Archive of Our Own

Jisung will never be able to pinpoint the exact moment his life changes forever, but he certainly knows where the snowballing starts. 

It’s a complex mixture of several compounding things that unknowingly kicks it off, the perfect storm of factors both in and out of his control all culminating on one not-so-average day. He distantly remembers some old proverb about luck; something about when opportunity meets preparation. 

The thing is, Jisung isn’t prepared. Far from it. In fact, he’s spent years actively avoiding preparing for this particular “opportunity”, but fate has a funny way of working out in the end. The preparation part of things is easy, objectively subjective, managed and measured through tangible means. He controls his own preparation, even if he never knows what he’s preparing for in terms of the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, opportunity is nebulous, like a dense fog. Thick on the tongue and even harder to swallow, wholly permeable and malleable by unseen hands. Preparation is easy, but opportunity makes him nervous.

And it’s the opportunity for Jisung’s reckoning that begins it all, starting the same way certain days occasionally do: with an omega in preheat in the corner of the company café.

Jisung knows it’s normal. 

God, he knows better than anyone else in this room (second to the omega in preheat) that it’s normal for omegas to ask an alpha to service their heats and preheats in public if they need it. Omegas are rare, ethereal beings, after all, and therefore something worthy of worship, something to be waited on hand and foot by every alpha ever. This omega happens to be getting worshipped by a very enthusiastic tongue between her legs, her “STAFF” lanyard rapping against the back of her chair with every squirming motion. 

He’s trying not to stare. To watch. Sure, everyone in the room can see, but the omega hasn’t given permission to watch. She’s far too precious of a creature for random alphas and betas to so carelessly watch. 

But Jisung glances. 

Glances again. 

Glances again, long enough to follow the lines that her fingers drag through the alpha’s hair, long enough to swoop his gaze down to the alpha’s jaw working overtime, long enough to see how the alpha tilts her chin and presses her face deeper and they both look like they’re having so much fun and—

“Jisung-ah,” Seungmin nudges him with his shoulder, pulling his attention away from the omega and back to the barely-touched lunch in front of him. They have dance practice today. He needs his energy. He should eat. He should eat. He grabs a sheet of seaweed from the package next to Minho’s bowl of rice and tuna, picks up his own rice with it, and stuffs it into his mouth. Presses his legs together and whines like it’s not the most conspicuous thing in the world. “What are you doing, man?”

“Is your rut about to start?” Sweet, sweet Felix asks so innocently. Genuinely. Jisung watches his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, collecting a small dribble of sauce on the corner of his mouth. Jisung shifts uncomfortably in his chair. It’s summer. He’s sweaty. That’s all it is. It’s certainly not his rut.

“I-I don’t think so,” Jisung chokes a little. 

“You sure?” Felix’s sweet smile turns mischievous. “Because if you get any redder I might be able to smell you from here.”

Jisung opens his mouth to deny everything with his full chest, but grains of rice stick along his dry throat, harshly swallowing as the omega behind him loudly gasps.

Everyone stills then, not just him. 

To his far left, Changbin and Jeongin stare straight ahead at nothing in particular, entirely giving themselves away with how their jaws have stopped working their lunch. Across from him, Hyunjin has his eyes closed, fingers gently pressed against his eyelids to give extra protection. Felix and Seungmin are suddenly very, very interested in their food, the aforementioned red now blossoming across their cheeks. To his right, Minho scrolls through their shared calendar app on his phone—clicking between eight differently-labeled, four-day-long seasonal segments all color-coded in light blue until he finds ‘HJS’ scheduled for next month—unbothered, chewing, chewing, chewing.

Diagonal to him, and the only place Jisung can stomach to look, he makes eye contact with Chan. And Chan, well, Chan is staring at him when it happens. 

Right. At. Jisung.

The omega comes. Loud and unrestrained. Violently, if the way the back of her chair keeps hitting the wall and the table rocks against the floor like it’s being shaken are any indication. Then, faint, wet slurping that makes Jisung want to implode, still holding Chan’s gaze. Heavy, deep breathing. The rustle of clothing being fixed. Two very shy ‘thank you’s exchanged between both of them. Back to work.

The omega leaves. Jisung can tell by the way the café chatter immediately crescendos to drown everything else out. No more barely concealed silence. No more noises everyone is straining to hear instead of see. No more pounding of Jisung’s heart, thrumming in his throat, strangling him with off-beat notes. 

Omegas getting serviced in public is legal and normal, expected, even, but not exactly common. No one ever wastes a chance to bear witness to an omega’s rare beauty, never wastes a chance to envy the alpha for being chosen to care after something as important as an omega’s heat.

Chan blinks first, and in his periphery, Jisung watches Minho suck something off his pinky finger. He shudders.

“Jisung,” Chan gently calls out, sucking his chopsticks clean in a way that squeezes his pink tongue, and all eyes unintentionally fall on Jisung. “You good? You’re quite flushed.”

Shit. He should probably play it cool.

“Flushed?” He blinks, hand flying up to touch against his cheek. It’s a little warm. He just heard an omega get serviced, after all. And it’s summer. He’s hot. It’s not his rut. “Oh! Um. Yeah. Just, you know.”

Nailed it.

“You were straight up staring,” Seungmin reminds him, smiling around his kimchi, the spittle around his gums dyed a sickly-sweet baby pink that Jisung just can’t seem to look away from. He can hear the cabbage crunch between his molars when he bites down, the sound sending a wave of tiny pinpricks down Jisung’s spine. Seungmin’s eyes twinkle playfully. “What, wish it was you?”

Wish it was you?

Jisung feels his ears go crimson and it’s Changbin who clears his throat in warning, but Minho takes it a step further. 

“Who wouldn't, pup?” He hums, leaning over Jisung to get all up in Seungmin’s business. Leaning in a way that makes Jisung feel small and covered. Intentionally shielded. Minho isn’t looking at him, and with his gentle vanilla-magnolia scent adopting a tart undertone, Jisung’s sure that he’s being very careful not to. “Think you’d be able to do it if an omega asked? Make them feel so good that they see stars?”

Seungmin pulls a face, rolling his eyes as if he doesn’t care, but Jisung knows he does. At the end of the day, he’s still an alpha. All alphas worry about the hypothetical situation of suddenly having to step up to the plate when an omega goes into heat and chooses them to be their temporary partner. All alphas worry about being wholly unable to satisfy an omega, fearing the tender shame that failing someone as sacred as an omega would bring.

Jisung can detect an odd sharpness suspended in Seungmin’s typically-neutral lemongrass scent despite the moderate pheromone-suppressors they all take, but Minho seems to miss it. Seungmin doesn’t answer, playing with his food, jaw clenching and unclenching. A lighthearted fight for dominance, unstoppable force and unmovable object. 

Jisung’s in the path of collision.

Seungmin growls nonthreateningly, and Jisung whimpers throatily right into Minho’s ear.

“Hm. Thought so.” Minho unceremoniously flops back in his seat with blush-colored cartilage, satisfied with his mild teasing. Then he celebrates the triumph by stealing some of Jisung’s lunch, for good measure. 

The whole situation, and he does mean the whole situation, leaves Jisung’s mouth and throat dry. From the very moment he swallows he knows it’s audible; thick and not at all helpful, only serving to bring attention back to him when he chokes. Changbin pushes his preworkout drink towards him, and Jisung gives a quiet ‘thanks’ under his breath, pulling at his shirt collar under the guise of scratching his neck.

“Seungmin, stop teasing Jisung,” Chan calls with no real weight behind his words, but he’s the oldest alpha, so they listen anyway. “Minho, stop teasing both of them. I want an amicable dance practice today, okay?”

Can’t argue with that logic, especially since it’s going to be filmed for the intro series of their upcoming comeback, every little scene destined to be zoomed in on, screenshot, clipped, and picked apart by fans. They’ll know if someone looks a little off. If there’s any out-of-the-ordinary interaction. They notice everything. 

Jisung bites the inside of his cheek and chugs his vitamin water, fanning his face the slightest bit in his best effort to calm himself down. He’s just flustered, anxious, and a little nauseated from witnessing something so out of the ordinary. It’s summer, and they’re about to dance a bunch. Everything is going to be fine. Nothing weird is going to happen today and he’ll forget this even happened by the time they’re ready to film.

And yet, throughout the rest of lunch, one thing manages to stick in the back of Jisung’s mind:

Wish it was you?

***

Most of the time, Jisung, at the very least, tolerates the days that they film behind-the-scenes footage of their dance practices. More often than not, he loves the process and getting to witness every ounce of care that goes into making a finished product: learning new things from the swathe of crew that joins in and getting exposure to jobs and tasks and equipment he didn’t even know existed. 

Today, he hates how suffocating it is. There’s more staff than they’ve had in the past to accommodate their growth as a group, including a whole second camera angle. Other than their managers and one person to make sure the cameras are in focus, there’s a handful and a half of people from their hair and makeup team, a few choreographers, lighting and sound, company reps, and generally just more people overall. Dozens of eyes watch their every move, making sure that their image is protected at the source before being double-protected during editing.

All the extra scrutiny aside, it’s hot.

It is so fucking warm in the practice room. More people means more body heat. Camera equipment motors and extra lighting creates more heat. They rarely conduct a filmed dance practice in less than a few layers, which means Jisung is sweating through his t-shirt, his hoodie, and his pants. He’s so warm he feels a bit sick, nausea creeping ever closer the more he moves his increasingly heavy limbs.

He keeps making tiny mistakes. Keeps going clockwise when he should be going counterclockwise, uses his left foot instead of his right, reaches his hand out a half beat too late. Little things that anyone can shrug off as him simply having an off day but once they start piling up it’s hard not to notice the mess of a mountain he’s made. He doesn’t even get scolded that much by the older members for it, but something inside him wishes they would. Wishes that they’d treat him the way they would if it was Hyunjin, or Felix, or Seungmin, or even Jeongin making these mistakes.

His head is all fuzzy and the series of events at lunch has put him on an anxious edge even hours later, Jisung left to teeter his way to safety. Something hangs in the air, sits damp on the back of his neck, slowly dripping down.

Something is about to happen.

He tries his best to keep up, to stay in pace with the others, but he can’t shake the blatant paranoia laid out so plainly on his shoulders. He’s pretty sure his aura would be a black miasma if it was visible, exhaustion and anxiety rolling off of him in waves. A short break is called after they run through the sorikkun choreography for the umpteenth time and he immediately slumps against the mirror, biting the collar of his sweaty hoodie to muffle the tiny whine of pain that escapes him. 

Everyone’s smell is on him, soaked into the fabric. It covers his own woodspice scent, drowned out with salt and sweat and vague alpha-like irritation. He bites his collar harder, and clenches his eyes shut to cope.

His hoodie tastes faintly of cinnamon, but sweeter. Cloyingly so. And in a single moment, in the breadth of a heartbeat, it all clicks together and his entire world combusts into flames.

Preheat.

The warmth pooling in his lower belly, the flush easily rising to his ears and cheekbones. The urge to make himself small, to seek out somewhere safe and protected. His nausea, his dry mouth, his aching body, his sensitivity to emotions and body language and scents. He takes a quick inventory of his body, finding that his scent gland patches are saturated with oil despite him having taken his pheromone suppressants, threatening dangerously to leak. Next, he quickly finds that other things are threatening dangerously to leak. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

This isn’t his preheat.

This is heat heat. 

A whole month early. For the first time ever.

The realization seems to solidify it into reality, allowing whatever thin thread of a floodgate that his oblivion was holding to snap. His knees knock together, legs all wobbly and unsteady, and he pulls his hoodie down over himself as if to hide something that isn’t there. Yet. He bites his lip to keep from whining when another dull cramp hits like a sour note on a too-tight guitar string, inhaling sharply only to get another lungful of alpha sweat. 

Jisung’s body moves before his brain does, reaching out to latch onto the sleeve of the person nearest to him. He pulls them close, letting himself surrender to the faint, familiar cloud of mandarin blossom that envelops him before he can use his better judgement.

“Hyung,” he softly, shakily calls, wringing the hem of his hoodie with one fist and the alpha’s sleeve with his other, digging his nails in as if letting go means losing himself to his heat forever. He looks to the side, ignoring how close his own face is in the mirror, and meets a confused pair of eyes that slowly morph into concern, then plunge into recognition. 

Tendrils of citrusy panic instantly take shape, but all Jisung’s heat-addled mind can conjure up in response is a mantra of safe alpha, safe alpha. His eyelids flutter shut, he bites his lip, and leans in to be that much closer to safety, to heaven. He’s sweet. So sweet. Tasty. Good. And so, so very safe. Jisung knows he can trust this alpha to catch him from this slip, from this metaphorical fall.

“My heat’s early, hyung. ‘M sorry.”

He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, be it interrupting the intro video filming process, for not realizing the signs earlier, for becoming a problem that the others now have to deal with, but it feels right to let his tongue become familiar with a word as loaded as ‘sorry’. 

“Channie-hyung?” Changbin’s voice quivers slightly as he supports Jisung’s weight, letting him rest half against the mirror, half on his plush bicep. Jisung is so happy he’s been working out more and more, because this might be his new favorite place. He starts nuzzling closer and closer towards Changbin’s scent gland, and Changbin tenses under him. “Chan.”

“What’s up?” Chan’s scent hits Jisung before his voice. Warm, spiced honey. A mulled drink on a winter night. A nice, strong scent that makes saliva pool behind his teeth. He instinctively whines, reaching out to bring it closer. “Shit. Is he?” 

“Yeah.”

“You smell like Christmas. Chris-mas.” Jisung laughs airily, steadily getting intoxicated by the onslaught of what innocuous alpha-scent is like when he’s in heat. Cause fuck. He’s in heat. He’s in heat and Chan smells sooooo damn good that it hurts. He peels himself off Changbin to nuzzle into Chan instead, uncaring of how quickly it makes him slip further and further between the cracks of his own sanity.

Chan would be such a good, gentle alpha to him. He’s already so careful and attentive, so thanklessly giving. Maybe… maybe if Jisung can manage to give him a little push on his shoulders… if he can hint that he wants him to sink down lower, yes. Yes, then their combined scents would be—

“Channie-hyung kinda smells like me.”

Chan and Changbin freeze on either side of him, because while Jisung can detect and sort through alpha pheromones better while in heat, it most definitely isn’t a one-way street.

Jisung’s heatscent elbows its way into the warm floral mixture, swirling in a stripe of various woodspice. Cinnamon, anise, clove—all drenched in a sickly-sweet syrup not unlike what's gathering between his legs. The spice blend is thick, pheromones misty, like autumn-evening-kitchen-fumes are coagulating on the back of his palate. It only serves to add a fuller body to the thin cloud of collective alpha pheromones, making the strange mixture more complete.

And sure, they’ve all become well acquainted with each other’s scents countless times before. It’s hard not to when they exist in a haze of eight distinct aromas all the time, but right now Jisung is in heat. His entire being right now is an unknown variable, new territory, an experiment that wasn’t meant to escape containment. No one has ever smelled him like this before, his body broadcasting to all the available alphas that he’s sweet and ripe and in need of a mate.

Soon.

Around him, depths of familiar and unfamiliar scents alike begin to creep in and fill his fuzzy mind, yanking him between signals of both comfort and danger. Calming lavender, but acrid mint. Cooling eucalyptus, but sour hallabong. Sweet lemongrass, but towering pine. Some activate his salivary glands, others make his heart race with fear. Some make his fingertips go staticky with the urge to touch and take, others make him want to gag and hide. 

He starts trying to hone in on the ones he knows as if they were his own: the comforting ones held so close against his body, the special ones just out of reach on the other side of the room. Florals and spices and herbs and citrus. He wants them all.

He needs them all.

In the back of his mind, a needling voice: wish it was you?

“You smell so good, hyung,” Jisung says, but tears himself away to pant against the mirror. It fogs up with his breath when he turns to rest his cheek against something cool and grounding, head clearing up despite the heady mix. He takes slow, deep breaths, and makes vaguely unfocused eye contact with Chan as a wall of pure vanilla-magnolia approaches, deepening when a new hand reaches up to rest knuckles against Jisung’s scorching forehead. “Minho-hyung smells nice, too.”

“He’s burning up.” Minho comments, gaze flicking between Changbin and Chan, clear concern held in every crease on his forehead. Jisung wants to trace every line, wants to memorize the texture under his quivering index finger.

“Jisung, do you think you can make it back to the dorms?” Chan asks softly, standing in a way that helps shield Jisung from the broader view. Honey envelops him like a warm hug, and while he’s thankful for the single note making it easier to breathe, Jisung’s stomach plummets when wetness finally soaks through the entire crotch of his underwear, the reality of sticky, hot slick crowding his pants enough to shock him out of his scent-drunk stupor.

Shit.

He processes the question and shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut when a small, but telling, cramp echoes from deep inside him. Too many scents. Too close. Too good. He’s barrelling towards his first wave at a destructive speed: the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.

“It’s gonna happen.” Jisung shakily exhales, blinking back tears when he smells the twinge of eucalyptus, lemongrass, lavender, and black pepper from just beyond the barrier of his hyungs. Those four comforting scents that belong to the ones who have no idea who he is. What he is. The ones who have no idea why Jisung’s cycles come and go like clinical clockwork, who have no idea why Jisung gets sudden, awkward smiles after presenting his held-to-his-chest ID at bars and airport security check-ins, who have no idea why they subconsciously seek out Jisung’s woodspiced vicinity the second they start to feel stressed, or worried, or upset. “It’s gonna happen here.”

The facade was bound to self-immolate one day, he just hoped and prayed that it wouldn’t have happened like this: going into heat in the middle of a crowded room. Surrounded by alphas. Surrounded by too many alphas.

And yet, with only three here within reach, still not enough alphas. He’s four short. Always has been. But he doesn’t get to make that admission now. Doesn’t deserve to.

“What do you need right now, Jisung?”

His tongue is heavy, metallic, mouth dry and gummy because all of his fluids keep escaping him through other parts of his body in increasingly concerning amounts. “Nest.”

Chan’s nostrils flare and he quirks an eyebrow. “Just your nest?”

Jisung’s heartbeat skips, and then quickens. Pounds against his ribcage like it wants to escape, traveling further and further south like it’s the one place it can be freed. He swallows the guilt, and mulls over Chan’s question. Jisung knows what he’s implying, because the four of them have talked about this exact scenario before. But that was meant to be a safety plan, a hypothetical, a “just-in-case”. 

Today’s reality.

“No.” Jisung whispers, and suddenly, he can’t meet anyone’s surprised eye. He blushes even more, warmth spreading across his skin, moving outward like the slow expansion of an aging star.

Jisung keens from another cramp, forced to remember where it all began.

Several years ago, before they even debuted, Chan and Changbin found out that Jisung was an omega. They had each been working on an assignment for their shared MIDI class late into the night, taking turns sleeping two hours at a time in a makeshift nest in order to make it through various events the following day. Changbin had to get on the train early in order to make it to school on time, Chan was going to see one of his sunbaenim for the first time in months, and Jisung… was going to spend the week in a heat hotel. 

The topic was going to come up eventually. While he’s not someone who wants to advertise his secondary sex, he’s also not trying to deceive others into thinking he’s something he’s not. He’s simply… just never corrected anyone who assumes he’s also an alpha. But if they asked if he was omega, he wouldn’t deny it, either. The former is just… more common. No deception. Intentionally. 

And it’s not that Jisung dislikes being an omega, but there is something about the overwhelming attention it brings that leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Malaysia and South Korea have similar, but nuanced, views of omegas, and while he wasn’t regarded by his peers as something inherently holy like he was before the big move, he was treated like he was somehow “better” than the alphas and betas, always introduced as an omega first and a person second. 

The new omega classmate, Jisung. The omega class president, Jisung. Everyone’s omega “best friend”, Jisung. It was too much, and he very much preferred homeschooling after his parents decided a change of pace would be good for him.

It’s left him wanting, yearning, to prove himself through his skills, ability, and learned talent, not have everything handed to him because he’s “special”. He empathizes with Hyunjin in that way, admiring him almost to the point of envy in the past, but these days he already has proven himself to a degree he’s comfortable with, omega or not. The truth just… never followed. His comfort changed.

As a trainee, before he had that comfort, or rather, by the time he realized he could have that comfort in Chan and Changbin’s company, it seemed too late to come clean, like there was never a ‘good’ time. He just kept waiting and waiting and putting it off over and over up until the very moment he was caught red-handed (and has since proceeded to do the exact same thing again, and again, and again). 

Fate has seemingly come up with a plan to throw him headfirst into overly dramatic reveals from the very start. Opportunity before preparation. Never prepared enough, whatever enough means anymore.

It was a text. A simple text. He was showing Chan a clip of his new rap verse when he got a text confirmation for his reservation at the nice, secure heat hotel JYPE had paid for as part of his contract, and Chan just so happened to recognize the automatic message wording from other omega trainees. 

Chan, ever the good hyung, must have seen the panic in Jisung’s eyes, felt the stale air of dread, smelled his fear, because he just pursed his lips, nodded, and didn’t say anything until Jisung’s compoundingly anxious aura got so intense it woke Changbin up and sent him into an overprotective fervor so primal that Jisung had to come clean to him, too.

They’ve always made it a point to respect him and his wishes to keep it quiet, never asked questions until Jisung brought it up himself, never made the shift to treating him like an omega, but continued to treat him like Jisung, who happens to be an omega. To this day, Jisung is unabashedly grateful, occasionally moved to tears by how deeply those few actions have taken root in his heart.

And then, Minho. 

Minho... found out in a much less wholesome way. From the beginning of their friendship, a mere few days after meeting for the very first time, they’ve had a silent, mutual agreement of reciprocity. They share nearly everything, ranging from food and clothes to space and time, so it was inevitable that Minho would one day share this knowledge, too.

Objectively too much sharing, because Minho found out back when they lived all eight of them together, barging into his precious dongsaengs’ room unannounced like he would any other day. Thing is, Jisung was in the middle of getting dressed after an uncharacteristic midday shower, trying to balance on one foot long enough to step into his favorite threadbare watermelon panties. And for everything Jisung can do to pass as not-an-omega, there is one crucial alpha “quality” missing that he can’t mimic, emulate, or fake.

A certain quality that Jisung can now see before his very eyes, the outline of which is clearly straining against the front of Changbin’s pants as Jisung’s scent grows ever sweeter. He’s thankful that Chan speaks, giving him a reason to break his gaze away from the only thing that scares him more than any challenge he’s faced up until now: his own vulnerability.

“Nest first, okay.” Chan says, lips pressed in the same thin line they form when he’s mitigating intergroup conflicts or deciding how to overlay adlibs for a track. He nods once, and Jisung can feel every ounce of authority and finality and intentional comfort seeping from his very being.

Jisung catches his sleeve between trembling fingers, nervously looking around the room at all of the staff members that have begun to take notice of their hesitation. Chan follows his gaze and offers up the softest of smiles, shrugging off his jacket and tying it around Jisung’s waist, the bulk of it covering his front, if slightly skewed to his right. 

“I’ve gotcha, alright?”

“But what about-”

“Your hyungs will make sure you get through this safely and on your own terms.”

Jisung has no choice but to believe every easy promise flowing from Chan’s mouth, latched on like a devotee sipping straight from a spring of divine knowledge.

“Let’s go sit you down first.” Changbin says, gently guiding him in the direction of the long, L-shaped, black couch just to their right. 

Jisung does so, plopping down on the springy cushion, shielded by a standing Changbin in front of him, head much clearer now but every single other symptom is gnawing at his bones. He’s nauseated, crampy, sweating, and, worst of all, simultaneously overstimulated and understimulated in all the wrong ways. He lifts the bottom of Chan’s jacket closer to his face and inhales, letting the world slowly fade for the briefest of moments before he’s being wrenched back into his body.

“I was just joking earlier, Sung. I wouldn’t have poked fun if I knew you were actually that close to a surprise rut.” 

Jisung freezes. Almost gags with how hard the nausea of guilt slams into him. He both has to force himself to, and can’t stop himself from, looking up at Felix. 

Felix, who has genuine concern and empathy plastered across his features because Jisung doesn’t get surprise cycles. Felix, who has gone into an early or flash or false rut three times this year alone, always somehow falling victim to bad timing even though he’s the one who personally keeps the blue-color-coded group cycle calendar up to date. Felix, who always jokes that for everything they twin with, Jisung’s clockwork-like rut cycles are the only thing keeping them from merging into one person. 

The ‘only’ thing.

Jisung freezes, and it goes bone deep. Fear. He’s terrified right now. Of Felix. Of everyone. He’s an omega in heat in a room full of alphas, and while he knows that his group would never let anything unsavory happen to him, that so much as looking at him right now without his permission could ruin anyone in this room’s career if he so chooses, he’s still vulnerable. Small. Exposed. 

All of his white lies and mistruths and intentional red herrings are now exposed, slowly leaking between his thighs.

“Yongbokkie,” Minho begins through a slight cringe, Felix uncomfortably shifting his weight between either foot at the hushed, careful tone. “Can you please go get your jacket and Iyennie’s hat from over there?”

Felix looks at Minho, then at Jisung, then at Changbin, then at Chan across the room where he’s talking to their managers and staff. Then back to Jisung.

And Felix is smart. He’s so smart. He’s worked hard to be smart in not just one, but two languages, fighting harder than anyone else to do something as simple as express himself. Jisung knows that Felix knows what’s happening the minute his concern morphs into something bordering neutral. No concern. No confusion. No anger or upset. Just… the acceptance of neutrality as he works over the situation in his mind. 

However, neutrality on Felix is the most painful thing.

“Yeah, sure.” 

Jisung could cry. His nausea is worse. He’s so much hotter now. Chan’s jacket is too heavy, too itchy, too suffocating. The room is suffocating. Too many scents. Too many people. Everything is bad.

He is bad.

“Hey,” Changbin kneels down on his level, and Jisung is shaking. He puts his hands on top of Jisung’s and pins them to his knees, weighing them down. Mandarin blossoms. Vanilla magnolia. Warm, spiced honey. Cinnamon and clove. “You’re okay.”

But he’s not. 

“You’re okay, Sung-ah.” Minho echoes.

But Jisung isn’t.

Why is it so hard to believe his own thoughts, though? Why is he trying to fight against these alphas so hard when they say he’s okay with such assurance? Why are they trying so hard to comfort him like this when he’s only ever caused them trouble? When all of this will inevitably lead to anger, to betrayal, to uncomfortable conversations, to ruin?

“Jisung-ah,” a new voice cuts through Jisung’s panic, one of their managers gently approaching alongside Chan, most of the group close behind. The choreographers, makeup artists, executive-proxies, and the rest of the crew are quickly being ushered out by their other manager. The way a few of them are sneaking curious, wary glances is not lost on Jisung, which only serves to worsen his nausea. Felix and Jeongin are on the opposite side of the room, rifling through their personal items and pulling out articles of clothing. “Here.”

Their manager holds out a familiar black bag, plain save for the JYPE logo embroidered into the front pocket. The standard-issue rut kit that every group, solo artist, team of employees, and entire corporate divisions are given and required to have accessible at all times. Emergency ones are located in every bathroom, every office, at the ends of every hallway.

This kit, however, contains more than the average suppressant pills, scent patches, towel, water, and whatever the hell else they put in these things for alphas who go into public rut. No, this one is specifically tailored to include rut and heat items. 

Jisung was curious about the contents they included specifically for him, once, long ago. He had asked his manager for a quick peek, just to know what he would be working with should the worst come to pass. He feels his blush deepen at just the memory, let alone the thought of having to open the kit and pull those items out right here, right now, in front of his members.

“Thank you.” Jisung says, voice barely a whisper as Changbin lets him take the kit into quaking hands.

Probably not the best idea on anyone’s part, though, because the universe really wants to fuck him over today. The bag is heavy. It slips. The zipper had been slightly undone, the hole just big enough to let a few small items fall out.

Alpha condoms, size large and extra-large, in bright, fun foil colors, skitter across the floor first. Then, an underwear pad made for absorbing slick, surprisingly thin and lightweight. The small print on both of them mock him. (“Can withstand most* knot sizes!” “Sustainable leak-proof, scent-proof care for omegas of all primary sexes.”) 

Jisung starts shaking again, refusing to look up to see anyone’s faces. Refusing to acknowledge that this is happening, that this is real. Refusing to enter the reality that any member of his group could be looking at him with confusion, anger, betrayal, or hurt. 

“We can handle it from here.” Chan dismisses their manager, far too calmly for what’s just been revealed. “Thank you for all your help.”

“We’ll clear the area. Keep us updated.”

“Will do.” 

Their manager leaves and the door closes, Jisung’s gaze fixated on the alpha condoms, on the word ‘knot’. It stops looking like a word, stops sounding like a word. Becomes nothing but a feeling in the core of his body. A craving.

“Jisung.” Chan calls out to him, but Jisung can’t look up. He’s frozen. Stuck. Incongruent with time and space. “Wanna build your nest?”

It takes him a moment to find his voice. His small, grating, broken voice. He blinks, looking up at Chan with tears pinpricking dry eyes. “How are you so casual about this?”

Chan seems to find that a little funny. “Jisung, we’ve never been casual about you.”

And that… that gets Jisung to blush for a very different reason. 

Minho, Changbin, and Chan are close by, pulled into his orbit like little moons. Hyunjin and Seungmin are only a short distance away—planets—and Felix and Jeongin are shining suns, listening in from across the room. They avoid his gaze when he scans the space, but it’s not emotionally charged. If anything, it’s the same respectful avoidance that they paid the other omega earlier in the café. Recognition and acceptance of his status as an omega, but one that makes him want to sob.

“Hyung, I-” The words get lost on his tongue. He feels their warmth, smells the familiar, odd mix of citrus and spice and flowers that shouldn’t work but does. Jisung never noticed how big this room feels with only eight people in it. How far away they all feel from his center of gravity as he crash-lands into unfamiliarity. “I wanna build my nest.”

Jisung peels his own jacket off of his body and puts it on the cushion next to him, then removes his own top layer and adds that underneath. His t-shirt is drenched in sweat, the white almost see-through as it clings to his body. Despite this, he puts Chan’s hoodie on, finding it well worth the added heat. When he’s satisfied, a different worn, washed, and well-loved black hoodie is held out in his direction. Vanilla-magnolia. Minho.

“Thank you, hyung.” Jisung says, adding it to the couch. Chan reaches for the bag, bright red when he returns with painkillers and a lukewarm bottle of some generic vitamin drink. Jisung graciously takes them, and adds Changbin’s damp baseball cap to the mix, admiring the little curls on the nape of his neck. “Can I have that jacket and hat you mentioned?”

Jisung turns towards the other four. The four he wanted to tell so badly, had planned on telling so many times over, but no time ever felt right. He figures this is one of those things that never has a right time, though. Only attempts to reach out, to connect. Not damage control, but damage prevention. Coming clean. 

“Seungmin’s hoodie and Hyunjin’s shirt, too.”

Hyunjin looks to the side, somewhat incredulously. “My shirt? The one I’m wearing?”

“Do you have another?”

Hyunjin blinks, and then wordlessly slips his shirt over his head. Hands it over while half-naked like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but they both know he’s screaming inside. Jisung knows Hyunjin. He can see it in his eyes. Neither one of them is good at hiding their true emotions, all things considered. 

It makes Jisung wonder how well he’s hidden his own secret in the first place. If someone was able to see right through him the entire time. His gaze naturally floats to Jeongin. He shared a room with Jeongin for two whole years, and hell, he shares a bathroom with Hyunjin now. Surely… if anyone…

“You two already knew.”

Hyunjin scratches the back of his head the way he always does when he’s embarrassed, quickly walking over to Jeongin to get another shirt out of the pile of personal items. He puts on Changbin’s workout shirt, which doesn’t fit him at all. Too short, too loose. It makes him look younger than he is, like Jisung’s once again looking at the first person to ever unknowingly dare start an argument with his omegan self and not… his Hyunjin. His beautiful, wonderful Hyunjin. 

“I had my suspicions.” He looks at Jisung. Looks away. “You tend to leave the toilet seat down after being in there for two seconds so you were either an omega or an alpha who pisses sitting down and I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Jisung laughs a little at that, at the sincerity dripping from his voice, at the thought of Hyunjin being on a solo mission to solve the mystery of Jisung’s bathroom habits. The laugh is mostly ripped out of him, but it eases the air. Chan, Minho, Changbin, and Jeongin chuckle like they’re in on the joke. 

Jeongin tugs on his earlobe, fiddles with the hem of his beanie. He looks so round. So cute. So kissable. “I found your… meds… in your sock drawer.”

Oh. Fuck. Jeongin found his birth control pills. Pills he hasn’t taken in two years because he switched to an IUD after God’s Menu took off and their schedules got less stable. Pills that only his hyungs have seen him frantically take when they were working late and he suddenly remembered they existed. Pills they’ve seen him take several times before and, for some reason, never questioned when he stopped taking them. Jeongin found out all the way back then. 

Jisung looks at Felix, who shrugs nonchalantly. “I didn’t know. I thought our rut kit had omega things in case we ran into one.”

Seungmin looks like he’s about to faint, jaw dropped in a way that makes Jisung want to take a picture to use as blackmail later. “I may not be the only one who didn’t know, but why am I the only one who is shocked by this?”

“I’m more shocked that these three already knew.” Hyunjin gestures at their hyungs, brushing past Seungmin to help deliver the armful of clothes for the nest. The nest that Jisung is building. Using their clothes. For his heat. That’s happening right at this moment. “I kept quiet because I thought it was some kind of huge secret you were keeping from them. You always acted so weird around them when the topic of omegas came up.”

“That’s because we did know,” Chan pulls a few bottles of water out of the bag to put in the mini fridge across the room. “It’s hard not to get dodgy talking about omegas when the only time omegas come up is when-”

He suddenly stops, side-eyeing Jisung. 

Interesting.

“...when?” Jisung prompts, pausing his nest-adjustment to stare him down.

“When situations like earlier today happen.” 

Chan clears his throat awkwardly, but Jisung hears the true meaning loud and clear: when they’re reminded that that omega who was being serviced earlier could easily become Jisung.

And then: when they’re reminded that that alpha could easily become one of them.

It’s Jisung’s turn to awkwardly clear his throat, thighs squeezing together as he gets the sudden urge to make himself busy with fixing up his makeshift nest. The heat hotel he goes to has pre-scented items from faceless alphas, sterile in a way that makes fucking himself on a big dildo or two feel close to clinical. This nest is sweaty. Damp. Made with clothing that’s worn-in and well-loved. Lavender, eucalyptus, black pepper, lemongrass, mandarin, cinnamon, honey, vanilla. 

Scents that shouldn't work together but somehow do. The scent of Jisung’s clothes, his bed, his room, his dorm. The scent of his backpack and luggage and car seats and plane rides. The scent of his workplace and his hobbies and whatever new café he chooses to frequent and his favorite noraebang room and all of his favorite memories. He settles into the nest and feels at home.

When things like today happen, huh?

‘Wish it was you?’

“Sung,” Minho starts, stops to lick his lips, pauses. Jisung looks up to meet his searching eyes. His pupils look larger than before. Rounder. “You have your nest. What… else do you need?”

“Here’s the bag,” Changbin pulls it closer. “There’s slick pads, towels, cold compresses, heating thingies, this thing that looks like a tampon…” He hesitates, quickly glancing up at him as the color drains from his face and Jisung suddenly doesn’t want Changbin’s list to continue. “K-knotting… thing. Other knotting… thing? B-butt pluhhhhh…”

He hands the bag to Jisung like it’s burned him, and everyone averts their gaze with sweaty brows and reddened ears as Jisung peeks inside.

Condoms. Lube. Fever reducers. Slick absorbing products. Waterproof sheet. Normal dildo. Dildo with an inflatable knot. (Both kept sealed in sterile single-use plastic within unopened, dust-proof bags.) Plastic-wrapped plugs of all sizes. Ribbed strokers and a fleshlight (part of the rut kit, surely). A bullet vibrator and extra batteries.

He takes only the waterproof sheet out to somehow stuff into the nest, but his gaze lingers on the vibrator a little too long. It’s the same model he has back in his dorm, but is too self conscious of the noise to use. His is bright green. It glows in the dark. He stares at it so long that he convinces himself to wrap his hand around it, fully intending to put that in the nest, too, but ultimately drops it back into the bag. 

No, he shouldn’t subject them to the sound and image of him getting off. He can just stubbornly sleep through the first wave, knock himself out by getting scent-drunk, even if it means leaking slick all over the place while he’s out. 

However, by the time he starts unfolding the sheet, Minho has the vibrator in his hand, inspecting it, startling when he presses the ‘on’ button.

It seems to click, then, for the group of alphas, if the way they jolt at how strong the vibration is for the three seconds it loudly buzzes in Minho’s hand. Seems to really sink in what Jisung being an omega entails. A mental connection that male omegas like Jisung have one fundamental difference to male alphas. A realization that Jisung, male omega, would totally be drawn to a vibrator like a moth to a flame instead of the strokers, fleshlight, and other alpha-friendly toys.

The air changes. 

The air changes because Jisung is in heat and there are seven alphas and it’s not like they can just ignore it for the length of time it’ll take Jisung’s first wave to crest, no matter how he deals with it. But at the same time, what do they expect to do? Huddle up and pretend not to hear Jisung either beg for a knot during a restless nap or power through hearing him get himself off in a nest made of their clothes?

When the four of them made their plans for what-if, it was closer to the latter. Make him his nest, give him the tools to get the job done, leave, and come collect him when he’s done. It never factored in them being present in the room with him, let alone the other four being present, too. It never factored in a clear visage of the specific toys Jisung could use. It never factored in the fact that Jisung would smell like he does, that they would smell like they do. 

It especially never factored in that Jisung would be leaking slick in a nest consisting of everyone’s clothes, flushed and glistening and quivering and whimpering and increasingly desperate for toys that can knot him, toys that have options as to which hole they go in, toys that vibrate and are built to get things wet and messy to the point of needing towels and absorbent products and waterproof sheets.

Jisung looks at the vibrator in Minho’s hand, then realizes that it’s not even the vibrator he’s looking at, but the veins bulging from under his skin, the length of his fingers, the perfectly manicured nails that aren’t too long.

He blinks once. 

Blinks twice.

Sucks in a breath and tastes alpha on his lips.

“I don’t think… I don’t think I want to use that.”

“You’re going to sleep it off?”

Jisung feels tears prick in the corners of his eyes, but he’s pretty sure they’re out of frustration and desperation more than anything. “I don’t want to do that, either.”

The confession is heavy on his tongue. Spitty. Slurred with sickly-sweet desire. The air is charged. A spark could kill them all, but the silence would suffocate them first.

Changbin audibly swallows. “Then what… do you want?” 

Jisung looks at Changbin, tips of his ears ablaze. “You already know the answer to that, hyung.”

“Like, right now?” Changbin freezes. 

Jisung blinks. “Yes, right now. Hyung, I’m in heat.”

“Heat.” Changbin repeats hoarsely, seemingly shocked into action as he looks around at his surroundings and stands up so fast, so straight, it makes Jisung jolt. His voice is tight, like he’s trying to hold so much back. “You’re in heat. Right. You’re in heat! A normal thing for, for omegas. Heat. Jisung is in heat.”

“Don’t say it so much, hyung.” Jisung pulls his shirt down over himself, feeling exposed. Vulnerable. “‘S embarrassing…”

Changbin bites his bottom lip to stifle some kind of noise Jisung has never heard before. Minho scoffs out a laugh to the side, tucking the vibrator back into the bag in favor of continuing where Jisung left off on setting up the sheet. 

“Go,” Minho slaps Changbin’s butt as he passes, nodding to the other side of the couch. “Take him aside for a second so Channie and I can finish the nest.”

“Me?” Changbin points at himself.

Jisung pouts, toes going cold. “If you don’t wanna kiss me I’ll ask someone-”

“Kiss.” The word shakes something loose in Changbin, makes it more palatable. A manageable task: kissing Jisung. A smaller beast than what ‘help me through my heat’ heavily implies.

Next thing Jisung knows, he’s straddling Changbin’s lap at the end of the couch, strangely at peace with Chan and Minho messing around with his nest in his peripheral. He’s also strangely at peace with the fact that there are four people watching all of this happen, only visible when he strains his neck to look in the wall-length mirrors to the side. 

He’s never going to see this dance practice room the same way, is he? Fuck, he looks debauched already. Flushed, hot, sweaty. Wide eyes, hands hiding what’s between his thighs. He looks like an omega in heat like this, but that’s exactly what he is: an omega in need of assistance, of alphas.

“Is this okay?” Changbin looks up at him, and shit, he’s so… pretty. Soft. Gentle. Jisung wants to melt a little, knowing that if he did he’d soak right into Changbin’s being. He’s so good at stability, at rationality. At making the biggest issues feel manageable and bite-sized. 

At making his first-ever shared-heat feel like the easiest decision in the world.

This is no exception. The only people he’d ever trust to aid with his heat other than Changbin are in this very room, but Jisung is beyond relieved that this first part is with his Binnie-hyung. Mandarins are supposed to bring good fortune to new beginnings, after all. 

Changbin’s hands ghost along his back and sides over his shirt, tracing lines against the faintly visible outline of his person. His hands are warm. Steady. They hold Jisung so tenderly, like holding something precious but not made of glass.

“Yeah.” Jisung says breathlessly. 

Jisung closes his eyes, lets himself feel rather see. Too many sensations all at once. Changbin’s touch, everyone’s scents, the gumminess of his mouth, the sound of everyone moving around, of clothes rustling. Jisung feels hotter, needier, every time Changbin’s hands fall near the hem of his shirt, the waistband of his pants. Eventually, to do what Jisung has asked them to do, the clothes will have to come off. 

Changbin’s hands find his waistband, hooking a single finger under it before cortisol floods Jisung’s system and he pins his wrists to his sides.

“Too much?” Changbin asks, instantly moving to pull his hands away. 

Jisung swallows thickly around the lump of mortification in his throat. “No, it’s not that. I…” he pauses, gaze flicking to the side where Minho and Chan are, to where Hyunjin and Felix have settled against the mirror, to where Seungmin and Jeongin watch from across the room, then down to his clothed body. When his voice returns, it’s nothing more than a squeaky whisper. “It’s been a while since I shaved… down there.”

Everyone is quiet and Jisung’s humiliation deepens.

“I’m sorry, I know that’s probably gross. But I don’t like how itchy it feels afterwards and we’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to trim anything, either, and I promise I’m usually better about this and if that changes anything then-”

It’s Seungmin who speaks up amidst Jisung’s spiral. “Jisung, hyung’ll die if you send all his red blood cells to his dick.”

Jisung’s eyes widen as he zeroes in on the tent in Changbin’s pants, gaze snapping up to meet the alpha himself. Changbin sheepishly shrugs like it’s obviously something he just can’t help and therefore can’t be blamed for. For reasons Jisung will have to unpack later, the casual demeanor makes him that much wetter.

“You…” Jisung mindlessly licks his lips, Changbin tracking the movement. Out of the corner of his eye, he’s positive that Changbin isn’t the only one. “You don’t think that’s gross?”

“Jisung-ah, every part of you is absolutely wonderful.” Changbin looks at him like he hung the stars. “Especially your pussy.”

As soon as that word leaves Changbin’s lips, the floodgates open. And by floodgates, Jisung means the barely contained lust washing over the entire group, the pure need pooling in his body and his heart alike, all for the alphas who occupy his mind, time, and space, plucking chords on the exposed threads of his soul. 

And also his slick. Fuck, he’s wet. 

He doesn’t stop the whine that leaves him, does nothing to hide the embarrassment visibly displayed across his features, held in the way his body shivers and his thighs press together. Changbin resumes his motion to slowly hook his fingers in Jisung’s waistband, and Jisung lets him. Right now, he’d honestly let Changbin do anything.

“Kiss.”

Changbin stops and looks up, blinking enough times that Jisung repeats the reedy, breathless demand.

“Kiss.”

He moves his hands to frame the top of Jisung’s ass, thumbs pressing into the dimples near his spine. He drags Jisung closer, unintentionally sliding Jisung up his thigh just right. The moan at the unexpected stimulation gets swallowed down, though, and Jisung has his third kiss.

His third kiss ever—every single one of them with someone in this very room.

The first was with Jeongin, back when they were trainees and both feeling way too young to be kissing but also way too old to not be kissing. Anxiety and nerves and innocent, dumb passion spurred on by the rush of doing something as naughty and scandalous as kissing another person. Another trainee. A kiss shared between what one of them perceived to be two male alphas. 

Jeongin later stated that kissing Jisung helped him realize he does find male alphas attractive. Jisung always put off addressing his guilt over that, building higher and higher because of his own dirty deceit, time making the ache grow stronger.

It was bad. And short. And barely even a kiss at all because people were screaming and cheering around them like they had for everyone else playing spin-the-water-bottle, but it was special. For both of them.

His second served a similar purpose, but in the complete opposite direction. It had been right after he received his anxiety diagnosis and stepped back for a bit, the demands of everything weighing down like the final moments of treading water just before you drown. Minho barged in without knocking like usual, this time with intention, and they sat in separate blanket cocoons in Jisung’s bed, his nest, watching the first season of the Fruits Basket remake when Minho dropped the bomb.

“I think I’m gay.”

Jisung was ready to accept him with open arms. He had his suspicions—with how well he knows Minho inside and out, how could he not—and had prepared for this exact conversation a thousand-and-one times over by the time Minho came out. What he didn’t prepare for, however, was what Minho followed it up with.

“In both ways. For men and for alphas. But I’m… not entirely sure.”

He had looked at Jisung with so much of that same intention, it was hard not to understand exactly what he meant. Minho was attracted to men, alphas, specifically male alphas, and Jisung. Minho didn’t clarify that last part. Jisung didn’t verbalize it, either. They left it at men and alphas and specifically male alphas and kissed so that Minho could see if “and also omegas” were also included in that lineup despite never being part of the initial conversation to begin with.

They haven’t kissed since, but Jisung knows the answer that Minho got. Men, alphas, specifically male alphas, and Jisung. Simple as that.

This third kiss… it’s nothing like the times before. No kissing for exploration, for confirmation. Surrounded by people, yes, but no one’s going to cheer like they’re scoring a point. Intimately between another member, yes, but it’s not conducted like a secret between an omega masquerading as an alpha and an alpha masquerading as what alphas are supposed to be. 

His kiss with Changbin is hot, wet, and clumsy. Jisung doesn't know how to kiss and apparently Changbin isn’t an expert either, but Changbin is nothing if not passionate and Jisung is incapable of not mirroring the energy of the people he’s around. He smashes his lips and teeth and tongue against Changbin’s mouth and hopes for the best, reveling in the sounds and trembles and scents he pulls from his immediate surroundings.

When he detaches for a breath of air, he feels a tap on his shoulder. “If you’re giving out kisses, can I have one?”

Felix.

Jisung feels guilt displace his lust for a fraction of a second, Felix smiling so brightly, so eagerly, that it beams forgiveness directly into Jisung’s brain. He’s been absolved for hiding his omega status, freed from explanation. The ones left in the dark all know him just as well as they know everyone else in the group, despite lacking this one specific piece of information. They know Jisung. They know he had the best intentions. Everything will be alright. The eight of them are going to be okay.

So he kisses Felix, too.

Freely. Shamelessly. Parting only to help Changbin finally finish the task of ridding Jisung of his pants and revealing the grey boxer-briefs he’ll definitely have to throw away before he gets one foot out of the room. Woodspice instantly permeates the immediate area, Jisung thrumming with anticipation between Changbin and Felix’s bodies.

“Don’t go.” Jisung whines when Felix pulls away to catch his breath, Felix beaming against him. “More.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Felix coos, tucking a strand of hair behind Jisung’s ear, then reaching down to squeeze his bicep. “You can have as much of me as you want. I might have to fight our hyungs to have you the way I truly want, though.”

Jisung whines at the thought of being fought over, unintentionally grinding down against Changbin’s thigh as he squirms. It feels good enough to make him whine again, heat pooling lower and lower until he’s certain there is no return from this. He can’t put the cat back in the bag, can't put the individual scents held in his nest and the air back in their respective sources, can’t put the slick back in his pussy.

Jisung shudders, the mere thought of using such a naughty word in connection to his own body making something thrum in his veins. Something that also can’t be put back wherever it came from. An awakening, of sorts. 

Jisung likes it. A little too much. He really likes the idea of grinding his pussy against Changbin’s thigh. Likes rubbing his most potent scent all over him. Likes marking him as if to broadcast to other omegas that not only is this alpha his, but that this alpha makes him feel good. Jisung shifts a bit to get a better angle, moaning into Felix’s mouth when Changbin’s tensing muscles meet his pussy just right.

He’s never called it that so comfortably, never let himself acknowledge it beyond what it simply is. It’s his normal body, but to these alphas, it’s precious. A treasure. Something to worship with their whole being.

And Jisung wants them to.

“Fuck,” he croaks, half-swallowing Felix’s exhale before pulling away. He clenches his eyes shut, chasing after the rolling pleasure that’s begun to take root in his abdomen. He bites his bottom lip, but it does nothing to muffle the reedy purr that’s ripped from his upper chest. “Fuck, I-”

His hand twitches towards his crotch but stops, pulls back in a moment of anxious indecision, moves again but Changbin reads his mind and beats him to it. He presses his thumb against where damp cloth meets hard muscle, resting shallowly, knowingly, amongst the very visible outline of Jisung’s labia.

“O-Oh, hyung. Binnie-hyung, there- please, oh, f-fuck, that feels’o-”

He doesn’t finish the thought, his ability to form words briefly raptured before a sinful scream sends it tumbling back down. His orgasm hits hard, hips stuttering and rolling to meet Changbin’s gentle pressure against his clit. It wracks through his entire body, from the frayed ends of his double-bleached hair to the bandaged tips of his dance-worn toes. 

As soon as he comes down, stops shaking and twitching enough to become aware of his own heavy breathing and the all-consuming scent of woodspice, he locks eyes with Changbin.

“More.”

He pins Changbin’s hand to his crotch and readjusts his position over his now-damp thigh. He slots his knee further and further up, stopping only when he makes contact with stiff warmth and Changbin stifles a whine in the meager space between them. He can just barely see his own reflection in Changbin’s pupils, pupils that expand as a fresh, sobering wave of slick-scent hits them both.

A pause. 

A deep breath.

Finding himself in the flurry of urges.

No more more.

Dissipating fervor.

“Hyung?” Jisung shakily exhales against his lips.

“Yeah?” Changbin responds, his voice just as breathy and crackly as Jisung’s.

“I’m really wet.”

“I know.”

Jisung suddenly feels the slightest bit sleepy, slumping down enough to tuck his face into the crook of Changbin’s neck to nose at his scent gland. Stable. Always so stable. Jisung finds his footing, his roots, and lays down in the blissful streaks of thin shade provided by the strongest mandarin tree. 

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

There are three hands on his back. Two to hold him steady, one to massage between his shoulder blades. Jisung lets himself melt into it, into Felix’s touch.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Sungie.” Felix is smiling. He can hear it woven into his words, golden like his freshly dyed hair. “It’s just us.”

It’s just us.

Jisung wants to let Felix’s reassurance consume him completely, but it loads to ninety-nine percent before the program crashes. If things had gone any other way up until today, he would let it consume him. He’d have already let himself slip deep into the comfort of his closest alphas. But Jisung hid. He doesn’t deserve their unconditional, tender care. 

It feels worse knowing that Felix goes through this often with his ruts. That he’s been in Jisung’s exact position so many times before, has been cared for by at least Chan and Changbin and maybe Hyunjin or whoever the hell else wasn’t a selfish coward like himself. He’s never once extended the same level of promise to Felix, or anyone, for that matter. And yet here Felix is, reminding him that his heat isn’t something he should have to go through alone.

He shouldn’t want so badly.

Jisung’s shoulders shake with a tiny, soundless sob, and he peels away from Changbin’s scent gland. There’s a wet spot on his shirt, and Jisung knows it isn’t drool. His face is hot, tight, but he tilts his chin to look up at Felix anyways.

“Oh,” Felix coos, expression immediately pinching into concern. His hand goes up to Jisung’s hair, nails rhythmically scratching his scalp. “Sungie. We can stop if that was too much. If you want to be alone right now, we’ll wait just outside the door.”

Jisung’s veins run well beyond cold, turning frigid to the point of frost-bitten, and everyone seems to sense it.

“We aren’t leaving,” Chan interjects from somewhere to Jisung’s right. The nest must be done. His nest. Complete with built-in alphas. “We’re here for you, Jisung. Anything you need.”

“Channie-hyung,” Felix starts, a bit shocked at the authority in the elder alpha’s voice, but he cuts himself off the moment Jisung shivers. 

Violently.

“Oh.”

Jisung’s stomach twists at Felix’s tone. At the realization held so clearly. He can’t make eye contact. Doesn’t know where to look until Felix puts a finger under his chin and lifts it up. 

“You aren’t embarrassed that we’re all here for your heat, are you, Jisung?” 

He slowly shakes his head as much as he can in Felix’s light grip, blinking away the last few frustrated tears that slip down his cheeks. 

Felix grins impishly.

“You’re embarrassed by how much you like it.”

Forget being able to hear a pin drop, the silence that follows contains the entire final nail that’ll get hammered into his coffin.

Jisung just swallows the thick saliva on his tongue, feeling it move the entire way down his dry throat. Felix follows the movement with his eyes, subconsciously wets his bottom lip, turning it pink and shiny. For the briefest of seconds, Felix dips his thumb into Jisung’s mouth. And for the briefest of seconds, Jisung sucks on it.

He turns to Chan and Minho for answers, but their gazes are just as expectant, just as smoldering. Changbin’s fingers dig into his plush thighs and hips. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin are staring, Jeongin fiddling with both the hem of his shirt and his earlobe like he does when he’s nervous, quickly moving towards the mirror to sit next to Hyunjin.

His footsteps break the silence, letting deep eucalyptus sink between bursts of citrus and clove. 

“Want some water?” Felix asks as if Jisung wasn’t just sucking the tip of his thumb, twisting a strand of hair at the nape of Jisung’s neck between his fingers. 

“Y-Yuh.” Jisung can’t tear his gaze away from the way everyone jumps into action to cater to him. It becomes an unspoken, no-stakes competition to see who can fulfill his needs first.

“You should probably take this off before you get too hot,” Changbin tugs on Jisung’s top layers. The lingering honey scent from Chan’s hoodie is completely drowned out by woodspice and citrus, by sweat and heady lust.

“Not my shirt yet.” Jisung rids himself of just the hoodie and flings it towards the nest, which is now rebuilt piece by piece on top of the waterproof sheet, evidence of Chan’s meticulous, gentle care in every nook and cranny. Minho’s humor is found in how he’s put used socks and the sweatiest items near where someone’s head may go, with softer, more typical nesting materials used as a barrier instead of the base. 

It’s perfect. 

“Minho-hyung,” Jisung licks his lips and tastes sweat, and spit, and Changbin, and Felix. Minho blinks expectantly, eyes bright. “If I give you my underwear do you promise to bury it under the rest of my clothes?”

Minho’s ears are bright crimson. “No promises.”

“You won’t see them, Sung.” Chan jabs a finger into Minho’s side and smiles, a little awkwardly. Cutely. Chanly.

“Binnie-hyung, I’m gonna have to get up for a second.” 

Changbin nods, and Jisung is so glad his shirt is oversized as he pulls it down to cover everything in the front as he drops his boxer-briefs and steps out of them. It doesn’t cover his ass like this, though, but if he has to choose one side to cover, he’ll gladly flash his ass a thousand times over. 

He can eventually blame the heat brain, but he doesn’t even think twice about bending over to pick the sad, wet pile of fabric up off the floor until a loud plastic crunch reverberates through his bones. He looks over his shoulder to see Hyunjin a few steps behind him, squeezing a water bottle in his fist. His eyes are fixated on Jisung’s bent-over backside, on the flash of uncensored, real-life, leaking omega hole he’s just flaunted.

Fuck. Idiot. Idiot. Oh god. What has he done.

Jisung stands up as if struck by lightning, pulling his shirt down so far, so taut, over himself in all directions that he swears he can hear the fabric scream. Hyunjin quickly moves to cover his eyes, but he ends up hitting himself square in the face with the water bottle. 

He can’t stop, nor place blame on, himself from cracking up at the sight, his deep, rich laughter chasing away the last bits of darkness from the corners of the room.

‘It’s just us.’

“Awe,” Jisung fake-pouts. “Poor alpha.”

Hyunjin jerks a little at the title, at being called an alpha in such a way, rubbing his pinkish nose as he stares down at Jisung, curious. 

“Want Sungie to kiss it better?” He’s reaching for Hyunjin’s chin to cradle in his palm before he gets the full sentence out of his mouth, speaking the last few syllables directly between Hyunjin’s plush lips.

Hyunjin makes a strained noise, threading the fingers of his free hand through the back of Jisung’s sweaty hair like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He picks up on Jisung’s (admittedly terrible) rhythm, though, matching it with increasing fervor. 

Heat pulses in Jisung’s core, and he pulls away to half-cringe, half-moan as even more slick leaves him, no clothing on his bottom half there to collect it. It trickles slowly, seeping into his folds like an ink blot in the fancy notebooks Hyunjin collects but never uses. He freezes at the sensation, staring into Hyunjin’s gaze just a few centimeters away, and thanks him for the water.

He drinks half of it in one go, feeling actually plumper, more supple, fuller, as the hydration brings him back to life. He tugs on the hem of his shirt as he walks, finishing the rest of the bottle by the time he reaches Seungmin by the mirror.

“I want you to scent me.”

Seungmin looks like he wants to cry, sitting up on his knees like he’s been shocked into action. With all of Seungmin’s layers and care put into modesty, he’s usually the rarest scent source in the room, and today is no different. Jisung’s heat is lacking in lemongrass, his nest missing Seungmin’s specific brand of calm, mild alpha. 

Jisung wants it close enough to taste behind his teeth. He wants to feel like he’s been stuck on the train next to someone who is really into essential oils. He wants to drown in Seungmin’s scent until it completely obliterates his own.

Seungmin is shy and over-eager to scent him, but so is Jisung to take it. Jisung all but falls to his knees just like Seungmin is, and they sorta just… smush their bodies together a little. Not quite hugging, not quite cuddling, not quite kissing. Just nuzzling and movement and a small bit of panting as the scents get stronger and stronger, especially when Jisung’s biology comes to realize that for the very first time in Jisung’s life, he’s going to give it what it wants. 

In fact, he can pinpoint the exact moment his body and inner omega understand, in full, that there’s at least one alpha in his immediate vicinity that’s going to service him, to help him through his heat. 

His body plucks his heat like a too-taut guitar string, hurling him into a brief fit of pain and urge and need. It pulls him back towards his nest, back towards his hyungs, like it knows that it can only get what it wants if it’s in that exact spot with those exact people. It hits like divine clarity, like a siren song, like fate.

Jisung’s always been a bit of a dramatic romantic, though, so what the heck does he know about fate?

He flops down next to Changbin, his nest situated on his other side, and doesn’t bother to pull his shirt down when he sits. Everyone can see him, is looking at him, but he doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t feel like hiding.

“Shouldn’t you,” Minho asks from the other side of the nest. “You know, get in the nest? Or…” He parts his lips, the inner seam sticking together, peeling apart like the convenience store wax strips Hyunjin and Felix have some sort of inside joke about. “Or is it bad?”

Jisung’s heart sinks well beyond the pit of his stomach, and his body moves before his brain does, situating himself in the center of the nest at a speed he didn’t know he could move at while in heat. The waterproof sheet crinkles slightly under him, the worst of the noise padded and dampened by layers of, well, them. Pieces upon pieces of them.

A certain collective noun dances around the outskirts of Jisung’s mind, mere millimeters out of reach.

“Guess my body didn’t want to disturb it. This is… this is the best nest I’ve ever had.” Jisung means it. “Usually it’s just a blanket or two but this… wow.”

He gets cozy. Really, really cozy. He loves this new nest. He can’t envision himself ever leaving.

He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad one, but he doesn’t have to think about such things right now. He’s in a nest that his hyungs built for him, and it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Even better than the ones at the heat hotel?” Chan asks, not looking at Jisung directly as he does so. At first, Jisung wonders what he did to push Chan to act like, well, an alpha, all dignity and distance, but his stare is much more distracted, glazed over, and definitively not an aversion out of expected respect.

Huh.

“I-I didn’t have nests at the heat hotel.” Jisung swallows, blinking away from the slight trance he’s been put into, staring at Chan. “They offer scented things, but it’s too clinical. I just go, get through it, and leave.”

He squeezes his thighs together when Chan looks at him again, something almost akin to envy swirling in his gaze. Hot, and sharp. A look reserved for only those who truly get under Chan’s skin.

And—no. Chan isn’t looking at him with that gaze, but through him. At some concept without a physical form. An imaginary situation, or, perhaps an imaginary alpha.

Huh.

Jisung speaks through the obvious whine in his throat. “I like this nest a lot, hyung.”

“Good.” Minho cuts in with a slight purr, looking between them with slightly narrowed eyes, like he can see the odd tension take physical shape. He leans into the nest, and Jisung’s instincts spike before he can reign them in, a tiny growl leaving him as his hand flies up to keep Minho out.

Minho freezes as if put under a spell, and backs up until he’s at the edge of the nest.

“Sungie,” he swallows, voice low and careful. “May I enter your nest?”

Jisung’s hand slowly retracts from where it’s being held in the air, and he briefly scans the room. Every alpha is staring right at him. Watching. Waiting. Anticipating his response. One word of Jisung’s permission is actually distributed sevenfold. A mark of Cain, if Cain were an omega and the mark was about nesting and not vengeance, but none of that matters right now. An alpha wants to kiss him.

“Please.”

Kissing Minho is different from kissing Changbin. Kissing Changbin is different from kissing Felix. From Hyunjin. From Seungmin. From what he remembers of Jeongin, and from what he can only hope from Chan. They’re all… perfect in their own unique ways. 

Jisung kisses Minho and finds that he loves how well their lips line up. He kisses Changbin again and loves how he reaches up to brace Jisung’s head against the pressure. He kisses Felix when he approaches the nest, and relishes in how he goes up until the very last moment before needing a breath, like oxygen is a nuisance compared to having Jisung’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Jisung lets himself go, lets himself get lost in the flurry of warmth and bodies and pheromones moving around each other in rehearsed tandem. His own limbs spark with prickles of electricity, synapses firing off too quickly for him to make sense of them, pulled from one object of his attention to another with dizzying speed. 

So he surrenders to the current. Lets his alphas lead him to the destination he was always bound to end up in. A fateful crash-landing, their gravity was too great to resist. He feels too good to fight his instincts, moaning against Felix’s mouth before pulling someone else in to kiss. Inhales a lungful of deep floral spice, freshly cracked pepper. 

Jeongin. 

“Better than our first one, hyung?” Jeongin giggles against him.

“Can’t tell,” Jisung pants, mind pleasantly fuzzy, weirdly reminiscent of the times he spent as a kid trying to collect tv static in his cupped palms. “Show me again.”

He sucks on Jeongin’s tongue as if it’ll help him taste the spice, cover the numbness budding in the back of his throat, hand sightlessly pushing another person down until he’s able to sling either leg over their shoulders, trapping whoever it is between them. There’s a sharp inhale and Jisung holds Jeongin firmly in place, parting only when a hot, wet tongue licks a curious stripe up his inner thigh, tugging at the hem of his shirt to lift it up and expose him to the world.

He soundlessly gasps at the bold contact, flailing out to grab at whichever poor soul is down there, dangerously close to becoming a victim of proximity in Jisung’s attempt to get what he needs. He’d feel guilty for losing himself like this if his brain didn’t melt into a chorus of “yesyesyes” when the tongue reappears, lapping up the tacky patches of slick halfway down his thighs until it’s a palm’s width away from the source. Jisung is too far gone to kiss people right now, and focuses his attention on whoever it is he has to thank for being brave enough to bury their face in his crotch.

Minho.

“Hyung,” Jisung starts with a sputter, trying to scoot backwards because out of all of them, Minho is probably the last person who wants to be between an omega’s legs. Wants to kiss him, sure, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t want to be there, surely—Jisung doesn’t have what Minho finds attractive. Jisung isn’t enough, will never be enough, doesn’t have a—

“Pretty pink pussy, jagi.” Minho smirks up at him, and Jisung’s body goes taut, frozen, as Minho reaches up to hold him in place. Strong, sure hands. Jisung can’t move. “You taste so sweet.”

He runs his lips up Jisung’s inner thigh before lapping at a visible trail of slick while making full eye contact. Through a particularly violent shudder that threatens to flood the space with even more slick, Jisung tries to scan his face for any hint of discomfort or pressure. He’s not into omegas. He’s gay for men, and alphas, specifically male alphas, and Jisung, but Jisung assumed Minho was into him in very specific, non-omega-related ways. 

Then again, Minho never does something he doesn’t want to do if he can help it. Which means there’s no room to doubt that Minho wants to be in this exact position right now. Minho wants him. All of him.

Minho readjusts to get more comfortable between Jisung’s legs, parting them to reveal more of what was kept hidden under Jisung’s shirt. “Our Jisungie’s perfect.”

“N-Need,” Jisung exhales shakily, letting Minho knock his knuckles against his knee, opening him further. Cool air breezes over his glistening cunt, the wiry hair there nearly matted with how much fresh slick is smeared between his labia. “Need hyung.” 

Minho gives a little finger wave and smirks, not at him but past him, and suddenly blunt fingernails lightly trace patterns over his scalp, making him shudder. Jisung looks up to make eye contact with Changbin, who holds such a deep fondness in his gaze Jisung momentarily forgets he’s been begging to get eaten out.

“Gotta be specific about which hyung you need, Jisung-ah,” Minho readjusts his position on the floor, making himself comfortable kneeling between Jisung’s spread legs. He blows some air Jisung’s way, his body shuddering in response like a man possessed.

“You,” Jisung groans, but that’s not entirely right, is it? “Both.” Hm, no, still not right. “All of my hyungs. Need all of my hyungs to fuck me. Ch-” he looks around the room, choking on a moan when Minho drags his index finger through the slick next to his cunt, teasing. “Where’s Channie-hyung?”

“Watching.” Changbin steps aside just enough to reveal Chan at the edge of the nest. He looks so… awkward. He even holds up a peace sign, like he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Jisung has more than a few ideas as to what Chan can do with his hands instead. 

Coincidentally, several of them utilize the same gesture.

“Watching me.” Jisung repeats blearily. The haze has started to settle back over his brain, blurring the lines of intention and desire. His hand finds Minho’s hair, gently petting the coarse strands, only slightly tugging him closer. “Channie, am I cute like this?”

Jisung doesn't know if he answered or not, because his own stream of consciousness spills past his lips, words and concepts and images rattling around his brain like marbles on a track.

“I bet I’ll look even cuter on your cock.”

Jisung punctuates it with finger-guns and Minho sputters from where Jisung is unintentionally trying to suffocate him. Changbin’s eyes are wide. Chan’s ears are bright red. He hears one or two people off to the side curse.

And then, silence. Festering silence.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Changbin is quick to shut the anxiety spiral down. “Just… fucking hell, Jisung. You were so innocent up until an hour ago.”

Jisung giggles. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. “And now I’m not?”

“It’s a side of you we don’t often see,” Minho pointedly looks down at what Jisung’s trying to guide him towards. “Always too shy.”

“The heat makes it easier.” Jisung closes his eyes, focuses on the mixture of scents, the various nesting materials against his skin. “Makes it easier to ask for the things I want.”

“And what do you want, bug?”

“Want…” He looks around at the ceiling tiles, not sure what exactly he’s looking for. What does he want right now? Anything. Too many things. So many different things that he can’t pick them apart to choose just one. He can’t find the words, tongue-twisted and searching until one note focuses amongst the dizzying kaleidoscope. His nostrils fill with mandarin, and his mouth waters. “Wanna taste Changbin.”

Changbin chokes. 

“Please?” Jisung blinks up at him, swallows the saliva pooling behind his teeth. It tastes like mandarins, floral tea, and honey. “Can I? Can I please have it, hyung?”

“Shit,” Changbin curses, struggling with the waistline of his sweats. “Yes. Fuck, yes, you can.”

Jisung wiggles happily, as much as he can without jostling Minho around too much, as much as he can without falling out of his nest, as much as he can while he’s still confident enough to do this. 

Minho playfully scoffs at how obviously eager Changbin is, shoving his sweats and underwear down only just enough to get his cock out. Felix and Hyunjin whoop and applaud the tiny sliver of bare ass that peeks out, and a mixture of Seungmin and Jeongin’s laughs break through the tension. Chan looks over everyone fondly, always so fondly, and suddenly, Jisung doesn’t care about confidence.

It’s just them.

“Stay in your nest, Sungie,” Minho keeps his legs still, preventing him from shifting around too much. “Changbinnie can come to you.”

“Aish,” Changbin exaggerates an eye roll, but does what Minho says. “Making me work for it, huh, hyung?”

“Tell that to the precious dongsaeng whose mouth you’re about to defile.” Minho tilts his chin towards Jisung. He laps up some more slick, viscous on his tongue, smirking as he swallows. “Pervert.”

“Minho-hyung,” Jisung blinks at the flushed head of Changbin’s cock as it gets closer and more real. An evil, wonderful thought pops into his head. “Make me see stars.”

Minho’s face pales for half a second, but he’s someone who can take what he dishes out. Especially when it’s a challenge, even if he’s only trying to win against himself. Jisung wins either way.

Changbin’s dick… looks like a dick. Jisung’s seen a dick before, he watches porn. Actually, scratch that. Jisung watches tentacle porn, which is famously lacking in dicks. He tries to balance on the couch in a way that doesn’t disturb the nest, holding on to the back for support. Jisung guides his hips, Minho moving in tandem.

He looks up at Changbin. “How do you want me to start?”

“Wing it,” Minho offers up, nibbling on the thin skin of his inner thigh, sucking bruises where no one except those in this room would ever see. “It’s easy to pretend that you know what you’re doing.” 

He proceeds to part Jisung’s lips with his fingers, gently thumbing around his clit before jabbing it head on. Jisung hisses, and Minho pulls his hips forward. 

“Careful, hyung,” Changbin warns, pulling his shirt up to expose his soft tummy. And more of his cock. Fuck. Thick. Fuck. Jisung can’t think of anything else. Holy fuck. He’s close enough for Jisung to watch a bead of precum leak out, close enough for it to then coat his bottom lip like a gloss before Changbin is meanly taking it away from him. “Shit, this is an awkward position. Can we readjust?”

Minho sucks on Jisung’s clit for the first time, harshly, and Changbin has to basically jump out of the way to avoid Jisung’s violent thrashing.

“Hyung!” Jisung yelps, eyes rolling back into his head, hands flailing out to grab any part of Minho to pull him away, twisting in his grasp. “Shit! I, ah, too much!”

Minho ceases his leech roleplay and Jisung gets a second to catch his breath, nerves no longer lighting up like sparklers. Jisung twitches, pussy throbbing and not in a good way.

“Need… Need a moment.”

“Sorry, more than you’re used to?” He innocently questions, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Anything is more than I’m used to. Especially that.” Jisung snorts, because it’s the truth. The only time he can do much of anything at all is when he’s using his heat aids, but they’re kept in a locker at the heat hotel, resting idly until he returns. He’s never had anywhere else to keep them, or any toys he’s wanted for that matter, save for the vibrator he doesn’t use, but after all this… he doesn’t have to hide.

“Jisung,” Chan starts. Pauses to lick his lips. “Have you ever been serviced before now?”

“No,” Jisung shakes his head, licking his lips and tasting musk. Musk and bitter citrus blossom. “Never had anyone before. Wanted… waited for this.”

The confession leaves him easier than the borderline animalistic gasps, moans, and pants his lungs have been forcing out of him. But it just feels so right. He does want this. Has always wanted these seven alphas. 

“Servicing aside,” Minho kneads his thighs. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

Jisung blinks down at him. Feels warmth prickle in all the most visible places. “No…”

“Shit.” Changbin looks like he’s about to cry.

“Is that okay?” Jisung anxiously licks his lips, finding more of that newfound funkiness that reminds him there’s precum all over them. “That I’m a total virgin?”

“Jisung, please stop talking,” Changbin groans, clenching his eyes shut. He’s leaking almost as much as Jisung now. Jisung looks at Changbin’s dick. Looks at Changbin. Looks at a dazed Minho trapped between his legs.

It’s not hesitancy that has them both frozen in awe.

He grins.

“Gonna have to teach me how to do it, Changbinnie-hyung. This,” he licks his lips again, “is my first taste of anything. Never even seen a dick in person before now.”

“That’s a lie,” Minho mumbles, rolls his eyes and shoulders as if to shake off the most evident parts of his pride in favor of nonchalance. “You’ve seen us in the changing rooms.”

“Not really,” Jisung readjusts himself so that he can suckle on Changbin’s tip. Feels it twitch above the flat of his tongue. Cruelly removes it from his mouth without closing his lips around it, without so much as touching him. “Always had to leave before I was seen in the changing rooms.”

“Hopefully you’ll stick around now,” Minho muses, looking over his body, roaming the expanse of skin at his disposal. “Wouldn’t mind getting to know this part of you a little better.”

Jisung whines as Minho parts his legs again, but it turns into a giggle when Minho literally whispers a small, polite “pleased to make your acquaintance” to Jisung’s vulva. It’s the strangest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, but he’s too far gone. He’s in too deep, actually endeared by it. 

Minho puts a single finger inside Jisung, and Jisung squirms.

“So wet, jagi, it just goes right in.” There’s some calculated hesitation, and then a second finger is pressing at his entrance. His body eagerly, greedily accepts it, the only resistance coming from the anticipatory flexing. “Shit, Jisung. Does the stretch not hurt or something?”

“No,” Jisung whimpers against Changbin’s cock, reaching up to explore the shape and size and heft with his fingertips. He comes to the conclusion that balls are weird, but he gives them just as much attention as the rest of it, earning a satisfied grunt in return. “Jus’ feels a little weird.”

“Are you sure?” Minho asks, going back to using just his middle finger, making sure the knuckles of his other fingers only ghost against Jisung’s clit this time. He slowly pumps it in and out, the suction and slick combining forces to make his hole audibly squelch. 

“I’m sure. Use two.” Jisung pauses. “And touch my clit more, just don’t… it’s, uh, it’s like, really sensitive. Be gentle, please.”

Minho follows his instructions, eager to please, and Jisung groans at the newfound pressure. At the budding craving for something that’s equal parts perfect and not nearly enough. To supplement the inevitable need for more, Jisung turns his attention back to Changbin, who is being so patient and good.

“Hyung, I’ve never suc-”

“If you finish that sentence you won’t get to.”

Jisung pouts. “Why?”

“Because I’ll come before you even-” Changbin curses under his breath, readjusting his posture and his clothing. Takes his shirt off, dropping it into the nest over Felix’s socks with a fervor like Jisung’s never seen. He makes a ring around the base of his cock with his fingers, right below a… part. That has yet to fill out. Huh. He’s suddenly dripping onto Minho’s tongue again. “I’ll come before it’s even in your mouth.”

“Oh.” Jisung exhales, which lines up pretty well with a moan from the pressure Minho adds to his interior wall. “O-Oh.”

“Good?” Minho asks, slowing his motions but not stopping.

“Y-Yeah. There… there should be, like, a textured part around there? Feel around for that, please.”

Minho blinks down at Jisung’s pussy like it’s a puzzle, a slight pinch in his brow. “Uhh…”

“Inside. Fingers in, palm up. Do this,” Jisung lifts his hand to where Minho can see it and makes a repetitive motion with his middle and ring fingers. 

Minho nods and tries to copy the movement, first shallowly, then a bit deeper, getting closer and closer to where he needs to be. “Good. Keep trying that.”

Jisung turns his attention back to Changbin, which means there’s a cock in his face.

“Fuck, you’re big.”

Changbin puffs out his chest, looking proud but also surprised. “Think so?”

“Are you not?” Jisung is cut off by a certain mortifying, suction-y sound his hole makes, feeling the way Minho briefly pauses as if to question it. His body floods with humiliation, first cold, then set ablaze. “Air! Just air escaping from… there. Don’t fucking say anything.”

Minho’s gaze flicks upwards. “I wasn’t.”

Jisung’s cheeks are aflame though, and he whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment when it makes the sound again. He shifts uncomfortably, but everyone acts like it’s normal. Maybe it is. Jisung wouldn’t know. He’s probably the last one here to lose his virginity, and he’s so goddamn wet. And loose. And schlorpy. 

“Hyung,” Jisung puts on a brave face and turns towards Changbin, jaw slightly open. He looks at the cock, sticks his tongue out a little, then looks up at Changbin, begging.

Changbin doesn’t have to be told twice, pushing his hips forward and letting Jisung explore at his own pace. He takes his time, touching and squeezing and savoring. He’s curious but not cautious, tensing up every time something twitches in either of their bodies, finding a rhythm that, in all honesty, is rather calming. Soon enough, he’s confident enough to pop the head into his mouth, shallowly bobbing against the side of his index finger as he holds the shaft with one hand, the other keeping Minho’s hair out of his face so he doesn’t get overstimulated.

Minho stops, ducks down, and gently sucks on the bundle of nerves, simultaneously jamming a third finger in and hooking them all upwards against the perfect spot.

“M-Minho!” Jisung gasps against Changbin’s cock, taking it into his spitty fist so he can tuck his chin against his chest and writhe in aching pleasure. Dick-sucking can wait. Minho feigns innocence as much as he can while tonguing at Jisung’s swollen clit, slick coating the bottom half of his face. 

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Jisung mewls, furiously shaking his head, and blinks away the tears in his eyes. They might actually be getting fat enough to spill over his cheeks instead, but Jisung couldn’t care less. What he does care about is Chan, still sitting just out of reach, a hair’s breadth too far.

Jisung needs him closer.

“Want Channie here. Want Channie to knot my pussy,” he finds himself saying. Wholly unintentional to put it so bluntly, to whine like that, but maybe Jisung should surrender and trust his omega hindbrain to get him what he so desperately needs right now, no more space held for embarrassment or shyness. “Need to be full.”

The admission shakes something loose, because yes. 

Full.

He needs to be full.

“Want one here, too,” Jisung makes familiar eye contact with Chan and trails his fingers low, gently tugging at his own asscheek. He can feel the strands of slick snap apart, his body making a filthy, glorious sound not unlike that of pulling two pieces of paper apart when the glue between them is still wet.

The room is nearly silent now, save for a collective heavy breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the slow steadiness of distant jerking off—skin against skin. 

“And this, too,” he lets his eyelids fall shut once he finds Changbin’s cock again, mouthing along the shaft and reveling in how it twitches against his lips. This time, Jisung blinked first, if you can even call it that. Chan’s gaze is still hot. Getting hotter.

“Greedy Sung-ah,” Minho teases, but there’s no bite to it. In fact, it teeters along the edge of concern. “Three cocks for your first time?” Jisung moans over his own tongue and opens his knees, inviting Minho closer. Minho stays statue-still, blinking up at him. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

The thought of not having every single one of his holes stuffed full makes him want to cry. He’d take all seven of them at once if he could, and when he glances over at the four alphas sitting along the side wall, his hyungs seem to follow his heatbrain logic.

“You might get really hurt, baby,” Chan explains, placating, like he does when proposing a compromise to the company. But Jisung isn’t a company entity. He’s Jisung. Their omega. Chan’s omega. 

“But I-” and fuck, the tears. It hits him all at once, his face all hot and tight and wet as his upper lip wobbles and a scentbomb of pure hurt goes off in a second flat, spreading across the room in an instant. “I wanna be- I have to be-”

He full-on starts to panic, stumbling over his words as his brain gives up halfway through, struck with the urgency to let Chan know just how much he needs. 

Oh, how much he desires. Craves. Lusts. Longs for his alphas. His alphas. His beautiful, wonderful alphas, who have no idea how desperate he is to soothe the deep, aching rot long since settled in the very root of his being.

“Channie-hyung, ‘m so empty.”

Something in him breaks, and he’s twisting to get out of Minho and Changbin’s hold, zeroed in on the bag of heat aids still sitting out on the floor alongside the lube and condoms that make him feel sick. Like he’s not enough. Like he’s not worth breeding. Like he’s just an inconvenience for the group to deal with now that his secret is open and this heat has ruined their day.

Has ruined them.

“I’m so empty,” Jisung repeats again and again, unable to stop himself as he chooses a pitifully sized knotting plug, and tucks his quaking knees under his chest on the bare floor, no nest in sight. He feels so, so small again. Vulnerable. His heat has hit full force and he’s one step away from presenting his leaking holes in the middle of their practice room to seven alphas who want nothing to do with him. “I’m always so empty.”

Exactly what he expected, but didn't ever want to happen. He knows that now. Getting through it alone was always going to be the worst option. He knows that now.

He brings the plug up to his untouched ass, dragging it through the slick that’s begun to go tacky and lukewarm along the edges of where it pools in the folds of his body. 

“Jisung.”

He’s pulled up off the floor, flailing and sobbing with his back against someone’s chest, held so tightly in strong arms. Hugged. Safe. The aid is removed from his hands and through his teary, bleary vision he watches as everything is stuffed back into the bag and the entire thing is kicked away. 

“‘Mma bad omega.”

When Chan speaks, it’s authoritative. No room for argument. “No you're not.”

Jisung tries to fight anyway. “Channie-alpha won’t knot me because I’m bad.”

Chan hesitates, licks his lips. “Channie-alpha?”

Jisung nods, and Chan’s steady scent surrounding him makes him feel better. Safe alpha. Even if he won’t knot a bad omega, he’ll stay with Jisung. He’s good.

They all are.

“Just. Need it. Need to be full. Every hole. Need every hole full. Hurts.”

Chan pushes his bangs out of his face. Apologizes a thousand times with just one look. Holds him close, and Jisung knows he’s not letting go until this wave is over. “Okay. We’ll get you nice and full, Jisung. Alpha promises.”

Two more hands, then another pair. They pick him up and carry his taut, anxious body back to the nest, laying him down so delicately, even though he ran. Once again, they treat him like he’s something precious, but not made of glass. Like he’s human.

So Jisung lets himself be human. Flawed. Scared. Unreliable. Needy. Full of love. God, he has so much love to give, to make up for all he’s kept contained up until now. They let him be human, too. They always do.

“Want us to scent you?”

“P-Please.”

Honey, magnolia, mandarin, cinnamon. His nest, the idle air, all stitching in hints of lavender, eucalyptus, lemongrass, and black pepper. He gets a moment to recenter. To relax. To soak in their scents. Jisung breathes easier like this. Finds it impossible to feel anything other than safe and comforted and cared for and loved. Accepted. 

How did he ever do this before? Get through any heat before this without these eight scents smushed together? He drinks it down like he’s starving, and maybe he was. Maybe he still is. But he knows that he never will ever again. Not with hyungs like these. 

Once he’s thoroughly scented, it seems to fade into the background, and he’s no longer spiraling. All that’s left is his dull, constant ache and a fire burning inside him, but he’s no longer a raging inferno threatening to self-immolate. He tempted fate by riding high and yet, he ended up being Daedalus. Precariously balanced.

Chan pets his hair, Minho massages him, and Jeongin brings Changbin water, who holds it up to Jisung’s mouth. “Is your brain still telling you you’re empty, Sungie? Or was that your body speaking?”

Jisung inhales. Counts to three. Answers on the exhale. “Both.”

“Do you still want it? To be full like that?”

Jisung nods so much he might get whiplash, eyes going wide at the possibility that he walks away from this without getting someone’s knot stuffed inside him. He has to leave this room limping, or he won’t leave at all.

“And you’re sure you want all of us?”

“I’m sure.” 

“Are you sure that you-”

Jisung flips onto his stomach, twisting so that his elbows and knees bracket Chan’s legs, but there is no arch, no presentation. Simply eagerness and anticipation. A bit of brattiness. 

“Yes.” Jisung adds for good measure, blinking up at Minho and Changbin from where they sit on the other side of the nest. “I’m sure. Both holes. Please.”

Chan relents, and raises his hand to dip two fingers into Jisung’s pussy. Jisung sighs contentedly, dropping his gaze and getting comfortable, resting his forehead against his forearms. His face is in Changbin’s shirt, which means Minho’s plan to get someone’s face buried in Felix’s socks is working. The rest of everyone’s clothes soon get added, though, and Jisung gets to surround himself in the mixture of safety and sex. Exactly where he wants to be.

“Wanted Minho-hyung to make me come.” He laments, the words muffled. He drools onto Minho’s pants when Chan easily adds a third finger. 

“Want to come?” Chan’s thumb circles around his clit. 

Jisung tenses up, the ghost of Minho’s jabbing still lingering in his pulse. “Maybe another time.”

“Any time you want, jagi.” Minho grins, genuinely proud of himself. 

“Any time that’s not the time that I am down there,” Changbin splays his hand out across his chest sassily. 

“What,” Minho’s nostrils flare. “We can’t both be down there? I don’t think Jisungie would mind if two alphas were between his thighs.”

Changbin hums. “You’re right. We should practice making out.”

Minho is on him before the word ‘out’ leaves his lips, and as much as Jisung would love to watch two alphas kiss, there’s one in his pussy trying his best to DJ. 

“You ever fingered someone with a pussy before, Channie?”

“Ah,” Chan does his signature close-mouthed smile. “Nah, not really. I’m, ah, I’m fulfilling so many male alpha stereotypes back here it’s not even funny.”

“My rim is sensitive.” Jisung supplies, hiding his face in his forearms once again. 

“Oh?”

Jisung nods, and Chan seems to mull over the information he’s just been given.

“So. You’re a virgin.”

“Mhm.”

“But you know that you’re sensitive back here.”

“I’ve used toys.” He pants a little when Chan adds a fourth finger. It barely fits and only goes in up to the first knuckle, but Jisung likes the stretch. He mewls, and almost purrs.

“You like this.”

“Mhmmph.”

“I take all this to mean you’ve used toys back here, then?”

“I take one in each almost every heat,” Jisung admits, squeezing his eyes shut and rocking back against Chan’s fingers. “Like that, please. And yeah, heat hotels have all kinds of toys and I got-” Chan hooks three fingers downwards just right and Jisung gasps, movements stuttering as his eyelids fly open. His next word escapes him as a cross between a squeak and a whine, all mottled with spit. “-curious!”

“Curious enough to dp yourself?” Changbin snorts from underneath Minho, but he’s visibly, achingly hard. Minho grinds his palm into Changbin’s balls, and Jisung winces, but Changbin seems to be into it. 

He doesn’t ruminate, though, because Chan swipes his own slick over his asshole and slips the index finger on his other hand inside in the same motion, three still stuffed deep into his pussy. Jisung is dizzy, and he’s pretty sure this heat will end up killing him and they’ll have to carve ‘fingerblasted to death’ on his urn. 

Something compels his poor, melty heat-brain to keep sharing.

“Taken bigger than all of you in each.” He feels a glob of slick make contact with Chan’s knuckles. “Not at the same time, but bigger.”

“How big is ‘bigger’?” Minho stops love-mauling Changbin to ask, instead biting the inside of his cheek.

Jisung holds up his hand, stares at it for a bit, and slowly closes it into a fist.

He proceeds to show it off.

“A little smaller than this?”

Minho is pale and blinking rapidly. Changbin’s not squirming under Minho or rutting into his palm anymore. Chan has ceased his movements inside of Jisung, leaving him to feel every pulse of his own heartbeat around three of Chan’s fingers on one hand and two on the other.

Jisung stares at his fist. Processes like his brain is made of pudding. Turns back to his hyungs. 

“Is that bad?”

“Not bad.” Chan mumbles, slowly resuming what he was doing with a noticeable increase in concentration. 

Just as slowly as Chan works, the implications dawn on Jisung, making him twist around to meet anyone’s eyes in disbelief.

“Wait, am I officially a size queen?”

“Think about what you just said, Mr. Fist-in-My-Ass,” Minho cuts in. Pauses. “What do you mean ‘officially’?”

“Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Felix and I were getting dinner once and talking about which of us would most likely be a size queen-” “How did that come up during dinner?” “-and Seungmin said I was too much of a princess to be a queen and I started wondering if toys counted or if the toys were big enough to count or if it has to be attached to another person for it to count and if it had to be getting fucked and not just riding-”

Changbin puts his palm over Jisung’s mouth to keep him from continuing on about how he desperately rides dildos of questionable sizes at the heat hotel with enough vigor and grace to actually still enjoy himself. Jisung embellishes the sentiment a little there, but he knows it’s what they’re thinking. 

“Seungmin doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Yeah,” Minho snorts. “Just look at him.”

Everyone turns to look at Seungmin, who is flushed a deeper red than Jisung himself. He’s since discarded most of his outerwear, his white t-shirt drenched in sweat and clinging to his body. What’s visible of his skin is splotchy, and he looks like he’s about to start crying, rocking his hips into one palm with his other pressed firmly over his mouth in an effort to keep quiet.

“Poor puppy looks like he’s desperate to be touched by his hyungs, too.” Minho tuts, fake-pouting. Mischief flashes across his face and he beams a smile. “What, wish it was you?”

Minho detaches from Changbin and slides in next to Chan, tugging at Jisung’s asscheek. He runs a warm finger over his hole, so wet and shiny with residual slick that one might be compelled to think it also self-lubricates. 

“Wish it was you here, fingering our precious Jisungie open?” He bats away Chan’s hands and jiggles both of Jisung’s cheeks before spreading them apart, keeping Jisung’s legs from flinching shut to protect against the cool air. “Wish you were the one he was letting fuck these pretty holes? Fuck, just look at this pussy. Look at how wet he is, puppy, and he likes them big? Likes being filled completely? I bet all of his hyungs could slide right in and he’d come just from the stretch.”

Jisung whimpers, squirming in Minho’s grip. It makes him leak even more, visibly pushing out small amounts at this point, by being talked about instead of to. To be spoken about with so much fondness, with so much care. To be called pretty and shown off like a treasure in the palms of Minho’s hands. His knees instinctively part, chest pressing further into the couch, back arching.

And. 

Oh. 

He just instinctively—

“Presenting for us, Jisung-ah?” Minho asks coyly, but his voice is breathy and has the slightest edge of strain to it, like he’s holding himself back from sinking into Jisung’s heat right then and there.

“Fuck me.” The words bubble out of him, half-demanded, half-begging. Entirely moaned. Pathetic. Delirious. Something in his brain snapped. Hard. “Fuck me, hyung. Hyung, please. Need.” He shakily reaches back, but he doesn't know what or who he’s even reaching for. “Inside. Now.”

“Want hyungie to fuck your pussy?” Minho asks, and Jisung chokes on spit, digging his knees into the nest to make his arch more appealing. “Or do you want hyung here.”

He drags his thumb over Jisung’s rim, and Jisung shivers violently when it catches on the muscle.

“Yes.” He exhales like it’ll be his last. “Yes, want hyung there. Want Minho-hyung to fuck me there.”

“Say it properly, Jisungie,” Minho scolds. “You have two pretty holes here begging to be fucked. How am I supposed to know which one to put my cock in?”

“My ass,” Jisung wails from where he’s hiding his burning face. “Want Minho-hyung to fuck my ass,” and, a dizzy afterthought, “please.”

“Well, I can’t say no when you ask so nicely.” Minho says, and Jisung can hear the stupidly satisfied smirk in his voice. Can feel the fondness in his gaze, burning a strangely comforting hole in his back. Maybe he’d fuck that one, too, if Jisung asked nicely.

“Wait,” Changbin whines, the noise pulled right from the core of his alpha. Wounded pride. Tantrum. “How come you get his ass?”

“I’m older.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung sees Minho look down over him. “Also, you got his first blowjob. I’m jealous, horny, and feeling evil.” He wiggles his fingers in Changbin’s direction evilly. Jisung has never wanted anyone in his ass more than he wants Minho there right now.

“Changbin-hyung, please-” Minho presses the tip of his thumb into Jisung. “Oh. Oh fuck, please use my mouth again. Want you to come. Want you to come down my throat. On my face.” He whines loudly. “Oh, fuck, I think I want it on my face. No. Wanna be… I want it all inside.” He babbles, kneading his tummy as best he can as he rambles. He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to anymore. No one. Everyone. Everyone. Now that’s a thought. “Want it everywhere. Oh, fuck, please. Please fuck me everywhere.”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Jisung. Hang on.”

“Sungie just wants to be well-fucked, huh?” Jisung nods so hard he might get vertigo. “We can do that, jagi. We can get these pretty holes filled up and fucked out. Why don’t we show everyone how pretty you are when you’re completely full? I bet they want to see, too.”

The noise Jisung makes is animalistic, comparable to what a screaming alien would produce mid-crash-landing.

Minho maneuvers them both so that he himself is sitting in the nest with his feet on the ground, Jisung sat in his lap with his back pressed to Minho’s chest. He’s lifted up just enough to hover over Minho’s cock, which Minho drags through his slick before stopping at his entrance.

He hesitates for the briefest of moments, shifting to rest his chin on Jisung’s shoulder, too close to be in full focus. “Jisung-ah, you did say you’ve taken something here before, yes?”

Jisung nods furiously, Minho’s hair tickling the side of his face. “When I really need it. When my heat is so bad I can’t-” Minho slowly starts to push inside, Jisung’s jaw dropping, face scrunching up. “Oh, oh fuck yes. Oh fuck I’m… yes, hyung.” 

“Focus, Jisungie,” Minho sing-songs, small vibrations from his chest conducted right into Jisung’s bones. “When your heat is so bad that you…”

“When I need more than one to feel-” The entire head of Minho’s cock slips inside him, opening him up perfectly. “Full. Never needed one in… in my mouth before now. But I need it. So much. Oh. Oh I wanna be filled so badly. I wanna be filled with… oh. Fuck me.” He’s panting uncontrollably, taking Minho in his ass inch by deliciously agonizing inch. “Fuck me, please. Minho-hyung. Alpha. Put it all in. Please, please put everything in already.”

“Shhhh,” Minho rubs little circles into his hips. “Calm down, Sungie. Breathe. Slow. We’re going slow, okay?” 

“But I want it,” Jisung’s voice is so warbly. So pathetic. Alpha doesn't want to fuck his ass because he’s a loser. 

“I know, baby, I know.” Minho tousles his bangs away from his sweaty brow, lips brushing against the spot under his ear. “You’ll still get all of me in there. Channie-hyung, too. Don’t worry, we’re gonna fill you up ‘til your belly’s nice and pretty, remember?”

Jisung nods, squeezing tears out of his eyes, desperately trying to suck air into his lungs to match Minho’s steady, deep breathing. As soon as he calms down a little, Minho starts moving again, pulling away the slightest bit to gather more slick on his cock before steadily pushing further in. Every time Jisung flinches, or clenches, or whimpers, he stops. Monitors everything. Continues after three deep breaths. 

Jisung’s mind goes blank at the halfway point, because it’s impossible to have thoughts and Minho’s dick inside him at the same time. There’s simply no space for both. He’s had dildos Minho’s size inside his ass before, but they’ve never felt like this. This big. Big enough to literally split him in half and still have inches of length to spare. Big enough that every time Minho throbs inside him, it feels like he’s about to recreate cinema’s introduction to the xenomorph. 

When Minho decides to stop, Jisung lets out a sound that doesn’t even register as human. It’s so deep. So big. If Minho wanted, he could probably abuse Jisung’s g-spot from here, could make him come shaking, screaming, and crying without ever touching Jisung’s pussy. Hell, Minho could probably give him a cervical orgasm if he tried hard enough, a true feat considering his cervix is inconveniently not located in his ass. 

Chan, however…

Jisung decides he’s going to die today. A matter of fact, like how the sky is blue, or how the moon has phases, or how the sun is hot, or how Lee Minho has a massive cock. Forget being fingerblasted to death, his urn will now commemorate the time he was impaled on fat alpha cock.

“Deep.” Jisung idly comments, arms shaking as he squirms around to find something to hold onto, ending up holding his own cheeks apart to give Minho that much more access. 

“Too deep?” Minho asks with a stuttery breath, face contorting when Jisung sinks until the top of his forming knot. Jisung shakes his head, because it’s perfect. Minho’s cock is more than enough to get the job done in terms of making Jisung feel full, and Jisung still has two more empty holes.

“Mmm!” Jisung whines, warbly and high-pitched. He nods, half-screaming as Minho’s knot makes itself increasingly present. 

“Is that a yes or no, Jisung?” Minho strains, holding Jisung’s hips to keep him from bouncing too deep. The manhandling and denial only makes him wetter.

“Deep, good.” Jisung slurs through his frothy drool. “Haf’ta come deep inside me, hyungie.” 

“You want me to knot you like this?” Minho asks warily, hands slipping under Jisung’s ass to further enforce shallow thrusts. Jisung whines at the loss of sensation, at the promise of everything getting really good really soon.

But at the same time, Jisung’s brain does something strange. The idea of having his ass knotted is suddenly not appealing, the thought vaporized from his mind like someone deleted the save file. He tries to conjure the mental image again, thinking about both Minho and Chan’s knots locking inside him, but his brain refuses to cooperate as if it’s forcing him to choose one.

Jisung shivers and shakes his head, flipping through alternatives while he regains minimal sentience for the time being.

He doesn’t want Minho to knot his ass. But he does want something else.

“No knot, hyungie. Only… only want my pussy knotted. Want my pussy bred. So full. So nice and full. I want Channie’s knot to fuck your cum deep into my pussy.”

“Oh.” Chan breathes from in front of Jisung, shocked still with his ears bright red and his hands on the waistband of his sweats. The last remaining piece of clothing. Jisung hates it. Chan’s voice comes high pitched, trailing off more and more the further he gets in his sentence. “Sungie… you’re… on a, um, on the pill, right? I haven’t seen you take, uh, birth control in a bit-”

“I have an implant!” Jisung cries impatiently, hand framing his uterus as if they can see his IUD as proof. “Now come fucking… fuck me, Chan.”

Who is Chan to deny him after that?

Chan lines himself up, and for a brief moment, Jisung is in heaven. The next moment, however, is when reality kicks in and Chan’s dick catches on his entrance before sliding up his vulva. He exhales a laugh and tries again, only for his dick to kiss Minho’s balls below. Chan quickly catches himself like some kind of weird, slippery fish, laughs off the embarrassment despite his starkly reddened face, and then repositions himself again.

He rocks into Jisung, but instead of feeling full, Jisung just feels tight.

And it hurts.

“Wait.” Jisung hisses, and Chan backs off like Jisung is suddenly a feral creature. “Tight.”

“Need more prep?” Minho asks from behind him, kissing away a drop of sweat on the nape of his neck. 

“Your massive cock is taking up too much space,” Jisung pouts, trying to inch forward on Minho’s lap to give Chan a new angle. “Tell your cock to stop being so greedy.”

“I’m the greedy one.” Minho deadpans, honeyed sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Let me try again. Jisung, if it’s too much, let us know. We can get you one of those smaller plugs over there to keep you full while I knot you, okay?”

Jisung grumbles, but even through the heat-induced brain fog he knows it’s a good idea. Channie alpha always has good ideas. 

At this angle, Chan’s tip immediately hits against Minho’s shaft, only a thin wall keeping them apart. Jisung whimpers and everyone freezes in place, the gentle pressure of Chan entering triggers an ultimatum in Jisung’s body: either he only takes one dick at a time lest Minho’s dick get forcefully ejected from his ass, or they have to change the angle. If this were in the heat hotel, his pelvic muscles would have launched a dildo to the other side of the bed by now. He certainly does not follow that up by imagining Chan flying across the room with the strength of his pussy.

“Wait.” Jisung presses his palm against Chan’s shoulder, signaling him to stop. He does so immediately, but unlike before, he doesn’t flinch away. “One more attempt. Lay down.”

Chan doesn’t have to be told twice, laying flat on his back next to them in the nest. Jisung looks over his shoulder to make eye contact with Minho as best he can. 

“I'm gonna get off for a second. Be very gentle when you… put it back in.”

He looks at Changbin to make sure he’s on the same page. He gives a nod, and that’s all Jisung needs to slowly lift himself off Minho’s dick, wincing at the slick drag and the way his rim catches around the head, his hole making that filthy squelching sound when the vacuum grip releases. He instinctively whines at the emptiness, shakily crawling over Chan’s lap as fast as his limbs will take him.

Chan helps him, smiling that gorgeous, trusting smile that makes Jisung all warm and squirmy for a whole new set of reasons than just heat. He lines himself up and takes just enough to feel secure in a split second decision to lay against Chan, chest to chest, and kiss him before slowly taking more. 

Chan fills him up so nicely, every subsequent inch feeling more right than the last. Warm, leaking, throbbing—perfect. Jisung’s pussy hugs him like a vice, tight enough to make Chan bite his lip and blink away a few pleasure-tears while staring at the ceiling. Jisung kisses him one more time, missing his mouth and kissing his chin instead, then shifts his knees to get more comfortable, more open.

“Minho-hyung.”

There’s movement behind him, beside him, and his breath hitches when a hand finds his ass, pulling one cheek to the side, thumb gently running over his wet, raw hole.

“If it’s too much, I’ll eat you out and plug you up instead. Sound good, Sung-ah?”

Jisung makes another inhuman noise, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending that 1) his pussy didn’t just clench so viciously it sucked up more of Chan’s cock and 2) Chan isn’t trying to suppress a reaction despite definitely feeling Jisung’s pussy attempt to eat him. 

“Words, baby.” 

“Mhm!” Jisung whines, nodding enthusiastically. It’s the most he can say with one hole already stuffed full of cock, the thought of another fitting in such a small space making him dizzy. 

Fuck, he’s gonna have one in his mouth, too. And get his pussy knotted. Completely filled. Bred. 

Jisung sobs and pushes back against Minho’s cock, wiggling onto the spongy head just far enough to feel a glob of precum push inside. 

Full.

That’s the only thing that Jisung can think of. Over and over again, the word consumes his mind until it’s less of a tangible syllable with specific meaning and more of a pleasant static in a duochrome of yes yes yes and full full full.

Minho slips in easier this way, no longer crowded against Chan in a way that makes Jisung’s body want to abort mission on his behalf. It’s still so much, Jisung hardly able to keep quiet just from the initial slide, but they fit. 

And not only do they fit, but they fit perfectly. One stitch away from bursting at the seams. Jisung was made for this, he knows that now.

“I’ll wait a second.” Changbin idly muses as Jisung pants and whimpers and whines through the adjustment of being so full so suddenly. His legs shake, his chest shudders with exertion, and there’s a trail of drool escaping the right corner of his mouth. Wrecked. Absolutely, wholly, wrecked.

“Fuck, Jisung,” Minho sighs breathily behind him, white-knuckling the back of the couch. “You’re so tiny, where did it all go?”

“Here.” Chan croaks, voice utterly strained.

Jisung feels what Chan is talking about before he clarifies what he means. Feels the way Chan’s fingertips press against his lower abdomen—press against the small bulge where he’s been kneading.

“Can we-” a harsh gulp sounds from across the room, a raspy voice echoing off the mirrors into the sound absorption panels and Jisung’s fuzzy mind alike. Hyunjin. “Can we see?”

Jisung’s able to move his thoughts through the molasses of fuzz clouding his mind in time to blink up at the small crowd around him once or twice before he’s gently hoisted up onto his knees. The cocks inside him jostle a bit, hitting different spots that make him whine in pain and pleasure alike. He’s now sitting up just enough to show off the little bulge, protruding in a way that makes him look like he’s simply bloated, or ate too much, or when his hormones are trying to regulate themselves in the few days after his heat is over. 

But that’s a dick. That’s someone’s dick inside him. That’s Chan’s—or hell, even Minho’s—dick pressing up against his organs enough to move them. 

Jisung can’t help but giggle incredulously, because fuck! Those are his guts! He’s going to get his guts rearranged! 

“What’s so funny, Sung?” Chan asks with thin concern, gently squeezing his right thigh. 

“I’m so fucked,” Jisung exhales, breaking out into another fit of giggles. He can’t stop them. The dicks are pushing them out to create more space. “I’m gonna be broken.”

“I sure hope not.”

“Channie-hyung,” Minho strains, readjusting his legs. “I think our dicks melted his brain.”

Jisung laughs until it shakes a rogue tear loose, slowly rubbing the tiny bump in his tummy. It rolls down his cheek and some distant part of his feral hindbrain supplies that this is what he might look like in a month or two if he didn’t have his implant. If he gave his body what it really wants in heat.

“Oh, baby, you’re gone,” Chan squeezes his thigh again. Grounding. “Want us to stop?”

Jisung shakes his head, slowly lowers himself back at the angle where it doesn’t feel like he’s going to be split in two. Where he can let himself drop like a lead weight and let himself be fucked.

He sniffles a bit and turns his head to the side, leans towards Changbin as the other four shuffle back to wherever they were watching from. He looks up at Changbin through his lashes and lets his jaw drop, doing nothing to stop the saliva already gathered on his lolled-out tongue from spilling down his chin.

He makes a command: wet and breathy and already strained—

“Ah.”

Changbin curses. Loudly. Jisung barely hears it because Chan’s nails scratch his scalp at the exact same time and he moans. Loudly. Gets the moan stuffed back into him before it has the chance to leave—Changbin feeds him the tip of his dick that quickly. 

Finally.

Every hole.

Full.

Jisung’s eyes roll back into his head, likely clenching around Chan and Minho with the way they both stifle gasps in their own ways. Chan into his clenched fist and Minho with his chin tucked into his chest, eyes likely squeezed shut like he’s in pain. Jisung shallowly bobs his head, the movement making him rock back and forth on Chan and Minho.

“Does this mean you’re ready?” Chan barely gets the words out, and all Jisung can do is hum enthusiastically around Changbin, kneading Chan’s pecs with tiny, shaking fists. “Fuck, okay. Minho. You move. I-I can’t. I’ll go insane.”

“You think I’m faring better?” Minho asks breathlessly, patting Jisung’s hip. “Channie-hyung, his ass is tight. I can feel you throbbing in here. I’m going to pass out if I try to move.”

And, well, maybe Jisung’s heat has the most brain cells out of the four of them, because it makes the decision for them. Jisung’s limbs fill out with a renewed vigor, and he carefully lifts himself half an inch before sinking back, pulling off Changbin’s cock to give a small, soundless scream, hand immediately flying to press flat against the bulge.

It’s nothing like the most desperate, depraved nights of his previous heats. The nights he sits on one dildo to fill his ass while fumbling to drill another into his pussy, the amount of slick and the angle making it near impossible to hold onto both regardless of the fervor of being in the throes of his heat. At that point, he simply does what he can, whining and sobbing when the too-soft toy inevitably slips out of his grasp in the most diabolically cartoonish way possible, shooting across the room to gather god knows what off the hotel’s wiry-rug-covered floor. 

These aren’t going anywhere, firmly attached to real humans, which means that they’re also warm. And leaking. And throbbing. Fuck, he can feel their heartbeats thrumming inside of him, mingling with his own pulse, the four of them syncing up with every pitiful bounce. 

Being real also comes with the addition of the beginnings of knots, his heat pheromones letting them form well outside of the alphas’ ruts. 

Jisung reaches up to the most available knot, wraps his hand around the base of Changbin’s shaft, wet with spittle, and squeezes. Changbin whines and bucks his hips, bullying more of his cock down Jisung’s throat. He gags, harshly enough to make his throat burn, but he doesn’t dare pull the whole way off. Instead, he lets Changbin’s heavy cock rest on his tongue, closes his eyes to focus on breathing through his nose, and turns his attention to Chan and Minho.

All it takes is a few firm pokes to Chan’s chest to let him know to take over, to relinquish control, and Chan grits his teeth and pushes through the immense arousal that’s surely consuming him whole. He thrusts upwards, rubbing against Jisung’s… well, everything, but also against Minho on just the other side of his inner wall, each drag giving the fellow alpha stimulation as well.

“Shit,” Minho half-sobs. “Hyung.”

“Good, Minho?” Chan exhales in slight exertion, and Minho only whines in response. “I like that. Hearing that all my pups are feeling good.”

Jisung’s eyes widen at that word, body shivering as he slams his hips down onto Chan until he can feel the beginning of his knot against him. He grinds into the feeling, a little bit wild and out of pace with the alphas, but he can’t control his body. It aches, and it yearns, and it knows how to get what it so desperately wants.

“Sung- ack, you’re- fuck. Don’t hurt yourself.” Chan tried to grab his hips, but Jisung isn’t having it. He will get this alpha’s knot if it’s the last thing he does.

“I’m not gonna,” Changbin bites his lip, desperately bucking his hips into Jisung’s mouth. “Shit, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Jisung simply squeezes his knot, making him hiss.

“Jisung, where do you want me to…”

Jisung pops off, takes a huge breath, and pants through his unshed tears. “Want you to come in my pussy, too.”

“What?” He yelps. 

“Need it. Need it inside me.” Jisung is almost crying at this point, slumping against Chan to let the alphas take control again. “Channie. Alpha.” Chan slows his thrusting, the drag against his walls wholly different now that he can feel his every vein, curve, and inch of pulsing cock rubbing against him. Jisung inhales a few stuttery breaths, speaking with the exhale up until a rushed, wordy inhale. “Let Changbinnie finish inside me. Minho, too. Want you to… to fuck it all back into me.”

“Jisung-”

“Bred,” Jisung cuts him off with a loud whine. To the side, he can hear someone curse. Felix? Jeongin? “Want Channie’s knot to keep it all inside. I’ll be so good, I promise.”

Chan is flabbergasted, but grits his teeth and looks between the two other alphas, communicating something before pulling out.

Jisung hates when Chan pulls out. 

“Quick, Bin.”

Chan rolls to the side to give Changbin space to slip under Jisung, Minho helping guide the alpha back into Jisung’s fucked-out, gaping hole. Jisung sighs contentedly as soon as he’s bursting at the seams again, filled up nicely around new veins, curves, and sensations.

“Knot your hand,” Minho instructs, matching the pace of Changbin bucking up to meet Jisung slamming down. 

“I know, hyung,” Changbin bites back, but Jisung doesn’t blame an alpha for being irritated by the denial of getting to knot an omega in heat. If Jisung didn’t plan on getting fucked full every day for the rest of his life starting now, it might have been a once in a lifetime opportunity.

He’ll make it up to Changbin before his heat is completely over. They still have multiple waves to get through in the coming days, after all. Everyone will get the chance to knot him at some point. The hard part is deciding who’s next. 

Changbin’s deep, guttural noises crescendo the closer he gets to coming, Jisung following the set rhythm while keeping his eyes locked on the alpha. Changbin’s biceps flex and he slams his hips up into Jisung, knuckles hitting against his vulva as something in Changbin’s scent makes his omega instincts go haywire.

Jisung comes, too. Suddenly. Spontaneously. Like getting run over by a freight train in the middle of the ocean. Minho half-screams behind him and holds his hips steady while he mildly convulses through every second of it, up until the moment Changbin pulls out.

“Channie,” Jisung slurs, quivering and suddenly surging with anxiety over losing a single drop of Changbin’s precious cum. “Inside. Channie, inside me now. Please. Plea- ah! Yes!”

Euphoria floods Jisung’s mind as the oxytocin kicks in again, Chan’s cock once again snugly fit in its proper place. He can’t help but laugh a little when his eyes roll back into his head, hands roaming any and all available skin he can reach. He suddenly wants to touch everyone, to have them touching him, to nestle in everyone’s warmth and surround himself in their beautiful scents forever. His alphas. No one else’s. Not allowed.

“Did we break you again, Sungie?” Minho swallows a mouthful of air behind him, angling himself to push in until Jisung hilts him. Jisung simply moans, unable to keep his mouth closed or his tongue from lolling out from all his panting.

“Think he’s close,” Chan blinks up at the ceiling, tears brimming, a dumbfounded grin plastered on his face. “Thank god. I’m, shit, I’m so fucking tired.”

Minho giggles at that, and Jisung giggles too, because he likes that sound. He likes hearing his alpha be happy. He also likes the stupid sound his pussy makes when taking Chan all the way to the hilt, cum and air bubbling out around his cock.

Jisung giggles again, head fuzzy as his body slowly comes to terms with the fact that there is, indeed, alpha cum inside him. Half of what he wants. Half of what he needs.

“Feel so full,” Jisung drools all over Chan, gasping every time his nipples rub against Chan’s chest. “Ah, more! Use me!”

Minho whines. “Jisungie, fuck, I-I can’t last if you say thin-”

Jisung flails, reaching out for Minho behind him. He finds his wrist and grips him firmly. “Please! Please, please, please, hyung. Fuck me. Use me. Fill my pussy up too.”

“I can’t go right from your ass to your pussy, darling.” Minho sloppily kisses his spine, sounding pained. “It’s not hygienic."

“But I need it,” Jisung huffs, tears pricking in his eyes. “Come in my pussy, hyung. Need it so bad.” He puts his hand over his soft tummy, and looks over his shoulder, kneading himself with his knuckles. “Need hyung’s pups.”

Minho squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip hard enough to leave indents. When he opens them, they’re a little watery, a lot desperate, and he looks to Chan for help. Chan pulls out, manhandles Jisung so his stretched out cunt is on display, slowly leaking Changbin’s cum.

“Just do your best to aim?”

Minho curses quite loudly, already fisting around himself as Chan gets Jisung settled in his lap, back-to-chest. He angles Jisung in a way that shows off both of his gaping holes, both clenching pathetically around nothing, wiry hair and taupe skin glistening with slick and cum. Jisung whines when Chan’s hands slide under his ass, but keep going up, stopping only to gently tug apart his labia, opening him up for Minho to mark.

Jisung nearly blacks out from the headrush, from the wonderful sight of Minho pleasuring himself before him, from Chan’s hands on his cunt, from Changbin’s cum deep inside him, gravity threatening to rid him of paradise. Behind Minho, his four other alphas watch—Hyunjin and Felix leaning on each other, jerking themselves off, while Jeongin has his own cock down Seungmin’s throat, the two of them angled in a way that they can both still lock eyes with Jisung.

He holds the five-way eye contact as Minho finishes over his vulva and Chan’s fingers, each spurt eventually collecting around his hole since his puffy, swollen lips are held to either side. Jisung jolts with each splatter of warmth that doesn’t seem to end, squirming around, impulsively wanting to touch. His clit aches, begging to be brushed against by Chan’s fingers, to be played with, throbbing and sensitive enough that he’s sure he could probably come from the gentle force of Minho streaking his pussy white. 

He’s panting as he witnesses the moment Jeongin comes down Seungmin’s throat, simultaneously with Minho, the sight of Jisung getting cum-marked alone enough to send him over a precarious edge. Minho all but falls onto the couch when he’s done, skin splotchy and sweaty, eyes misty but fond.

Chan moves to collect the cum dripping between his cheeks with one hand, dragging his index finger down the length of his vulva to his entrance to gather what’s there, too. All it takes is one motion over his swollen clit to make him scream, violently twitching through an orgasm that has zero mercy on him, pressure building yet. Chan works quickly to shove the cum into him, slipping his cock back in before any more escapes.

Jisung already misses the feeling of being stretched to his limit, Chan’s thick cock filling his pussy but sliding in with no resistance whatsoever. Jisung’s body has more than enough space for more, and with the way he can feel Chan’s knot press against him with every shallow thrust, he knows he’ll get his wish. Soon.

“Wanna see everyone,” he manages to gasp into Chan’s cheek. “Wanna face them when you do it.”

“Fuck, Sungie.” Chan curses as he immediately obliges, pulling back only long enough to get Jisung on his knees. Jisung immediately opens his legs wide, inviting Chan closer. His full weight doesn’t even dig into the nest, Chan has such a solid grip on him, practically fucking Jisung’s hips back onto his dick like a fleshlight. Jisung’s eyes roll back into his head, hand fumbling to make much needed contact with his clit again. 

He sobs when he realizes it’s still sticky with Minho’s residual cum, adding to the frantic, messy glide of his fingertips. 

Something in him snaps, and he screams as another orgasm destroys him. Absolutely obliterates him. There’s a ringing in his ears and he’s disoriented for several seconds, like when Felix hits him with a flash bang for “funsies” every time Jisung agrees to play any co-op first person shooter. 

When it subsides, he realizes how wet everything is. He’s soaked. Chan is soaked. Chan is fucking him into an actual puddle in the nest, knot hitting against his stretched entrance, bullying its way inside much easier than before. 

“Did I-” Jisung croaks, too embarrassed to ask if he just pissed himself or something. Holy fuck, that would be mortifying. 

“Squirted, baby.” 

Oh. Casually. All over everyone’s clothing, too.

“Didn’t know I could.” Jisung rasps, eyes scrunched shut, toes twitching with every snap of Chan’s hips, the alpha fucking him hard and deep. The fire is dissipating, the pressure gone. This is it. Just this one last thing.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do, Sungie.” Chan barely manages to speak through how much he’s panting and moaning. He’s smiling so brightly, too, like Jisung can do no wrong. Like they’re both safe. Like he’s a pack alpha doing exactly what his omega wants. Like it’s all he’s ever wanted for himself. “Felt so good you just… yeah. God, Sung. You’re gonna kill me.”

“Die after your knot is in me, please.” Jisung quietly begs, body hardly scraping by to keep pace and keep the looming exhaustion at bay. “Gimme.”

Chan scoffs out a laugh. “‘Gimme’?”

“Knot. Pups.”

Jisung lets the word leave him, plays around with the idea for as long as it takes to put his hand over his tummy and feel Chan’s dick from within. He imagines it for half a second longer as Chan’s knot gets closer and closer to splitting him open, a promise of complete and utter fullness. Certainly not yet, not anytime soon… but… 

It wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Gimme everything you have, alpha.”

Chan’s smile dissipates to make room for determination. Dark determination, scent so strong Jisung fears he’s triggered Chan’s rut for a second. But no, that’s just Chan. That’s just how much Chan wants to obey, to please him. To be a good pack alpha. To be Jisung’s pack alpha.

Jisung has a pack.

“Wan’ my pack alpha to break me in.”

Chan’s eyes roll back into his head a bit at that. At the confirmation that something so special has been officially bestowed upon him. Recognition from an omega at the highest level, being so good that he’s been claimed. That an omega can’t imagine a life without him. Pack alpha. It’s such an easy decision, but it must mean the world to Chan: being someone’s first choice.

“Channie, please.” Jisung begs, fumbling around to press Chan’s chest against his back. Turns around to kiss him. It’s messy, and it’s bad, but Jisung loves it. With every thrust, he can feel warm cum dribble from his fluttering, open holes, still fucked open, still wanting. “Knot me. Make me yours. Ruin my pussy. Ruin me.”

“F-Fuck.”

The last two words come as an afterthought but it’s the phrase that makes everything feel so real. It solidified his desperation, calls out to claim and be claimed. Chan presses him back down into presenting with a soft grunt, Jisung helping maneuver himself so that his knees dig comfortably into the nest, his sweaty chest is pressed into it, and his cheek rests against it so that he’s turned to the side, staring at the other six.

He only has time to scan over them once before Chan is sliding all the way back in, hands holding his hips with a carefully restrained force that has Jisung’s omega clawing at his insides in a desperate attempt to escape. His thrusts become ruthless, and Jisung only has enough strength to ragdoll in his grip, drooling as sounds are punched out of him, competing with the slap of skin on skin. He knows his face is wholly fucked out and hazy and debauched with the way the other six stare at him, meeting his unfocused gaze with unblinking, heated stares.

Hyunjin’s stomach is covered in cum, along with part of Felix’s right thigh. Next to Hyunjin, Jeongin haphazardly strokes himself to another climax, the other hand pressed firmly over his mouth, eyes watery with pleasure and fixated on where Chan’s body meets Jisung’s. Changbin has Seungmin restrained in his lap, Minho whispering something that has Seungmin blushing deeply, obediently clenching his fists over his thighs as Changbin pinches his nipples through his cum-stained shirt. 

Jisung looks at his alphas, his pack, as he gets fucked for the first time. As he takes a knot for the first time. As he enacts his divine-given omegan right to have his heat serviced whenever and wherever by whomever he pleases. It’s not exactly when and where he pleases, but the only thing that’s ever mattered to him is the whomever of it all. And for that, this is perfect.

Jisung whines and blinks away tears, the drool leaking out of him arguably dribbling down quicker than his slick does at this point. His voice comes softly, not quite a command, or begging, but promise. Especially when he looks at the pack while speaking.

“Knot me, alpha.”

His breath, much like his pussy, catches on Chan’s knot every time it slides inside, threatening to lock. 

Eventually, it does.

Jisung writhes in pleasure, lost in it. Soaring, plummeting, soaring again. Every sensation all at once, and he’s crying, sobbing through it, in the best way possible. Fireworks go off above his head, and everything is warm. A fuzzy feeling floods him, and when he comes down from what he hopes is his last orgasm of the wave, he realizes it’s not the only thing flooding him.

“Channie-hyung, there’s so fucking much.” Jisung presses his hand over his womb, swearing on everything he just blasphemized that it very, very slightly squishes under his fingertips. 

Actually, it’s never-ending, more and more pushing its way into his little body with every beat of Chan’s pulse. He feels bloated, almost heavy with it, clenching down around Chan’s knot in a desperate attempt to keep it all inside him. Every time he thinks it’s over, there’s more. And more. And more. No matter how long the wait is.

“Always come a lot when I knot,” Chan admits sheepishly after a short while, like he’s embarrassed about drastically changing the trajectory of Jisung’s life for a second time.

“In that case, keep me on it,” Jisung sleepily mumbles into his crossed arms, ears and face still flushed. He’s full. Exactly what he wanted. How he wanted. He can’t help the purr in his core from droning on and on and on. “I like it. A lot.”

“O-Oh.” Chan falters. “You’re… welcome, then?”

“Yeorobun,” Jisung sing-songs, voice shot. “There’s a dork in my pussy. He thanked me for letting him hit.” 

Chan twitches inside him again, and Jisung is suddenly feeling a little more sloshy, and a lot more dizzy. 

“Fuck, that’s so much, hyung.” Jisung winces and splays his hand out over his stomach. “I’m gonna be all schlorpy now.”

“Schlorpy?”

Jisung makes a sucking sound through his teeth. 

Chan blinks like he can’t believe what he just locked his knot into. “Got it.”

He makes himself drool, because it’s not the worst thing that could happen to him, being so completely filled. He’s exhausted and sore but he’s also thoroughly satiated, well-fucked, stretched to his limits with care like those videos on tiktok with the guy that hand-pulls candy on a hook. Jisung’s insides are like that right now, flavored tutti-frutti. 

He looks over at his pack, (his pack, his pack), once more, heart and pride (and belly) all swollen with overwhelming affection. Everything is going to change, but he’s not scared of it. He could never be scared with his pack there to care for him. And they do. They care.

“You all took such great care of me.” He stretches out like a cat in a sunbeam, or, at least that’s what he’s aiming for. One can only do so much while incapacitated via delicious knot. “So good for your omega.”

The words, the implications, sweep over them at varying processing speeds. They did well. They succeeded in servicing an omega well. The odds were stacked in their favor from the very beginning, starting with that simple confirmation text.

“I’d recommend your services, but,” Jisung clicks his tongue. “Sorry to say I’m keeping you all for myself.”

Chan chuffs lightly. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Jisung’s neck fully throbs and he buries his nose in an item of clothing. He can’t even tell whose it is anymore, his heatscent is so ingrained in the damp fabric. “Mine. My alphas.”

Chan makes a noise of affirmation, voice shy and joyfully shaky. “Yours.”

His.

His.

Jisung likes that, ‘his.’

And now, to do something about all the cum. He could plug himself up, but that comes with the risk of carrying the alphas’ cumscent on his person throughout the whole building. As amazing as he thinks they smell, they’re all a little… ripe. Dance practice, heat, slick, sweat, spit, and cum don’t exactly combine in a way that signals homey, safe pack to anyone else. 

Shame. They’re missing out.

He looks around the room for alternatives, locking in on a pair of misty, desperate eyes that could very much use some attention.

“Minnie,” Jisung calls out hoarsely, all eyes moving to focus on Seungmin as he’s edged so, so close but denied yet again. “Send Seungminnie over.”

Changbin releases his grip and Minho scoots back like he’s under a spell. Seungmin stumbles to his feet, so rosy and hazy it’s almost like he’s tipsy. His shirt hem covers his cock entirely, especially with the way he’s pulling the hem down over himself as he walks. The poor thing can’t even walk in a straight line, knees all wobbly and eyes misty with unshed tears. He approaches Jisung and Chan, Chan curiously quirking an eye at Jisung, likely too exhausted to question it.

“Did you come?” Jisung asks, looking at the stains on his shirt. 

“Once,” Seungmin responds meekly, staring at the floor between them like he’s in trouble, wringing his shirt in his fists. 

“When?”

“When I had Jeongin-hyung in my mouth.”

Jisung blinks.

Oh.

Oh.

Jeongin…’hyung.’

He files that for later and fakes a pout. “Not even once while watching me?”

Seungmin thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. He’s frowning, unsteady, ready to cry. 

“Well, our puppy did such a good job holding out, and deserves to be included in the fun happening over here too, right?” 

Seungmin looks like he wants to deny it, but doesn’t. Like he can’t deny it. Not allowed to.

Jisung rocks back and forth a little on Chan’s knot, testing. There’s some give, and Jisung is so endlessly thankful that Chan’s knot doesn’t last hours. 

“Channie, can you sit back?” Chan does so, pulling Jisung into his lap for what feels like the umpteenth time. His knot slips out a little, Jisung’s weight making him sink back onto it. They both hiss, but it’s proof enough that they’re no longer tethered.

“Can you kneel for me, pup?” Seungmin does so, and Jisung slowly starts to lift himself off Chan’s knot. “Good boy. So good, you deserve a treat.”

“Fucking hell, Sung,” Chan groans into his shoulder, connecting the dots. “What did we create?”

Jisung only kisses his cheek, lifting himself up enough to plant himself next to Chan. Cum dribbles out of him in small waves, seeping into his crack, down his thighs, catching in the matted, wiry hair of his pussy. Objectively disgusting, but Jisung would lap it all up off his own skin and the floor if he could reach.

“Wanna touch yourself while you clean me up, puppy?”

Seungmin wastes no time pressing his face to Jisung’s cunt, tonguing every drop with teary, gracious eyes locked with Jisung’s. He reaches down to scratch at Seungmin’s scalp, reveling in how it makes his eyes flutter. Jisung lets exhaustion take him for a moment, closing his eyes to enjoy himself until a laugh of disbelief pulls him back to the present.

“You’re going to be a fucking menace, you know that?” Chan muses, the two of them watching Seungmin’s mouth work tirelessly, making cute little whimpers and moans as he grinds his hips into his palm. “Absolutely insatiable.”

Jisung simply glances at Chan, stifling a moan and lazily grinning. He indeed starts seeing stars, just like Minho challenged at lunch. Minho wins. Seungmin wins. Jisung wins.

“What, wish it was you?”

***

“Oh.” Jisung freezes as he ties off the bag of discarded wet wipes their manager left outside the door, along with extra clothes for everyone. 

“Oh?” Changbin questions, trying to stuff all their dirty clothes into one duffel bag. Hyunjin sprays it with scent neutralizer, but the entire room might be permanently stained with their scents. 

Jisung walks up to the one thing he had completely wiped from his memory, having assumed they would have been taken by staff on their way out. 

“The cameras…” Jisung blinks at it, and the red light blinks back. His body instantly freezes, fingertips numb, stomach swooping. He looks at the second camera that was in the corner. Red light.

Chan immediately turns them off and removes their memory cards, handing them to Jisung like an offering. Like a courtship gift. Proof he can not only care for Jisung in the way he needs but protect him, too. Jisung’s omega makes a pleased sound, demands him to make Chan his pack alpha right then and there.

Jisung finds his eyes, feels the heat return to his cheeks, hoping it comes across as residual heat and not the deep shyness he gets from what he’s about to say. What his omega urges him to.

“Keep it.”

Chan blushes. “You’re sure.”

“Keep it.” Jisung insists, rolling his shoulders. He turns back to the group. “I don’t trust anyone else with video evidence of me losing my virginity.”

“Losing our virginity,” Minho nonchalantly says between sips of water, idly scrolling through his phone. Jisung’s shoulders slump as he turns to look at his hyung.

“Run that by me again?”

Minho blinks at him. Blinks again. Blinks a third time.

“Our virginity.”

“Our.” Jisung repeats. His mouth feels like cotton.

Minho looks him up and down, analyzing. His eyes crinkle the way they do when he gets confused. “It was my first time, too, Sung. I said that, didn’t I? That I was winging it?”

Jisung bluescreens.

“You were a-” He sputters. “But you’re-” He gestures at Minho’s entire body. “You?”

“And you’re you.” Minho shrugs, half-heartedly mimicking the gesture, lips quirking up into a tiny smile once he’s met his quota of being a little shit. “You weren’t the only one kicking yourself over finding ‘the best time’ to do it.” He waves his hand as if it’s no big deal in order to drive the point home, taking another nonchalant sip of water. “Glad to know I didn’t seem as clueless as I felt.”

“Was this anyone else’s first time?” His eyes flit between Chan and Changbin. Chan tugs on his ear the same way Jeongin does, and Changbin looks at Felix.

“No, uh. We-” Chan motions between himself and Changbin. “A-And we-” Between him and Felix. “And they-” Changbin and Felix. “And, um.” Seungmin and Jeongin avoid eye contact, especially with each other.

“Everyone—except Hyunjin and Minho—are fucking each other?”

“I’m the only one left?” Hyunjin points at himself, eyes wide. He sinks into himself when the entire pack turns to him, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear and swallowing harshly. 

“Not for long,” Jisung looks between all the traitors he calls pack. He snakes his arm around Hyunjin’s waist, feeling him tense under his iron grip. “Hyunjinnie deserves something special for having to wait so long. My second wave is all his. Whatever hole he wants. I’ll even let him knot me.”

There’s a small pause, the gazes on him heavy and heated enough to make a star implode. Not a single glance is given to Hyunjin. All eyes fall on Jisung. Intense gazes. Almost… scared…

“Jisung, what do you mean, your ‘second’ wave?”

“Heats last for multiple waves. That was the first. Hyunjin gets dibs on the second wave, and then we can figure out who gets the third, and fourth, and fifth…” Jisung grins wider and wider the longer he goes on, faces paling in realization that there’s a reason omegas have packs instead of mates. Jisung is teasing, yes, but he’s never gotten the chance to tease like this before. To mess with the alphas about who he truly is, about what he truly is. He's free now, and Jisung loves it.

“What,” the words bubble up inside him, floaty, airy and light; a second nature he can no longer suppress, “wish it was you?”