not too much, it’s not enough." The words tumbled out, frantic. "More. Minghao, please, I need more."
At his insistent pleading, a second finger pressed alongside the first.
The sound Vernon made, low and guttural and utterly involuntary, sent Jeonghan's eyes fluttering shut and Minghao's cock twitching against Vernon's thigh. It send a muffled curse through the cracked door and into the living room where multiple someone’s were absolutely still listening.
"There," Vernon gasped. His hips rocked back, impaling himself deeper onto Minghao's fingers. "There, right there, don't stop don't stop don't—"
Minghao didn't stop, he probably couldn’t have stopped if Seungcheol himself ordered it. His fingers curled experimentally, searching, and found something that made Vernon's whole body seize, the word coming out in a whine:
"Fuck."
"Was that—"
"Yes." Vernon's head snapped back, throat bared, eyes wild. "Whatever that was, yes, do it again."
Jeonghan's mouth found the hinge of Vernon's jaw, whispering, "Look at you," he murmured against heated skin. "Look at you taking it so well. So perfect, Vernon-ah. You're doing so perfect."
Minghao's fingers worked inside him with growing confidence, finding that spot again and again until Vernon was babbling—a stream of English and Korean tangled together, right there and more please and something that might have been a prayer. The slick sounds grew louder and wetter and far more obscene.
Then a third finger experimentally began to stretch him further.
"That's—" Vernon's hand flew down, gripping Minghao's wrist. Not to stop him, but momentarily hold him in place. "That's so much. It's so much. So good, but I want—" His hips rolled and he inadvertently fucked himself on Minghao's hand. "I want you. Inside. Not just fingers."
Minghao's breath caught. "Vernon-ah, are you sure? You've never—"
"I know what I want." The words came out fierce and certain. Somewhere in the haze of heat and orange-scent and overwhelming need, Vernon had found something solid and sure. "I want you inside me. Now. Please."
Vernon pulled off Minghao's fingers with a wet, obscene sound that left him gasping. The emptiness was immediate and unbearable, a hollow ache that made his omega instincts scream, and he moved before thought caught up with instinct.
His hands found Minghao's shoulders and he pushed.
Minghao's back hit the nest as pillows scattered, blankets bunched up and the careful architecture Vernon had built shifted around them, accepting this new configuration, this new purpose. And Vernon, slick-sheened and trembling and utterly beyond the reach of embarrassment, climbed on top of him.
He straddled him, his slick thighs bracketed Minghao's hips, and his cock, hard and dark and leaking, left another wet trail across Minghao's abdomen. The position put him above, looking down, and something in his expression shifted. The desperate pleading softened into something almost like wonder.
"Okay," Vernon breathed. "Okay. I want—like this. I want to—"
"Whatever you want." Minghao's hands found Vernon's hips. His fingers, still wet with slick, pressed into the new softness there. "Whatever you need. Tell me."
"I don't want to tell you." Vernon's voice cracked on something that was almost a laugh. "I want to show you. I want—just hold still. Fuck, hold on, let me—" He reached down between their bodies, found Minghao's cock, and guided it into position.
The head pressed against his opening and both of them froze at the impending action.
The moment stretched, Minghao's chest heaving, Vernon's thighs trembling, Jeonghan's breath warm against the nape of Vernon's neck. Outside the door, the dorm had gone silent. Even Seungkwan had stopped protesting. Twelve alphas holding their collective breath.
"Together," Minghao said quietly. "If you want—"
"Together," Vernon agreed.
And sank down.
Vernon's head tipped back at the first-inch, and his mouth opened around a sound that didn't come out. Nothing had prepared him for this—not his own fingers, not Minghao's, not the desperate rutting they'd done minutes before. This was fullness, this was right. This was his body finally getting what it had been screaming for.
"More," he gasped. "More. I can take more. I need-“
Minghao's hands tightened on his hips. "Slowly. Vernon, go slowly—"
But Vernon wasn't interested in slow.
His thighs flexed, and he took Minghao to the root in one motion. The sound it made was wet and obscene. The sound he made was nothing human.
"Yes." The word tore from his throat. "Yes, yes, yes, that's—" He rolled his hips experimentally, and the angle changed, and suddenly Minghao's cock was pressing against that same spot his fingers had found. "There."
Jeonghan moved then. He'd been watching, whispering sweet nothings and filing every detail away for later, but the sight of Vernon seated fully on Minghao's cock, head thrown back, throat bared, broke something in his restraint. His hand slid down Vernon's spine to the dip of his lower back and pressed.
"That's it," Jeonghan murmured. "Take what you need. He's yours, Vernon-ah. You chose him. He's yours."
The word hit Vernon like a blow to his heart.
Yours.
Some deeply buried omega instinct rose to the surface and grabbed hold. His hips moved faster, harder. The rhythm wasn't practiced or particularly steady, but it was desperate, driven by a need that had nothing to do with skill and everything to do with claiming.
Each downward thrust pressed Minghao deeper, each roll of his hips ground that perfect spot against the head of his cock.
"Vernon." Minghao's voice had gone hoarse. His hands were trembling where they gripped Vernon’s hips. "Vernon, I'm not going to—you feel so—I can't—"
"Don't." Vernon leaned forward, pressing his palms flat against Minghao's chest. The new angle made him gasp, made his rhythm stutter, but he didn't stop, he didn’t think he could stop. "Don't hold back. Don't you dare hold back."
"I'm going to come if you keep—"
"Good." Vernon's hips slammed down harder. "Come. I want you to. I need you to. Need—I need—"
Words dissolved into sounds, lost to the rhythm of the wet slap of skin on skin and the heady orange scent that saturated every breath.
Jeonghan's mouth found Vernon's shoulder scenting, and there, a grounding pressure to his delirious mind. His own arousal pressed painfully against his zipper, ignored and secondary. But this wasn't about him, this was about the omega taking his pleasure, claiming his chosen alpha, writing the rules of his first heat on Minghao's body.
Vernon's rhythm faltered as his thighs burned. The heat coiled tighter in his belly, something building, something impending that he wanted to chase, but couldn’t.
"I can't—" His voice shattered. "Minghao, I can't—help me, please, I don't—"
"I've got you." Minghao's hands tightened on his hips. "I've got you, Vernon-ah. Let go. I'm right here."
His hips thrust up experimentally and met Vernon's downward stroke with a force that made the omega's eyes roll back. The increased slap of skin echoed through the nest, the room, and the cracked door into the hallway beyond.
And Vernon, overwhelmed and overstimulated and utterly, perfectly claimed—shattered.
His release painted Minghao's chest in hot stripes as his body clenched around the cock inside him, rhythmic and involuntary, and the sensation dragged Minghao over the edge with him. He pulsed deep inside Vernon's body, once, twice, a third time that made Vernon gasp, filling him with warmth that spread through every nerve ending.
For a long moment, neither of them moved when Vernon collapsed forward. His forehead pressed to Minghao's shoulder. Their chests heaved together, sweat-slicked and sticky, and the scent of orange softened into something calmer and sated.
"Okay?" Minghao's voice was wrecked. "Vernon-ah, are you okay?"
"Mmm." The sound was mumbled, half-conscious. "Yeah. I'm—" A pause in his words interrupted with a move of hips that made them both hiss. "That was. That was."
"Yeah."
From behind them, Jeonghan laughed softly. "That's one word for it."
Vernon lifted his head, eyes, glassy and unfocused, and found the barely-open door.
"They're still here?," he murmured, questioning in a moment of clarity.
"They'll always be here." Minghao's hand came up to cup the back of Vernon's neck gently. "That's what pack means."
Vernon's hips shifted again at the mention of pack. And Minghao was still inside him, still hard—or hardening again, impossible to tell. The heat, clearly wasn't done, just resting.
"Oh," Vernon breathed. His eyes widened. "Oh, it's—I think it's starting again. Jesus that was fast."
Jeonghan's hand slid around to his stomach. Pressed. "This time—" His voice dropped lower, silk wrapping around steel. "This time, I think I'll participate. What do you think about that?"
Vernon gasped at the thought, and beyond the door, someone groaned.
~~~
What felt like hours or even days later, the heat in Vernon’s body had dissipated, the delirious haze that had overtaken him demanded one last thing before he’d finally passed out from exhaustion: pack, he wanted his pack here with him.
And so the remaining 10 members clambering into the room one by one, climbing over each other onto the bed, rustling in the multitude of blankets that had only grown, continuously demanded by a delirious Vernon in the throes of his first heat.
And so, when he finally awoke, drenched in a layer of drying sweat, naked and surrounded by an absolute disaster of a room he could only gape. He sat up groggily, taking in the piles of clothes, pillows, sheets, blankets, and towels that littered practically every surface of the room.
“What the fuck…” he said, louder than he meant to as some of the members groaned awake, sitting up to look at him, wonder and apprehension flitting in their eyes.
“Well, look who decided to join the real world again!” DK said happily from where he lay diagonally across the bed, a still-snoring Seungkwan resting on his chest.
“What?” Vernon had an absolutely aghast look on his face. “What the hell happened in here? It literally looks like a…like a fucking rats nest.”
“You happened, you're the vermin who created this, this is your mess!” Minghao added from the other side of the bed to here he’d been trapped under Jun.
“My mess?” Vernon gaped at him.
Minghao gave the room another once over, an almost disgusted look on his face. “Yea your mess, you really need to work on your nest-building skills, it really does look like a rats nest in here.”