Chapter Text
It shouldn’t be possible. Felix went off suppressants less than two days ago. He only started feeling the affects of preheat this morning. It should not be possible for his heat to have come on this fast.
But alas- it seems it has.
Felix gasps as pain shoots through his abdomen, a fiery sensation that far exceeds a cramp. His fingers clutch at his stomach, nails digging into the soft flesh as though he could physically grab the pain and yank it out of him.
He’s soaked in sweat, the patch on his neck sliding down his skin. Rotten, awful orange blossoms fill the room. It’s wrong. Why does he smell like that?!
Everything is too hot, his body boiling and his heart thundering in his chest. He struggles to move, twisting and pushing as he crawls out of the suffocating blankets and tumbles to the floor. It hurts, pain exploding in every cell of his body as he hits the ground.
Felix chokes down sobs as he curls into himself. He presses his overheated cheek to the wood floor, trying to breathe through the pain and the heat. One of his hands claws at his shirt, almost choking himself as he yanks it over his head.
He’s so hot. He’s still wearing boxers, the fabric sliding across his skin like tiny knives. He's sensitive and feverish and sick. His feet kick, and he wants them off, off, get them off!
The effort makes his head swim, and he squeezes his eyes shut in confusion. Where is everyone? Why is he all alone? Where is his alpha?
He doesn’t feel like he’s floating anymore. He feels suddenly much too present in his body, and something is missing, something is wrong.
A clatter to his left reminds him of the phone Chan left him. Chan. His alpha. Felix needs him, he needs Chan.
Shaking fingers fumble for the phone, and they close around both it and the hoodie that had fallen off the bed alongside it. Felix pulls them both to his chest, the phone tight in his grasp and he gasps in the sudden scent of storm.
Chan, alpha, hyung, alpha, alphahyung, alphaalphaChan.
A tiny bit of pain and heat fades, just enough to lift the steamy, overcooked feeling from his head. It’s only then that he notices the desire.
Under the pain, under the boiling heat of his skin and his blood, there’s a more simmering, swirling type of warmth that pulses low in his core. He’s rock hard and leaking. Chan’s scent fills his lungs and that emptiness inside him longs for his hyung so deeply it almost scares him.
He needs Chan. He needs his alpha. An alpha. Someone. Anyone. Some thing, to fill him.
He needs it right now.
Felix groans, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. His fingers tighten around the phone, screen lit up but too blurry to discern. He can’t do it. He needs him. He can’t reveal himself. He’ll die without him.
I can’t. I have to! No.
Yes!
No!
Another sharp stab of pain kicks him in the gut, and Felix doubles over with a whine. The phone slides from his grasp and his face lands in Chan’s hoodie. He sinks into the stormclouds, his body trembling with need.
Where is Chan? Where is everyone? Why is Felix alone?
He hurts, it hurts, he's so fucking aroused.
One hand keeps the hoodie close. The other slips down and wraps around his cock. Immediately, stars burst behind Felix’s eyes and he inhales so quickly he almost chokes on it. Pleasure explodes from the point of contact, mixing with the pain, and his hand gives two rough pumps before it slips lower.
He finds his entrance, and everything stops.
Icey fear breaks through the haze around his mind, and Felix feels something cold slither down his spine. Wrongwrongwrong, it screams.
Why isn’t he wet?!
His entrance is bone dry. Not a drop of slick to be found. Felix may not have had a heat in a long time, but he knows that that isn’t right.
What’s wrong with him?? He can feel how aroused he is. His cock is aching, is throbbing with need. Desire pools in his gut against his wishes and the scent of Chan’s hoodie makes him want to find the closest thing to a knot in this room and slam down on it until he can longer move.
He’s definitely in heat, he’s definitely aroused, so why isn’t he wet?!
Oh god, maybe he’s broken. Maybe he was on suppressants for so long he actually broke himself. Felix sobs, panic tangling in his chest. Everything hurt. His body was flaming hot and oversensitive, the slightest brush of fabric or floor making him want to rip his skin off. Someone was stabbing him with a hot iron rod, the pain mixing with desire and leaving him confused and unsettled.
His cock is still leaking, is still hard against his stomach, but the thought of touching himself makes him want to vomit. The pleasure from just moments ago has whiplashed into an inky terror that steals the breath from his lungs.
Broken, his mind whispers.
Pathetic.
Disgusting.
Worthless.
Felix feels tears drip off his chin and the stench of rotten citrus makes his stomach curl. He rips the hoodie away and tosses it to the floor. The last thing he deserves right now is Chan.
Lovely, wonderful, beautiful Chan. The best leader and alpha they could’ve asked for. What would he think of Felix if he could see him right now?
He would hate you, Felix hears.
What alpha would want such a useless piece of shit?
Felix sinks beneath the heat of the flames and loses himself to the pain. Sobs crack openly from his chest, the tears doing nothing to cool his flushed-red cheeks. Everything hurt, and he's never felt so alone.
They're all gone. No one was here. Felix was drowning and no one would save him. No one was coming.
You deserve this, the fire whispers. It crackles in his ears, flickers and flashes and dances in the corners of his vision until he's not sure if he's underwater or deep in the flames. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's all the same.
Either way, Felix feels like he's dying.
The loss of Chan’s scent makes the panic drive deeper, and Felix nearly blacks out from the agony and the terror. He’s still in so much pain, and he knows it won’t go away until he gets some sort of relief.
"No..." he moans. He feels desperate. He feels weak. He needs this. (He hates himself.)
His hand slides back down, and he bites hard on his lip to prevent himself from crying out when he’s once again met with nothing. No slick. The need to be filled is as strong as he expected for a heat, nearly overwhelming, but Felix can’t be filled if he won’t even produce slick.
Broken. Useless. Pathetic.
What is he supposed to do?
Several long minutes pass as Felix hunches over himself on the floor, shaking and wheezing and struggling to collect himself. He stands on wobbly legs, the world a tilt table of formless color, and grabs Chan’s hoodie off the floor. He doesn’t deserve it. But he needs it, and the soothing effect the alpha’s scent has on him almost sends him back down to his knees.
Breathe, he can hear Chan’s voice from this morning. He does as ordered, taking in lungfuls of thundery scent until the panic has receded enough for his chest to stop heaving and his sobs to die off. He forces himself to slide back into bed, the blankets like needles on his oversensitive skin, but at least now he can prop himself up more comfortably. At least now he can try and fix this.
Chan's stormy scent has helped drive away a bit of the fog again, the overwhelming intensity of the heat fading just enough for him to push back into the pillows and breathe. It’s enough for him to properly take stock of his body without the emotional high making everything seem heightened and worse. There’s still pain, he’s still too hot and too sensitive to move. Hurt and desire mix in his gut, a conflicting feeling that has his instincts turning over.
He feels broken. Unfit for an alpha. He also feels like he’s on the edge of heatstroke.
Pre-cum leaks onto his stomach and Felix knows, he knows there’s only one way this feverish nightmare of heat and hurt will end. The tears have stopped, but shame curdles in his gut all the same.
Alpha, his instincts whimper. Breed me.
There’s no one here, though. Felix wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this anyway. Not when he’s such a disastrous, broken mess. He sucks in another lungful of Chan’s scent as though the hoodie alone can protect him from his thoughts.
He knows the drill; knows what he needs to do. His hand goes back to his cock, gritting his teeth against the cramps in his gut as he strokes himself with a dry hand. Even this hurts. There’s pleasure, a searing shot of it that has him gasping and desperate, but it still hurts.
His pre-cum isn’t enough, but Felix doesn’t have the strength to stop now that he’s started. It isn’t what his body wants, isn’t what he needs, but it’s more than he was getting so he can’t stop. Shame makes him close his eyes and bite back his moans, his hand moving faster and rougher until, finally, something bursts inside him and he spills hot white cum across his stomach.
It isn’t enough.
Felix keens high in his throat when the pleasure fades faster than he can catch his breath and he’s left with a dick that’s still rock hard and aching. He feels empty. Empty, empty, emptyemptyempty.
He needs to be filled.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Felix was stupid to have been unprepared, stupid to have thought he could get by with slapping on scent blockers for a few days before he snuck out of the dorm to hit up his supplier.
Of fucking course his heat would come. Of course it would crash into him the moment the suppressants left his system. It had been seven years. He should’ve known.
But even if he had, even if he’d locked himself away with toys and food and jugs of water, he wouldn’t have been prepared for this. This was wrong. This was awful and miserable and wrong.
Felix was broken, and he only had himself to blame. The words ‘permanent damage’ float through his heat riddled mind as he twitches and trembles atop his sheets. Felix is rock hard and bone dry and a part of him wants to beg for someone to fuck him and a part of him wants to set fire to anyone who comes close.
He wants nothing more than to be pinned to the nearest surface and fucked until he can't move, can't think, can't feel anything but the swelling pulse of a knot.
The mere idea of someone doing it, though. The realization of how vulnerable, how weak he is right now, is so terrifying Felix feels his heart skip a beat. Anyone could walk into this room and he'd do anything they asked if it meant the heat would stop. He'd do anything they wanted if it meant he'd stop hurting.
In fact, he'd probably beg for it.
The thought makes him feel sick. This is exactly why Felix went on suppressants in the first place. This is exactly why he hates being a fucking omega.
The sticky cum on his stomach makes his skin crawl. He needs to drink something. Between his earlier puking and the massive amount of sweat he’s dripped into these sheets, he knows he must be dehydrated. But he can’t move. He’s exhausted, yet wired. In pain, yet numb. Filled with desire, yet drowning in disgust.
His dick twitches against his feverish skin, and Felix’s instincts make the decision for him. A hand reaches out and manages to open his nightstand drawer, a bottle of lube flopping onto the bed beside him. He coats his trembling fingers in it, more than he’s ever needed, and reaches between his legs.
Felix has fingered himself before. Suppressants shoved down his omega instincts but they didn’t magically give him new ones. When arousal hit, he still wanted a dick up his ass, suppressed instincts or not.
It's never felt like this though. His hole sucks his finger in greedily, the pleasure overwhelming in its intensity just from that. The stretch makes his toes curl, loud moans filling the room as he thrusts into himself at an almost frantic pace. It burns and it's awful and it's wonderful and it's so good, so good, so good.
One finger becomes two becomes three. His hips rock, fucking down onto his hand as pleasure builds and swells and clashes with the stabbing in his gut. He feels dirty and disgusting and pathetic. He hates this, but it feels so good. His stomach rolls with waves of nausea and he's dizzy and breathless as he pants and shakes.
Felix gasps out broken little cries as he squeezes his eyes shut and pounds up into himself. This feels worlds better than the dry handjob he’d given himself, but it doesn't lessen the pain at all. If anything, the cramps seem to escalate in time to Felix’s pleasure. He can feel them both building, a wave of it rising inside him as he adds another finger. They curl inside him, searching for that bundle of nerves, pressing and pushing and- there.
Felix nearly bites his tongue off when he finally finds his prostate. It was a pleasure so intense it was pain, and it stole the air from his lungs. His thighs are shaking, his wrist aching as he thrusts, and his hips are shoving down on his fingers like a greedy little whore.
He hates himself. In that moment, Felix has never hated himself more.
Not enough, notenoughnotenough, his mind chants. His fingers feel woefully inadequate, too slim and too short. His other hand tugs so hard he might as well have been trying to yank his own dick off. Sparks cloud the back of his eyelids as sweat drips off his brow.
When his orgasm finally hits, vision whiting out, Felix screams. A pain like never before hits him at the exact moment he falls over the edge, cum shooting out as he writhes in agony.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.
Something inside him snaps, something breaks, and Felix barely has the presence of mind to register the fact that he's still screaming as the door to his room bursts open and his world fades to black.