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“Shut up. Just shut up. You want this.”
The whisper was hot and sharp against Jisung’s ear, a violent contrast to the cold wood of the desk digging into his cheek. His own ragged gasp was swallowed by the large, calloused hand clamped over his mouth, smelling of cheap soap and cedar.
Minho’s other hand was under his uniform skirt, fingers already pushing aside the damp cotton of his panties. Jisung squeezed his eyes shut, a useless tear tracking through the dust on the desk’s surface. The library was dead silent past 6 PM, just the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant, rhythmic thump of a janitor’s cart in another aisle. No one was coming.
“Knew I’d find you here,” Minho grunted, his hips pressing forward, the hard line of his erection unmistakable even through both their layers of clothing. “Little omega, always hiding in the books. Think your little beta friends can protect you?”
Jisung tried to shake his head, a muffled noise of protest vibrating in his throat. It wasn’t hiding. It was studying. Trigonometry. He had a test tomorrow. The thought was ludicrous now, splintering as Minho’s finger, dry and intrusive, rubbed against him.
“Already wet,” Minho sneered, the words a low, pleased rumble. “See? Your body knows. It knows what it needs. Doesn’t matter what your head says.”
No, Jisung thought, the denial a silent scream. It was fear. It was slick, that stupid, traitorous slick that leaked out whenever an aggressive alpha got too close. It didn’t mean want. It meant danger.
But Minho didn’t see danger. He saw it as an invitation.
📖
It had started two periods ago, in the hallway after chemistry. Jisung, head down, backpack straps clenched in white-knuckled fists, was trying to be invisible. It was his best skill. At seventeen, he was mostly gangly and nervous energy, an omega who hadn’t quite grown into his long limbs. His uniform skirt always felt too short, too revealing, a beacon. But no matter how hard he tried to fix it, nothing ever worked.
Minho, at fifteen, was already a force. He wasn’t the tallest alpha in his year, but he carried himself like he was. Maybe it was the confidence, the arrogant tilt of his chin, the way his dark eyes seemed to catalog and dismiss everyone around him. He’d presented early and had worn it like a crown ever since. He’d been fixated on Jisung since the first day of term, when Jisung had flinched at his scent in the lobby.
📖
“Hey. Omega.”
Jisung had kept walking, heart hammering against his ribs. A hand closed around his upper arm, spinning him. The grip wasn’t painful, not yet, but it was immovable. Minho’s smile was all teeth.
“Ignoring me?”
“I have to get to class,” Jisung mumbled, eyes on the scuffed toes of Minho’s shoes.
“You have a study hall next. I checked.” Minho leaned in, inhaling deeply by Jisung’s neck. A shiver, unwanted and intense, racked Jisung’s frame. Minho’s smile widened. “You smell… stressed. Library’s quiet. Good for… concentrating.”
It wasn’t a question. He’d released Jisung with a slight shove, sauntering away as if he hadn’t just demanded that the omega go somewhere specific.
Of course, Jisung had gone to the library. What else could he do? Report him? To who? Minho’s father was on the school board. Minho was the star of the wrestling team. Jisung was just a scholarship omega from the wrong side of town, trying to keep his head down and his grades up. He’d sat at the desk, textbook open, seeing nothing, the scent of old paper and dust doing nothing to mask the creeping, cold dread.
And then Minho had arrived, followed by the soft, deliberate click of the library’s side door locking from the inside. He’d walked down the aisle, his footsteps the only sound in the world.
📖
Back in the present, against the desk, Minho was working his pants open with one hand, the other still silencing Jisung. The zip was obscenely loud. Jisung flinched.
“Look at you,” Minho murmured, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that was pure command. It skated down Jisung’s spine, sparking a weak, helpless heat in his belly. No, no, no. “Skirt already hiked up. Panties soaked. You were waiting for me.”
He pushed Jisung’s panties down, just to his thighs, the elastic biting into his skin. The cool library air hit his exposed skin, raising goosebumps. Then Minho was pressing against him, not entering, just rubbing the thick, hot length of himself through Jisung’s slickness. A choked sound escaped Jisung’s throat. It felt… it felt…
“Gonna breed you right here,” Minho growled, the words vibrating through Jisung’s back where Minho’s chest was pressed against him. “Fill you up so deep you’ll feel it for days. You’ll walk into class tomorrow and everyone will know. Every alpha, every beta, every other omega… they’ll smell it on you. They’ll smell my cum dripping out of you. They’ll know exactly what you are.”
The vulgarity of it, the sheer, brutal ownership in the words, sent a jolt through Jisung that was equal parts terror and something else, something dark and shameful that curled hot in his gut. He hated it. He hated himself for it.
Minho didn’t wait for a reply. He lined himself up and pushed forward.
The stretch was immediate, burning. Jisung’s eyes flew open, a sharp, pained gasp trapped behind Minho’s hand. He was too big, too much, splitting him open. He tried to arch away, but Minho’s arm banded across his chest, locking him in place.
“There,” Minho hissed, a sound of pure satisfaction. He didn’t stop, didn’t pause to let Jisung adjust. He sank in deeper, a relentless, invasive pressure that stole the air from Jisung’s lungs. It was a full, devastating stretch. When he was fully seated, hips flush against Jisung’s thighs, he stopped for a second, panting against Jisung’s hair.
“Fuck. Fuck. You’re…” He didn’t finish the thought, just let out a low, ragged groan that was more animal than boy.
Then he moved.
The first thrust was rough, jolting Jisung forward into the desk. The second was harder, setting a punishing rhythm. Each drive punched a soft, wet sound from where they were joined, a mortifying counterpoint to Minho’s grunts and the soft squeak of Jisung’s shoes on the tile as he was shoved forward again and again.
The pain blurred, transformed. The initial burn melted into a deep, aching fullness. His body, that traitor, began to respond. Slick gushed, easing the brutal glide, making the sound even wetter, even more obscene. A coil of heat, tight and insistent, began to wind in his core, completely divorced from his whirling, panicked thoughts.
Minho seemed to sense it. His hand left Jisung’s mouth, sliding down to grip his hip hard enough to bruise. “Yeah,” he breathed, his rhythm becoming less frantic, more focused, each thrust grinding deep. “Yeah, you like that. Feel it? Feel how deep I can get?”
Jisung couldn’t answer. His forehead was pressed to the cool surface, mouth open, silent sobs shaking his shoulders. Pleasure, sharp and unwanted, lanced through him with every inward stroke. It was too much. The friction, the fullness, the aggressive scent of Minho engulfing him. He could feel himself fluttering around the alpha, a helpless, involuntary clenching that made Minho curse and pound into him harder.
“Gonna cum inside you,” Minho snarled, his voice thick. “Gonna knot you. Lock you on me. You’ll take it. You’ll take every drop. Gonna make you pregnant.”
The words sparked a new kind of panic. A knot. Pregnancy. The thought of being trapped here, tied to him, in this dusty, silent library… Then forever as the mother to his pups…
But his body was careening towards its own end, the coil pulled taut to breaking. Minho’s thrusts became erratic, jagged. He fisted a hand in Jisung’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. He didn’t bite—that would be a permanent mark, too much evidence—but he pressed his open mouth to Jisung’s scent gland, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
It was enough of a trigger.
Jisung fell apart with a shattered, silent moan, his back arching sharply as a wave of intense, shocking pleasure crashed through him. It rolled from his core out to his fingertips, wiping his mind blank for one, two, three endless seconds. He clenched rhythmically, pulsing around the alpha buried inside him.
Minho moaned, a choked, guttural sound, and slammed home one final time. Jisung felt it—the sudden, rapid swelling, the stretch becoming impossibly fuller, locking Minho deep inside him. Then the hot, liquid rush, pulse after pulse after pulse, flooding him, so much it felt like it would never stop. Minho shuddered violently against him, his entire body going rigid before slumping forward, his weight pinning Jisung completely to the desk.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the hum of the lights. The air was thick with the scent of sex, of alpha release, of omega submission.
Jisung went limp, tears leaking silently now. It was over. It had to be over.
But Minho didn’t pull away. The knot held them fast, a swollen, unyielding anchor. And after a minute, as Jisung’s sensitivity skyrocketed, every nerve ending screaming from the overstimulation, Minho began to move again.
Small, shallow rocks of his hips. A gentle, almost lazy thrust against the tight seal of his knot.
A broken sound, half-sob, half-moan, ripped from Jisung’s throat. It was too much. The feeling was intense, borderline painful, a direct assault on his overspent nerves. He was so sensitive it was agony, a raw, electric feedback loop.
Minho’s hand came back up, covering his mouth again, muffling the helpless, hiccuping noises he was making. “Shhh,” Minho whispered, the command softened into something almost like a caress. He didn’t stop moving. The tiny, insistent motions continued, dragging his knot against Jisung’s swollen, sensitive inner walls. “Just feel it. You can take a little more. Gotta make sure it takes, right? Gotta make sure you’ll be nice and round with my pups soon.”
Jisung trembled, overwhelmed. The pleasure was gone, replaced by a relentless, shuddering sensitivity that bordered on torture. Yet, his body, stupid and obedient, produced another feeble trickle of slick. Minho chuckled, the vibration passing through both of them.
“Good omega,” he murmured, his lips against Jisung’s ear. “So good for me.”
He kept moving, a slow, relentless reminder, as his knot began, ever so slowly, to subside.