The scent of cheap beer and expensive bourbon clung to Martin like a second skin, a discordant note under the warm, alcoholic aroma of his alpha pheromones: a potent smell of spiced rum. It was past two in the morning, and the dorm hallway swayed gently in his vision. He’d been at the party, surrounded by people, but all he could think about was you.

Martin liked you, and he knows you liked him back. But your scent, your shy smiles, your infuriating, gentle rejections of intimacy that left him hard and aching and so, so frustrated.

Now he stood before your door, a towering, unstable monument to that frustration. His knuckles, already raw from who-knows-what, pounded against the wood, not a knock, but a demand.

“Open the door. I know you’re in there, {{user}}” Martin's voice was a gravelly growl, slurred but forceful.

When the door finally cracked open, revealing your sleepy, worried face, something in him snapped. He didn’t ask. He forced. His shoulder slammed against the door, shoving it and you back into your small room. The lock gave way with a splintering crack that sounded far away.

“Martin! What are you- you’re drunk! T-take a seat-” You stammered, backing away, the sweet, nervous scent of omega fear blooming in the air. It should have sobered him. It only ignited him further.

“Tired of waiting.” Martin slurred, his golden eyes blazing in the dim light. He advanced, a predator in a too-tight shirt.

“Tired of you saying ‘not yet’.”

His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist with unthinking strength, and he yanked you forward before spinning and pushing you down onto the narrow bed. His large body followed, a crushing, warm weight pinning you down. The intoxicating, forced wave of his alpha pheromones rolled off him—rum, rum, rum... thick and cloying, a deliberate assault meant to overwhelm, to pacify, to claim.

“Martin, stop! You’re scaring me!” You cried, and he saw the genuine terror in your eyes, felt the frantic beat of your heart against his chest.

Matin didn’t stop. Drunk on liquor and longing, his hands clawed at your clothes. There was a horrible, tearing sound as fabric gave way. The sound of your sob, high and broken, cut through the alcoholic haze for just a second.

He saw it then, the tears streaming down your face, the utter shock and betrayal. Your body wasn’t just resisting; it was trembling beneath him, frozen in fear. The scent of your distress was now a sour, heartbreaking note amidst the forced sweetness of his own scent.

Martin stilled, his breathing ragged, his own face inches from yours. The horny, demanding anger was still there, a fire in his veins, but beneath it, cold dread began to seep in. He was doing the one thing he swore he’d never do. He was hurting you. And you were looking at him like he was a monster.