Chapter Text
His skin feels...wrong. Chan is drenched in sweat, and he's itchy all over. He kicks the blankets off, then pulls them back up, rinse and repeat. He's still uncomfortable. He flips over to the other side, rinse and repeat. He flips his pillow, he takes his shirt off, but nothing helps the hot, burning splotches of skin. Chan gives up on sleep, lying flat on his back, he blinked up at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the plaster with his eyes.
He knows exactly what this feeling is, he's felt it many times, but he's having trouble putting a name to it. No. He can name it. He just doesn't want to.
His rut is coming.
The realisation hits him like cold water, and he sits up too fast, heart already racing. He presses his palms against his face, rubbing at his cheeks, then slapping himself into concentration. But his hands are trembling. He can feel it now—the way his senses are sharpening, the way every scent in the house is suddenly louder, more insistent. Jeonghan's gentle herbs. Mingyu's warm dark cocoa. Seungcheol's cherry-wood smoke.
And underneath it all, his own scent is changing. Thickening. Turning into something heavier, more demanding.
No. Not yet. Not now. I'm not ready
He forces himself to breathe slowly, counting the inhales, but it does little to help. He has to remind himself that he has time, not much, but time, at least three days before it actually hits, he'll figure something out.
His mother's voice echoes in his head, sharp and cutting: You're too aggressive. Too possessive. No one will want an alpha like that. Learn to control yourself, Chan.
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push the memories down, but they cling to him like smoke. His rut has always been like this—intense, overwhelming, impossible to suppress. And every time, his family made him feel like a monster for it. Like something was fundamentally wrong with him, wrong with his own instincts.
He can't let the pack see that side of him. He can't.
So he gets up and showers until his skin is pink and raw, trying to pretend like everything is fine; it works for the morning at least.
The kitchen is filled with the aromatic ginger and garlic scent of pork broth bubbling on the stove
Chan is doing his best to help Minghao make dinner. Although he's more like a little assistant than a proper chef, just helping him get things and cleaning up behind him, chopping herbs and vegetables, as long as it’s helping.
Minghao is hovering over the stove, stirring the oversized pot with ease. Chan feels like his shadow, hovering behind him, waiting for the next instructions to move. Mostly, he just wants to stay next to the omega, wanting every part of him to touch Chan, his hands, his chest, his teeth. Chan wants all of it, right now.
"Chan," Minghao calls, breaking him out of his trance, "Can you get more salt for me?" and Chan does, grateful for the distraction.
Minghao tries the broth again, humming with satisfaction, dipping the spoon back in and holding it out for Chan to taste as well.
He's never been allowed to help like this before. In his family's house, he wasn't trusted with anything—not cooking, not cleaning, not even the yard work that other alphas were expected to do. But here it's different. Minghaos has been teaching him how to cook, mostly how to make lots of Chinese dishes; he's completely unbothered by Chan's inexperience. Vernon tried to learn, too, once, but it didn't work out; he got bored too quickly. It seems he enjoys the final product rather than the process. Chan, though—Chan likes this. Likes the rhythm of it, the way it makes him feel useful.
"That's it," Minghao says, waving him off, "It just needs to boil now, go sit."
Chan nods and retreats to the other side of the island, leaning against the counter. He watches Minghao finish the cleaning, trying to focus solely on him, but his skin still feels too hot, too itchy. His senses are too sharp. He can smell everything—the sweetness of Minghao's green tea scent like it was right under his nose, the lingering traces of Seungcheol's cologne from earlier, the way the air itself seems to smell like something intense.
And then Wonwoo walks in.
Chan didn't notice right away—not until the older alpha was standing beside Minghao, peering into the pot with quiet curiosity. Minghao shoos him away with a flick of his wrist, and Wonwoo drifts over to Chan instead, settling beside him at the island.
It's fine at first. Wonwoo is always a little clingy, a little tactile, and Chan has gotten used to it. But then Wonwoo leans closer, his shoulder brushing Chan's, and then closer still, until his arm is draped around Chan's waist. His head falls to Chan's shoulder, and they stay like that, wrapped up together, watching the omega move gradually around the kitchen.
Wonwoo's nose presses against his scent gland, and Chan feels the exact moment the older alpha inhales deeply, scenting him. His body goes rigid, panic flaring hot and sharp in his chest, because he knows what Wonwoo is smelling. He knows his scent is different now—thicker, richer, laced with the unmistakable edge of pre-rut.
Wonwoo's arms tighten around him, pulling him closer, and Chan tries to squirm away, but Wonwoo only holds him tighter. His nose burrows deeper into Chan's neck, and Chan can feel the way his own instincts are starting to rise in response—possessive, territorial, wrong.
No. Stop.
"Careful, Wonwoo," Seungcheol's voice cuts through the haze, teasing and light. "You're going to suffocate him."
But Wonwoo doesn't move. Doesn't even acknowledge that Seungcheol has entered the room.
"Wonwoo?" Chan tries, patting his side weakly, but the older alpha is lost in Chans scent, his grip unyielding.
"Seriously, Won," Seungcheol says again, closer now. "Let the guy breathe."
And then Wonwoo growls.
It's low and warning, directed at Seungcheol, and Chan's stomach drops. He knows this behaviour—Wonwoo is overly zealous about his packmates, quick to bristle when he feels like someone is threatening his bond with them. It's not rational, but it's Wonwoo.
Seungcheol just rolls his eyes, unbothered.
Wonwoo seems to realise his mistake, because he loosens his grip slightly and mumbles, "He smells good."
Oh no.
Chan's heart sinks. He can't hide his scent anymore. Soon his behaviour will change too, and they'll see what he's really like—the possessiveness, the aggression, all the parts of himself he's been forced to bury. The parts his family told him were wrong. The parts that make him dangerous.
He could lock himself in the basement. Maybe he should have never ended his lease. But the thought of spending his rut alone, isolated and ashamed, makes something in his chest ache. He wants to spend it with the pack. He wants to be able to share this part of himself with them, the way they share their heats and ruts with each other.
But what if they see what he's really like? What if they realise he's too much?
Wonwoo finally lets go, and Seungcheol steps closer, his expression shifting from amused to concerned. He leans in, scenting Chan's gland, and Chan watches as his face twists—not with disgust, but with realisation.
Before Seungcheol can say anything, Chan blurts it out. "My rut is coming up."
The kitchen goes silent.
Both alphas stare at him, and even Minghao has turned around, his eyes wide.
"Your rut?" Seungcheol asks, his voice careful. "Why didn't you tell us? This is important. It's your first cycle with us."
"I was going to," Chan says quickly, his face burning. "I just—I got too nervous. But I'm telling you now."
Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair. "We have to prepare."
"Prepare what?" Chan asks, confused. "It's just a rut."
"Just a rut?" Minghao echoes, looking genuinely baffled. "Your first rut with us? We have to redo the den, get you gifts, and make you food. We should have started preparing weeks ago." He looks stressed, his hands fluttering as he speaks.
"I'm sorry," Chan says, guilt twisting in his stomach. "But you don't have to do any of that."
"No, we do," Wonwoo insists.
"It's tradition," Seungcheol explains, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The first cycle needs to be special." He pauses, studying Chan's face. "Just come sit in the nest for now. Rearrange it however you like. What do you need? Who do you need?"
Chan follows and sits in the nest, and immediately the scent of all of them crashes over him—sugary sweetness, and herbal tea, then the warm spice and smoke underneath it, all woven together into something that makes his chest tight. It nearly drives him half insane. He wants to shove his nose into it and completely cover himself in the pack's scent, wants to claim it, mark it, make it his. The possessive surge is so intense it terrifies him, and he forces himself to sit still, to breathe, to not let it show.
That would probably be too much, wouldn't it? An alpha who can't control his own instincts. An alpha who wants to possess.
“I don’t need anything,” Chan automates. Not anything they would be willing to give him. If he were to tell the truth, he would tell Seungcheol to round up the whole pack, so he bites them one by one, renewing their mating bites, making sure that they know he is theirs and they are his.
“Are you sure?" the alpha presses, "Are you hungry? thirsty? horny?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Seungcheol hesitates, clearly expecting Chan to ask for something, but when he doesn't, the pack alpha just nods and leaves, heading upstairs to prepare the den. Chan watches him go, his chest tight with confusion. Seungcheol wasn't even this intense with Minghao's heat- an omega and one of their younger omegas at that.
A few minutes later, he hears footsteps thundering down the stairs—multiple pairs, one much slower than the others. Seokmin appears first, then Soonyoung, and a few seconds later, Jihoon.
“You're in rut?” the two alphas scream. Chan winces; he's sure the whole house knows now if they don’t already.
“Well, not yet. I still have a few more days before it hits," he admits, his face burning red.
“You should have told us sooner,” Jihoon complained.
“I know.” The fussing is already getting old.
More footsteps tumble down the stairs, and suddenly it’s basically the whole pack. They crowd into the kitchen and nest room, their eyes on Chan. They're all itching to fuss over him, trying to get his attention, asking what he needs.
It's too much. Too much attention, too much care, all for his rut.
Jihoon stands up authoritatively, clapping his hands once to get everyone's attention.
"Me, Joshua, and Seungkwan are in charge of the gift from the omegas," he announces. "Soonyoung and Seokmin, you're doing the gift from the alphas. Vernon, you're in charge of new den materials. Jun, you're finishing dinner for us. Mingyu, you're helping Cheol with the den." He turns to the other half of the room. "Minghao, you're picking up ingredients?" Minghao nods, already moving to put his shoes on. "And Jeonghan and Wonwoo, you're in charge of keeping the alpha pup company."
Seokmin chuckled, “I already know what he alphas are getting him.” It seemed directed towards Seungkwan.
“The omegas always give good gifts," Seungkwan shoots back, "I don’t think it’ll be any different.”
“Yeah, but only when it’s another omega. We gave Wonwoo the best gift when he had his first rut.”
“Blah, we'll prove you wrong.”
“Oh, it’s so on, boo.”
And then everyone scatters like mice. Wonwoo helps Jeonghan—who's started having trouble getting in and out of the nest because of the pup bump—before attaching himself to Chan's side.
Chan watches Jeonghan settle into the nest, one hand resting on his rounded belly, and something hot and uncomfortable twists in his chest. He doesn't know what it is—doesn't want to examine it too closely—but there's something about the way Jeonghan looks right now, soft and full and safe, that makes Chan's instincts flare in a way that feels too intense, too revealing.
He shoves the feeling down, deep, where no one can see it.
Half of the pack is gone for another few hours. By the time they return, dinner has long since been finished, and those who stayed home have already eaten. The leftovers are heated up for everyone who went out.
Chan sits in the nest with Wonwoo and Jeonghan, trying to ignore the way his instincts are still clawing at the edges of his control.
He's terrified of what's coming. Terrified of what they'll see when his rut finally hits.
But for now, he just holds on.
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Two days later, Chan wakes up in a haze.
Everything feels wrong—his skin is too hot, too tight, like it's stretched over something that doesn't fit anymore. His body aches with a deep, pulsing need that radiates from his core outward, making his muscles twitch, and his breath come shallow and fast. He's hard, painfully so, his cock swollen and throbbing against his thigh. Sweat clings to his skin, sticky and uncomfortable.
He's alone.
The realisation cuts through the fog for just a moment—he was with Jeonghan, wasn't he? The pack omega was right here, warm and soft and safe—but now the space beside him is empty and cold.
Then the scent hits him.
It's sweet. Impossibly sweet. Like tangerines and orange blossoms, bright, citrusy, and perfect. It curls through the air like a living thing, wrapping around his senses and pulling him forward. He doesn't think—can't think. His body moves on instinct, stumbling out of bed and down the hall, following the scent like a siren's song.
He finds the last room on the left. The door is cracked open. The scent is stronger here, so thick he can taste it on his tongue.
Chan pushes inside and crawls into the bed, curling his body around the warm, sleeping form of Seungkwan. The omega is soft and pliant in sleep, his skin warm beneath Chan's touch. Chan buries his nose against the curve of Seungkwan's neck, right where his scent gland pulses beneath the skin, and breathes.
Tangerine. Orange blossom. Sweet and bright and his.
Chan's arms tighten around him, pulling him closer. His hips press forward instinctively, seeking friction, seeking more. The ache in his body is unbearable, but this—this—helps. The scent, the warmth, the solid weight of the omega in his arms.
He drifts.
It's about 6 AM when he wakes again, and this time, he knows.
His rut has officially hit.
The realisation crashes over him like a wave. His body is on fire, every nerve ending lit up and screaming for touch, for release, for claiming. His cock is swollen even more now, thick and heavy and leaking against Seungkwan's rear. He can feel the way his body has changed—the way his dick has swelled in preparation for knotting, the way his instincts are roaring at him to take, claim, breed.
His body is curled completely around Seungkwan's sleeping form, his nose shoved against the omega's scent gland, his arms locked tight around his waist. He can't let go. Doesn't want to let go.
"Channie?" Seungkwan grumbles, stirring awake. He tries to nudge Chan off him, shifting in his grip.
The movement feels like betrayal.
No. No, no, no—
The idea of his omega not wanting him, of pulling away, of leaving—it's unbearable. Chan's arms constrict tighter, holding Seungkwan captive, his face pressing harder against his neck. He needs more of that tangy fruit scent. Needs to drown in it. Needs to prove that Seungkwan is his.
Seungkwan is fully awake now, his body going tense as he registers Chan's rut scent—thick and overwhelming, flooding the room.
"Chan, get off me for a second, and we'll move to the den," Seungkwan says, his voice rushed and careful.
"No," Chan whines, his voice breaking. "I don't wanna move."
His arms constrict tighter. He can't let go. If he lets go, Seungkwan will leave. If he lets go, he'll be alone again.
"Jihoon!" Seungkwan calls, louder now.
Chan's foggy brain registers the name but doesn't understand why Seungkwan is calling for him—Jihoon's room is a floor down. But despite that, the door opens almost immediately, and Jihoon is there, his expression sharp and alert.
"Why are you yelling at 6 in the morning?" Jihoon grumbles.
"Help me."
Jihoon understands immediately.
It takes all his strength to pry Chan off the omega. Chan growls—low and desperate—his fingers clawing at Seungkwan's shirt, his body fighting to hold on. He whines, high and broken, as Jihoon finally pulls him free and drags him down the hall.
Chan hangs off Jihoon's arms, his legs barely supporting his weight, his body trembling with the effort of not collapsing entirely. He's whining—he knows he's whining, knows it's embarrassing, knows it's too much—but he can't stop. His instincts are screaming at him to go back, to hold on, to claim.
There's a small part of his mind—barely coherent—that realizes how pathetic he must look. How burdensome. How wrong.
But the rest of his mind doesn't have the will to make him behave.
Jihoon drags him into the den across from Chan's room, and Chan barely registers the change in surroundings.
The mattresses that were once stacked on top of each other now lay spread out across nearly the entire floor, creating a massive, cushioned expanse. Blankets and pillows are scattered everywhere—soft blues and deep greens, colours Chan has never seen in the pack nest before. They're clearly new, bought just for him, for this moment. The pack has scented them as best it could, but the faint smell of new fabric still clings to the edges, mixing with the familiar warmth of coffee, chamomile, and cherry wood. It's all for him. It's his.
Jihoon tries to lay him down gently, but Chan doesn't let go. His arms lock around the omega's smaller frame, dragging him down with him, pinning him beneath his full weight the same way he'd held Seungkwan. He needs the contact. Needs the warmth. Needs to hold.
Jihoon grunts beneath him, but he doesn't push Chan off.
Then Chan hears it: Seungkwan's footsteps retreating down the stairs.
His rut-addled brain clocks it instantly. Leaving. He's leaving me. Leaving me den.
Chan tries to get up and chase after him, but Jihoon is faster. Despite his small stature, the omega is strong—stronger than Chan expected. Jihoon flips them over in one smooth motion, pinning Chan down with his body weight, his thighs bracketing Chan's hips.
"You have to stay in the den," Jihoon says firmly. "Your alpha will be expecting you here. You want to see your pack alpha, right?"
"I do," Chan struggles, his voice breaking.
Chan is desperate, pushing hard against Jihoon, kissing him messily, all teeth and need. He bites down on Jihoon's lip—too rough, too aggressive—and immediately, Jihoon's hand tangles in his wavy brown hair and pulls.
"Only good alphas get kisses, right?" Jihoon's voice is low, dangerous.
Chan nods pathetically, feeling himself twitch hard in his pants, his swollen cock pressing against Jihoon's ass. When Jihoon kisses him again, Chan is much more withdrawn, letting the older omega take the lead, letting him abuse his mouth with his tongue.
He knew Jihoon was more dominant, but this—this—is far more than he ever expected. And it's hot. After years of being looked down on, of hating the idea of submission, why is it fine when Jihoon does it? Jun had mentioned something like this to him once. The things you like in bed usually subvert your expectations.
They make out long enough for the door to open again.
The pack alpha's scent wafts in—smoked cherry wood, thick and commanding.
It's like a trigger. Chan squirms and whines beneath Jihoon, his body arching toward the door. "Alpha," he reaches for Seungcheol subconsciously, his voice cracking with need.
The older alpha doesn't hesitate. He closes the door behind him—keeping the overwhelming rut scent and any noise they might make from bothering the rest of the sleeping pack—and crosses the den in three long strides.
Seungcheol drops to his knees beside them, his hand immediately cupping Chan's jaw, tilting his face up. Their lips meet—quick and messy and hungry.
Chan whines into the kiss, his hands scrabbling at Seungcheol's shirt, trying to pull him closer. The pack alpha's scent is everywhere now, mixing with Jihoon's coffee-sweet smell, and it's making Chan's head spin.
"Easy, puppy," Seungcheol murmurs against his mouth, but his hands are already moving—sliding under Chan's shirt, pushing it up and over his head. Chan lifts his arms obediently, letting the fabric be pulled away.
Jihoon shifts off him just long enough to tug at Chan's sweatpants, dragging them down his hips. Chan's cock springs free, swollen and leaking, and he hisses at the sudden exposure.
Seungcheol's eyes darken. "Look at you," he breathes, his hand wrapping around Chan's length, giving it one slow, torturous stroke. Chan's hips buck up into the touch, a broken moan spilling from his lips.
Jihoon is stripping now, too, pulling his shirt over his head, shoving his pants down. Chan's eyes track the movement, drinking in the sight of the omega's body—small and compact and perfect. His pussy is already glistening, slick, dripping down his thighs, and his dick is hard, flushed and prominent. He can't help but stare. It was tantalising; he'd never actually seen an omega in this context before, he’s starting to understand why alphas start fights over it, over people as gorgeous as Jihoon.
Seungcheol leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Chan's neck, his teeth grazing over his scent gland. Chan shudders, his hands fisting in the blankets beneath him. The pack alpha's hands are everywhere—stroking his sides, his chest, his thighs—scenting him, claiming him.
"I want you to take me, Channie," Seungcheol murmurs against his throat, his voice low and thick with command, yet entirely soft. "I want to be the first to have my alpha puppy's knot."
Chan's brain completely short-circuits. Topping the pack alpha? The sheer concept goes against every single terrifying rule he'd been raised with. Alphas like Seungcheol were supposed to dominate, to punish, to take. Fear flares hot in his chest, his breath turning shallow as he panics, looking back and forth between the two of them. He knows Seungcheol isn't like that, but still—how could he do something like that to the pack alpha?
“I—I can’t, Cheol-hyung, I shouldn’t—”
“You can,” Jihoon cut in. He leaned forward, pressing a heavy, deep kiss to Chan's jaw, his hands roaming up to his chest. “Alpha wants you to do it, Chan.”
Seungcheol is already moving, stripping off his own clothes with practised ease. His shirt comes off first, then his pants, and Chan's eyes go wide at the sight of him—broad shoulders, thick thighs, his cock half-hard and his hole already glistening with slick (or lube, he guessed. He or someone else must have done that beforehand.)
Chan's swollen cock throbs painfully, the pressure almost unbearable. He's so hard it hurts, and the sight of Seungcheol leaning back, displaying his slick hole, makes something primal roar inside him.
Chan is panicking—his mind racing with fear and shame—but his hormones want Seungcheol so badly that they completely override everything else, freezing him in place.
"I'm sorry, alpha," Chan gasps, his voice breaking. "I want it. I want you."
"Why are you apologising?" Seungcheol's voice is soft, almost amused. "I'm letting you have me, aren't I? I want you too."
Jihoon urges Chan forward, his hands on Chan's hips, guiding him. Chan's aching cock slips into Seungcheol's already slicked-up and stretched hole, and the sensation is overwhelming. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before, it’s unlike his own hand or other type of rut toy he tired. How is he ever supposed to want anything else when this, when Seungcheol, when the pack, is the alternative.
It's clumsy at first, his mind racing, but as he sinks into Seungcheol's heat, it feels incredible. Jihoon is taking control using his hands on Chans hips to trust him forward, slowing gliding in an out. The sheer tightness of the pack alpha beneath him is too much for Chan's fragile system to take. He's so overwhelmed, so completely overstimulated by the dual scents of alpha and omega clogging his lungs, that he doesn't even last for more than a minute.
With a loud, broken gasp, Chan came hard, spilling completely before his knot could even begin to form.
He slumped forward, trembling and panting against Seungcheol’s chest, his hands resting on the older man’s soft stomach, instantly feeling a wave of familiar, pathetic shame. He had ruined it. He was useless. He couldn’t even do this right. My alpha gave himself to me, and I can't even make it good for him. Chan, you useless, useless runt.
But Seungcheol wasn't done with him it seems.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Seungcheol grunted. Flipping their positions in a sudden, powerful blur of motion, the pack alpha pinned Chan flat against the den cushions. Seungcheol's heavy thighs locked Chan’s hips in place, and without giving the younger boy a second to overthink, he settled down over Chan’s twitching length. “You're going to knot me, ok. I’m not stopping until that knot pops into me.”
He starts to rock his hips at a steady rate The friction is—fuck—it's— he can’t do anything about it his lower half is completely held down by all of the pack alphas weight.
Chan can't. He can't think. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but feel.
Seungcheol is riding him hard, the older alphas hard cock bouncing along with his body, his hips rolling up in a brutal, perfect rhythm, and Chan's cock is still so sensitive from cuming that every drag of the alpha's hole feels like it's peeling his skin off. His hands claw helplessly at the cushions, at the blankets, at anything, trying to stabilise himself, but there's nothing—just heat and pressure and the overwhelming scent of smoked cherry wood drowning him.
His knot is starting to swell.
“Oh god. Oh god, it's— alpha,” Chan tries to form a coherent sentence, but all he’s met with it the melodic chuckle of Jihoon by his head.
The base of his cock stretches, thickens, and the sensation is so intense it borders on pain. It's like his body is tearing itself apart from the inside out, every nerve ending screaming as the knot forces its way out, swelling bigger and bigger with every thrust. He can feel it catching on Seungcheol's puffy rim, the pack alpha's hole clenching around it, and it's too much—
He opens his mouth to scream, to beg, to say something—
Jihoons hand finds his face tilting it to the side Jihoon loomed over him. his pussy was soaking -did seeing two alphas fuck really get him off- and his dick was hard, much larger then he's seen from any omega, honestly it might be the same size as Chan. He brought his hard length right to Chan's trembling lips, forcing him open and sliding in.
Chan's eyes blow wide, tears spilling down his cheeks as the omega's cock slides past his lips, thick and hard and tasting like salt and slick. His brain short-circuits. He's being fucked from both ends—Seungcheol riding his cock his fat ass bouncing with each pump, Jihoon fucking his mouth, the mixture of precum and slick making a mess of his face—and he can't process it. Can't hold onto a single coherent thought.
Too much. Too much. Can't—I can't— . He tries to speak but it just causes him to gag around Jihoons cock.
"You're too loud, puppy," Jihoon purrs above him, his voice dark and amused, and Chan realises he's been screaming around the omega's cock, muffled and pathetic and completely out of control.
Seungcheol laughs—laughs—breathless and wrecked. "Yeah. Choke on that omega dick."
Chan's whines are broken, desperate. His lower half is pinned, completely at Seungcheol's mercy as the alpha rides him harder, faster, his body slamming down and catching on the swollen knot with every thrust. It's torture. It's heaven. Chan doesn't know anymore.
His knot is huge now, stretched so tight he thinks it might split him open, he has half a mind to worry about how its going to fit inside of Seungcheol, but he can’t push him off or even tell him that he really shouldn’t be taking it. Every time Seungcheol's rim drags over it, Chan's vision whites out. He can't see. Can't hear. Just sensation—heat and pressure and the wet slide of Jihoon's cock in his mouth and the unbearable tightness of Seungcheol's body trying to take his knot.
He didn’t realise he had closed his eyes till the soft grunting from Seungcheol mouth pulls his out. Jihoons hands are on the pack alpha, squeezing his broad chest and playing with his pebbles nipples, pinching it, then switching to the other one rolling it around like a toy.
”Go ahead alpha,” Jihoon smirks, “he’s ready for you.”
"Puppy, I'm going to take your knot," Seungcheol pants, and his voice sounds far away, like Chan is underwater.
Chan tries to respond—tries to say yes or please or I can't take it—but all that comes out is a muffled moan around Jihoon's cock. The omega's thrusts are shallow now, slow and deliberate, keeping Chan's mouth full, keeping him pinned and helpless.
Seungcheol pushes down. The knot pops in easily. He can here Jihoon say something, it sounded like praise, light and airy but still deeply shrouded in lust.
The sensation is cataclysmic. His knot locks inside Seungcheol's body, stretching him impossibly wide, and the tightness is so overwhelming that Chan's brain just—stops. There's no thought. No shame. No fear. Just white-hot pleasure tearing through him like lightning obliterating the only tree standing in a an open field.
He's cuming. He's cuming so hard he thinks he might die, like it might explode his knot from the inside. And the only think he can think is ‘What a way to go.’
His scream is muffled by Jihoon's cock, his body convulsing as the orgasm rips through him. It's not like the first time—this is very different. This is his knot fully seated, locked inside his alpha, and the sensation is so intense it feels like his soul is being ripped out of his body threw his dick and being offered to the succubus that is Choi Seungcheol. He can feel Seungcheol clenching around him, milking his knot, and it's too much, too much, too much—
His vision goes black.
He's still coming. Still locked inside Seungcheol. Still choking on Jihoon's cock.
And then—
Nothing.
His body gives up. Shuts down. Lets his alpha brain fully take over. Consciousness fragments into a thousand pieces and scatters.
He's dimly aware of Jihoon pulling out of his mouth, of Seungcheol's weight still pinned on top of him, of the knot still pulsing inside the alpha's body. But it's distant. Hazy. Like he's watching it happen to someone else.
His last thought, before sleep drags him under, is a faint flicker of something—relief? Gratitude? He doesn't know.
He just knows it felt good.
And for once, the shame doesn't follow. He just lets himself sleep.
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