Archive of Our Own

𝝮

Jeong Yunho is twenty-three years old. He’s a beta. He is six feet two inches tall.

One of these facts is a lie.

Mingi, the last unpresented member of the group, clings to his arm as he chatters aimlessly, and Yunho pretends to listen, staring resolutely at the cracks in the concrete as they walk. Every single member of the group so far has presented as a beta, and there’s a part of him that wishes the same for Mingi. 

Approximately ninety nine percent of the population are betas, or so has been reported, with omegas and alphas being rarities that are treated with varying levels of respect. Betas have average senses of smell, have mild hormonal cycles that don’t peak in heat or rut, and, bitterly, Yunho thinks, often don’t know how lucky they are. 

Omegas are treated in a way that feels akin to punishment. Alphas and betas are not.  

Yunho tries his best not to think about it too deeply, considering he’s a beta - or at least passing as one - and tries not to consider anything outside of Mingi presenting as a beta, like the majority of the population, consider anything outside of everything staying the same. 

Because there's always been something heavier between the pair of them than he's ever dared to put into words. He'd never acted on it, for reasons that make his stomach churn. He’s lied for years about his sub-gender, hidden behind the flimsy excuse of protecting himself, of never being found out in a world where betas are the norm. 

But he’s always struggled to pretend in quite the same way around Mingi, something in their friendship that makes him vulnerable, an open cut that grows and spreads. He wonders absently when he’ll become the wound itself, rather than simply its bearer. 

He’ll instinctively lean closer, seek the affection he doesn’t allow himself to have, and preen under Mingi’s gentle hands. His wolf, suppressed and suppressed until it’s a pitiful little thing - skinny and anguished - yowls pathetically at the contact he lets himself have, claws to get closer, to crawl into the younger man’s skin and stay there. 

Every day that passes with Mingi staying the same feels sharply bittersweet, the understanding that if Mingi presents as anything but a beta, he’ll probably be able to figure out that Yunho has been lying. The knowledge that every day he stays unpresented keeps Yunho safe from being discovered for what he is , but that it can’t possibly last forever, that they’re heading towards the end. 

So, Yunho grapples with it the best he can, takes his suppressants - the kind they ship in from overseas, the strong stuff that may or may not be truly legal - and keeps playing his role. He plays the tall, soft beta, the caring older brother, the neutral, approachable, friendly idol. 

He doesn’t let that mask slip around anyone, despite how desperately he wants to when Mingi’s hanging off his arm like this, so close and so real. He restrains himself, or at least tries to, hangs onto the last threads of self-preservation he has left. 

A droplet of rain lands on his shoulder, shocks him out of his spiral of thoughts, and makes him glance over to where Mingi is still explaining the plot line of a show in detail, hands gesturing wildly. He feels the little smile that pulls at his lips as his best friend catches his eye and grins at him.  

“Yunho,” Mingi interrupts himself, steps faltering suddenly, expression shifting to something akin to discomfort. Yunho’s lungs feel a little airless. “I don't feel so good.” 

𝝰

Song Mingi is twenty-three years old. He’s unpresented. He’s sort of, maybe, in love with his best friend. 

None of these statements are a lie. 

Maybe it’s the stress, the horrible tangle of feeling in the pit of his stomach that makes him not present, edging closer and closer to being twenty-four and still being nothing. He pretends that it doesn’t bother him, the long, aching years of being left behind, of being left out. 

He’s comforted by the fact that Yunho doesn’t quite fit in with them either, even though it’s maybe selfish to think it. It’s subtle, in the way the older man seems to falter at the typical beta antics, a little too soft around the edges, a little too gentle. 

Not that the other members are harsh or even mean to leave them out in the first place, but Mingi gets the feeling that sometimes it’s him and Yunho against the world. His other half. 

He’s probably delusional. 

But there’s something. It shows in the dart of his eyes when anyone brings up sub-gender, in the flex of his grip when Mingi had asked him when he’d presented, meeting him at sixteen already a beta, seemingly so much more grown up. 

It’s in the way he edges slightly closer to Mingi when they’re all crowded together in the living room, seeking something . Mingi sees all the little things, the strange reactions, and observes them silently.

It’s intertwined with his own nagging feelings, distorting to grief when he thinks about finally presenting, a horrible, bittersweet pang when he thinks about leaving Yunho behind, even though his sub-gender is still undecided. Even if it’s only in his mind, even if he can’t quite figure out what it all means. 

The man in question squeezes his arm gently as they walk, guides him gently around a puddle, nods along as he rambles thoughtlessly to fill the air. Yunho seems unaware of the nervousness that he carries, the subtle way he’s been on edge for the whole day, something off. It only affirms his belief in the unrequitedness of the situation, already resigned to the reality of it all. It doesn’t make it easier to grapple with. 

Yunho catches his eye, smiles softly. Something loud and visceral yowls in his chest, and a horrible wave of dizziness falls through him. He stumbles a little over his own feet, caught off guard. 

“Yunho,” he chokes out, confused and a little scared. “I don’t feel so good.”

𝝮

Yunho presents at fifteen. 

He's in the shady backyard, for reasons he's long since forgotten. He feels weird, briefly, but nothing that he can't ignore. Then, he wakes up, unaware he’d even passed out, curled up in the grass, shivering.  

It's all very abrupt, or at least, that's the main part of it that Yunho remembers. One minute he's standing, and the next he's incapacitated. By the time someone finds him, he's bordering on feral, scratching at his own skin, unable to get to the itch that plagues him. His trousers are soaked with slick, and he can feel the nasty sensation of the material, sodden, cold and clinging to his overheated skin. He’s sweaty and scared, lashes out at the hands that try to guide him into the house. 

He doesn't remember much else, only the sterile bleach scent that clung to the room they put him in, the bite of the restraints on his wrists, the horrible heat that he could feel down to the marrow of his bones. He comes out of it embarrassed, confused, and the only sympathy he gets is a pat on the head from his mother in passing. 

But maybe that’s for the best, not remembering, because the foggy mist of it doesn’t fully disguise the way it hurt , the excruciating need. It’s vague and distant, but strong enough that when an innocuous pack of suppressants are slid across the table, it doesn’t take much convincing to accept them. 

He gets told of the hate crimes, of the job opportunities removed from him, the way the anatomy of his body will be controlled and changed without his consent. It scares him enough to let it happen, which, later, he’ll realise is exactly what his parents were trying to do. 

His father does a great job of tying up loose ends. It all gets swept under the rug, not acknowledged, and his mother sits him down to explain how to take his new suppressants.

He’ll think back to this day, when he put the first white pill on his tongue, and wonder why it didn’t ring alarm bells. The promise of an easier life, of more chances, of stages and idol-hood all complied until, when Yunho swallows the tablet, it almost feels like his own choice. 

Yunho isn’t even officially told what he’s presented as until his father shoves a document across the dining room table and makes him sign the paperwork that legally changes his documented secondary gender to beta. He glances between them, indecision obvious on his face, and his father scowls at him. 

“Sign the damn paperwork, Yunho,” he snaps, pushing the pen hard into his hand. “Then we can forget all about this, omega thing.” He waves his hand dismissively, like it’s a phase he’ll grow out of, like it’s something he can control, and his mother focuses on cutting up perfectly identical pieces of chicken and pretending she can’t hear what’s happening around her. 

Yunho wasn’t aware that the acceptance of the medication meant acceptance of the complete rejection of his omega, but he feels backed into a corner, trapped and nervous. His father always caused those reactions in him.

“So, I’m an omega, then?” Yunho hears himself ask, out of body and voice trembling. He’s signing the paperwork without really looking, doing as he’s told, and his father snatches it away, scans the document. 

“Not anymore.”

In the present, Mingi’s presentation is almost as abrupt as Yunho’s was, and it takes a lot of effort not to completely crumble right there on the tarmac with the painful parallels between them. Instead, he grabs Mingi’s shoulder, glad that they’re only a few minutes from the dorms, letting the larger man lean his weight on Yunho as they shuffle home. 

He breathes in and out through his mouth, desperately trying to ignore the pang of pine that makes its way to his nose. It’s crisp and a little burnt with distress, and Yunho has to grip harder in the material of Mingi’s hoodie to ground himself. 

Yunho drops him at Hongjoong’s room, wordless and pale, and pushes him inside. Mingi only really lets it happen because he’s so dizzy he’s struggling to see, and it takes every single atom of effort in Yunho’s body not to follow him into the room. 

“Yunho?” Mingi asks, confused and audibly in pain, and Yunho grabs for the door handle, carefully avoiding the presenting man's eyes. He knows if he sees the look on his best friend’s face, he’ll crumble. And if he crumbles, the careful lie he’s been weaving for the last eight years will be for nothing. 

He barely gets the door shut on Mingi’s slumped form before he’s bolting, no destination in mind. It’s the only thing he can do to combat the rising panic that’s making its way through his veins, the icy fear in his blood.

He walks aimlessly until it's dark, stumbles on the uneven ground, and he’s grateful for the way the tarmac scrapes his knees, something to remind him he’s real. A small atonement for the dreadful thing he’s done. No one pays any mind to him, probably mistaking him for some drunkard, even as it takes him several long minutes to get himself back to his feet, even longer to limp his way to his empty room. 

He thinks of his own presentation, the fear, the horrible loneliness, the ache to be touched. Takes safety in the idea of the other members looking after Mingi in the ways he can’t, knows that he’s in safe hands, even if it hurts to not be the one providing them. 

He thinks of bleeding, of bleeding and bleeding until he has nothing left, everything he has being poured into someone who might be able to see him. Someone who's gotten close and not flinched away. He thinks of God, of worship and sacrifice. He thinks about loss and cries at everything that’s slipping through his fingers. 

He rejects every call for the next three days, takes the coward's way out and hides, pretending it doesn’t ache in the chambers of his heart to not be with Mingi when he’s suffering. 

His own bed is suddenly too big, cold, wrong. He’s gotten used to a large, lanky body next to him, too used to having a constant presence at his side. It feels like discovering a small graze, like scratching and scratching and scratching, like pulling at it until it’s all encompassing and impossible to ignore. Like self-flagellation.  

He tries to distract himself, paces around the room like that’ll stop the way his soul feels tender, the way his whole body trembles with the oppressive nothing , the silence, the emptiness. He cooks meals he doesn’t eat, stands under the cold stream of water in the shower and struggles to find the energy to wash himself. 

It’s all pointless, in hindsight, because all he can think of is his best friend, scared and alone, presenting like he did. The guilt eats at him in a way that leaves him feeling hollow.

His brain snaps back to memories of Mingi’s forest aroma, his sharp, clear scent. He knows what it means, knows exactly what the younger man is going to present as, and he tries to ignore the way his pulse rapidly increases in his jaw. 

There’s true panic building in his stomach at the realisation of what’s happening, of what he’s done, and he burrows himself into his covers and pretends it doesn’t feel devastating.  

Days later, when Hongjoong is scolding him, shouting and gesticulating angrily, he’ll find out that Mingi was begging for him almost the entire time. That Mingi was crying, his throat hoarse because he didn’t understand why Yunho would leave him. Yunho has nothing to say. He has no way of explaining himself or justifying his actions.  

He’s glad, belatedly, that he didn’t find out this information until after the fact. Doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to keep himself away if he’d known how desperately Mingi was seeking his comfort, his friendship . 

He feels sick with it all over again, the way he can feel the guilt building, the horrible burden that comes along with his sub-gender, with his feelings. But it all catches somewhere beneath his Adam’s apple, doesn’t come out, leaving him staring at Hongjoong silently, at the confusion and betrayal he wears on his face.

It hurts to let them think of him this way, but his mouth stays resolutely shut. 

They give him the cold shoulder, and Yunho accepts the lack of affection gracefully, keeps his eyes down, and his posture curled inwards. His wolf wails at the isolation, even if he feels it's deserved, rolls belly-up, exposed and begging for love. He ignores the way it’s the strongest reaction his wolf has had to anyone but Mingi in years, and bites on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. 

Mingi takes an extra day off to deal with the rut hangover, and Yunho doesn’t get spoken to once. It’s understandable, in fact, Yunho feels that it’s almost justified, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. 

The day he comes back, Yunho smells him under the crack of the dance room door before he sees him. Instinctively, he shrinks into himself, bows himself into a submissive position, and he hates that his body does it without warning, without realising. 

Mingi’s big hand appears on the sliver of glass, pushes the door open, and Yunho holds his breath. The others greet him casually, all stretching or chattering between themselves. Because it’s not weird between the other members and Mingi, because they didn’t leave him when he was losing his voice from sobbing their names. 

Mingi steps closer to him, and Yunho focuses on the flare of his nostrils and the way his eyebrows furrow slightly. Something fleeting passes over Mingi’s face that Yunho can’t interpret, and before he knows it, the space between them is nothing; Mingi is right in front of him.

“You look tired, Yu,” he murmurs, and the way Mingi is staring at him with concerned eyes feels nastily ironic considering the circumstances. “You wanna get a coffee before we start? I can make an excuse for us,” and he attempts to wink, mostly just squinting, and Yunho’s posture relaxes without him noticing. 

“Yeah,” he gets out, a bit breathy and quiet, but Mingi smiles softly. “Let me pay?”

“Sure.”

𝝰

It hurts. 

Maybe it’s a stupid statement, when he’s sobbing and shaking and dry-heaving into the bedding as Seonghwa wrings his hands in worry from the doorway, but it fucking hurts. 

It’s probably this painful because he refuses any help from any of his members, but the idea of anyone touching him outside the one person who isn’t here makes his skin crawl. 

Which only brings him back to how much it aches to be here without Yunho. How every scent, every touch, feels so utterly wrong that he gags with it, curling into himself. 

“Hyung…” Jongho whispers, and he presses a cool cloth to his forehead, ignoring his weak, pathetic attempts at growling. “He’s not answering his phone. He’s rejected all our calls.” 

“Fuck,” Seonghwa hisses from the doorway, irritation and anxiety obvious in his voice, in his mild scent that Mingi’s never really noticed before. “What are we…?” his voice trails off as he seemingly leaves the doorway. Mingi’s too rut-drunk and devastated to respond reasonably. 

“Y-Yunho, please, please,” he begs pathetically, in a way that will definitely later haunt him, mortifying in the way his voice quivers with desperation. “Why not?” 

“I don’t know,” Jongho murmurs, and his hand on Mingi’s forehead feels wrong, making his stomach lurch with something he can’t name. He whimpers, squeezes his eyes shut. Doesn’t push his youngest member away, even though he aches too. “I’m sorry, Minki.” 

Mingi can’t do much but sob, throat sore and raw with his own emotions, nails digging into his forearms as he crumbles into himself. Jongho tries to keep his fever down, and San comes to offer snacks and water periodically. 

Eventually, when Mingi gets truly dazed, they have to leave because he starts snarling nearly continuously, even with his aching throat and his limp, weak, devastated alpha. It’s a pathetic attempt at protecting himself, lashing out at those nearest him who are only trying to help. His alpha is clawing and screeching in his chest, pained and thrashing, and all he can do is ride it out. 

Somewhere between the horrible waves, Wooyoung manages to get some food in him, doesn’t even flinch when Mingi bares his teeth, and growls angrily. 

“I know, baby,” Wooyoung says softly, tearing the food into smaller pieces, offering it to him patiently even as he stares at him untrusting, vocalising weakly. “I know, I’m sorry. But you need to eat, Mangi.” 

“Yunho?” Mingi croaks out, and something akin to grief flicks across the other man’s face before he controls his expression. 

“He’s not coming, pup,” and even in his foggy state, Mingi can hear the coldness in his voice. It makes something in the cavern of his chest ache with such severity that he whines, gums throbbing, and he bites down blindly. Luckily, it’s the bread that gets caught in his teeth, rather than Wooyoung’s fingers, and the beta doesn’t even pull his hand away. 

He falls back into thick rut-daze after that, barely aware of himself until his cycle peaks and breaks three days later. Despite how uncooperative he is, the members manage to keep him alive, somewhat fed and watered, even as he thrashes and sobs, and he’s grateful, if not a little embarrassed. 

When he wakes up with a horrible hangover, Seonghwa pets him sympathetically, doesn’t even mention the obvious wet patch he leaves on the older man’s shoulder, his wet face, his puffy eyes. 

“Why?” Mingi manages to get out, around his inflamed throat and dry mouth, and the beta winces at the sound of his voice, reaching for the water bottle on the side table. 

“We don’t know,” Seonghwa admits softly, guiding the straw to Mingi’s mouth. “Hongjoong’s going to talk to him, try and figure out what’s happening.” 

Mingi isn’t sure how to explain that he’s pretty certain Hongjoong is going to get no information from Yunho. Isn’t sure how to explain that he’s certain that Yunho is different, isn’t like them. He doesn’t know how to explain, so he doesn’t, keeps his mouth shut. 

He can't bring himself to explain the complicated swarm of feelings that he's never truly been able to tell if they're reciprocated or not. Can't speak of the hope that feels abruptly shattered now, after days of crying and thrashing, can't admit that he's in love with the one person who left. 

So he doesn’t, just leans back against his hyung’s shoulder, cries it out. Seonghwa lets him. 

Later, when Hongjoong comes back, frustrated and emotional, Mingi just stares at him blankly. He’s reached a point of exhaustion where he feels numb. 

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with him; he just sat there silent, kept saying sorry, like that means anything at this point,” Hongjoong shouts, and Seonghwa’s eyebrows are furrowed as he reaches to calm the beta down. 

“At least he’s sorry,” San chips in, but Hongjoong glares at him, and he promptly shuts up. 

“I just don’t get it!” Wooyoung bemoans, as if they haven’t already all come to a very similar conclusion. Mingi rubs his temple, headache still hanging on despite the painkillers he’s swallowed, and Seonghwa pets his back gently. “He loves Mingi. Why would he…”

“Yeah,” Jongho interrupts, seemingly reading the pinched expression on Mingi’s face for exactly what it is, and tries to intervene. “We know, Woo, but let’s just…” he gestures vaguely. 

“Let’s move on,” Seonghwa suggests gently, and a few members turn to frown. 

“It’s okay.” Mingi blurts, and everyone turns to look at him with raised eyebrows. “I’m okay. It’s… fine.” 

“It’s anything but fine, Mingi,” Yeosang chips in from the sofa, legs pulled up to his chest as he surveys everyone in the room with his big eyes. “Maybe if we all talk to him, get him here to-”

“No,” the alpha interrupts, can smell the horrible acrid scent of his own conflicting feelings. He’s glad that he’s the only one who can. “Just leave it alone, guys. Please.” 

He’s not sure if it’s the horrible devastation in his voice, the complete resignation of his words, or just the fact that all of them are deeply aware of Mingi’s feelings at this point, but they all exchange looks for a second before Seonghwa nods. 

“Okay, Min, we’ll leave it be.” 

𝝮

At twenty-one, Yunho has learnt to be somewhat thankful for his parents’ actions. It’s all a blur of flights and stages and shows, much too busy to have time to breathe, let alone go through things like heats and cycles. He takes his suppressants religiously, ignoring the strange ache in the cavern of his chest in exchange for focusing on living his dream. On being grateful. 

But it’s also around this time that he notices how quiet his inner wolf is, the way he can barely feel it moving, reacting. Late one night, in a cramped hotel room where he can’t sleep and feels like he can’t quite breathe, he searches for what the abrupt silence means. 

He clears his internet history and curls up into a ball, pulls the thin comforter over him and tries not to make any noise as he cries into the pillow. His wolf doesn’t move. 

A broken bond between a person and their wolf is rare, mostly only observed in people who opt to change sub-genders willingly, often closely monitored and medicated. Yunho wonders, indulgently, if he can stop it from truly breaking if he never wanted to be a beta in the first place. If the decision was taken out of his hands. 

It’s the first time he lets himself wallow in the cruelty of having his autonomy removed from him under the illusion of a choice made at fifteen, mourning the relationship between himself and his omega that he was never allowed to have.  

The next morning, they’re bundled into a car, and Mingi reaches to brush a thumb over Yunho’s cheek, eyebrows furrowed. The contact burns pleasantly, makes his skin prickle with sensation in the places where Mingi touched him, and he swallows dryly. 

“You’ve been crying,” and it’s not really a question, but Yunho shrugs anyway, averts his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Just homesick,” he lies, and Mingi stares at him even as he pretends not to be aware of it, looking out the window next to him, the scenery rushing past. “I missed my brother’s birthday.” 

“Yeah,” the younger man murmurs and drops his hand, interlinking their fingers together. “I get homesick sometimes, too, but…” he pauses, swallowing audibly. “It’s easier when I have you with me.”

“Me?” Yunho can’t keep the slight surprise out of his voice, and Mingi shrugs, tugging at his ear with his spare hand, bringing attention to the way they’re tinged red. 

“You’re like a piece of home to me,” he admits quietly, and Yunho blinks at him, searching his expression. Mingi’s beautiful, in the way he always is, even when he’s bare-faced and there’s the beginning of an acne flare cropping up on his cheekbone. His wolf makes a feeble attempt to gain attention, and a tiny flicker of hope forms. 

“Oh,” Yunho says eloquently, and he squeezes Mingi’s hand where they’re still holding on to each other. “Right, I… thank you.” 

Mingi just nods before turning to look out the window, and Yunho takes a second to process before his eyes slide back out to the streets they’re driving through. He strains to feel the little flutters in his chest, the sign that his omega is still alive and kicking, and clings to Mingi’s hand like a lifeline. The younger man doesn’t let go. 

𝝰

Mingi’s eighteenth birthday goes as follows: he drinks a little too much, he vomits in an undeserving hedge on the way home, and he realises he’s in love with his best friend. 

It happens suddenly, when he’s taking his first legal shot with the best friend in question, laughing at the expression on his face when he chokes on the burning liquid. He reaches to wipe the dribble of liquid off of Mingi’s chin, slightly clumsy with his mouthful, tongue too thick and much too besotted with the man in front of him. The brush of his thumb feels abruptly different, and he realises the fluttering in the pit of his stomach isn’t simply going to go away. 

He’s in love with Jeong Yunho, probably has been since they first met as teenagers, and despite the way he’s been stubbornly ignoring it for the past few years, it’s only getting worse. He gets a horrible urge to bridge the gap between them, diminish the space there and press a kiss on the older man’s lips. 

But he doesn’t, because that’s not what friends do, and he pulls him into a hug instead. 

Yunho goes stiff for a brief second before he seemingly remembers who it is that has his arms wrapped around him, slowly relaxing. Mingi tries not to read into it. 

“But who cares?” Seonghwa shouts, already tipsy, voice carrying to where they’re pulling apart from each other in the kitchen. “When it’s Mingi’s birthday!” 

“What are you wishing for this year, Princess?” Yunho murmurs, and there’s something in his voice that Mingi can’t place, something that makes the cracks in his ribs feel a little wider, a little more painful. 

“I can’t say,” he croaks out, before he realises how exposing that statement is, shrugs it off. “Or it won’t come true.” 

“Right,” Yunho chuckles, bumping his shoulder affectionately into Mingi’s as he reaches behind him for some beer. “Keep your secrets.”

“Hm,” Mingi murmurs, mostly to himself, taking the bottle that the older man offers him. “I’ll tell you if it comes true.” 

Hours later, after they’ve stumbled home and Mingi’s washed the taste of vomit out of his mouth, Yunho pulls him into his chest, presses his lips on the crown of the younger man’s head. He tries to pretend that it doesn’t make his pulse spike, doesn’t make his head spin. 

There’s a long moment where they’re face to face, where Yunho’s expression does something that Mingi hasn’t quite learnt how to read. There’s only a small amount of space between them, enough that it feels surmountable, enough to be brave. Mingi almost leans in, and Yunho’s breath catches as he inches slightly closer, testing the waters. 

He naively hopes, wonders if this is the start of something that he’ll one day be able to have, but then Yunho rolls away abruptly. He’s seemingly embarrassed by his own actions, pats Mingi’s hand awkwardly in the space between them. 

“I think we’ll regret this in the morning,” Yunho whispers into the dark room, and Mingi isn’t sure if he’s talking about the excessive alcohol consumption or the strange tension between them. He decides it’s best not to ask.  

𝝮

They fall back into their strange new normal, despite the way the other members raise their eyebrows at Mingi, obviously equally as baffled at his swift forgiveness. 

Yunho, however, as he seems to prove over and over, is greedy in the most biblical of senses, selfish and indulgent . He basks in the affection Mingi gives so readily, despite the obvious hurt that lingers between them, the thing that hangs over their heads. 

It shows in the way Mingi’s eyes stick to him, the way his head will tilt ever so slightly when Yunho stutters over a word, abruptly conscious of himself. It’s difficult to concentrate when Mingi’s scent is so readable. He can smell the smoke of his subtle grief, fading but still easy to pick out, the sharp forest scent that Yunho has begun to associate with comfort, the subtle sweetness of something that the older man hasn’t quite worked out yet. 

Yunho doesn’t know how he manages it, isn’t sure how he plays at normality when every single inhale of breath feels like a stone thrown at the pathetic single glazing around his heart. Mingi watches him with the kind of attentiveness that makes his chest feel seconds away from crumbling, and his wolf perks up in interest, lazily wagging its tail. 

After the almost loss of his omega, he should probably be significantly more grateful for it making itself known. But right now, when he’s wrestling through a tangle of emotions he can’t bring himself to name, he suppresses the desire to give in to the instincts, to nestle closer to the alpha next to him. 

He was worried, initially, that even on the strength of suppressant he takes, Mingi may still be able to smell him, read through his pathetic thin veneer and see his gross, abused omega living in the empty spot behind his rib cage. 

But Mingi treats him the way he always did, always does, and cares for him in the exact same way as he always has. 

He’s safe in his lie, safe behind his mask, and he ignores the way Mingi watches him when the younger man thinks Yunho is no longer looking. 

The next four months move the way they usually do, in that chaotic, fast-slow drag that feels endless and exhausting, but passes so quickly that it feels like blinking. He’s tired, exhaustion bone-deep that makes his limbs feel numb and heavy, and he barely manages to keep his eyes open for the silent car journey home. 

They’re all in similar positions, and in his unguarded state, he leans his head on Mingi’s shoulder without thinking, breathes in deeply. The alpha smells so good, even when his scent is dulled by exhaustion, and he lets his eyelids flutter closed. 

“Almost home, Yu,” Mingi murmurs, and his hand settles on the small of Yunho’s back, rubbing at the dip in his spine where he carries all his tension. It makes him go lax against the alpha, forgetting himself, where they are, and Mingi chuckles softly. “Day off tomorrow, we can sleep as long as we want.”

“Mmm,” Yunho agrees, trying to pull himself back together, despite the way his wolf is chirping and bounding in his chest, relishing in the attention, significantly louder than usual. He doesn't think about it. 

It’s getting harder and harder to hide; the noise his omega makes around the alpha is ceaseless, and he’s too tired to keep fighting it. A selfish part of himself doesn't even want to, enamoured with the proof that he's still connected to his omega, that he isn't yet broken. He sighs, turns so he can press his nose against the collar of Mingi’s soft shirt. 

“You’re boiling,” Mingi mutters, and there’s a cool hand on his forehead even as he squirms away, tries to hide. “Wait, Yun, no, seriously,” and his scent smokes with something concerned. Yunho pouts as he extracts himself, letting Mingi feel his skin properly. Come to mention it, he is warm, a bit sweaty under his baggy jumper. 

“I feel a bit light-headed,” he admits, and the alpha’s eyebrows furrow as he scans the older man’s face. “Maybe I’m just coming down with something.” 

“Right,” Mingi mumbles, but he doesn’t smell particularly convinced. Like he knows something Yunho doesn't. “Stay at mine tonight?”

“Yeah?” Yunho half-agrees and half questions, pleased but unsure why he’s asking. “I mean, if you want me to, sure,” he tries to sound less eager than he feels. Mingi doesn’t answer that, just nods decisively and wraps his arm around Yunho’s waist protectively. 

“Mingi-ya,” a manager calls from the front seat, “you’ve got to post on socials tonight before you fall asleep, yeah?” Mingi’s scent spikes with brief irritation, but no one reacts because no one else can smell it. Yunho stops himself from saying anything, bites his tongue. He isn't supposed to be able to smell it either.

“Yeah,” Mingi agrees, voice neutral and unoffensive, and the manager sends a thumbs up over the headrest. 

By the time they pull up to the dorm, Yunho feels a little nauseated. He isn’t sure how to explain the feeling, something unsettled in the pit of his stomach, but he’s much too exhausted to pay it any mind. 

They go through the motions of getting ready for sleep, do the bare minimum of skincare and washing up, before crawling into the firm mattress of Mingi’s bed. Yunho barely has his head on the pillow before Mingi rolls into his space, slinging his leg over the older man’s hips. 

“You okay?” Yunho asks, not that he’s complaining about the contact, every centimetre of skin on skin feeling soothing, settling. He nestles a little closer as Mingi nods, lets himself have this , whatever this is. 

“Just need this right now,” the alpha murmurs, and he can tell by the drag of his syllables that he’s fighting sleep, struggling to stay conscious. “Close to you.”

“R-Right,” Yunho stutters, and his wolf chirps happily, running in little circles in his chest. It doesn’t take much for Yunho to sink into the comfort, to let himself relax. His breathing evens out, in sync with Mingi’s, and he falls asleep with his omega purring, pleased and content. 

Yunho wakes up disoriented, overheated. There’s a thick, raw scent in the air, something smoked and heavy, and it makes his brain spin with the way it increases his heart rate, the way his wolf abruptly and suddenly yowls in response. He barely manages to get his eyes to focus before Mingi’s rolling, blurring his vision with his movement. 

Mingi groans as he presses himself to Yunho’s neck, throwing his arm and leg over the older man, pinning him to the bed. Yunho yelps instinctively, the sensation of the alpha’s nose against his scent gland foreign and shocking, and Mingi seems to wake up, making a confused noise. 

“Yu?” he croaks out, then lets out a low whine, crumbling into himself. “Oh fuck.”

It then occurs to Yunho that the alpha currently pressed against him is going into rut. His pulse spikes, heart clattering around his rib cage as he tries to breathe through his mouth and not panic. He’s not hugely successful. 

“M-Min, are you… going into rut?” Yunho gets out, creating a little distance between them so he can examine the younger man’s face. His wolf doesn’t help the confusion, panting and pawing, pacing miserably with every second that Yunho doesn’t respond to the pheromones in the air. 

He’s flushed with it, cheeks pink and eyes hazy as he blinks at Yunho, seemingly considering his statement. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, eyes darting, and then he swallows visibly. “Your pre-heat set me off, I think.” 

The words take a few moments to register in the dizzying confusion of the situation, but when they sink in, something akin to ice shoots through Yunho’s veins. It crashes through him, something painful in the way it curls in his gut. Then, with another second of consideration, he blinks, confusion adding to the nauseating tangle of emotions rioting in his chest. 

“You knew?” Yunho whispers, and Mingi reaches to hold his hand, interlinking their fingers. He nods awkwardly, seemingly unsure of himself despite how he must be dazed with the beginnings of his rut, and Yunho squeezes unconsciously. “But you didn’t tell anyone?” 

“I couldn’t… I wouldn’t- Yunho, I can’t take your dream away from you,” and his voice quavers with something weighty, something that Yunho can’t place, too distracted by the smoke-spice of Mingi’s scent, the way the press of skin on skin feels so soothing to the itch that’s beginning to pull at the corners of his nervous system. 

“Oh,” Yunho gets out, and it’s not nearly enough for what he wants to say, the relief-gratitude-confusion trifecta he’s experiencing rendering him mute. “Why?” 

Mingi stares at him for a long beat. 

“Because I love you,” he admits softly, and Yunho searches the alpha’s face, sees no hint of dishonesty in his expression. “And I saw how much it hurt you, to keep quiet.” 

“Right,” he mumbles absently, brain slowing to an almost stop as he tries to process the words that just came out of Mingi’s mouth. “You love me?”

It doesn’t quite feel real. The haze of pheromones and the look in the alpha’s eyes make it difficult to grasp, feeling like wispy smoke that’ll be dispelled if he even breathes too hard. 

“Yeah,” Mingi whispers, averting his eyes bashfully. His wolf riots in protest at his alpha being disappointed. “Sorry.”

“N-No!” Yunho blurts, reaching to pull Mingi back against him, where he’s starting to pull away. “I… I’ve always… I never-” he stumbles over his words, unsure where to start, distracted by the roll of heat in his stomach, in the space behind his ribcage. His wolf spins in happy circles in his chest, paws and hops in joy, and the reality of the situation finally dawns on him. “Fuck, I love you too.”

“Oh,” Mingi says, and then a smile spreads across his face, ducking to shove his nose against Yunho’s scent gland again. “You smell really good, by the way.”

“Mingi…” he mumbles, still strangely shy, catching hints of coconut and vanilla that feel nostalgic in long-forgotten ways. He barely remembers his own scent, and it aches in his marrow. Mingi pulls back abruptly, obviously catching the sudden souring of his scent. “I d-don’t know wh-” The unexpected pre-heat that he’s too dazed to look at in closer detail is progressing into real heat fast, only accelerated by the rut pheromones that feel choking with how thick they are in the air.

“Please don’t leave,” the alpha blurts, interrupting, and Yunho feels his heart shatter slightly in real time. 

Every syllable drips with a horrible vulnerability, and he doesn’t know how to word the truth of it. The truth is: he couldn’t make himself leave even if he had any desire left in him to do so.  

“Are you sure?” Yunho whispers, and it’s the only rebuttal he has left in him at this point, whatever pathetic attempt at protection he has around his heart, shattering. “I need to hear it.”

“Please, stay with me,” Mingi begs instantly, with the kind of unwavering certainty that makes Yunho’s heart rate settle a little. “I want you. No one else. Just you, please.”

“I want you too,” Yunho manages, even though admitting he wants in the first place feels like crawling through broken glass.

He’s not sure if it’s the guilt of wanting as an omega , of fulfilling the stereotypes laid out for him, or the catholic guilt catching up to him, but both are getting easier to ignore with every passing second, with the growing need. He realises that they’re running out of time before everything will be too foggy to comprehend. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve not had- I’ve never had, not since I was fifteen, fuck, I’m…” he searches Mingi’s face a little frantically, hoping the alpha understands what he's admitting. “I’m scared.” 

He’s not sure if it’s his words or if it’s something in his own expression that makes the alpha move, but he’s abruptly manoeuvred into Mingi’s arms, pressed against his chest. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises, “through everything,” and Yunho believes him. 

Mingi's hands feel like ice compared to his scorching skin when they slip up his shirt, rub over his back and waist. Yunho makes a weak little noise, something between pleasure and embarrassment, and Mingi's scent spikes, thicker and more spiced. 

“Fuck, Yu,” he whispers, and Yunho nudges his nose closer to Mingi's scent gland. “You're so warm.” 

“Smell good,” Yunho murmurs, and rubs his nose gently against Mingi's neck. He hears the way the alpha's voice catches in his throat, feels the way his grip tightens a little. “Hate pretending I can't smell it.” 

“It's okay, baby,” Mingi promises, voice a little choked as Yunho presses his lips against his neck without thinking, acting on instinct. “You don't have to pretend with me.” 

And that's all it takes for Yunho to let the haze completely overtake him. It's hot and dizzying, and it takes him a moment to realise he's started slicking up. Mingi makes a soft little noise, something wounded, and Yunho's world gets flipped as the alpha rearranges him. 

𝝰

Mingi can't stop himself from pinning Yunho to the mattress, from pressing himself as close as possible, desperate to feel him, to smell him. The soft coconut, sweet vanilla scent that’s been haunting him for the last few months is so strong now, when he’s pressed close like this to the omega. It’s addictive, mouthwatering, and as it gets sweeter and thicker, Mingi is hit with the realisation that Yunho is slicking up. It makes a jolt of heat roll through him, only accelerating his rut.

“Oh fuck, Yu, baby,” he gets out, even though his jaw aches and his tongue feels numb with desire. “Let me help?” 

“Please,” Yunho begs before Mingi has the chance to doubt himself, pupils blown as he blinks. “Whatever you want, just, please, touch me.” 

The words go straight to Mingi’s already hard cock, making it jump pathetically in his boxers. He takes the words at face value, moves so he can shove Yunho’s sweats out of the way. 

Yunho makes an embarrassed noise, despite the flush of his skin, the slightly dazed look in his eyes. 

“It's just me,” Mingi murmurs, hands rubbing Yunho's thin thighs gently, and the omega's legs fall open a little. “You're so pretty like this.” 

He's surprised at the way he's forming sentences; if he's honest with himself, something visceral and throbbing building in his veins. It's easier to ignore when Yunho's spread out like this in front of him, smelling like that, looking like that. 

Mingi shuffles down, pressing his lips in the downy patch of pubic hair around his small cock, which makes Yunho's muscles twitch. His scent here is stronger, in the glands swollen with heat around his dick, sensitive as Mingi brushes his lips against them. Yunho makes a soft, winded noise. 

“So soft, so pretty,” Mingi says, just to watch the way Yunho's pussy flutters at his words, another rush of slick leaking out of him. It saturates his light brown pubes, dampens and makes the strands curl, stick together. He's desperate to taste it. He presses a kiss on Yunho's inner thigh, in the crease between his legs and groin. 

“Don't tease,” the omega begs, voice cracking with desperation. Mingi traces a finger up his small cock - admittedly, it is bigger than most omegas, around four inches - and thumbs at the head, giving him a few lazy strokes. Yunho whimpers, hand scrabbling at Mingi’s arm. 

The smell of slick is strong enough that the alpha can feel the throb of need in the base of his skull, leaning closer wordlessly. 

He licks into Yunho's cunt hungrily, moves his hands to keep the older man's thighs apart, groans at the taste on his tongue. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Yunho says eloquently, muscles spasming under Mingi's palms. He barely registers the words, too caught up in the delicious, sweet taste of his omega, and moves to lap over his dick, gathering the precum on his tongue. 

“You taste so good,” Mingi grits out, and then he's moving to show his omega without truly thinking, diving for Yunho’s mouth like a man starved.

And he supposes he is, if he were in a state to think about the situation any deeper. He isn't sure how many times he can have this, how much he's allowed to take. He feels malnourished with it, ravenous in ways he can't put into words, even if he wasn't sinking into rut-daze. 

Yunho kisses back with a ferocity that surprises Mingi, all saliva and tongue and desperation. It leaks through in their actions, in both of their scents, in the pheromones that make the air around them humid and borderline choking. 

“I n-need, something, I can’t-” Yunho gets out between shaky breaths, pulling back to speak. “Make it stop hurting, please.” 

And maybe it makes Mingi a weak, weak man for breaking so easily, but in the face of the man he loves begging like that, he nods instantly, pressing a kiss on Yunho's scent gland. 

“I've got you, baby,” he whispers.

Their clothes end up in a messy pile around them, Yunho pulling Mingi's sleep shirt to his nose and huffing deeply. It's endearing, the way his eyelids flutter as Mingi's scent hits his nose, the little weak noise that slips out of him.

“Hey, puppy,” Mingi coaxes, rubbing his hands on Yunho's slim hips reassuringly, getting him to open his eyes. “You still with me?” 

“Please,” Yunho's voice cracks as he speaks, and his legs wind around the alpha's body, pulling him closer. 

Mingi lets himself be moved, tries to ignore the sensation of his aching cock sliding against the omega's slick-wet pussy despite the cloying heat that's swirling around his head. Everything in him wants to shove himself deep into the hot, slick heat of his omega, but instead, he grumbles quietly in his chest, brushes his nose against Yunho's neck. 

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs, and Yunho whines pathetically, trying to push his body closer. 

“You, you, Mingi, please,” he begs, and Mingi groans under his breath, pulls back to see Yunho's flushed face, his dilated pupils. “Fuck me, please.” 

The words sound incredible falling out of the omega's mouth, twinned with the surge of mouthwatering pheromones that he produces as he begs, and Mingi's heart clatters around his rib cage. 

He pushes two fingers into Yunho's dripping entrance easily, sinking to the knuckle with little resistance. His pussy is swollen and shining with wetness, hot and tight around Mingi's digits, and he pumps them in and out slowly, watching the way Yunho's expression slackens with pleasure.

“Shit,” Mingi whispers, and he moves his other hand to stroke the omega's cock gently, biting his bottom lip at the mewling noise that falls out of the older man. “You're so beautiful, fuck, Yuyu.”

“Min,” Yunho gasps, and his thighs quiver from where they're pressed against Mingi's waist. “Can't, it's too much, I-” he sounds wrecked already, and Mingi can't do anything but watch, captivated, not wanting to blink. “More, please.” 

They're conflicting demands, but Mingi slips his third finger in with surprising ease, everything wet and yielding under his ministrations. 

The itch that was building at the edges of his mind is almost impossible to ignore, especially with the visual aid of Yunho flushed and squirming under his hands, with the coconut, pine scent combination that's swirling between them. Mingi inhales deeply, teeth throbbing with need.

“You're doing so good, baby,” he murmurs encouragingly, and Yunho releases a wet little whimper, needy and pitiful. “You're so perfect, look at you.” 

Yunho reaches blindly for Mingi, his waist, his back, trying to pull him flush to his body, closer. Every place their skin touches feels heavenly, and Mingi moans softly as he lets their foreheads rest together. 

“Please, inside, please,” Yunho begs, and Mingi's weak enough with rut, with devotion, that his resolve crumbles instantaneously. He grabs himself, rubs the tip of his aching cock through Yunho's slick folds, knocks against the base of his inflamed dick, red and weeping against his soft stomach. 

“You're okay, Yu, I've got you,” he promises, and he has to focus very hard to make himself take it slowly, not to thrust deep inside and pound into his omega like his instincts are begging to. 

He inches in, steady despite the way his hands are trembling where they're gripped on Yunho's thigh, his hip, and the omega goes lax underneath him as he gets halfway in.

“Fuck, fuck,” Yunho babbles, hand flying to cover his eyes, cheeks red and lips swollen from heat and kissing. “M-Min, fuck, baby, please.” 

Mingi slides himself further in, to the hilt, and Yunho lets out a wounded little gasp. 

“Good job, you're so good, baby, take it so well,” Mingi chants, insane with the rut hormones, shaking with the way he's trying to hold himself back, to keep his omega comfortable. “Shit, you're leaking everywhere, sweetheart, fuck,” he trails a thumb around his own cock, where they're connected, gathering the thick lubrication that's drooling out of Yunho's hole. 

He brings it to his mouth without thinking, laps at the liquid, eyelids fluttering at the taste. Yunho whimpers, scent so sweet with heat and desire that it’s dizzying.

“For y-you, please, yours,” he says, and it makes Mingi's cock throb from where it's still buried inside the older man. “You need to mo-move, please, please.” 

Mingi pulls out slowly, rolls his hips to thrust back in, and Yunho's hands fly to scrabble at any part of the alpha he can reach, his legs, his arm, his chest. 

“Oh, fuck, Yu,” the alpha grits out, starting up a gentle rhythm, instantly dizzy at the sensations, and the tight grip of Yunho's walls around his dick. “You feel so good.” 

And it's not enough, not what he aches to say, too dizzy with hormones and need , but it's what they have right now, and they fall into it. 

Mingi snaps his hips a little faster into the heat of Yunho, drunk on the sounds leaking out of the pair of them, on the rich, thick air of their combined pheromones. The omega makes beautiful, vulnerable noises, gasping and whining, baring his neck, and Mingi buries his nose into the space easily. 

“My perfect omega, my baby, Yuyu, fuck,” he babbles, and Yunho sobs over a moan, hand reaching to tangle in the hair at the nape of Mingi's neck. 

“Alpha,” he whines, and Mingi can't stop the wave of instinct that rolls through him at the title, teeth grazing against Yunho's unblemished skin as he groans lowly. “Knot me, please, ne-need it.” 

“Oh fuck,” Mingi grits out, pumping his hips mindlessly, losing the slow rhythm as his wolf thrashes in his chest, desperation in his every movement. “Baby, mine, my omega, mine.” 

His voice sounds a little alien as it slips out of him, rough and low with rut, with desire, and Yunho's head falls back, chest heaving with his panting.

“Yours, always, yours, yours,” Yunho babbles, and then his eyebrows furrow, mouth going slack as his muscles spasm, as he spurts semen over his own stomach. Mingi growls as his knot expands rapidly, and he shoves himself as deep as possible, grinding in. The stimulation makes Yunho jerk beneath him, weak little mewls falling out of him as he orgasms again, adding to the mess on his stomach. 

“Mine, mine,” Mingi promises, gasping as Yunho's muscles flutter around his twitching cock, prolonging his climax, milking more release out of him. He chokes out a moan, hands gripped hard into Yunho's flesh, too lost in the sensations to think about the marks he might be leaving. “Baby, fuck, Yuyu, pup.” 

“Mingi,” Yunho whispers, blinking rapidly, still trying to catch his breath, still clinging onto the alpha's arm, his shoulder. “Mingi. I…” he heaves some air into his lungs, and the alpha waits patiently for him to finish. 

“Mmm?” he prompts after a few beats of silence, reaching to push Yunho's sweat-damp hair from his forehead. The omega's lips twitch into a smile, lifts his face to brush his nose against Mingi's. 

“You love me,” Yunho says quietly, more a statement than a question, and Mingi tilts his head, a little confused. 

“Yeah,” the alpha says, and maybe it's a bit lacklustre as a response, but he's still knotted inside the love of his life, brain scrambled from the orgasm. “Yeah, of course.” 

“And I love you,” he adds, and that's definitely a statement, something light and a bit like relief in the omega’s scent. “Fuck. Min, I… are we…?” 

“Whatever you want,” Mingi blurts, and Yunho's eyes widen in surprise for a second.

“I want to be with you,” he admits softly, and Mingi blinks at him before he breaks into a grin, giggling softly. “What?” 

“My wish came true,” Mingi murmurs, and Yunho seems confused for a second before realisation dawns on his face. 

“You wished for me?” the omega teases, and Mingi nods his head, leans forward to press a kiss on Yunho's parted lips, a little dry from heat-fever. 

“Every year,” he whispers, and Yunho grins against his mouth. 

“You’ve always had me, Mingi,” he murmurs into Mingi's lips, fingers scratching gently into his scalp, guiding him to lie his weight on top of the older man. “I'm sorry I kept you waiting.” 

It starts to meld together after that, when they get truly dazed and no longer communicate in words, all whines and growls. 

Yunho rides Mingi until his thighs are trembling, whimpering pitifully as he struggles to get the stimulation he needs with his weakening muscles. The alpha mouths at his pretty, puffy nipples, rolls the buds around his tongue, grazes his teeth against the sensitive flesh. Yunho is so receptive, sensitive, and he finds himself unable to stop watching the older man. His scent sweetens further when Mingi changes his grip, moves so he can piston up into the omega, letting him go lax against his chest.

Then, in the next wave, Mingi moves Yunho into a mating press, his entire weight pinning him as he slams into him desperately, unable to stop himself even as the omega chokes over his moans, struggles to catch breath. His scent stays satiated and pleasant, and Mingi mindlessly keeps tabs on it, keeps his nose pressed close to Yunho’s sensitive gland even as he grips his omega harder, pounds into him with enough ferocity that the bed shakes, headboard smacking the wall. 

It’s around day three that Mingi starts truly flagging. His rut is petering out, gaining more and more clarity with each passing wave, and Yunho appears to still be overwhelmed with it. 

Mingi would be more worried if he wasn’t desperately exhausted, wasn’t sore and chaffed and aching. Yunho rolls, pushes himself into the crook of Mingi’s neck, rocking his hips to rut against the alpha’s thigh. 

“S-Shit, Min, please,” he whispers, and his nails dig in a little where he grabs for the younger man’s hand. “I’m so hard, it-it… it still hurts.” His voice quavers, something a little worried clinging to his scent, his words, and Mingi strokes his back soothingly, unsure how to help. He’s not even sure if he can get hard again yet, too wiped out, teetering on the edge of a rut-hangover. 

“I don’t think I can knot again,” he admits, even though it feels embarrassing to say out loud, but Yunho just nods, where his face is still buried in Mingi’s neck. “What can I do to help?”

“Can I fuck you?” Yunho blurts out, and his pupils are blown enough to let Mingi know that he’s dazed by heat, still, foggy. “Please.”

It takes him a second to realise what Yunho’s asking, and then, it registers, makes his scent spike with an interest he didn’t know he had. He swallows dryly, searching the omega’s flushed face, his shy eyes.

“O-Oh, sure,” Mingi whispers, unsure how Yunho hasn’t realised he would do anything the older man asked of him. “Where do you want me?” 

Yunho doesn’t speak, just manoeuvres the younger man to where he wants him, pushes his legs apart. Mingi’s a little awestruck, now that he has more brain power to actually take it in, by the way Yunho looks when he’s in heat. 

He’s soft, flushed, blonde-brown hair in a mess around his head. He’s covered in marks, hickies and scratches and bruises, and Mingi would feel bad if he wasn’t sure that Yunho very much enjoyed it at the time. Maybe he’s biased, but Yunho looks fucking beautiful. 

Before he gets a chance to say any of that out loud, Yunho’s reaching to gather his own slick, pressing his thumb against Mingi’s opening. He blinks up at him, and despite the heat still clinging to him, he seems slightly more present. 

“Yeah?” the omega checks, eyes searching, and Mingi nods jerkily. 

“Yeah,” he gets out, weirdly breathless. 

Yunho stretches him open surprisingly slowly, even though Mingi can smell the sickly sweet pheromones the omega is producing, blatantly clouded by heat daze. He’s not sure if it’s the all-encompassing devotion he has for the other man, or if he’s just exhausted, but his wolf doesn’t protest, even as Yunho enters a third finger, scissors them to make sure the alpha is properly stretched. 

“I-I’m ready,” Mingi stutters, knocked off-kilter by the subtle desire starting to rebuild in the pit of his stomach, by the way his cock twitches in interest as Yunho’s fingers brush against his prostate. “Take what you need.” 

Yunho takes him at his word, pulls his fingers out unceremoniously. The abrupt emptiness is a strange feeling, leaving his muscles fluttering around nothing, and a breathless little noise falls out of him without his consent. 

“You’re sure?” Yunho murmurs, and the tip of his cock catches on Mingi’s entrance, making both of them moan. 

“Yes,” Mingi affirms, letting his legs fall further apart. “Go ahead, puppy.”

Yunho pushes in slowly, despite the way he’s trembling with heat, and Mingi appreciates it because he feels seconds from vibrating out of his own skin as he stretches around his omega’s cock. 

It should probably be making his instincts wail, make the wolf inside him thrash and fight back, but it doesn’t. Something about the way Yunho’s eyelids flutter, the breathless little noises he lets out as he reaches the hilt, just brushing teasingly against Mingi’s prostate, making his wolf settle content in his chest. 

“Thank you, thank you, fuck, th-thank you,” the omega pants out, nails sinking into flesh as a little droplet of sweat trails down his forehead, down his cheek. “Fuck, Alpha, you feel so good, thank you.”

His scent is heavy with want , impossible to ignore, and it makes Mingi’s alpha preen with the attention, with being useful still, with making his omega happy. 

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, desperation dripping from his words, and Mingi nods instantly, cock kicking pathetically against his own stomach. He didn’t even notice how hard he’d gotten, and the omega grinds his hips in clumsily, testing. “O-Oh, shit, Mingi.”

“Good, so good baby,” he promises, and with every push in of Yunho’s hips, a little jolt of pleasure winds up his spine. “You’re doing so well.”

Yunho lets out a wet little whimper, pulling out to thrust back in, uncoordinated and clumsy with it. Mingi shifts, pulls his legs higher up, and encourages Yunho to grip his thighs for better leverage.  The first few attempts are jerky, but then the omega changes the spread of his knees, the position of his hands, and Mingi’s gasping. 

“Yu, fuck, shit,” he gets out eloquently, shocked at the sharp bolts of pleasure that ricochet through him as the omega manages to hit his bundle of nerves more directly. “Oh my god.”

“Oh fuck,” Yunho’s voice wobbles with it, wet with his own pleasure, and he fucks himself in with more confidence. “You’re so tight, Min-Mingi, alpha, fuck.”

Mingi’s leaking onto his own stomach, precum drooling out of his thick cock, useless against his abdomen. Yunho keeps going, seemingly lost in it, eyes squeezed shut. He just watches the older man, tries to memorise every micro-expression on the omega’s face. 

He isn’t really sure how much time passes, lost in the fog of it all, the pheromones, the heat radiating off Yunho’s body, the sensation of him inside. The older man leans forward, rests his forehead on Mingi’s, pants against his open mouth. 

“I love you, I love you,” he babbles, and Mingi moans at how wrecked the omega sounds, the tangle of desire tightening and tightening in his stomach until he’s shivering with it. “Inside?”

“Please, please,” the words slip out of the alpha easily, “I love you, Yuyu, fuck, fuck.” He can feel Yunho’s breath in his mouth, stealing the air right out of each other’s open lips. The omega whimpers, and then his hips jerk out of rhythm, hands spasming where he’s still gripped hard into Mingi’s flesh. 

He feels the unfamiliar sensation of Yunho releasing inside him, and his own orgasm hits him with an abruptness that shocks him. The omega whines against his lips as Mingi’s muscles spasm mindlessly around his cock, probably overstimulating, but he doesn’t pull out. If anything, he shoves himself deeper, clinging to Mingi as closely as he can, riding out the aftershocks still panting into each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck,” Yunho gets out after a long stretch of silence, and Mingi giggles slightly deliriously. “I think it’s over?” 

“Yeah?” Mingi mumbles, pressing a soft kiss against the omega’s lips, wrapping his arms around the older man and squeezing him gently. “Feeling better?”

“Mmm,” Yunho hums, and he gingerly pulls out, wincing a little. “Kind of sticky.”

“Bath?” Mingi suggests, and the omega nods easily, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Together, please,” he asks, and there’s a tinge of shyness to his voice, like he thinks Mingi might say no. The alpha grins, reaching to tuck some hair behind the older man’s ear. The omega blinks at him slowly, leans into his palm. 

“Of course.” 

𝝮

Yunho gains clarity pressed with his back against Mingi's chest, the alpha's big hands scrubbing through his scalp, and he feels the flush on his cheeks as the reality of the situation dawns on him.

“What?” Mingi murmurs, obviously catching the change in his scent, and Yunho feels strangely exposed at the understanding that the alpha can read him so easily. Can smell him.  

“Embarrassing,” Yunho admits, closing his eyes. “And I'm sorry.” 

“What?” Mingi says again, like that's the only word he knows, and Yunho turns so he can look at the alpha, even though the angle’s awkward and makes his neck hurt. 

“I should have been there,” he whispers, and a flash of understanding crosses Mingi's expression even as it stays unspoken, before he averts his eyes, shrugs. There's a sting of hurt in his scent, smoky and acrid, and Yunho reaches to cradle his alpha's jaw without thinking. “I was a coward, and I'm sorry.” 

“I know why you did it,” Mingi mumbles, reaching past Yunho for the jug to rinse the conditioner out of his hair. “And I'm not mad at you for it. It just sucked without you.” 

“I'll be there, next time, if you…” Yunho feels a sudden flare of self-consciousness, feeling greedy for asking, for hoping. “If you want me.”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Mingi affirms easily, placing a hand over Yunho's eyes as he starts rinsing out his hair. “Are we… do you want to, I mean, I don't mind if you want to…?” he tries, and Yunho grabs his wrist to stop him pouring any more water over him. Turns to face him properly. 

“What are you asking me?” Yunho says softly, and Mingi's eyebrows twitch in surprise before he bites his bottom lip. “Min, I'll tell you anything.” 

“I want the members to know you're mine. I don't mind if you want to let them think you're a beta, I'll do whatever you want, I just…” his eyes dart, like he thinks he's asking too much. “You're mine.” 

Yunho softens instantly at his words, leans forward to press his lips against Mingi's cheek. He flushes a pretty colour at the contact. 

“I want to tell them the truth, I… I trust them, and I want them to know that we're… well,” Yunho gestures between them, wordless. He isn't really sure what they are. “Are we…?” 

“Boyfriends?” Mingi fills in the gap, and Yunho just blinks at him, ears hot. “If you'll have me, then yes, please.” 

“Yes, fuck, of course I will, Min,” he whispers, unable to keep the obvious devotion out of his voice. Not that he needs to hide it anymore. “I can't believe you knew, when did you-?” 

“I always thought you were different from the other members, but I kind of thought it was just because I was in love with you,” Mingi admits casually, shrugging as he dips the jug into water to continue his task of cleaning Yunho. “Then I came back after my rut and you just, smelt different.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Yunho mumbles, and Mingi pauses, a little hint of concern working into his scent. “I'm on really strong suppressants, you shouldn't be able to smell me, I don't know why I even went into heat, I shouldn't be able to even…” he gestures vaguely, but Mingi seems to get the idea.

“I mean, it smelt dampened,” he offers, and finishes washing the product out. “Like, it definitely smelt like, subtle to start with.” He pauses, seemingly considering. “I… I know you probably don't want to, but it might be worth seeing a doctor.”

Yunho’s scent spikes with discomfort at the idea, which makes Mingi wince in response. 

“I'm, uh, legally a beta,” Yunho says quietly, eyes averted. “When I presented, my dad got me to sign some paperwork, change my subgender legally. I've been on suppressants since fifteen and-” 

“Fifteen?” Mingi blurts, eyes wide, and Yunho blinks at him. “Wait, let's…” he scrambles for the towels, helps Yunho out of the bath, slowly getting cool. “Get you dry and warm.”

“Thanks,” Yunho murmurs, letting the alpha fuss over him. “I don't actually want to be a beta,” he admits as they enter the bedroom, and Mingi sits him on the bed, dries his hair gently with a towel. “If I knew it would be safe, I'd just… come off the drugs altogether.” Even he can hear the wishfulness in his voice. 

“I mean,” Mingi sits next to him, tilting his head as he thinks. “Can't you just use scentblockers for shows and fan stuff?” He suggests, “It looks like your heat and my rut are synced anyway, so we can just say you're helping with my cycle rather than having to tell anyone.” 

“Oh, yeah, I…” Yunho's shocked at how easy it appears to be, but doesn't quite trust it. “Do you think the members would want to lie for me?” he whispers.

“They'd do anything to protect you, Yunho,” Mingi says with a reassuring certainty. “We're a pack. We've got each other’s backs.” 

“Right…” the omega mutters, and Mingi keeps drying his hair patiently even as his scent dips and whirls as he processes. “Can I… I can be an omega?” he asks, like he needs permission, and Mingi’s eyes widen for a second before he nods. 

“Of course,” the alpha says simply, throwing the damp towel at the wash basket and missing. “Whatever you want, baby.” 

The words feel confirming, affirming, and Yunho lets the younger man rearrange them so they’re curled up together, intertwined. He lets out a deep breath, suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, and pushes his nose into the comforting forest scent of Mingi. 

“Thank you.”

If he’s honest, Yunho feels a bit nauseated as he waits as patiently as he can for the rest of the members to gather in the living room. Despite the reassurance of Mingi’s words, he still has a vague dread building in the pit of his stomach at the idea of the other’s finding out . Even if he’s the one who’s telling on himself. 

Mingi strokes the dip in his spine, tries to massage the tension out, and Yunho stays stiffly upright. The alpha sighs. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Yu,” he murmurs, and Yunho nods jerkily. They trail in slowly, chatting between themselves, until Hongjoong finally appears through the door, and they all fall silent when he sits in the armchair with a sigh, gestures vaguely. 

“Okay, everyone listen to what Yunho’s got to say,” he murmurs, and he glances at the man in question, who unintentionally shrinks into himself at the call out. 

“Um,” he starts awkwardly, and he glances around the room, at all his members who are looking at him with varying levels of sympathy. Mingi’s hand keeps kneading his lower back. “I’m an omega?”

There are a few beats of silence where everyone just blinks at him, and he bites his bottom lip nervously. 

“Like, uh, I… I presented as an omega when I was fifteen. I’ve been on suppressants for a long time, and uh, they… stopped working,” he admits quietly, and there’s another dragging moment where no one speaks. 

“Are you pregnant?” Wooyoung blurts, and Mingi’s scent spikes with something that Yunho doesn’t have the emotional capacity to consider right now. 

“What? N-No, I don’t think so?” Yunho rushes to correct him, confused at the jump to that conclusion. “Why would I be pregnant?”

“You just spent four days locked in a room with an alpha, I doubt you guys were playing Uno,” he remarks casually, and Yunho feels himself blush hot at how seen he feels. Mingi’s hand grips a little tighter on his upper thigh. 

“Okay, anyway,” Seonghwa interrupts, blinking rapidly. “All your paperwork says beta, Yuyu, like your passport and stuff, is that… what’s…?” These are the kind of questions that Yunho was expecting, was somewhat more prepared for. 

“When I presented, my parents suggested I change my sub-gender legally, so when I auditioned and went into this industry, I wouldn’t be taken advantage of. I… I get why they did it, but I’m… I don’t want to pretend around you guys anymore. It’s… it’s important to me that you guys know that, even though I’m a beta out there, to the fans, I’m… I’m an omega, with you guys,” he picks at his cuticles so he doesn’t have to see the way the group is watching him. “If that’s okay.”

“So wait-” Hongjoong starts, and when Yunho glances up, he’s massaging his forehead like a stressed father. “For the past, what, eight years? You’ve been suppressing your omega? Around us, too?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Yunho stutters, and he averts his eyes awkwardly, ready to be scolded. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Yunho,” Hongjoong sighs, and he’s kneeling in front of the omega before he registers that the beta has even moved. “I’m just… I wish you knew you were safe with us. We’d protect you from anything; you should have felt comfortable enough to be yourself with us. I’m…” he looks genuinely dismayed, and Yunho blinks away the tears that are stinging in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Yunho whispers, and Mingi’s arm snakes around his waist, keeping him steady, grounded. “I think I want to see a doctor,” he admits quietly, and Hongjoong scans his expression carefully, nodding. “Can you help me find one? That won’t leak anything, or tell my parents or-”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa interrupts, “we’ll help you, sweetheart, of course we will.” 

It takes several days to sink in that Yunho can be himself around them, still caught up in the routine of pretend, in hiding. He reaches for his suppressants first thing in the morning, instinctively, and Mingi watches him through the mirror with his toothbrush in his mouth, toothpaste foam caught on his bottom lip. 

“I… I’m gonna come off them,” he murmurs, holding the inconspicuous bottle like he thinks it’s a grenade about to go off, gingerly, awkwardly. Mingi blinks once, twice, and spits out his mouthful of foam. 

“Yeah?” The alpha prompts gently, wiping his lips with the back of his hands. “Maybe you should ask the doctor, just in case, you know, you have to wean off them or something?” 

Yunho nods, stares at the medication in his hand for a beat longer. 

“Come with me?” He whispers, quiet enough that if Mingi wasn’t directly next to him, he probably wouldn’t have heard him over the whirring of the extractor fan. He’s still getting used to the vulnerability that comes with being honest, the way Mingi’s nostrils flare as he picks up the anxiety that sours his scent. 

“Yeah, of course,” Mingi says easily, stretching and turning, cracking his back. Yunho tries not to stare at the lines of his bare chest, the tan skin that he wants to put his hands on. 

Because he feels a little insane with it, if he lets himself think about it too closely. Since his heat, they’ve kissed, cuddled, but nothing else. Yunho gets the impression that Mingi’s being careful, that he’s trying to give him space to process the suddenness of his heat, the combined relief, fear, confusion of working out how to be an omega. But he doesn’t want Mingi to be careful.

He sighs to himself, swallows the tablets despite the way they stick in his throat and coat his mouth with an unpleasant flavour. The alpha wanders back to the bedroom, pulls on some clothes, and Yunho watches him from the doorway like a voyeur. Mingi appears to sense that he’s hovering as he pulls a beanie on, turns to tilt his head curiously. 

“Pup?” He murmurs, and Yunho feels his eyes watering before he can even word the emotion welling up inside him. He takes the few shaky steps to reach his alpha and wraps his arms around him wordlessly. Mingi coos quietly, brings him close to his chest, hugs him tightly. “Oh, baby, you’re okay.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice wet and weak against Mingi’s shoulder. The younger man chuckles gently, rubs his back soothingly. “I’m so emotional.”

“It’s okay,” he promises, steady, here . “I’ve got you.”

It only gets easier after that. Once the barrier is broken, whatever self-imposed wall Yunho was clinging to shatters. The members are nothing but kind, nothing but supportive, and there are several moments where he feels on the edge of tears purely through thankfulness. 

The first doctor’s appointment he goes to is equal parts terrifying and affirming, in the way that Seonghwa sends the pair of them off encouragingly, asking the staff to look after them carefully. In the way that when he sits opposite the doctor, she regards him with soft, kind eyes instead of the nasty glare he was expecting. In the sympathy she gives him at his situation. 

“You signed this contract whilst still underage,” she points out gently, gesturing to her screen, “it would be very easy to contest, if you were wanting to.” 

“Maybe, one day,” Yunho murmurs, and he picks at the loose thread on the seam of his trousers. “But right now, I just want to be healthy.” 

When they get home after the appointment, the rest of the group settles in the living room, all bundled together. Yunho tries his best to keep his giddy joy under wraps, for reasons he hasn’t yet unpacked, and the members pretend they can’t see the grin that pulls at his lips. 

He settles in, gets comfortable. Mingi presses a kiss on his forehead. 

𝝰

Once Yunho gets the go-ahead from the doctor to come off the meds, Mingi becomes abruptly aware of the way the omega smells. 

It’s something that he’s been aware of for some time, something that he knows well and understands, with proximity and time, but it’s never been quite so distracting. It doesn’t help that, in his attempts to understand what his omega is trying to communicate to him, Yunho is clingy. 

He preens under the attention of his omega, of his boyfriend, loves the way he easily slots his hand into Mingi’s, wraps his arms around his waist when he’s at the sink, at practice. 

But it makes it hard to focus on anything but Yunho. 

He’s trying very hard not to be the gross, overbearing alpha that his wolf appears to want him to be, pining and pawing at his chest, desperate to claim, to have. Yunho will press a gentle kiss on his cheek, and he has visions of pinning the man to the bed and fucking him until he cries. He’ll crawl onto his lap and bury his head in Mingi’s neck, and he’ll get imagery of the man flushed and sobbing, riding him during his heat. 

It rolls around his head nearly constantly, and he finds himself jacking off with the kind of frequency that he should be ashamed of, back to habits he hasn’t followed since he was a teenager. 

It’s one of those days where it prickles under his skin, itches at him like the start of a rut despite being months away from his next one, desperate for contact that he isn’t sure he’s allowed to have yet. He’d rather die than have Yunho feel uncomfortable, so he slips into his bedroom, tries to be casual about going to bed early. 

He’s needy enough that he doesn’t check the door, doesn’t check his surroundings, just shoves his hands down his sweats like a gross teen, strokes himself rapidly. He squeezes his eyes shut, bites down on the pillow he’s buried in, humps against the mattress pathetically. 

If he weren’t so hormonal, wasn’t so keyed up, he’d be embarrassed at his pitiful desperation. But in the moment, it’s intoxicating, every touch and memory of Yunho’s pretty noises, of how he felt, making his head spin. 

“Yu, fuck,” he grits out, unable to stop himself, breathing ragged and uneven. He's leaking into the material of his pants, smearing pre all over his hand in his clumsy, horny daze. “Fu-fuck.” 

He thinks of coconut, of vanilla and heat, of Yunho's flushed face and soft skin. His eyelids flutter as he gasps to himself, his wolf whipping his tail incessantly in his chest.

“Yuyu, shit, shit,” he pants into the material in his teeth, unaware of his volume, of his shamelessness. Then, abruptly, there’s a hand on the small of his back, making him jump, letting out a shocked, shy noise. 

“Mmm, I’m right here,” Yunho teases gently, and Mingi snatches his hand away from himself like he’s been burnt, hot embarrassment flushing his cheeks and ears. “You could have just asked.”

“S-Sorry, I, fuck,” Mingi stutters, and he’s rolling over without thinking, not registering how obvious that’s going to make his boner until he’s already on his back, looking up at his boyfriend. 

Yunho’s eyes drift over him, the way his shirt is still rucked up awkwardly, exposing his stomach, landing on the blatant bulge in his sweatpants. Mingi lifts a hand to hide his eyes, shy under his gaze. 

“Can I help?” Yunho whispers, and Mingi makes a choked little noise, peeks at him through his fingers. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, half question, half acceptance, and Yunho nods eagerly, fingertips trailing over the sliver of tummy exposed, along the waistband of his sweats. “I didn’t want to o-overwhelm you, while you were still figuring every-everything out, fuck,” he gets out, breath hitching as Yunho’s fingers trail further up his stomach, pushing a little underneath the elasticated waistband, playful and teasing. 

“That’s sweet,” Yunho says softly, but then he’s moving to straddle Mingi, grinning at the blush on his face. “You’re so cute,” he adds, and his voice sounds a little breathy. Mingi catches the arousal that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore in Yunho’s scent, realises where this is going, tries to hide the way his cock twitches pathetically against the omega’s ass. 

“Yunho…” he can’t stop the whine of his voice, the obvious want that clings to his vowels, and Yunho giggles happily. 

“Mingi,” he says back, and then he’s leaning in, finally kissing him the way he’s been waiting for, desperate for. He’s probably too eager, all saliva and teeth, but Yunho responds in kind, seemingly just as needy as him. 

His hands roam mindlessly, trying to memorise every inch of skin under his fingers, over Yunho’s back, his ass, his thighs. The omega makes a noise of contentment into Mingi’s mouth, grinds down teasingly, and he’s a little embarrassed at the moan that falls out of his lips into Yunho’s mouth. 

“Please fuck me,” Yunho whispers, and Mingi nods with the kind of enthusiasm that would get him made fun of if it were anyone but his boyfriend straddling him. Instead, he just makes a beautiful breathless noise as the alpha unintentionally rolls his hips up. 

“You smell so good,” Mingi murmurs, and the omega shivers slightly in his grip, grinding himself down onto the alpha’s hard bulge through their clothes. “Can't stop wanking, you're driving me insane.” 

“Hmm,” Yunho hums, and Mingi can feel the smirk form on the omega's mouth against his lips. “You like it?” he asks, and despite his teasing tone, Mingi can hear the slight tentativeness of his voice. 

“Fuck, Yuyu,” and then he's rolling them, pushing Yunho flat on his back, burying his face in the omega's neck. “You don't know how much,” he thinks it might be quite obvious, however, as he ruts his aching cock against Yunho's ass, pushes his legs apart to crowd between them. 

“Shit,” Yunho breathes out, going lax against the bedding. “Show me. Please.” 

It's all Mingi really needs, reaching to pull the older man's clothes out of the way like they've personally wronged him, discarded haphazardly. He doesn't even pause before he's pushing Yunho's thin thighs apart, nuzzling his nose against the glands around his cock. 

Yunho makes a winded noise, but doesn't fight back, letting his legs fall further apart. Mingi sees the shine as he spreads them open, sees the slick clinging to his lips and dampening his soft pubic hair. The knowledge that Yunho's this wet for him already makes it hard to slow down, to take his time. 

But he wants to, wants to have hours to take Yunho apart and put him back together again, pour everything he has into the omega so he knows, viscerally, how Mingi feels. 

He licks up through Yunho's leaking pussy gently, appreciating the taste, the little sigh that falls out of the omega’s mouth.  He starts a rhythm, lost in the motions, addicted to the noises, the way Yunho's thighs tremble under his hands. 

Every pass of his tongue, every stroke of his hand over Yunho's twitching cock, makes more slick rush out of his soaked cunt, leaving Mingi dizzy with how good it feels to be causing it, to be tasting Yunho like this.

He loses track of time, drunk on slick, on Yunho , and it's only when the omega tugs sharply at his hair that he pulls away, breathless and panting. 

“Please, need you,” Yunho begs, and the alpha groans low in his chest. He scrambles to get closer to his omega, presses a kiss into the dip of Yunho's chest, leaving a smear of slick and saliva on his pale skin. 

“You've got me,” Mingi promises, and he's shoving his sweatpants down, out of the way, fumbling in his movements with the desire coursing through him. “You're so pretty, so perfect, fuck.” 

“Mingi,” Yunho pleads, lifting his hips a little so Mingi can get closer, pull him into position. His dick is throbbing with it, red and weeping from neglect, and he tries to line up as best he can with his shaking hands. 

“Relax, baby,” he whispers, and then he's pushing in slowly, eyes on Yunho's face as his jaw goes slack with the stretch, hand clenching uselessly by his side. “Good boy, take it so well.” 

He wonders if Yunho can hear the slightly feral edge to his voice, the possession and pride that lurks just under the surface of his words. The omega whimpers softly, spare hand flying to press his own stomach. Mingi hiccups over a moan.

“Feel you,” Yunho sounds a bit dazed, pressing down on the bulge of his abdomen, and Mingi grits out something between a moan and a growl. 

“Fuck, Yuyu, baby,” he chants, and it takes a lot of wrestling with himself before he slowly pulls out, rocks himself back in. “You're so wet.” 

It's not a lie, Yunho's leaking slick all down his thighs, starting to saturate the sheets beneath them, everything swollen and wet and hot. The aroma of it is thick, heavy in the air, and it only serves to make the whirling want inside Mingi tighter and more pressing. 

Yunho whines quietly, muscles twitching as he seems to register the pleasure, unsure whether to move into it or shuffle back. Mingi makes that choice for him, grabs the omega's thin wrists in his hand easily. 

“Made for it, perfect, look at you,” Mingi's borderline babbling, praises spilling out of him without warning. “Made for my cock, for me.” 

“Yo-yours,” Yunho hiccups, breathing heavy as Mingi speeds up his thrusts, as his grip on the older man's wrists and hip gets tighter. The omega whimpers prettily. “Only yours.”

“Mine,” Mingi growls, and it's all building in his gut, all the pent-up energy and need swirling until he can't think with it. “Mine, mine, fuck.” 

Yunho responds so beautifully, so sensitive and easy to read now that his scent isn't dampened by his medication, now that Mingi is allowed to see him. He squirms and pants, hands scrabbling on the sheets, on Mingi's back, trying to pull him closer. 

Mingi keeps fucking into him, moving Yunho's thighs up, pressing them to his chest so he can get better leverage, lean closer. He can see every micro-expression that crosses the omega’s face, can smell every dip and spike of his intoxicating scent. He feels Yunho's soft, pliant skin under his grip, the way he's dripping slick everywhere, muscles fluttering around Mingi's thick cock. Every single one of his senses is completely filled by Yunho.

“You're beautiful, fucking, perfect, baby,” Mingi sounds as untethered as he feels, all raspy and desperate, and Yunho mewls, chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing, hiccuping over moans as Mingi pistons into him. “My angel, my baby, my perfect omega.” 

“Alpha, alpha, ple-please, please,” Yunho whimpers, and he blindly reaches for the omega's damp cock, strokes him in time with his thrusts.

“You're so good, you're doing so well, fuck, Yuyu, baby,” he babbles, and Yunho's eyes roll back as he gasps. Mingi feels the spasm of Yunho's walls around him, the spray of cum on his hand as the omega climaxes beneath him. He thrusts twice more before he's groaning low in his chest, falling into his own orgasm. 

It's devastating, the waves of it, somehow more intense than he remembers from his rut. It knocks the breath out of him, leaves him panting and gasping, forehead pressed against Yunho's like the skin-to-skin contact will keep him grounded in reality. It takes a long stretch of silence before Mingi manages to peel open his eyes, seeing Yunho already gazing up at him with a grin. 

“You okay?” The alpha murmurs, moving so he can stroke the omega’s hair, his cheek, his jaw. Yunho preens under the affection, nuzzles into Mingi's palm.

“So good,” he confirms gently, eyelids fluttering in contentment. “Perfect.” 

“I love you,” Mingi hears the words fall out of him before he registers he even wants to say them, but Yunho's vanilla aroma spikes with sweetness, with joy, instantly. 

“I love you too, idiot,” Yunho teases softly, and pouts when Mingi pulls out gingerly. 

They wobble to the shower around ten minutes later, and Mingi spends entirely too much time washing Yunho. It settles his instincts, to care for the omega this way, and Yunho just falls lax under his ministrations, content to be pampered. 

“How are you feeling, with everything?” Mingi murmurs, a little later, when they're out and Yunho's playing with his still-damp hair. His head's on Yunho's chest, comfortable and warm, able to feel his even breathing. 

“Okay,” the omega admits, nails scratching gently in his scalp. “I'm not surprised about what the doctor said, with my womb and stuff maybe not being healthy after so long, but… I'm just glad my wolf is still here, is still communicating so well.” Mingi can smell his subtle shyness, reaches to pat his hand encouragingly.

“You know, no matter what, I love you, right?” Mingi suddenly feels the urge to confirm it, to say it again, and Yunho giggles gently. 

“Yeah, Min, I know,” he teases, like he's heard it a million times already, and Mingi grins to himself. 

Maybe in the future, it might not be so easy when they have to go on tours and Yunho has to balance his cycles with schedules and performances. When the doctor's results come back and they'll know if the damage to Yunho's uterus is permanent or not. When they'll see what the years of suppressant use have done to the omega’s body. But right now, when they’re like this, it’s so simple. 

And they let themselves have it.