Archive of Our Own ^beta

In this city, scent is power. 

You could tell who was born to the boardrooms and penthouses by the sharp, assertive edge of their presence, even before they opened their mouths.

While Alphas didn’t rule the world, they definitely were more powerful. Their names were on the skyscrapers. Their portraits hung in the marble lobbies. Their children were groomed from birth to walk in polished leather shoes, to look others in the eyes, and to command the room.

And Jeong Yunho… Well, Yunho was not supposed to exist.

He had the bloodline. The pedigree. The kind of old money that didn’t need to flaunt itself. His father was a board chairman. His grandfather before him had practically built one of the biggest trading firms in the country. Every Jeong man—tall and broad-shouldered and commanding—had been an alpha. No exceptions.

Well, except for Yunho.

He’d been born quiet. Small. Too soft. The scandal had nearly torn the family apart—whispers behind closed doors, accusations of infidelity, months of endless and relentless testing to confirm the truth. 

Jeong Yunho, pure-blooded alpha son of the Jeong line… was an omega.

For years, they kept it buried. He was raised an alpha, trained harder than his cousins, schooled in controlling every instinct. His first heats were forcibly suppressed. The pills began when he was twelve—harsh and experimental and it worked. It shut his second gender down entirely. 

By the time he entered university, Yunho was an art major. Just that he mastered the art of pretending.

So now, at twenty-six, he was one of the firm’s rising stars. 

On paper, he was a competent and cold alpha. He promoted fast and reliable efficiency that no one else in the line ever did. He was an asset to the Jeong name.

He arrived at the office that morning like always, in a sleek car, tailored suit, and a blank expression. His reflection in the polished glass of the elevators looked exactly right. 

He was tall and handsome and had broad shoulders.

No one questioned it. No one had reason to. 

“Morning, Yunho,” came a bright voice as soon as he stepped onto the floor.

It was San, bouncing at his side like a cat who only likes one or two people. He was a true alpha, young and full of energy. And maybe too naive to suspect a thing.

“Morning.” Yunho offered the slightest smile.

San grinned wider. “Big client day today. Seonghwa’s got you on it, right?”

At the name, Yunho’s stomach did a strange little turn. He pushed the feeling down.

“Yes.”

San didn’t notice the pause. “Good luck, but I’m sure you’ll crush it like always.”

Before he could turn and go to his office, he caught sight of another alpha just… staring him down across the hall. 

Yunho nodded, walking briskly to his place. The door closed behind him, and he exhaled, long and slow.

Song Mingi.

The only alpha in this firm who made Yunho’s skin crawl—not out of dislike, but because… Mingi noticed things. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t showy, but something about him cut through the fog that is Yunho’s pills.

Every other coworker saw Yunho the same way. Sure, San was naive, but so was everyone else, just the way Yunho wanted it.

Mingi, though—he looked too closely. He held Yunho’s gaze too long. Even tilted his head like a chicken sometimes, like he smelled something faint.

It unnerved Yunho.

He reached into his desk drawer, fingers finding the small case of pills. He’d nearly forgotten this morning. A dangerous slip. He swallowed one dry. The familiar bitterness coated his throat, but he paid no mind.

Outside, the floor was bustling. Hongjoong from PR swept past in sharp heels, Seonghwa was in a conversation with a client, Wooyoung on a call, laughing. They were all alphas, some natural, some lower-tier, but none mattered. 

Yunho’s world was composed of rhythms. Schedules, reports, emails, meetings—all were designed to leave no room for accidents. He liked it that way.

He smoothed down the sleeves of his shirt and stepped out of his office. 

“Yunho!” Wooyoung caught his eyes from across the floor. He waved him over with his free hand.

“Here,” Wooyoung said, covering the receiver with his palm. “The cafe downstairs has those weird chocolate croissants you like. San grabbed a few before they sold out.”

“I didn't know you cared so much about my breakfast?” Yunho asked, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“You wound me,” Wooyoung gasped. “I’m thoughtful, you know.”

Yunho only shook his head in amusement, taking the offered pastry from San, who popped up beside them moments later, arms full of takeout cups.

“Morning again,” San beamed, cheeks flushed from the morning rush. “You know, I almost had to fight two interns for them.”

“You’re too good to me,” Yunho said lightly, setting the pastry on Wooyoung’s desk, setting it for later, and making room for San’s coffee delivery.

“Two double shots today. Thought you two might need it.”

Yunho’s mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace.”

“Correction, an angel.” San said. “Besides, you’ve been putting in crazy hours again.”

“I’ve seen the times your emails come in,” Wooyoung chimed in, leaning lazily against the partition. “Four in the morning is not healthy, Yunho.”

“I was awake anyway,” Yunho said, taking a sip of coffee.

“And that makes it better?” San arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Wasn’t one of the emails about damage control because some stupid intern went like, ‘Black is Power, She is BLACK’ on a post about one of our advertisers wearing a black suit?”

“Yeah, well, it needed to be done anyway.” Yunho laughed at the memory of him scrolling through his email and finding the post, and god was it really funny.

Across the floor, Seonghwa glanced over at the small group gathered at Wooyoung’s desk and called, “If you’re going to hold a cafe, at least invite the rest of us!”

“Come on over,” Wooyoung grinned, waving him in.

A moment later, Seonghwa joined them sliding a chair around backward to lean his arms on the back. “I heard we’ve got another dinner coming up next week. Your family’s gala, isn’t it?”

Yunho resisted the urge to sigh. Still did. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“You taking anyone?” Wooyoung asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No.” Yunho’s tone was dry, but his friends only grinned. They’d heard this before.

“I still say you should just bring Yeosang,” Wooyoung teased. “He cleans up nice.”

“Hey,” San laughed, “He’s booked, I’m pretty sure. Besides, can you imagine him at a Jeong gala? He’d knock over the champagne tower in five minutes.”

Yunho chuckled quietly at that, before rolling his eyes. “Don’t tease about the man, he’s not even here.”

San raised both of his hands in a guilty posture.

This—this was comfortable. These people weren’t just a part of the performance.

It had taken time, obviously. Careful years of letting them in, of slowly learning that friendship didn’t have to be dangerous. He trusted them, more than he trusted most of his own family.

More than he trusted himself, even.

Of course, there were still lines he didn’t cross. Still things they shouldn’t know. But here, now, surrounded by the low hum of their office life, their easy banter, Yunho allowed himself that small sliver of peace.

His phone buzzed in his pants. A meeting reminder—strategy session with Hongjoong in twenty minutes.

He finished the last sip of coffee and stood, rolling his shoulders loose.

“I’ll see you later,” he said.

“Good luck,” San called after him.

“Don’t let Hongjoong drown you in spreadsheets,” Wooyoung added, tossing a wink.

Seonghwa simply gave him a wave, “Fighting!”

Yunho left them with a small smile, making his way toward the corner office.

The rest of the day passed in a steady flow of meetings and reports. Yunho was in his element here—composed and quick on his feet. 

By late afternoon, he found himself back at his desk, sifting through the next week’s project schedule.

One item caught his eye—a client presentation two days from now. A solo mission, partnered with… Song Mingi.

His gaze lingered on the name.

That same instinctive hum stirred in his chest. He brushed it aside, fingers moving to type out confirmation emails.

By the time the sun dipped low, most of the team had packed up. Yunho stayed later than most. He almost did. There was a kind of quiet he appreciated after hours, when the hum of conversation faded and only the low whirr of machines and the clack of a few lingering keyboards remained.

He finished his final report, filed it neatly, shut his laptop, and stood. His limbs ached with the kind of tiredness that came from too much restraint and too little relaxation.

San had long since gone home, dragged out by Wooyoung after insisting Yunho join them for late-night dinner. Yunho had declined with a smile and a pat to San’s shoulder.

Now he was alone in the elevator corridor, briefcase in hand, jacket folded neatly over his arm.

He pressed the call button. The light above the doors flickered. He exhaled, letting his shoulders drop just a bit.

Yet not a second later, footsteps echoed behind him.

He turned just slightly—and of course the gods of this world hated him.

It was Mingi. Just as tall as him, just as quiet as him, and just as sleek as him.

Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t speak at first. Mingi didn’t seem surprised to see him, not that he ever did. He just offered a nod. “Heading out?”

Yunho nodded. “Mm.”

The elevator doors opened, and they both stepped inside.

Silence.

The air in the enclosed space felt somehow fuller, though Yunho knew that was irrational. 

Still…

Yunho’s mouth opened before he fully thought about it.

“Long day?” he asked.

The words landed strangely. He heard them echo in his own head. What the hell kind of question—

“…Huh?” Mingi turned, blinking once.

“I just meant—” Yunho cleared his throat, adjusting the briefcase in his hand like it would help. “You looked… a little tired. If that—if that makes sense.”

It was a stupid thing to say. Mingi didn't look tired. If anything, he always looked infuriatingly composed.

Mingi stared at him for a second longer than was comfortable, then, “Oh. I’m okay,” he said slowly, like he was still processing that Yunho had spoken at all. “Thanks, I guess.”

Yunho nodded. A beat passed.

Another.

Then another.

Yunho wanted to throw himself out of the emergency hatch.

“Busy week,” he added, trying to fill the silence.

Why. Why was he still talking?”

“Mm,” Mingi said, noncommittally.

The elevator slid to a stop on the ground floor.

The doors opened.

Yunho stepped out too fast.

“Have a good night,” he muttered, not looking back.

“You too,” Mingi replied, quiet, maybe even a little amused.

The words chased Yunho all the way to the parking garage.

He didn’t know why he’d said anything. Yunho had spent years avoiding unnecessary interaction, and yet those three minutes were the worst minutes of his life.

He slid into the driver’s seat of his car, shut the door, and let his head fall back against the headrest.

 “Stupid,” he muttered. “What the fuck was that?”

The memory replayed in his head like a bad drama. He was so desperate attempting to make casual small talk, he wanted to kill himself.

He groaned softly and thumped his head once against the seat.

The drive back home was silent. Yunho’s building sat perched high above the city skyline, glass and steel and quiet. The elevator from the garage opened directly into his unit—a sprawling penthouse dressed in muted grays and rich wood. Expensive but understated.

There weren't any pictures on the walls. No clutter. Just clean lines and warm lighting.

He slipped off his shoes by the door, set his briefcase in its usual spot, and hung his jacket neatly in the closet. A slow exhale followed.

Here, he could breathe.

He padded across the open-plan living room, lights adjusting automatically as he moved. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered an unbroken view of the city below, glittering with distant traffic and the pulse of lives he wasn’t living.

In the kitchen, he boiled water for tea, fingertips drumming lightly on the marble counter while the kettle hummed.

He carried the tea into the living room and sat, resting back against the cushions, letting the warmth soothe the ache in his spine.

His phone buzzed against the coffee table.

From Yeosang, 

“u alive?”

Yunho hugged a soft laugh and unlocked the phone.

“Barely. Long day.”

“u always say that

be real did u eat dinner”

Before Yunho could respond, another message lit up the screen. This time from Jongho.

“Don’t lie we know you skipped it again”

Yunho allowed himself a small smile.

“I had a croissant?”

“That’s not dinner. That’s sadness”

“tell that to wooyoung he had a bag of shrimp chips and a dream”

“Ok but Wooyoung is weird not in the cute way that man’s really just strange”

Yunho settled deeper into the couch, mug warm between his hands. The two weren’t just office friends. Jongho and Yeosang had known him since university, and stayed with him since then.

They’d found out about him being an omega years ago, during a heat emergency in the middle of finals week. Jongho had panicked and shoved a cold bottle of water into his hands. Yeosang calmly called the nearest pharmacy.

They’d never treated him differently. Never looked at him like a broken trophy. 

He typed slowly.

“I’ll order something later. Don’t worry.”

Yeosang replied almost immediately.

“i always worry. ur delicate like a victorian ghost”

“He’s being dramatic again just ignore him”

“make sure u rest, pretty sure u got something big in 2 days right?”

Yunho paused. His fingers hovered for a moment before he replied.

“Yeah. Mingi’s on it too.”

There was a short moment where no one typed anything, and then,

“Ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh”

“thats the one w the eyes right”

“Very eyes”

Yunho blinked at the screen.

“Please elaborate on ‘very eyes’.”

“idk he just seems like the type to smell secrets and make tea w a tree bark”

“He’s the type to make you question out loud or just thought it”

Well… they weren’t lying.

“Whatever. Love you two.”

“love u too”

“Sleep well, Jeong prince”

He set the phone aside, still amused, and stood to finally order some food.

The rest of his night passed—late dinner eaten at the kitchen island, show long and steaming.

He stood in front of the mirror afterward, towel wrapped around his waist. 

For a moment, he was so sure he saw his omega crying.

He paid no mind and went to sleep.

The next day passed in a blur.

Meetings stacked on meetings. Hongjoong pulled him in for last-minute notes. Emails overflowed. A brief lunch was eaten standing up.

Yunho barely noticed the hours slipping past, which was the goal. He kept his head down, got through everything, and made no mistakes.

Come half past five, he was standing near the espresso machine in the office kitchenette, punching in an extra shot for the drive home when a familiar voice rang out.

“Yunho!”

San appeared from around the corner, swinging his duffel bag over one shoulder. His hair was already slightly damp from a seemingly pre-workout rinse, and he was practically vibrating with energy.

“Yeosang and I are heading to the gym. Are you coming?”

Yunho blinked, caught mid-pour. “You know I don’t go to the gym.”

“You say that,” San said, unfazed, “but that sounds like a you problem.”

“I don’t own gym shoes.”

“Yeosang always brings extra.” Beside him, Yeosang was holding a pair of extra gym shoes. “You have to come with us.”

“San—”

“Nope,” he cut in. “You need to sweat. Or at least walk in a circle and complain while Yeosang ignores us. Let’s go.”

Before Yunho could come up with another excuse, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open—

—and Mingi stepped out.

Hair tousled, gym bag slung over one shoulder, loose sleeveless shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the solid strength of his arms. He paused when he saw them.

“Gym?” he asked.

San grinned. “Yeah. And! Yunho’s coming with us!”

Yunho’s brain short-circuited. “I—what—”

Mingi looked at him. Just looked.

“Cool,” he said. “I’ll join you three?”

San gleefully nodded while Yeosang just chuckled beside him. And just like that, the final nail was in.

Twenty minutes later, Yunho stood just inside the gym entrance, awkwardly holding a water bottle Yeosang had shoved into his hand and wearing a set of loaned workout clothes that were slightly too tight around the thighs.

The gym was… nicer than he expected—all glass and mirrors and equipment, full of the low hum of music and machines and bodies in motion.

Yeosang was already halfway through his circuit, while San was chattering mid-stretch, loudly challenging someone to a squat-off.

And Yunho… stood there.

He sat on the edge of a mat. Picked up a dumbbell. Put it down. Picked it back up again. Put it down again. Adjusted his shirt. Checked his phone. Tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

He didn’t belong here. That wasn’t new.

What was new— was the scent.

Or rather, a scent.

Low and citrusy and sharp, like a flower and a fruit mixed together. It wasn’t strong, but it curled around his throat and spine, subtle and suffocating.

His body locked up instantly.

He looked around once, twice, trying to locate the source, but he already knew. He didn’t really need to see to know.

It was Mingi.

He was on one of the machines a few meters away, tank top clinging to his back, muscles rolling with each slow, steady rep. 

Yunho swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry.

No.

He’d taken his pills this morning, like always.

He shouldn’t be able to smell anything. That was the entire point.

And yet.

Mingi’s scent was cutting through.

Yunho’s pulse picked up.

His skin felt too tight. His heart thumped too loud. Something in his gut was jumping.

And almost like a whisper, he heard words float around him and say, “Holy shit.”

He didn’t even know who said it—some other gym goer, maybe watching Mingi’s rep count. Or maybe his own reaction was that transparent.

Yunho forced his eyes away and sat back on the bench and picked up the weights again. Five reps. Just five. He could do that. He would push through this, ignore the scent, ignore the heat curling low in his abdomen like a warning flare.

“You want a spot?”

The voice came from directly behind him.

Yunho nearly jumped out of his skin.

Mingi was standing there now, towel draped casually around his neck, one brow raised in genuine offer.

His scent was so much stronger up close.

Yunho blinked up at him, trying to pretend he wasn’t internally screaming. From agony or from joy? He didn’t know.

“Wh—uh. Sure.”

Sure.

Sure?

That’s what his mouth chose to say?

Before he could take it back, Mingi was already behind him, adjusting the bar.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and calm. “Try for ten. I got you.”

Yunho nodded, mechanically lifting the bar—and immediately regretted it.

The scent surrounded him now. Inescapable. It laced the air, seeped into his lungs, swirled in his head like syrup and static.

His arms shook halfway through the fourth rep. His body wasn’t responding the way it should. His grip slipped slightly, the bar dipping to one side.

Mingi steadied it with one hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Yunho gasped. “Fine. Just—fine.”

He pushed up. Six. Seven.

The eighth came with a wave of fever, blooming behind his ribs like a fist pressing outward.

Instincts clawed at the surface. He could feel them, animal and shrieking at him like he needed an alpha. 

“Nope.” Yunho blurted, voice too loud and too high.

He dropped the bar unceremoniously back into the rack and bolted upright, nearly knocking into Mingi in the process.

“I—nope. Sorry. I can’t. I’m—uh. Something came up. Emergency. Big one.”

Mingi stared, eyes wide. “Wait, are you serious—?”

“See you tomorrow!” Yunho shouted, already walking backwards, hands up like he was surrendering to the gods himself. “Have fun. Weights. Reps. Great stuff.”

Then he turned and fled.

He didn’t stop until he was out of the gym entirely, into the parking lot, doubled over next to his car with one hand braced against the door.

His heart was racing. His pills hadn’t failed. They just weren’t enough.

Not against Mingi.

And somewhere deep in his bones, something inside him was purring.

That night, Yunho paced.

He’d showered twice. Once hot. Once freezing. He’d scrubbed his skin raw trying to get that scent out of his mind. It didn’t work. It was still there.

He could feel it in his jaw. Behind his eyes. Lodged right in the spaces where his veins didn’t occupy.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at the open text window on his phone. 

He was about to message his doctor with three versions of the same message.

“Hey, I think the pills aren’t working.

Could you give me a higher dose?

Might need to run some labs.”

He was about to send the first one when his phone buzzed suddenly. A new message, from an unknown number.

“got your number from san. are you ok?”

Yunho stared.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck, fuckitty fuck.

He almost threw the phone across the room. Instead, like a fool, he typed back.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Was weird.”

And not even three seconds later—

“yeah it kinda was lol. not judging tho. if you’re not feeling great you should rest”

Yunho swallowed. Not feeling great. That was a generous assumption of his situation.

“Long week. I think it just caught up to me. Thanks for checking though.”

There. Polite and normal and reasonable.

But Mingi didn’t stop.

“you sure you’re okay? you looked kinda pale”

Yunho read that three times. Something inside him screamed. Or squealed. Both at the same time. He noticed. He saw.

“Really. I’m fine. Just gonna sleep early. Presentation tomorrow. Night.”

He hit send and immediately threw the phone under a pillow.

No more. No more.

He curled into the blankets, willing sleep to come, but it didn’t.

His body was on fire. His skin couldn’t settle. His brain kept replaying the way Mingi had looked at him.

He tossed. Turned. Checked the time again. 1:27 a.m. Then 3:33 a.m. Then 5:06 a.m.

At some point when the morning came, his eyes shut.

But then—his alarm blared. He shot upright. His mouth tasted like sleep and panic.

He threw on clothes, grabbed his bag, and skipped breakfast.

When he entered his office that morning, he settled his things before making coffee, not daring to mutter a word to anyone else.

And when his alarm went off that the meeting was in fifteen minutes, he was as ready as he could be, for anything that might come up.

The meeting room was already chilled with air conditioning when he arrived.

He was the first one in.

Yunho set up his tablet. Adjusted the collar of his suit. Took a slow breath.

Mingi wasn’t here yet, but Yunho didn’t let himself think too hard about that.

One minute passed. Then three.

Others began to file in—Hongjoong, two of the firm’s clients, another intern. They nodded toward Yunho in greeting, and he returned the gesture.

Five minutes passed.

“Let’s start,” Hongjoong said. “Mingi can catch up.”

Yunho sat up straighter. His hands were still steady. His skin was warm, but he ignored it.

Until the door opened, and Mingi stepped in.

His hair was still slightly damp from possibly a rushed morning shower, expression apologetic. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”

“No worries,” Hongjoong said with a wave. “There’s a seat open next to Yunho.”

Yunho’s stomach flipped.

Mingi moved toward the empty chair and sank into it with quiet ease.

The meeting went on, and minute by minute, Yunho was adjusting his collar. It was getting so much hotter, as if the air conditioner broke—and yet no one seemed to struggle with the heat.

The faint scent of vanilla hit his nose. And then… donuts? 

Was someone eating?

Still, he paid no mind, although at this point, Hongjoong’s voice was so loud and so distracting that he was about to tune out what the man was saying.

A few more minutes passed by and he’d had it with the heat. He took off his blazer now, only remaining in his under-suit. That wasn’t enough still, so he rolled up his sleeves and opened one button, and then two.

He swore he could feel a pair of eyes from the other side of the table glancing at him, and he was about to punch them when the smell of cotton candy and something sweeter wafted through the air in front of him. 

He was about to daze out when suddenly, that smell slapped him awake.

Yunho’s lungs stuttered.

Suddenly, everything was too much.

His palms were wet with sweat. His back was damp. His legs trembled beneath the table.

Then, as he was staring at his tablet, the thought struck him.

He hadn’t taken the pills.

He forgot.

He fucking forgot.

He looked up. Alphas were all around him. Some were old, some were young. Hongjoong’s scent was of a blackcurrant, the guy beside him reeking of moss. 

But Mingi—Mingi was right next to him. And he smelt good. That citrusy flavor filled his entire body, and he could only hold back a small whine.

“Yunho,” a low voice murmured beside him.

Mingi.

“Are you okay?”

Yunho’s head turned slightly, eyes wide, panic unmistakable. He couldn’t speak. He shook his head once. That was all it took.

Mingi’s expression shifted into something sharper and more alert. And then, like a switch, he was moving.

He stood without hesitation, pushing his chair back.

“Sorry,” Mingi said to the room, voice flat. “He’s not feeling well. I’ll—take him to the nurse.”

And before anyone could respond, Mingi had a hand on Yunho’s back, then under his knees.

In one smooth motion, he lifted Yunho up.

Yunho startled, then his arms curled around Mingi’s shoulders.

No one in the room had time to say a thing. Mingi carried him straight out.

Down the hallway, Yunho buried his face in Mingi’s neck without thinking, desperate to hide from the air, from the attention, from everything. 

Mingi didn’t say a word.

They weren’t going to the nurse.

The car was already unlocked when they got there.

“Passenger seat,” Mingi said, gently opening the door.

Yunho obeyed, legs folding uselessly beneath him as he crawled inside.

The scent of the office was gone now, and only Mingi’s scent remained. It was so soft yet so… dominating.

And Yunho—Yunho curled his fingers into the seatbelt like it could anchor him to the world.

He didn’t know what was happening.

But he knew Mingi knew.

So they drove off, to god knows where. And it felt longer than it was.

Yunho tried to keep still. To keep quiet. To keep anything contained—but his body wasn’t cooperating.

Sweat clung to the inside of his suit, his dress shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest and lower back. Breathing was shallow. His thighs trembled where they pressed together.

And now—now there was something else.

A wet, sticky pressure between his legs. Warm and humiliating and relentless. 

His slick.

It soaked through the layers of fabric slowly and steadily, until he had to shift in his seat, and even that made him gasp, just a little, heat spiking all the way up his spine.

Mingi said nothing. But Yunho felt the way he shifted too—his hand tightened just slightly on the wheel, his jaw flexed.

The scent in the car was unbearable. Yunho knew he was leaking pheromones like a cracked bottle. 

He turned his head weakly, glancing toward Mingi—and nearly whimpered.

Because fuck.

Mingi was gorgeous. 

Bathed in sunlight through the windshield, neck flushed, lips set in a tight line, eyes dark and darting toward him again and again like he couldn’t not look.

Like he was fighting something.

Yunho looked away, face burning.

“Almost there,” Mingi said slowly, “You’re doing good.”

When they pulled into the underground parking, Yunho barely registered the code being punched in. Mingi was out of the car in seconds, rounding to open his side.

“You okay to walk?”

Yunho shook his head, eyes glassy.

“Okay.”

Mingi bent down again and lifted him—arms braced carefully, like he knew where not to touch. Yunho’s face pressed into Mingi’s shoulder, but then—

“Oh…”

Mingi’s foot paused mid-step.

His hand had slipped, and landed right beneath Yunho’s thigh, where the wet had seeped fully through.

Mingi froze. Yunho froze.

A beat of stillness.

Then Yunho spoke, voice cracking with shame. “I’m sorry,”

Mingi’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t be. It’s okay.”

He adjusted his grip, tighter for a bit but also more careful.

The elevator ride was wordless. Tense. Yunho could feel Mingi breathing, and his scent was even more explosive now.

Then they got inside.

Mingi’s apartment was small and clean. Yunho barely saw it.

He was lowered gently onto a bed, soft sheets catching under him.

“Just rest for a second,” Mingi said, crouching to take off Yunho’s shoes. “I’m gonna grab some stuff. Water and towels. You’ll be okay.”

Yunho nodded, blinking up at him.

The scent in the room was getting worse. His body wouldn’t stop producing slick. Heat built in waves that rolled over him, each one heavier than the last.

And when Mingi stood again, Yunho’s gaze flickered downward.

There was an obvious tight line in his pants.

He was hard.

Yunho’s body answered with a rush of slick he couldn’t stop. He bit his lip hard, tasting copper.

Mingi paused by the door. He didn’t look back, but his voice came anyway. “I’ll be quick.”

And Yunho was left alone in his room, panting into the sheets, clutching the edge of the bed like it could keep him from falling apart.

His pheromones flooded the room.

There was no more control, just an omega deep in the beginning of a heat spiral, and suddenly, terrifyingly unrestrained.

Yunho’s body moved without thinking. 

He climbed off the bed.

His legs were shaky, but he didn’t care. He needed something.

He stumbled to the closet, slid the door open, and found Mingi’s clothes. Row after row of hoodies and shirts and clean folded stacks of scent-saturated cotton.

Yunho didn’t hesitate.

He dropped to his knees, grabbe the first shirt in reach, then another and another.

Mingi’s scent clung to them, and he smelled safe.

Yunho pressed his nose to the fabric. Breathed deep. Moaned without meaning to.

He dragged the clothes back to the bed in a frantic armful, nest-building instincts kicking in hard. He hadn't done this since college, but now, he was on the bed, clumsily pushing Mingi’s clothes into a loose shape, surrounding himself in the scent, his body curling into it like it was the only thing that made sense.

The nest was half-finished. Ugly. Uneven.

But Yunho didn’t care.

He buried himself in it. Rubbed his cheek into a hoodie sleeve. His own scent layered with Mingi’s, and still, it wasn’t enough.

He tore off the last of his clothes, and his hands moved lower.

He gasped at the first touch. He hadn’t exactly touched himself for months, courtesy of the pills.

“Mingi,” he whispered.

The name tumbled out of him without permission.

“Mingi.”

He didn’t know why. 

His brain was fogged, heat-clogged, and all he wanted was Mingi. The Mingi in the hallway. The Mingi at the gym. The Mingi who looked at him like he saw through everything.

And now, Yunho was panting and trembling and grinding down into his fist like his life demanded it, pleasure building and building and—

“Mingi,” he sobbed, broken and wet and loud.

He didn’t even hear the front door creak open.

“Yunho?” he called out, as if a louder voice might crack the tension strung through the apartment. 

No response. Just a soft rustle from the bedroom.

Mingi moved forward slowly, the bag of supplies forgotten in his hand.

When he saw him, he almost dropped it.

“Yunho,” he said again, voice sharper now.

Yunho’s head snapped toward him.

His eyes were wild, dilated and desperate.

“Mingi.”

It was a plea. A gasp. A sob.

He scrambled forward on all fours, crawling across the bed and dragging Mingi’s shirt with him. 

Mingi backed up a step.

“You need to rest,” he said. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“Please,” Yunho whispered, reaching for him.

“You’re not—” Mingi swallowed hard. “You’re not even close to peaking yet. You need food, water, a cool towel—”

“I need you.”

The words cracked open between them like thunder.

Mingi stood still.

Yunho crawled closer, fingers curling into the hem of Mingi’s shirt. His scent spiked— sweeter and almost unbearable.

“Please,” he whispered again. “Please. I don’t know why it’s you. I just—”

He pressed his face into Mingi’s stomach, sobbing quietly.

Mingi’s entire body trembled. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. 

“Yunho…” he said, softer. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re not thinking clearly. It’s the heat talking.”

“I want it to talk.” Yunho tilted his face up, eyes shining. “I want you.”

Mingi stared down at him.

At his flushed face, trembling hands, his parted thighs, his cock, dripping with precum

He looked ruined. 

He looked perfect.

And Mingi was so fucking close to breaking.

“Please,” Yunho whispered, so quiet it barely counted as sound. “Please, Mingi.”

Mingi’s hands shook where they hovered. Then, he stepped forward.

He bent down slightly and touched Yunho’s cheek with both hands gently.

“You’re gonna tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured. “If I go too far, you’ll tell me, okay?”

Yunho nodded. “I’ll beg you not to.”

That—

That did it.

Mingi kissed him like the dam had burst.

No warning. No hesitation. Just his mouth, pressed against Yunho’s with a hunger that had clearly been buried for far too long.

Yunho gasped into it, immediately parting his lips, whimpering when Mingi’s tongue slid past the seam. His hands scrambled up Mingi’s chest, fisting in his shirt like he might fall without it.

He was shaking. From heat, from want, from need.

Mingi tasted him like he was starved. One hand cradled Yunho’s jaw, the other curling firm around the back of his neck, guiding the angle, the pressure, everything. Yunho melted into him, pliant and soft and so desperate.

Their scents tangled in the air—sharp alpha musk and sweet omega heat mixing in thick waves that would’ve driven anyone else out of the room. But for them, it was electric.

Yunho could feel every inch of his body burning, his chest tightening, and his slick continuing to drip down onto the mattress.

When Mingi pulled back, Yunho almost cried. 

His lips were swollen and wet. “Why’d you stop—?”

“Because if I don’t breathe,” Mingi said, “I’m going to rut you into the mattress right now and no stop.”

Yunho whimpered. “Then do it.”

Mingi let out a cough. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. I need you.”

Yunho leaned in again, brushing their noses together, and whispered, “Mingi, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t—”

Mingi cut him off with a kiss, harder this time, groaning into it as he pushed Yunho down into the mess of the nest—shirts, blankets, everything torn apart under their bodies.

Mingi’s clothes came off in clumsy movements, Yunho grinding up into him with every progress.

When their skin finally touched, everything ignited.

Every inch of Mingi’s muscle pressed tight to Yunho’s trembling frame. Their hips slotted together and Yunho cried out, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure, the friction, and the pleasure of it all.

“S—Shit,” Mingi gritted out, burying his face in Yunho’s neck. “You’re so warm. So wet. I can feel you.”

Yunho’s back arched. “Please, Mingi, please—”

Mingi’s hands gripped his thighs, spreading him open, revealing the slick mess dripping from between his legs. He stared for half a second, breathing hard.

Then he moaned.

“Yunho.”

“Please,” Yunho begged again, “Please, just—inside—please, I need it—”

Instead of giving Yunho what he begged for—Mingi pulled back.

Yunho whimpered in protest, reaching up, but Mingi just gave a soft and low laugh.

“You—you think I’m gonna let you off that easily?”

Yunho blinked, confused. “What—?”

Mingi’s hands slid down his thighs, thumbs brushing skin, until they were hooked under his knees and spreading him open. 

Mingi’s mouth was suddenly everywhere.

He kissed the inside of Yunho’s thigh first, then another, closer to the apex, scenting him like he was memorizing the taste of every gasp.

Yunho arched off the bed. “Mingi—”

“Shh.” Another kiss, firmer this time. “You begged. I heard you. So let me give you exactly what you need.”

Then—Mingi leaned in, and licked.

Yunho screamed.

Heat shot up his spine like lightning. His hands flew to Mingi’s hair, clutching tight, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

Mingi was relentless. His tongue dragged slowly and deliberately through the mess between Yunho’s legs, tasting everything, savoring him like a full-course meal.

He moaned into it— moaned— like Yunho’s slick was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Yunho was falling apart.

Every lick was torture, every pause was a tease, and when Mingi sucked at his entrance, tongue pressing in shallowly, exploring—

“Please,” he cried, “Please, Mingi—alpha, please—”

Mingi hummed against him, tongue flicking deeper. “That’s it. Keep begging. Sound so fucking pretty.”

Yunho’s knees hooked over Mingi’s shoulders, and Mingi pulled back just slightly, breathing hot against Yunho’s wet swollen entrance. “You want me to fuck you, Yunho?”

Yunho nodded frantically, tears in his eyes. “Yes—please, Mingi—”

“Want me to stretch you open first?” His voice was teasing but gentle. “Want to cum on my tongue before I even put it in?”

Yunho’s moan was pitiful. “Yes, yes. Mingi—anything—please.”

And this time, he didn’t hold back. His tongue thrusted and licked deep, while his fingers gripped Yunho’s thighs, anchoring him in place as Yunho screamed his way apart.

It was overwhelming.

Yunho thrashed around in the nest, every nerve screaming, and then he came, body locking up around Mingi’s tongue as slick spilled down.

Mingi didn’t move. Didn’t stop, actually.

He worked Yunho through it like he wanted him wrecked. Wanted him sobbing. Wanted him so ruined that he wouldn’t know anything but his alpha’s name.

When Yunho finally sagged, Mingi kissed the inside of his thigh again. Then again.

“You still want me inside you?” he asked, but he was absolutely sure of the answer.

Yunho looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, nodding frantically. “Yes—please—I need it, need your cock—”

Mingi climbed up the bed, leaned over him, and finally, finally slid inside.

It was one slow, devastating stroke.

Yunho cried out, head tipping back into the nest, tears welling instantly once more from the stretch.

He was still open from Mingi’s tongue, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the fullness.

Mingi cursed under his breath, voice breaking. “Fuck, Yunho.”

He stilled for a second, deep inside, just breathing hard. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Yunho whined, arms winding around Mingi’s shoulders. “Please move, Mingi I’m begging—”

So Mingi did.

He pulled back and snapped his hips forward, right where Yunho needed it.

Yunho gasped, legs spreading wider, hips arching.

Mingi rutted into him with deep, rolling thrusts, groaning every time Yunho clenched down, every time his name left Yunho’s swollen lips.

Yunho was gorgeous underneath him—omegan scent pouring off him, made worse every time he moaned, every time he said please, every time he sobbed out Mingi’s name like it was the only word he knew.

Mingi couldn’t hold back.

He leaned down, voice ragged. “This what you needed, baby?”

Yunho moaned from the nickname. “Yes—yes—alpha—”

Mingi’s hips slammed forward.

“You wanted to act like you weren’t an omega,” he growled into Yunho’s ear. “All that posturing. All those pills.”

Yunho’s nails dragging down his back.

“But look at you now.” Another thrust. Harder. “Dripping slick. Moaning for it. Begging me to fuck you.”

Yunho shook under him, incoherent.

Mingi chuckled, cock swelling more with every word. “This is what a real alpha feels like, Yunho.”

The name was almost a snarl.

He angled his hips—Yunho screamed.

“You feel that?” Mingi growled. “That’s me. Right there.” Another sharp thrust. “Filling you up. Stretching you open.”

Yunho’s head rolled to the side, lips parted in helpless, open-mouthed moans.

“You’re perfect like this,” Mingi whispered, dropping kisses to Yunho’s jaw. “Perfect little omega. You were made for this. You should’ve never hid your omega.”

“Mingi—alpha—”

“Want me to mark you?”

That made Yunho wail. “Y—yes—”

“I’m gonna make sure you smell like me for days.” Mingi nipped at his throat, right over the gland. “Everyone in the office is gonna know who fucked you open like this.”

Yunho was gone.

He couldn’t even speak anymore, only nodding, whimpering, and moaning out tiny gasps.

Mingi’s thrusts grew frantic. Brutal. He reached under Yunho and stroked him, and right as he leaned in—he bit.

Teeth sank into Yunho’s neck, right at the scent gland.

Yunho screamed, his orgasm hitting like lightning, body convulsing under Mingi’s weight as the bite locked in place.

The second he clamped down, Yunho’s body clenched around him, pulsing tight, and Mingi lost it.

He grunted and pushed even deeper, hips rutting with need.

Pressure built around the base of his cock, stretching Yunho even further as his body desperately tried to take it, his hole pulsing around him in frantic, wet spasms.

“Mingi—too much—”

“Do you want me to stop, baby?” Mingi’s movements slowed down a bit.

Yunho cried out, “No! No, just—your knot—” 

“You can take it,” Mingi growled. “You’re mine, remember?”

He bit down again, just enough to make Yunho keen. “You want it. You want my knot baby, don’t lie.”

“I—” Yunho sobbed, “I do—I need it, please.”

“Then take it.”

One brutal snap of his hips, and the knot popped in—forcing Yunho open, stretching him wide, locking them together in a grip that made them both cry out.

Yunho’s body twitched, feeling the stretch, the fill, the claim.

It was too much. It was everything.

Mingi wrapped his arms around him and held on.

“Good fucking omega,” he rasped, knot fully seated and pulsing thick cum inside him. “Took me so well. So fucking perfect like this.”

Yunho’s body milked him.

Tight and hot, pulling more of Mingi’s cum deep inside with every pulse.

They were locked. There was no pulling out.

Yunho blinked up at him, cheeks wet, body trembling from the aftershocks. “I’m so full,” he whispered.

Mingi’s cock throbbed once, then kissed his temple. “You needed it.”

“I feel—so warm.”

“You’re glowing.”

Yunho whimpered, pressing closer. “How long does it—?”

“Until it softens.” Mingi nuzzled against his cheek. “Until your body says it’s okay to let me go.”

“I don’t think I want you to let go.”

Mingi smiled. “Good.”

He kissed his neck, then his shoulder, then over the fresh bite. “Because I’m not planning to.”

The knot took a while to go down.

Long, slow minutes filled with nothing but trembling limbs and ragged breath. Mingi didn’t say much. Just held Yunho. One hand running slowly up and down his back, the other tangled in the omega’s messy hair.

Yunho wasn’t crying anymore. Just blinking up at him, dazed and pink-cheeked and still trying to understand what had just happened.

“I marked you,” Mingi said after a while, voice hushed.

Yunho nodded. “I know.”

“I knotted you.” 

Another nod. “Yeah.” 

“You scent-bombed my entire apartment, possibly the entire floor.”

“…Okay,” Yunho mumbled, curling deeper into his chest. “That one I’ll admit was maybe not planned.”

Mingi chuckled, fingers brushing gently down his spine. “You feeling okay?” 

Yunho hummed. “I’m… floaty.”

“Good floaty or bad floaty?”

“Good,” he said softly. “Just… tired. And sticky.”

Mingi kissed his hair. “Bath?”

“Mmm. Can’t move.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“You just knotted me.”

“And I’ll do it again if you sass me,” Mingi said lightly, already reaching for the towel. “Come on, beautiful. Let me take care of you.”

The bath was warm.

Mingi had drawn it fast but perfect, steam rising off the water, scent-soothing salts sprinkled in, and soft towels stacked nearby.

He carried Yunho in like he was fragile porcelain, set him down in the tub with gentle hands, and then slid in behind him, pulling Yunho carefully against his chest.

Yunho let out a long sigh.

“I haven’t felt this relaxed in years,” he murmured.

“Good.”

“I suck at nesting.”

“It was good. You made it with my shirts,” Mingi said. “You wanted me.”

Yunho made a face. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You were moaning my name again and again like a prayer.”

“I was in heat, asshole.”

“Still. Flattering.”

Yunho groaned and sank deeper into the water.

Mingi just laughed, wrapping his arms around him from behind, fingers ghosting over his bite mark, gentle like an apology.

They stayed quiet for a while. 

Just breathing and listening to the water lap around them, skin brushing skin under the surface.

At least, until Mingi’s hand drifted lower.

Over Yunho’s stomach. His hips. His thighs.

“…What are you doing,” Yunho muttered.

Mingi pressed his nose into Yunho’s neck. “You smell like me now.”

“You bit me.”

“You let me.”

Yunho shivered. “Your knot was huge.”

“You liked it.”

“…Shut up.”

Mingi’s fingers slipped between his legs, just grazing the oversensitive slick still lingering there.

Yunho gasped, twitching. “W—wait—”

“You’re still wet for me.”

“I literally just came. Like, several times.”

Mingi smiled. “And yet…”

He pressed his hand a little firmer.

Yunho whimpered. “I thought you said bath, not round two,” he managed, but it was barely a complaint.

“You said you were tired,” Mingi murmured, lips brushing his ear. “So I’ll do all the work.”

And before Yunho could say anything else, Mingi lifted him slightly—adjusted his position, body sliding back onto Mingi’s lap, and Yunho felt it.

Felt him.

Pressing up against under the water, already starting to line up, Mingi’s cock was hard again.

“You’re insatiable,” Yunho whispered, voice breaking.

Mingi’s teeth grazed his ear. “Only for you.”

Then he sank in again. Yunho cried out again as he was stretched wide for the second time in less than an hour, and fuck, he still wanted it.

The water sloshed around them, and Yunho clutched onto the edge of the tub as his body stretched to take Mingi’s cock. The soreness was there, yes, but it only made everything feel more raw.

More real.

More his.

Mingi groaned behind him, arms wrapped firm around his waist, lips dragging along the nape of his neck.

“Still so tight,” he murmured, rolling his hips forward. “You’re just made for me, aren’t you?”

Yunho shuddered. “Mingi—”

“You take me so well. Every time.”

He pulled almost all the way out, the water instantly flooding the space left behind, and then pushed in again, slow, slower, deeper.

Yunho’s back arched.

“I don’t—” he started, voice laughing just a bit. “I don’t even know if I can… get pregnant.”

Mingi stilled, then he laughed, full of fondness.

“Then we’ll try,” he whispered.

Yunho blinked. “What—”

“We’ll try.” Another roll of his hips. “And try. And try. Until you do.”

Yunho let out a broken moan, water splashing under them as he rocked back into the thrust.

“Mingi—”

“You want that?” Mingi’s mouth was right against his ear. “Want me to fill you up again and again until you’re pregnant?”

Yunho didn’t answer with words.

Just a desperate, needy whimper as his walls gripped Mingi tight again.

Mingi groaned, “God, you’d look so good swollen with my pup.”

Yunho squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop—saying that—”

“You’d be glowing. Nesting every day. I’d keep you stuffed full.”

“Mingi—Mingi—”

“I’d take care of everything.” A kiss to his neck. “You’d just have to lie there and be pretty and pregnant and mine.”

Yunho came on the spot. A full-body twitch, spilling into the water as his body clenched down hard on Mingi’s cock.

Mingi cursed, hips jerking. “Oh fuck—”

His hands gripped Yunho’s hips as he drove in harder, faster, every thrust accompanied by a wet slap and Yunho’s sweet little gasps.

“You want it,” he growled. “You need it. You need me to knot you again and breed you full, huh?’

Yunho couldn’t speak. Just nodded, nodded, nodded—

“Say it,” Mingi demanded.

“I need it,” Yunho cooed, mouth open. “Need your knot, need your pups—alpha, please—”

And that, that did it.

Mingi snapped upward one final time, and Yunho felt the knot swell again, locking them together under the water as heat filled him all over again.

Their bodies trembled, and Yunho collapsed against Mingi’s chest, panting and boneless and ruined.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “You’re mine. And if we keep trying—”

Yunho weakly opened one eye. “You’re seriously still going?”

Mingi smirked, proud and smug. “—then you’re gonna be glowing with our pup by the end of the season.”

He groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Yunho didn’t answer. But he didn’t pull away either.

And the way he leaned back into Mingi’s arms? Yeah. He was already halfway to yes.

Yunho woke up sore in places he didn’t even had.

For a moment, he just stared at the ceiling.

Then it hit him. All of it.

The knotting.

The second knotting.

The third knotting.

The fourth knotting.

The last one.

Yunho let out a long, tortured groan and immediately pulled the blanket over his face. He was naked and sticky and claimed.

And worse, he was in Mingi’s bed. Wrecked.

He could still feel Mingi’s knot if he focused hard enough. (He would not focus too hard.)

And if that weren’t enough, he slowly turned his head, and there it was. The mark. Red and raw on the side of his neck, right over his gland.

“Oh my fucking god,” Yunho whispered into the pillow. “Oh my god I actually really did let him bite me.”

Then, faintly, from the other side of the apartment. 

“Morning! I’m making eggs!”

Eggs. He was making eggs.

Yunho wanted to disappear into the mattress. Instead, he groaned his way upright, limping toward the bathroom like a man who had fought in a war and lost.

(Multiple wars, if you counted how many times Mingi had flipped him over last night.)

The floor of the hallway still smelled like slick and regret. The living room blanket pile? Worse. The bathroom mirror? A horror movie.

He tried washing his face, fixing his hair, doing something to make himself look less like an omega who had been thoroughly ruined by his coworker twelve different ways over the course of one night.

And he still wanted to get ruined, in even more ways.

When he finally shuffled into the kitchen, shirtless and wrapped in one of Mingi’s sweatpants that was definitely too big, Mingi looked up from the stove, bright-eyed and sunny.

Gone was the dim and serious Mingi. Before him was now an all-smiling, radiant, bright Mingi.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he grinned. “I let you rest. You were kind of—what’s the word—screaming my name until three in the morning?”

This was also now the smug and jackass Mingi.

Yunho grabbed a banana off the counter and threw it at him.

Mingi dodged it with a laugh.

“Don’t be mad,” he said, setting two plates down. “You were the one that said again after the bath. And then after the couch. Then after the—”

Yunho dropped into the chair with a loud sigh, head in hands. “I’m not mad. I’m just…”

“Emotionally destroyed from the best sex of your life?”

“Late for work.”

Mingi blinked. Then laughed. “Baby, I made sure to let them know that you’ve caught a mysterious illness and would have to come back next week. I also told them that I needed to take care of you the whole time.” He wriggled his brows. “So we can… you know…”

Yunho shriveled like a salted slug. “I’m going to be so fucked. My family’s gonna hate me.”

“You are going to be fucked later! And—” Mingi grabbed Yunho’s hands with his own. “—We’ll explain what happened to your family. Together.”

“Are you sure?” Yunho’s brow raised.

“Of course I am.”

“Why?”

“Cause you’re mine, and I’m yours, and blah blah blah.” Mingi smiled. “We’re mates now, remember?”

Yunho looked at him in the eyes, retracted his hands, and threw a fork at him. Then he laughed, rolling his eyes. 

“I guess we are.”