Chapter Text
Seeing Mingi meet the pack gave Yunho a surge of hope.
Because, though he did not say a word the entire meal, and could not look anyone in the eye, his presence alone fit. Yunho wasn’t sure if he could explain it. But as he looked around their table, as the chaos of everyone’s day collided and elbows bumped, it felt complete. Like Mingi had slid into place without issue and the entire had pack had made room for him. It was a good feeling. Because maybe this really was a place he could heal, could come to consider home.
Maybe Yunho’s gut had been right and Mingi really could be theirs.
He glanced over at Mingi’s side profile every once in a while during the meal. The scab on his cheekbone, the old bruises yellowing on his jaw. His hair just barely brushed the tops of his shoulders, parted messily and pushed behind his ears. He hadn’t smiled yet, but Yunho had a feeling it’d be adorable when he did. Especially with his front tooth just a bit askew.
It was so funny seeing him here. Eating dinner with the pack, in one of Yunho’s sweaters, when a mere few weeks ago he’d been a stranger in the fighting ring. Those two versions didn’t coexist well in Yunho’s brain. He just… He couldn’t imagine this Mingi, with his shaky hands and tentative glances, beating someone to the point of unconsciousness.
But he could, Yunho reminded himself. And he has. Because it wasn’t fair to anyone, Mingi most of all, if he acted like that’d been a different person entirely.
Slowly, hoping not to spook him, Yunho touched his leg under the table. Mingi turned to look at him, eyes widening. “Hey,” Yunho said gently. Just a reminder that he was here. That everything was okay.
Mingi seemed to understand. He swallowed. “Hey.”
♡
Four days passed. Mingi didn’t go outside once.
Not for lack of encouragement. Both Yunho and Yeosang tried to get him to sit outside, to get some sun. And he wanted to, of course he wanted to. He’d been deprived of fresh air for so long. But every time he considered venturing into the pack’s garden, with its lounge chairs and small fountain, with the autumnal plants in terracotta pots… All he could think was how vulnerable he might feel out there. The wide open sky, the wind, the world…
He knew he didn’t have a scent, but he still envisioned it being carried away, brought all the way back to the ring. Handler would drag him back to that place, would find a way to make it even more unbearable. Sabotage his fights, withhold medical attention, cheapen his rates to guarantee he’d be fucked more. God, maybe he’d been stupid coming here. The ring had been bad, yes, but it could easily be far worse.
He’d thought getting to see Yunho again would make all the risk worth it, but what if he’d been wrong? What if Handler found such effective ways to torture him that even the memory of Yunho’s scent, his sweet smile, wasn’t enough?
It’d happened before.
He’d tried to escape a few years in, just after learning that his debt had increased. He’d only made it an hour, lost in the surrounding area, feet bleeding in the snow. He hadn’t realized it was winter when he’d left, because no one told him that sort of thing. So what chance had he stood? Hungry, naive, unsure where in the city he was. He’d tried to ask for help, but at that point he was too feral looking, too bruised, and strangers quickly turned away.
By the time Handler found him he’d given up entirely. Just curled up in an alleyway and waited to be tracked down. They’d cancelled his fights for a full month after that, beat him severely, and locked him in his room. The only person he’d seen for that time was Handler, who would stop by every few days with a small portion of food to check and see if Mingi had learned his lesson yet. He had — he swore he had. But nothing he said was good enough, no amount of begging or tears could prove it.
That was when he’d stopped talking. Didn’t seem to be a point since no one ever believed him.
Ironically, the silence ended up working. Because on the final day, when Handler had come into his room and seen him curled up on the floor silent and impassive, he’d declared it done. He leaned out into the hallway and shouted to one of the other men involved in the ring: We broke Mingi!
A few men collected in his room to see. They laughed when Mingi didn’t react to being slapped, then to being punched, then kicked. He’d been too hungry to care. Too exhausted. Too lonely. And he couldn’t remember why he’d even tried to run away in the first place, because he couldn’t fathom any other life than this.
He was Mingi, the third alpha to present in his family, the one nobody needed. Sold to fight, maybe born to fight. And there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
He hadn’t dreamt otherwise until Wooyoung and Yunho showed up and started talking crazy about how he didn’t have to be here, how things could be better for him. And, to his complete surprise, it seemed they’d told the truth. Four days at the pack house and it was still real. No one hurt him, no one degraded him.
If anything, he was ignored by some of the pack members. The beta’s, mainly. And Hongjoong and his mate. The four of them would say hello if they passed, would maybe smile across the dinner table, but overall kept their distance. A relief, truthfully. He felt much more at ease around Yunho and Yeosang.
And Wooyoung, too. Because Mingi reluctantly had a soft spot towards him. But he wasn’t a typical alpha, anyways. Didn’t act like one was supposed to.
And so, for the first time in his life, Mingi had a few days without any hunger, without any fighting, without any threats. And for some reason going outside felt like a certain way to compromise the whole thing. Like it’d send a beacon out and Handler would appear, would hurt Yunho, would take Mingi away.
He knew he was just paranoid. He knew stepping a few feet outside would not harm him. But knowing didn’t seem to help much.
No one forced him to go, though. And they still spent time with him, even though he wasn’t very good company.
Yeosang usually came to visit with Posy for the afternoon sun. They’d lay on the bed and talk and talk, rambling about tiny things — ordinary things — and Mingi would do his best to listen.
Wooyoung was the only one without a job, because he was still in university, which meant he was home a bit more. Twice now he’d made Mingi play video games with him, something Mingi remembered doing with his brothers years ago. He was shit at it now, but it still felt incredibly familiar. And familiar was a good thing, he thought.
And then there was Yunho.
Touching him much at all still felt dangerous, but Mingi began lingering before pulling away. So when Yunho touched his arm, leaned against him, sat too close… He’d let it be for a moment, just a heartbeat, before reluctantly shifting aside. He loved it. The warmth, the presence, the funny little buzz in his chest he got when Yunho looked at him. But skin on skin was still too terrifying, held too much risk.
It didn’t matter when Yunho insisted it was allowed, that no one would be angry. Mingi just couldn’t believe it.
“And this is when we all went to Portugal together, see?” Yunho pointed to a photo in the book, a shot of the entire pack crowded together, a wash of blue ocean water behind them. “San got sick on the second day and missed like, everything. He still complains about it, so we’ll have to go back sometime.”
“Oh.” Mingi nodded, sincerely fascinated by the photos. They sat together in Yunho’s room, propped up by the pillows at the head of the bed, a photo album balanced between their laps. Keeping memories like this wasn’t surprising, but the amount of love in it was. Every photo, even the ones where they weren’t anyplace interesting, were bursting with happiness. Big grins and arms around shoulders, kisses on cheeks and candid laughter.
Yunho smiled. He was doing it again, his shoulder and his arm pressed against Mingi’s. The warmth of his body made it through the layers of clothing and skin, seemed to reach all the way to Mingi’s bones. “Maybe next time you can come.”
Mingi looked up. “To Portugal?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
Why not? Maybe because this was a temporary arrangement. Mingi estimated they’d let him stay two weeks or so at the most, but then they’d expect him to leave, to find someone else to bother. After all, they’d done far too much already. He couldn’t expect to be welcomed into the pack too. But Yunho looked so happy at the idea of it, and Mingi had never left the country before. He’d never gone anywhere, actually. At least not anywhere for fun.
Maybe this was just a game they were playing. Imagining a future where Mingi got to stick around and they could smile in photos posed beside the ocean. He liked the idea of it. It felt warm. “All right,” Mingi said carefully. He didn’t know how to be playful. “What would we do in Portugal?”
Yunho’s smile widened. “Walk around,” he said. “Eat good food. Maybe get you a tan.”
“A tan?”
“Yeah. You need sunshine.”
Mingi supposed he did. And maybe the scarring would be a bit less noticeable then, too. “Okay. But i’ve never even been on a plane.”
Yunho made a pshh sound. “We’ll change that.” He flipped a few pages forward. More pack photos, this time of them all bundled up in coats and scarves, a vast blanket of snow behind them. “We try and do a pack trip once a year, though sometimes we skip a year if we want to do a more expensive one. See? Last year was Switzerland.”
Every year. Mingi couldn’t fathom it. While he’d been trapped in the same room, in the monotony of fighting and eating and trying to sleep, the whole world had been moving around him. People like Yunho and the others had been traveling, loving one another, feeling good. It didn’t make sense: how someone could live a life so free of anguish.
Trick, his mind supplied. Because a few nice photos from a vacation didn’t equal a perfect life. He knew this place was still hiding something. They had to be. Or, even worse, it was all true. They were happy. They were safe. But that sort of thing wasn’t meant for Mingi, and he’d never be allowed to truly have it.
Yunho shut the book with a sigh. He slumped down a little against the pillows, yawned, and turned onto his side. “Mm. I missed my bed.”
Mingi flinched. “I can sleep anywhere, you can—”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I like you staying in here.”
Mingi nodded, unsure what he was meant to say. Carefully, he mimicked the way Yunho had shifted onto his side and curled up in the fetal position. Now they were eye to eye. Close, but not touching. Though they were in a bed, and he supposed that held certain implications.
But most of the pack was not home…
“How are you liking it here?” Yunho asked. He reached over and took Mingi’s hand as he said it, pressed his scent gland to his nose as if there was anything there to sniff. “Would you tell me if you didn’t feel safe, or something?”
Fuck no. “Mhm.” Mingi’s eyes were glued to his own wrist, the destroyed scent gland that Yunho was pretending to enjoy. “You really don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” He rubbed Mingi’s wrist against his cheek, against his neck. A burst of fresh vanilla and warm sugar came with the motion. “I feel so good touching you.”
Mingi’s stomach twisted. “I don’t think you should say that.”
“Why not?”
Why did he always make Mingi explain it? He swallowed uncomfortably, and when he got the word out it was barely a whisper. “Hongjoong.”
“I’ve told you. He doesn’t mind. I’m not his.”
“Oh.” Mingi felt hot. His stomach was cramping up, his crotch vaguely aching. This was bad. Irresponsible. Cruel, even. To let himself think he could have someone as perfect as Yunho. “Okay.”
“Can I scent you for real?”
Mingi nodded before he could stop himself. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been scented for real. Let alone by an omega, an omega he actually liked. And he realized all at once that he’d take a punishment from Hongjoong, from the entire pack if necessary, just to get Yunho a tiny bit closer.
For once Yunho seemed a bit nervous too. His eyes were wide and searching, his lip tugged between his teeth. He scooted closer, and their knees touched, their hands touched, their noses only a few centimeters away… He dipped down and nestled into the crook of Mingi’s neck, rubbed his cheek against where his scent should’ve been, then his nose, and finally his mouth. Not to bite, not to even tempt a bite. But just a careful brush of his lips and the tiniest, most delicate lap of his tongue.
Mingi realized he was getting hard. He clenched a fist and grit his teeth to suppress a groan. But instinct was taking over, and he couldn’t help pressing closer into the source of Yunho’s addicting smell. He filled his lungs with it, his brain with it. His senses seemed to white out with the rush, replaced by a big surge of tingling and heat and a sort of easiness he’d never felt before. Like his whole body would just melt into a puddle.
He should pull away now. He’d already gone too far. But instead he parted his lips and licked softly across Yunho’s scent gland, released a heavy sigh at the taste of him.
It was perfection, like some crooked piece in Mingi’s chest had finally been righted.
Yunho was a feeling he’d never expected to have. Like something in Mingi’s life had finally gone right.
But, knowing his track record, that only meant it was about to be ripped away.
♡
Yunho rarely felt the need to be settled. In fact, although he engaged in the disciplinary dynamic they’d agreed on, it wasn’t often relevant in his life. Wooyoung got smacked on a damn near weekly basis because he liked it, and sometimes San got roped into it with him and also found himself across Hongjoong’s knee.
But Yunho? He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been spanked. He considered himself pretty easy to get along with, and having clear communication with the pack was a second nature. Same went for work, which was peaceful. He’d never even been written up.
He ate well, exercised three times a week, and felt generally happy.
Going to the fighting ring with Wooyoung had been the worst thing he’d ever done, and he’d expected to be hit for it. But, yet again, his reputation and reasoning behind it had saved him. He just… didn’t need to be punished like some of the others did. And he didn’t like to be, either, so Hongjoong was generally hesitant, instead treating it as a last resort.
But Mingi had unmoored him. And for the first time ever Yunho understood what Wooyoung meant when he said getting spanked settled him.
“I don’t know.” Hongjoong leaned back in his desk chair, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “You’ve never…asked for that.”
Yunho shifted in his spot on the couch, already hot with embarrassment. It was stupid to be this nervous, their dynamic wasn’t out of the ordinary for packs of their size. But, still. It wasn’t what he was accustomed to. “I just feel…” He shrugged. It was hard to describe. But although he loved having Mingi in the house, and he loved spending time with him, it’d also wound him up tight. He wasn’t used to this much stress. But now he worried constantly. Whether or not Mingi was hiding injuries, if he really trusted any of them, if he even liked being here. Yunho had tried to shove it down, but it’d begun coming to a head.
Even at work, which was a place he usually felt focused at, his mind would not stop racing with thoughts of Mingi.
“Explain more,” Hongjoong said gently. “I’m not gonna smack you unless you can explain what you need, okay?”
Yunho nodded. That was fair. “Wooyoung always says it makes him feel safe,” he said softly. “He says it gets him out of his own head.”
“Wooyoung’s also a bit more submissive than you, darling.”
Yunho dropped his eyes. He knew it was true, that he had a fierce independent streak that Wooyoung lacked. Still, though. He couldn’t take care of Mingi if his brain was so tangled up. “I know. I’m just really anxious.”
“And you think a spanking will help?”
Yunho shrugged. “Maybe?
That coaxed a light laugh out of Hongjoong and he set down the pen he’d been holding. “Well, thank you for letting me know what’s going on. Mingi has certainly added…a lot to the house. But I think he’s fitting in okay, don’t you?”
Yunho nodded, glad that he wasn’t the only one who thought so. “Yeosang likes him a lot, so does Wooyoung.”
“And the others will get there too, I think.” Hongjoong paused, just sort of stared Yunho down for a moment. Then he sighed. “All right. Up. But this isn’t a punishment, the point isn’t to harm you, okay? Sting, yes. I’ll make you feel it. But you tell me if it hurts badly or isn’t having the desired effect, understood?”
“Yes.” Yunho stood, positioned himself at the edge of Hongjoong’s desk. Most of the other’s preferred lap, but Yunho felt too tall and awkward there.
“Obedient,” Hongjoong murmured, a slight air of surprise in his tone. “Lovely.” He pressed a firm hand between Yunho’s shoulder blades, guided him down. “No more worrying like this, all right? I’ll handle you.”
Yunho nodded, which earned him a warning smack to the ass.
“Words, Yunho.” Hongjoong tsked, already sliding into the dominant headspace that often contradicted his every day personality. “You respect me more than that.”
Yunho swallowed, did his best to exhale out all his tension, to truly believe that Hongjoong would take care of it. And, to his own surprise, he did. Maybe it was the hand on his back, the commanding pressure. But he already felt a tiny bit better. “Yes, sir.”
♡
Mingi only wanted a glass of water.
After a week in the pack’s house he’d learned that nighttime was safe. Everyone was usually too busy to stay up on a weeknight, so past eleven pm or so the house was his. He’d venture out for some water or a small snack that wouldn’t go unnoticed, just something he could hide in Yunho’s room in case they ever locked him in there.
That wasn’t the mission tonight, though. This time he’d woken up from a bad dream with a sandpaper tongue, tear tracks all down his cheeks. So, after pressing his ear to the door to double check for signs of life, he headed towards the kitchen.
But he did not make it there.
Mingi hadn’t ventured anywhere close to Hongjoong’s office since their first meeting, and he hadn’t intended to return. But the light under the door made him pause, because it was already nearly midnight.
He took a step closer, away from the kitchen. Just to listen. To make sure the pack wasn’t having a meeting in there, wasn’t deciding to send him away. If that was the case he needed warning. He needed to brace for it.
But as he neared he didn’t hear any voices, instead a funny, repetitive noise. It took him a moment, because it was out of place here, before it clicked in his brain. It was the sound that rung in his ears when Handler slapped him.
Mingi’s body went cold. Instinctively, he curled forward, shrunk himself. Someone in that office was being hit. And usually when people were hit, people were angry. And anyone being angry meant he would be in pain.
He took a small step backwards. He needed to get back to Yunho’s room, curl up in the space between the bed and the nightstand, cover his ears and wait for the anger to reach him, to hurt him. He needed—
He heard a small, defeated sniffle. Who was that? Wooyoung? Yeosang? One of the others? Mingi glanced behind him, making sure he was still alone in the hall, and then took a few careful steps forward. He sniffed just a little, but all he got at first was Hongjoong’s scent, his leathery apple-cider alpha smell.
Mingi pressed to the door, trembling, and flinched as another hard slap landed. He sniffed again.
Yunho’s vanilla, his sugar, was soured. The scent of an omega in distress. An omega in pain.
For a moment Mingi just remained there, the smell burning his nostrils, his brain struggling to catch up with what his body had already realized. Yunho was in that office. He was upset. He was being hurt.
Mingi shoved open the door.
Yunho was on the desk, hands gripping the sides, tears in his eyes. Hongjoong above him, hand raised to strike him again. Mingi had been punished enough times to know what he was seeing. And he saw red.
“Get off him.”
It was like being in the ring all over again. Mingi’s body, some vicious piece of his brain, took the wheel. He lunged forward, tackled Hongjoong backwards. They hadn’t even reached the floor before he landed the first punch, his knuckles splitting brutally across Hongjoong’s cheek bone.
Yunho was yelling. Words, maybe. Or just sounds. It didn’t matter.
It was muscle memory. One fist at the throat — pin. The other cocked back — swing. He was a good fighter. He’d been born for this. Born to attack and to harm and to bloody. Born to protect his omega.
Footsteps thundered down the hall. The pack.
Mingi abandoned Hongjoong on the floor, instead grabbed for Yunho, crowded him into the corner of the room, shielded him with his own body. “Mingi, no—”
“It’s okay,” Mingi whispered harshly. He wrapped Yunho up best he could, so if anyone wanted to hurt him they’d be forced to get through Mingi first. “I won’t let him.”
“Mingi—”
A burst of scents joined them. Someone yelled something. Mingi didn’t hear any of it. His brain had tunnel vision, focused only on Yunho, on the feeling of his body balled up in his arms, the assurance that no one was harming him.
Their faces were pressed together, their limbs twisted up. Mingi could see the tear tracks on Yunho’s cheeks, fear in his eyes. He squeezed him a bit tighter. “I’ll protect you.” He hoped that was true. That he could be strong enough.
Yunho gave a feeble shake of his head. Sniffed loudly. “It’s not like that, Hongjoong— Let me go, it’s—”
Mingi shook his head hard. He knew how it felt. When you were powerless, when you thought your only choice was to let someone hurt you, to just roll over and take it. But Yunho didn’t have to do that. Mingi was here. He’d keep him safe. Even if it fucking killed him.
A hand touched Mingi’s shoulder, tried to pull him from the corner. He shook it off, braced himself for whatever attack came next. It’d take all six of them to get him to move, to get to Yunho. And even then, he’d beg them to take it out on him instead. There wasn’t any reason to hurt Yunho. Mingi could take it. He could take all of it.
“Holy shit,” someone said.
“Get an ice pack!”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. What the fuck happened?”
Mingi suppressed a whine. Standing up for something went against everything that had been beaten into him. He yearned to release Yunho and start begging for forgiveness, beg them not to send him back. But of course they would. That or they would kill him. He’d attacked a member of the pack, the one thing Hongjoong had ordered him not to do.
He was dead. Dead or returned. And he wasn’t sure which was worse.
Yunho’s hand pushed up, stroked a careful touch along Mingi’s cheek. A tiny sliver of calm in the hurricane around them. “Can you let me go, please?”
Mingi shook his head. Maybe it was his long since crushed alpha spirit waking up for once, but the only thing stronger than his fear was the need to protect. And as long as Yunho was in his arms he was safe.
“You…” Yunho swallowed, his eyes flicked over Mingi’s shoulder. They widened just a little, and he gave a tiny nod in someone else’s direction before refocusing on Mingi. “You did such a good job keeping me safe,” he murmured. “Such a…good alpha.”
Mingi made a pleased, groaning sound in his throat. Good alpha. He’d never been called that in his life. But Yunho wouldn’t lie, would he? He’d done good. He was a good alpha. It was like some dead, rotted piece of himself was being revived. Good alpha. Like he wasn’t totally bitched and ruined.
“But I want to stand back up now, okay?”
“No.”
“Mingi,” Yunho said firmly. “Settle down. Let me be with my pack. They won’t hurt me.”
How could he say that? When a few minutes ago Hongjoong had been hitting him? “I won’t let them,” Mingi corrected. He squeezed tighter, Yunho essentially in a ball between his legs, pressed against Mingi’s chest.
“I know you won’t,” Yunho said. His voice was like butter, like a salve. He wrestled his wrist over to Mingi’s nose, pressed this scent gland there. “See? I’m not scared anymore.”
It was true. His scent was sweet again, loving and protected. Mingi felt like he could purr at the smell of it. “Keep you safe,” Mingi mumbled. He felt stupid with the smell this close, like a pup scent drunk for the first time.
“Mhm.” Yunho pressed a kiss to Mingi’s cheek. “You’re a good alpha for protecting me. But I’m not in danger. Hongjoong isn’t gonna hurt me.”
“But he was.”
“It’s complicated, baby.” Yunho kissed him again. Every time his lips touched skin Mingi felt damn near delirious. “But I’m okay. And I’ve got such a good alpha, hm?”
“Yours.”
“Yeah. You can be mine. Perfect alpha for me.”
Mingi was slipping. The tension in his muscles fizzling out, his grip on Yunho’s body weakening. All he wanted was to believe it, that he’d done something right for once. Kept someone safe. Was a good alpha. He inhaled another lungful of sugar and vanilla, his eyelids fluttering shut at the sensation. Keeping his omega safe. Holding him. Being good.
“They really won’t hurt you?” he asked one last time. He was too scared to ask about himself.
“We won’t.” That was Seonghwa, he thought. As Hongjoong’s mate he likely had some say in the matter, so maybe his word was good.
Reluctantly, Mingi scooted away from the corner, let Yunho unfold himself and climb to his feet. He risked one glance over his shoulder, but at the sight of Hongjoong — blood flowing from his nose and a gash on his cheekbone — Mingi curled right back up. Arms shielding his head, legs tucked against his torso. The best defensive position when it came to enduring a beating.
Because maybe they wouldn’t hurt Yunho, that part could be true. But he knew better than to hope they wouldn’t hurt him. He would be lucky if he survived the night.
Then, as the others began to speak words his brain refused to process, Mingi hid his face further in his arms and started to cry. He’d liked it here. He really had. But of course he’d ruined it.
He always did.