Chapter Text
The end of Jimin’s peace begins chaotically and dramatically with a whole lot of screaming, guns and blood. Lots of blood.
He is jumping the gun though—pun intended. Every story has a beginning, middle, and end. The perfect essay, something Jimin mastered within the first couple of weeks at university. That’s who he is: perfect, flawless, and a bright student. A bright hot student, mind you, and not just a nerd. A hot nerd who could turn on the fuck-me eyes in a flash, and have alphas, omegas, and betas begging for him— he didn’t care who as long as people were paying attention to him.
Hoseok likes to call it his ‘insufferable Libra quality’, which is saying a lot when he’s a whole Aquarius. Maybe it is an air sign thing, since blaming the stars is convenient. And that’s why the two of them are best friends: air signs, omegas, and more importantly—really hot.
He’s digressing again. Missing the point, being an organised mess which is his number one quality according to Yoongi, also his cutest quality according to Jungkook— but Jungkook is biased. He’s crushing so fucking hard on Jimin, and at this point, Jimin is just letting it happen. Because he can’t let the kid down.
So the end—right, the end, that’s what Jimin’s lamenting about— goes something like this: all of twenty-seven years old, his successful tenure at university spilling over into a successful but hectic career as a lawyer. A single omega living it up in Seoul in one of the fanciest penthouses money could buy, loved by three best friends. Jimin’s happy. Or so he likes to think. His life is a clear-cut line between the past and the present. Wholly separate, completely unrelated to each other, and never, ever crossing paths.
Which is how the story—now known as the end of Jimin’s life as he knows it—begins. When the past spills over into the present—and destroys the line forever.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin’s in the dance studio when Russian Roulette blasts suddenly , cutting off the flow and throwing him off balance.
Stubbing one’s toe is not only painful but embarrassing. Especially if one is Park Jimin— a graceful contemporary dancer, and the Most Gifted Person Alive. Also the clumsiest, but Jimin vehemently denies this observation.
“Hello,” Jimin breathes into the phone, rubbing the toe with one hand. The entire room is booked, and Jimin is blissfully devoid of people, scents, and noise. Just the classical piece floating out of the speakers, the wall to floor mirrors showing his state: sweaty, flushed, and pleased. Jimin always is after a good dance workout. “To what do I owe the pleasure, hyung?”
“Jiminie!!” Hoseok screeches, and Jimin only slightly strains his ears away, having been used to Hoseok over the last ten years. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I got through! I got through the interview!” Hoseok continues. It takes Jimin a couple of moments before it hits him, and then he’s screeching as well.
“Hyung, oh my god!” He hastily puts away the bottle, unplugging the device and wiping away the sweat. Holding the phone between his shoulder and ear, he switches on the scent neutralisers for whoever uses the room next. “We need to celebrate!”
“Yes! Come over? Yoongi will be there too.”
Jimin giggles. “You sure you don’t want just him to celebrate?”
“Aish, Jimin-ah, don’t be crude,” Hoseok whines, and Jimin can almost see him. Smell him too. “I will be doing that after you and Jungkook leave when I’m two shots down and crazy enough to fuck on the couch.”
“Wow, that is crazy for you.”
“I know! And I deep cleaned it the other day too,” Hoseok whines. Hoseok’s neat-freak ways were famous, and it helped that Yoongi is a pretty chill, very husband guy who didn’t mind that itch. Jimin, on the other hand, had been a nightmare to room with. “See you in twenty? Get a couple of beers.”
“Will do, hyung. Congratulations once again.”
Hoseok and Yoongi’s shared apartment isn’t in the swanky, rich part of town, which is why Jimin likes it so much. He likes the rich part too, but just for himself. He’s spoilt as fuck. But he likes more the comfort of home that Hoseok begets, and Yoongi immolates.
There’s something charming about hidden alleyways merging into each other, a cacophony of mazes nearly colliding yet seamlessly alive. Breathing. Maybe it’s the neon-bright posters and crush of people around—but here, Jimin can be…lost. Unknown, and inconspicuous. No one really cares about him, except maybe the occasional alpha or beta following him with burning gazes and hungry eyes. Some omegas too, which is a huge ego boost. Jimin likes it all. He likes more that he can disappear without a thought.
As he selects the beers, he flicks between the attention and the vanishing. The way the alphas in the corner assess him, the way their omegas glare. The betas are indifferent, always having sought out their own ranks. The amalgamation of scents dances in the air, mild and clean, with the occasional burst of scent neutralisers keeping the spicier ones suppressed.
People’s eyes flit past him, something Jimin is used to by now. Made peace with it once he was out and couldn’t help it anymore. He pays for the beers and a couple of snacks when a strong scent comes out of nowhere.
Jimin halts. It smells like nothing, almost bitter but not rotten. Like flowers gone bad, and he looks around, wondering if there is a distressed omega in the vicinity. The neighbourhood wasn’t the safest for anyone, but more so an omega. The scent vanishes just as fast as it had appeared—and Jimin comes back to the lady, smiling and bowing down.
Walking down the street towards Hoseok’s lane, he can feel the sensation of someone’s gaze burning on the back of his neck. He turns and looks around—but there’s no one. The lane is empty.
It shouldn’t have been in a crowded locality such as this.
He pushes down the now too familiar, too old, and outdated sense of wrong that he’s practiced too long to ignore. It doesn’t mean anything. Lanes can be empty from time to time even in busy areas and it means nothing.
For the longest time, he couldn’t step outside. The world had been too loud, too bright, a sticky sense of wrong, wrong, wrong permeating his senses. He’d trained himself out of it eventually, with Hoseok’s help, with frequent clubbing nights and merging into university culture.
It’s just that, when he’s alone and has time to think, the foreboding feeling picks up again.
He huddles into his hoodie, hands in his pockets, and curled around a comforting weight. The walk is a short one, and nothing happens—no strange shadows, no odd scents. Jimin reaches Hoseok’s apartment, the area around it lingering with people, and sighs in relief. He’s made it. He’s fine. He’s paranoid and anxious and that happens sometimes. Yet the whole time he’s taking the rickety, life hazard of an elevator up to Hoseok’s floor, the shadows seem loud. Alive. As if any moment they’d form a smoky tendril and drag him in.
Jimin’s glad when Hoseok’s door opens and Jungkook greets him with a bright smile.
“Hyung!” Jungkook exclaims, lifting Jimin, and twirling him around in the most embarrassing way possible. “You’re still short and cute!”
“Literally fuck off,” Jimin hisses, pinching Jungkook on the neck while the brat yelps. The comforting, warm scent of cedarwood gently flows out, driving the sick feeling away. Home. Jimin’s home. “You’re not that tall.”
“Just tall enough to do this,” Jungkook says, ruffling Jimin’s hair and cackling away when Jimin squawks indignantly. “You smell intense. Workout?”
“Dance,” Jimin answers, looking away from the slight flare of Jungkook’s nose. It’s a bit of a challenge, to be best friends with someone who is trying too hard—and failing—at keeping their crush a secret. Hoseok, Yoongi, and Jimin have a pact to absolutely talk and walk around the elephant in the room. “Still oranges?”
“Like always,” Jungkook mumbles, slowly turning red. He’s cute, for an alpha. Pretty, in that boyish way he never really seemed to grow out of, even at twenty-five. “It’s a Thursday night. You usually wait for Fridays.”
“The merger acquisition happened today,” Jimin says, towing off his shoes and putting on the home slippers on the side. Jungkook takes the beers from him as well as the takeout. “It was so fucking stressful. Especially because the other guy was such an alpha dick.”
Jungkook makes a sympathetic noise. “Ah, I’m sorry, hyung.”
“Your rank is the fucking worst.”
“I agree. But hey, at least Yoongi-hyung and I make up for it, right?” Jungkook turns around and widens his eyes, and gosh, he’s so fucking cute, with his doe eyes sparkling and cute rabbit teeth. Jimin wishes for the millionth time he could feel something more than platonic love. “Did you win?”
“Of course, I fucking won,” Jimin snorts, grabbing a bottle and tapping the cap to the edge of the counter, slamming it down. It pops off with ease, a mark of expertise. "The other guy accused me of using my omega charms, which, what a tool. He smelled like garbage.”
“I hate him already.”
“You should. How’s the job?”
Jungkook grimaces immediately. Jimin can hear some sounds from the bedroom but isn’t sure if they’re of the bickering or the bedroom variety. Doesn’t want to know, but unfortunately, Hoseok is loud in either case. “It’s eh. Still a rookie, so finding my ground is taking time.”
“Aw, poor baby,” Jimin coos, patting Jungkook. As a cop training to be a detective, Jungkook has a long way to go. It’s still a career choice Jimin is fascinated by because Jungkook could have been anything, and he had to go for the most alpha-like profession ever when he wasn’t anything close. “Want me to kick some ass?”
“Pretty sure you’d get beat up, hyung.”
“Brat. I’ll have you know, I’m trained in kendo and taekwondo,” Jimin sniffs, huffing away when Jungkook grins. He’s trained in a lot of things, but these ones are socially acceptable. “Also, I’m a contemporary dancer and we have mean leg muscles.”
“Oh, for sure,” Jungkook nods, sipping away. “I never want to get kicked by you again. Like, ever.”
“Mm, so what do we say…?”
“Yes, Jimin-hyung, you’ll definitely kick ass. We’re scared of you.”
“Good boy. Are they fucking in there?”
Jungkook flushes, adorably awkward. “I don’t think so? Yoongi-hyung looked dead tired when he opened the door, so unless Hoseok-hyung’s doing the deed—”
“Got it, do not want to know,” Jimin cuts off. Hoseok was infectious with his energy. It had certainly gotten Jimin out of his shell the first week of university. “Let’s just set the playlist up.”
Because a drunk Hoseok had approximately twenty minutes of drunk energy before he entered the zone of Depressed Hoseok, and the right playlist could delay it by a long shot.
Ten minutes later the other two enter, markedly flushed, smelling like a satisfied mix of freesias with pinewood. Jimin wrinkles his nose, and Hoseok flashes a sheepish grin. Yoongi raises his hands. “I wasn’t planning to. He just ambushed me.”
“Sure,” Jimin says, grinning and holding out a beer. “The couch thing didn’t work?”
“Nah, he got too antsy about the deep cleaning part. Didn’t want to do it again.”
“I’m literally right here,” Hoseok says, whining and Yoongi squeezes his hands. That’s how Yoongi showed affection. Deep, nearly invisible. “Jimin, start the cue.”
And that’s how it goes. In a small apartment with peeling paint, a mouldy ceiling stain but the warmth of love, Jimin feels right at home, and being alone doesn’t feel so bad anymore.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin had met Hoseok during the first week at university, in the full blast of freshman orientations. All of nineteen, he’d been nervous—the world seemed so large. Everyone had been wearing colours, bleached hair, and excited giggles, a herd of students finally starting the college life.
It had been overwhelming.
In the midst of all that chaos and Jimin’s steady decline into panic, Hoseok’s brightness had emerged. Jimin didn’t believe particularly in the Moon Goddess, but he’d been inclined to believe then that she had been watching. Had guided Hoseok towards Jimin, a literal hand held out.
A year older, Hoseok was everything Jimin was not—effortless, bright, and happy. A force to deal with, a hurricane of sunshine and warmth. Unafraid of being an omega amongst alpha-occupied spaces, and brimming with talent. The two of them had immediately struck a fast friendship, what with Jimin new to Seoul and struggling. Having come from Gwangju, Hoseok had understood all too well.
The cool thing about friendship with Hoseok had been how he simply accepted Jimin. Didn’t ask questions, didn’t even acknowledge the obvious gaps in Jimin’s answers when prodded at. He understood Jimin to be silent and secretive and ran with the program. And it had been a blessing in plain disguise. A chance to start a new life and Jimin had greedily gulped it down.
As two omegas in a world slowly accepting them, finding a sense of belonging was both familiar and strange at once. Jimin got more and more used to Hoseok’s freesias unmarred by blockers, and eventually his infectious personality—until they were inseparable.
In some of his moments staring at the ceiling in a huge bed alone, Jimin wonders if they were meant to be. Their souls recognised each other, and it was tempting to think so. Jimin had searched for a soul mark similar to his, but Hoseok’s skin had been plain. It crushed him, mostly because he would have loved to be truly connected to Hoseok—not even in a romantic way. Just connected. And also because it meant Hoseok didn’t have a pre-destined bond, which wasn’t really that sad—but Jimin felt disappointed anyway. Hoseok was here to stay.
He thinks all this as Hoseok looks at him with expectation, rolling back onto the balls of his feet. Jittery with excitement, like he is keyed up and is going to explode any moment. They’re out at the deli in front of Jimin’s law firm, Hoseok having dropped in for lunch. He sticks out like a sore thumb in this crowd of dignified suits, neutral scents, and monochrome colours—and is precisely why the reason Jimin already feels light. He loves being a lawyer, but sometimes—it drains the energy out of his soul.
“You want to what?”
“Plan for your twenty-seventh,” Hoseok says, munching happily into the gimbap. Freesias flow sweetly out of him, in a complementary manner. Some people turn around, but Hoseok is oblivious. “We’ve never celebrated your birthday properly, Jimin. You’re always working.”
For good reason, Jimin thinks but keeps quiet. “It’s just—birthdays. It’s whatever.”
“Oh, but you can go all out for ours?” Hoseok accuses, and Jimin flushes. It’s true. He loves celebrating their birthdays, planning days and sometimes weeks in advance, curating a birthday present and celebration according to the person’s personality. “In the nearly ten years since I’ve known you, you never allow us to do anything.”
“I don’t really care for mine,” Jimin shrugs, staring at his own roll. He doesn’t, truly. Never really understood why it mattered, when he wasn’t particularly psyched about his birth. “Yours, on the other hand, should be a national holiday.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Hoseok tuts, putting down his roll and adopting the Stern Hoseok look. It’s terrifying. “You know I won’t force you, Jimin-ah. But is there a reason? And don’t say some existential bullshit like my birth doesn’t matter, I cannot bear another Yoongi in my life.”
“He’s not that existential.”
“He tries way too hard to be a philosophical shit when we both know he cries inside at being spoilt,” Hoseok says, miffed yet fond. “Well?”
It’s a good question. As Jimin’s said, Hoseok’s great at respecting Jimin. He’s observant, a little too on-point sometimes, but keeps away until Jimin himself comes and shares. It took a while, that sharing. Opening up, trusting people. Hoseok made it far too easy, in that entirely scary way that had initially made Jimin panic.
Still, he’s not a blabbermouth.
“Kinda reminds me of my parents,” Jimin mumbles after a moment. He squeezes a tissue in his hand, palms sweating. Nails digging. The sort of admission he hates. “Like, I’m here, they’re not. I exist because they don’t. Don’t really like it.”
Hoseok blinks, before his lips fall into an automatic downward curve. That’s another thing about Hoseok; Jimin doesn’t have to guess what he’s feeling. The man is an open book. “Aw, Jiminie.”
“Don’t,” Jimin says, curling into himself. This is one area Jimin’s really, really careful about. It’s been twenty-two years, and the wound still hurts. The betrayal. “Don’t pity me.”
“I’m not, oh no,” Hoseok says, getting up and settling down next to Jimin. He lets out calming pheromones, omega to omega. Jimin melts, leaning in as a conditioned response. “I simply didn’t connect the dots. I just wanted to celebrate your birthday.”
“Why now?”
“Well,” Hoseok says, suddenly nervous—and Jimin knows. Can feel the familiar pull in his gut, the tightening of his throat, taste the bitter in his mouth. This is Bad News Face Hoseok. “I might be moving. Like in a couple of months, for the job I qualified for.”
Jimin takes in the news. Pushes aside the inevitable panic. “Moving, as in, where?”
“America. It’s a contract thing, maybe six months. More,” Hoseok says, looking scared. “Point being, I might not be around for your next birthday. Or be around in general. If all goes well, I might be getting busy within a couple of weeks.”
“You’re leaving me.”
Hoseok whines. “Jiminie.”
“You’re actually leaving me,” Jimin chokes out. It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, because they’re both adults and they have jobs, and at the end of the day Jimin knows nothing will break them apart. They’re in this for life. But his omega wakes up, distress building. Pack is leaving? It asks, and Jimin shoves it away. “I can’t believe this.”
“Baby, I’m sorry,” Hoseok says, forgoing everything and wrapping Jimin in his arms. Scenting him in public, but that’s Hoseok—careful until he’s not. Freesias overpower everything else, including hopefully the bitter oranges Jimin’s sure he’s letting out. “I swear, I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t so fucking important. The opportunity of a lifetime. It’s everything to me.”
“And Yoongi-hyung?”
“Might leave with me, but he’d be able to come back,” Hoseok says, and Jimin positively keens, hiding in Hoseok’s arms. If his colleagues saw him, they’d have a field day. Feisty omega Park Jimin acting exactly like an omega. Who knew? “I promise it’s not permanent. I couldn’t fucking survive over there. I’ve heard the scents are much worse and stronger than ours.”
“No, you’d be like every other person who likes American freedom and democracy or whatever and stay there,” Jimin hiccups out, wiping furiously at his face. Foundation comes away, so that’s a mess. What a great day. “I hate you. I love you. But mostly I hate you.”
“As long as you love me,” Hoseok says, tucking him in. But Jimin focuses on being left. Because that’s all people ever do. They leave. “Yah, don’t cry. You know I can’t handle it.”
“It’s what you deserve,” Jimin sniffles, but he stops. How fucking embarrassing. “You’re leaving me with Jungkook here? Really?”
“Listen, he’ll keep it in his pants.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Jimin says shrilly, lowering his voice when people nearby look over. “It’s going to be torture. He’ll explode with all those feelings. Then he’ll run across town and be awkward. I can’t babysit him.”
“You always call him your baby.”
“Yes, but in practice, it’s a lot more difficult.”
“Mm. You could just tell him,” Hoseok suggests innocently, leaning away swiftly before Jimin can murder him. “Get it over with.”
“Right. And have him never talk to me again because he’d rather die than be uncool. Stupid kid, aish,” Jimin curses. He does feel bad, even though he’s not actively leading Jungkook on. He’s never answered any flirt attempts (or lack of it; Jungkook’s suave on text, fucking terrible offline), never fed into them or used Jungkook’s attraction to get stuff done. “Gah, fine. I’ll organise a birthday thing.”
“Hey, no,” Hoseok says, leaning over. He frowns, biting his lips. “You don’t have to. Not everyone likes their birthdays. We can find other ways to celebrate.”
“No, you’re right,” Jimin says. He’s always holed himself up on those days, done the bare minimum, and drunk himself to sleep. “It’s sad, but I can change it. It doesn’t have to be shitty forever. It’s one time.”
“Are you sure—”
“Yes. I’ll plan one. Do not go overboard with gifts. I’m the king, I will not be dethroned.”
“Like I was going to get you gifts.”
Jimin narrows his eyes and Hoseok giggles. It’ll take him some time to accept that Hoseok won’t be available for long. But for now, he’s happy.
🖤⚔🖤
In the chill of the oncoming October, Jimin prepares.
He’s great at parties. The odd contrast between Type A and Type B, a nuisance to Hoseok and a delight to Yoongi. He organises things well and then lets loose, and Jimin adores that about himself.
Planning his own party, though? A nightmare.
For starters, he doesn’t quite know what to do. When it comes to Hoseok or Yoongi or Jungkook, he’s studied them well enough over the years to categorise them. Hoseok likes lots of dancing and energy, and that’s when he’s sober. He has a taste for the branded lifestyle, and Jimin makes sure to lavish him with those. He has way too much money to not do just that.
Yoongi, however, likes a low-key chill setting with good music, home-cooked food, and sleep. Jimin never understood it, but he’s come to organise phenomenal sleep dates which Yoongi loves. Jimin’s even seen him cry a tear or two, which means he definitely sobbed by himself.
And Jungkook is the opposite of Hoseok—a dreadful Gen Z kid, acting broke when he really isn’t. Refuses to shop or upgrade his clothes, and Jimin’s sure by now that all the presents he’d ever bought him are still stuffed somewhere, in their packaging even. Jimin’s had to drag him to his own parties.
Jimin knows what to do with them. Himself? He’s never thought about it. Never sat down and assessed what he liked for birthdays. Some years, the date simply used to pass, and he’d remember days later. He’s not sure if he even likes presents, since he never got any.
He settles for a quiet birthday dinner at a fancy place. That seems like a safe choice.
It’s easy after that. Make the bookings, take the next day's leave in advance, and make sure work doesn’t interfere with the day.
Jimin goes out to shop on his big day, splurging on a new shirt and makeup kit. As he selects his loafers, he gets that same feeling again.
Watched. We are watched.
Jimin whips around but faces nothing. It’s a Saturday morning, the peak of the Gangnam crowd mingling about. Announcements of the King’s new progressive laws (which, bullshit, but Jimin keeps quiet) and the general gaggle of people. Gangnam’s a lot neater than Myeongdong where Hoseok stays, but the routine is the same. People. Public scents. Occasional scent neutralisers in the air.
He doesn’t believe the picture.
It’s built beneath his bones, drawn right into his marrows. Careful, be careful. He sniffs and only gets the scent of the couple right next to him.
It’s nothing. He’s just being paranoid, and antsy because he’s changed the pattern. The rule. Celebrating his birthday like a fucking kid, which is hilarious because Jimin never got to be one. This is just his brain on alert, looking for anything to pull back and sabotage his own plans.
He goes back out to the counter to pay—but the person hands him the packed bag, smiling genially. “Someone already paid for this, sir.”
Jimin frowns. “Who?”
“A gentleman. Said to pass on their compliments. They found you wonderful,” the concierge says, nodding towards the exit. Jimin cranes his neck, catching the back of someone walking away. Nothing remains of their scent. “Of course, as a store, we make sure our customers are comfortable. If this present is unacceptable—”
“No, it’s fine. That’s sweet of them,” Jimin says. Inside is the package, and no scent exists. “Thank you.”
Out in his car, he checks the package. Scentless on the surface, but there’s this odd bitter clashing with flowers. Which ones, he can’t pinpoint, but it’s familiar. The package is what he selected, right down to the size and colour.
Jimin’s used to this. As an omega, and as someone who is gifted in the beauty department. Strangers buying him drinks, dancing with him, offering him rides, or asking for his number. Jimin’s used to attention. So it’s not like this is odd—but it is Yves Saint Laurent. No one just pays for something like that on a whim, and certainly not because Jimin’s pretty. That’s insanity.
Or maybe Jimin’s being paranoid again. This is Gangnam, after all. Someone can take a fancy and pay for Jimin’s stuff. It’s a good thing Jimin has his own job, but it’s also a good boost that if Jimin had wanted, he could have been a great sugar baby.
The thought of it is tempting, though he’d never quite be okay with strangers touching him.
He packs away the gift and drives away.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin’s a bit of a repetitive kid. Routine, structure, an organised mess. The kind who’d leave things around in his shared dorm with Hoseok, but within a specified space. Notes all over their fridge, but colour coordinated.
When he’d moved to Seoul, Jimin had decidedly cut himself off from the Before. The past, scary, uncertain and a blight on his future. He’d effectively locked it away, never to be touched again. A clear-cut line that no one, not even himself, crossed.
But, because he’s repetitive, and likes to build a nice narrative for himself, it goes like this:
The plan is to have a fancy birthday dinner in Namsan Tower, a straight out-of-this-world outfit (wine-coloured shirt and tight pants that accentuate his ass), and the highest quality meat money can buy.
He’s not sure if this is what he likes for birthdays. But as he confirms the reservation and takes in the wide looks of his friends’ faces, he thinks he’d simply like them. Their company, whether it’s in a five-star or a pochangmacha in the neighbourhood. That’s all Jimin wants.
Jungkook’s eyes have been perpetually wide for the better part of half an hour, whistling under his breath. Behind him, Yoongi and Hoseok are equally floored—though Yoongi seems to be more interested in the platters of meat being carried, commenting on their cut and the sizzle, Hoseok, do you hear that. What a fucking nerd. And Hoseok—
Well, Hoseok had thanked him over and over again, and that was something Jimin didn’t quite like—he knows out of all of them, he’s the richest, having changed his major from arts to finance and law, and earning bank. None of them resented him for it, though they poke the occasional joke. It still feels uncomfortable, because he’s still the grubby Park Jimin who’d made his way over on a public bus.
He finally told Hoseok to shut it and the other had, mostly because it was his birthday and well, Jimin can see why people like birthdays. It almost feels like a free pass.
So—Namsan Tower, private room, the glittering Seoul night sky beneath their feet. Jimin had gone all out. Even though he’s turning only twenty-seven. He gets it though, even as they walk towards their room. Once, celebrating his birthday had been a luxury—financially and metaphorically. It still is, but he gets to be loud about it. In the face, bleeding his pockets kind. And he has to admit—it’s enjoyable.
“Holy shit, hyung,” Jungkook says, once they’ve settled into the room, looking smaller than ever as he curls into his seat. For an alpha, Jungkook’s hardly ever been one to posture. “You’re going all out. You sure you want to do this for us?”
“Aw, Jungkookie, my baby,” Jimin coos, enjoying the heavy flush of pink on the other’s cheeks. “Of course. I love that I can do this for you guys. Money’s not a problem.”
“Perks of an inheritance, huh?” Hoseok quips, and Jimin shoots a finger gun, smirking. The omega leans forward, eyes bulging out when he sees the prices. “What the hell, Jiminie. This is enough to cover rent.”
“The rich are obnoxious,” Jimin shrugs, gently taking away the menu. “I don’t want you guys worrying about this tonight. I want you to enjoy this. And if it’s too much, we can leave right now. I just want to spend my birthday with the important people I’ve found.”
All of them coo, Hoseok flushing and letting out pleased freesias. It feels good. Safe, warm, just what Jimin had wanted. Jungkook comments he wants samgyeopsal, so Jimin immediately sets an order. Yoongi orders a seaweed soup to celebrate, and it’s nice. The kind of traditional Jimin never had. Never woke up to seaweed soup on the morning of.
Over generous servings of ghalbi, samgyeopsal and soju, Jimin celebrates his birthday for the first time. Twenty-seven, and it simultaneously feels old and young. Old because he’s lived so long, closer to his thirties, young because he’d only started living ten years ago. He still has a long way to go.
It’s warm. His chest is, his wolf nestled inside, pleasantly drunk unlike Hoseok in the corner giggling sideways into Yoongi, who holds him gruffly even as he grins, a full gummy attack. The air is a mix of happy scents: a flourish of oranges, freesias, cedar, and pine. And binding them all—joy.
Jungkook is cackling away at a joke Yoongi says, and he presses closer and closer with each shot. He gets like that when he’s drunk, though his tolerance is as good, if not better, as Jimin’s. He lets him, allows the boy to indulge before he panics tomorrow morning, apologising and agonising over acting like an alpha with Jimin.
The waiter soon comes in to take their order for dessert, and all of them yell their orders. It’s chaos. It’s amazing. Jimin’s never laughed so much, so freely without worrying about being too loud or breaking the peace. Attracting the wrong sort of attention. The waiter leans down so Jimin can tell him clearly, and he catches a whiff of—lavender.
It hits, for a moment. Drunk as he is, the scent threatens to cross the line, spill over into his throat and squeeze it. It’s so visceral, Jimin has to dig his nails into Jungkook’s thighs, who looks up in concern. Paranoia. Jimin will never be rid of it, be it five years or ten or even fifteen years. It’s set into his bones, his very cells.
He waves it off. He won’t sabotage his birthday. He won’t be a downer on his friends. Instead, he focuses on—gratitude. Here is Jimin in the presence of his best friends, his chosen family, glad he’s alive one more year. That he is free one more year. Healthy and wealthy, celebrating all the hard work he’s put to reach this point. Jimin’s fucking grateful. He got lucky. So lucky.
They’re singing a trot song when Hoseok announces that he’d gotten a cake over, Jimin’s favourite, and he’d better eat middle-class cake in a fancy tower restaurant. Jimin laughs, and ushers the waiter to get the cake, excited. Hoseok’s chattering a mile a minute, Yoongi’s looking sleepy but happy and Jungkook’s practically in Jimin’s lap, drooling away.
They say when one begins celebrating too much, sorrow is quick to follow. In Jimin’s case, as the waiter places the birthday cake in front of him, candles all lit up—he suddenly lurches— and blood spurts all over.
Something like a slow-motion film shot occurs. Jungkook talks about them obsessively, but seeing it happen is a surreal experience. Jimin can only stare as the waiter falls over the table into the cake, blood flowing out steadily. Someone— no, Hoseok— is screaming, Yoongi curling over him protectively. Jungkook is shielding Jimin, but all he can stare at is the pretty, glinting knife stuck deep in the side of the waiter’s neck.
At the initials engraved on the handle, initials Jimin had sworn he would never see again, initials that no matter, even after ten years, are imprinted behind his eyes.
KTH.
“What a merry celebration you’re having here, Jiminie.”
Jimin looks up from the body— and there. There he is, at last, the person haunting Jimin’s dreams, stained over his life like pressed flowers. The person who edges the strong line Jimin’s made, the maddening challenge to cross the line and spillover.
The scent of lavender—fuck, lavender— slowly filtering in, clean and precise.
There he is, after ten long years— the bane of Jimin’s life.
Kim Taehyung smiles. “Been a long time, love. Happy birthday!”
⚔ 🖤 ⚔
Notes:
ahhhh i'm so excited for this story it's just a silly bit of fun!! here i'm not aiming for literary excellence or improving my writing; this is my attempt to just enjoy writing for the sake of writing rather than some complicated plot or characterisations. I recently published a plotless namgi which helped me get over my hangup over "writing only good well-thought-out work" so i'm doing just that! frankly, i'm not even sure if perfectionist me would like this first chapter but oh well!
those who read this and proceed to do so, thank you in advance! <3
Leave kudos, comments, and feedback! These are an author's bread/butter and I promise, none of us mind long, rambling comments (or even a few words). Thank you and have a nice day!
Chapter 2: Hello From The Other Side
Notes:
I was contemplating waiting a bit before uploading but then I decided time is a social construct 7 it doesn't matter when you upload stuff? just do it. vanish and come back. this project is for fun <3
also, thank you to everyone who commented so far! your support and eagerness mean a lot <3
edit- I removed the namgiseok tag as that's no longer a ship because I made a huge blunder/overlooked a potential plot hole while planning this fic, so in case ppl were looking forward to that- it's only yoonseok now. sorry namjoon, ur going solo <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a hot summer afternoon in the middle of June when Jimin’s parents told him about a summer camp all the way over in Seoul.
The journey was long. Just him and his parents in a rickety old bus, the seats smelling of tobacco and sweat. He was huddled between them and for some reason, his parents were nervous. Lips bitten, eyes shaking. Jimin assumed it was the bus’s fault.
The bus stopped in the middle of nowhere. Around them were buckwheat fields, stalks swaying in the hot summer wind; the roads were long, grey, and empty. From the bus stop, they walked, and when Jimin whined, his mother grudgingly picked him up, her scent of rose sour. His father’s snow was equally strange, and wet, and Jimin furiously rubbed at his nose. He wanted those scents out.
They came to a dark vehicle then, and it smelled even worse, bitter and also like nothing. It was horrible, and Jimin shut up only because his mother pinched his arm. It hurt. Everything felt like too much. They drove down those same empty roads until they turned, and before Jimin knew it, they were in front of a gate. Painted black, with spikes along its edges.
After that, it was a blur. Unfamiliar faces, the same bitter nothing scents assaulting his nose, and before he could say anything, Jimin was being passed over to a masked man, and his parents knelt down in front of him, shaking, teary-eyed—and red.
His mother wiped his cheeks. “We’ll come to pick you up soon, Jimin-ah, okay?” She said, tucking in his hair into his cap, rubbing her wrists over his neck. The rose was sour, and that meant she was sad. But why? “It’s just a couple of weeks. It’s going to be so much fun, baby.”
It didn’t seem that way. The man behind Jimin stuck too close, too hot, and Jimin wanted to leave. “You won’t stay?”
“Ah, no, baby. Eomma and Appa have to work, make the house pretty for when you come back.” She looked away in the distance. She didn’t look him in the eyes. “This is a nice place. You’ll see. It’s got all the toys Eomma could never give you, baby. Promise.”
Now that was something different. Jimin had asked after summer break why he didn’t have the same things as the other kids, and his father had flushed red. His mother’s lip had quivered. It made sense to bring him somewhere with toys.
“You’ll be back?” Jimin asked, clutching her hands. Cold, clammy hands and they weren’t comforting for some reason. “Promise?”
“Promise, baby. We’ll be back soon.”
She kissed his cheeks and scented him one last time, and then—she turned away.
Children believe their parents. It’s a fallacy, a fatal flaw. Who else would they trust? A child’s first heartbreak is almost always by its parents’, and Jimin’s heart broke a month into summer camp the moment he realised his parents were never, ever coming back.
🖤⚔🖤
In a move that’s reminiscent of a divine comedy, Jimin once again knows, somehow, that things will never be the same again. What a fucking cliché.
The first thing Jimin notes is how Kim Taehyung, infuriatingly enough, is just as pretty as back then. When he had been eight and fifteen and eighteen, right up until the last time Jimin saw him. Effortlessly beautiful, large petal eyes fringed with thick lashes—and that cruel, lazy smirk lined red. The distinctive mole at the corner of his lips, at the tip of his nose.
Jimin can’t speak. Mouth heavy, tongue like cotton, all of it dry. It’s been ten years. The waiter is bleeding over his cake, the cream now a pale pink. And his friends, oh goodness, his friends—
“Private room in Namsan, huh?” Taehyung says, hands in the pocket of his burgundy suit as he walks around, standing in front of the wide floor-length windows. The city lights accentuate his features. “You’ve done well for yourself, Jimin-ah. I’m impressed.”
“What are you doing here?”
The first words he says to Taehyung. Not “how have you been” or “are you still an entitled fucking prick”, but that. Because what is Taehyung doing here?
“Straight to the point as always. Blunt,” Taehyung chuckles, walking back to the table and taking a pair of chopsticks. Popping one of the cucumbers into his mouth. “I like that. It was so, hmm, fresh in a place full of suckers. Missed that, Jiminie.”
The endearment burns through him, a horrific fire melting his bones. Taehyung seems lost in thought, carefully chewing. Jimin subtly moves in front of Jungkook, who is staring at the waiter on the table. Shivering. Yoongi has Hoseok in the crook of his neck, steely-eyed and staring away. The room is a mix of all their scents— Hoseok’s freesias, Yoongi’s pine, and Jungkook’s cedar— all bitter, burning in the back of Jimin’s throat. His own must be off the charts.
The only person he can’t smell well is Taehyung. There’s a hint of lavender—but that’s expected. Mostly, Jimin smells the odd nothing again, bitter, akin to an omega in distress. It hits him then, that scent at the store and over the package. When he’d been picking beers, tasting it in the air. Bitter yet neutral.
Fuck, how long had Taehyung been tracking him?
“I kept thinking why you’d celebrate your twenty-seventh birthday,” Taehyung continues, sitting in one of the available seats next to Hoseok, who whimpers. The scents must be too much for him, the skin around his neck red and inflamed. Yoongi’s jaw ticks. They’re not mates yet, but he’s always been protective of the omega. “It’s not a big deal. Certainly not for this lavish spread.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’s any of your business,” Jimin manages to get out. He can feel the itch, the familiar way his muscles and blood sing. No matter how long, Jimin’s body will never forget. Out of the corner of his eye, he assesses the table. A steak knife should do it. But if Taehyung is here, he most definitely won’t be alone.
Spoilt sons of assassin kingpins rarely ever were.
“Making it mine,” Taehyung replies easily, hands behind his head. Even now, he’s about the most gorgeous…thing Jimin’s ever seen (not a person, not a person). The years have been kind to him, and it’s unfair. Jimin spent so long getting rid of him in every way possible and yet, the moment he’s here, Jimin can feel his wolf waking up inside. Curious. Happy, and he internally growls at it. Stupid traitor. “I have a favour.”
“Not interested.”
“So quick to refuse,” Taehyung tuts, that lazy smirk making its way through. “Never a yes. Want to go on a date? No. Want to fuck under the stars? Also no. Want to duel? Over my dead body.” Taehyung pouts, but his eyes are dark. “Fucking impossible, Jimin.”
Jimin’s cheeks burn. He remembers all too well, mind betraying him as it conjures up the memories from back then, the way Taehyung had whispered them into his ears, cornering him after classes, pulling back with a smirk when Jimin said no. Obviously, he did. How Taehyung would tap his nose and go “ah, Jimin-ah, someday you’ll say yes.”
“Why are you here, Taehyung?”
Taehyung’s eyes light up. It’s too familiar a sight. “My name, finally! I gotta say, it sounds the sexiest when you say it. I missed that too.” He tilts his head. “Favour, Jiminie. Say yes, and we can go right ahead.”
Jimin scoffs. “Why the hell would I do anything for you?”
“I expected that. Well, if you don’t—“
“Excuse me,” Jungkook starts behind him, and Jimin whips around. Hopes the idiot can read the panic in his eyes, and not do or say something rash. “But who the fuck are you and why are you harassing my omega?”
Fuck. Fuuuccck. Jimin glares at him, but Jungkook avoids his gaze, arms crossed and chest puffed out, staring at Taehyung with a clear challenge. The cedar is quick to flood the room, and Jimin’s head spins. Fuck, shit, fucking alphas with their territorial bullshit.
Taehyung raises an eyebrow, looking from Jungkook to Jimin. His scent remains nothing. “Your omega?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook huffs and then pulls Jimin in by the waist, his hold possessive. Taehyung’s eyes drop to it, face unreadable. Jimin pulls against, but Jungkook is strong.
Well, strong when Jimin isn’t putting his mind to it, anyway. Poor alpha never had cause to know that, though.
“Huh. How interesting,” Taehyung says, and that’s the Taehyung Jimin was always wary of. Not scared, but a certain sense of he’s fucking crazy without a warning. “Got yourself a baby alpha, Jimin?”
“Just answer the question.”
Taehyung hums. Then he grins, clicking his fingers. Hits the table— and the knife on his end flies into the air, where he catches it deftly— before sending it Jungkook’s way.
It’s instinct. Or maybe not that, just decades of experience and training coming alive as Jimin turns around, catching the blade with one hand — right before it could have stabbed Jungkook in the eye.
Jungkook drops his hands, but Jimin swiftly takes the knife away and flings it right back at Taehyung— who doesn’t even flinch when the knife embeds itself right where his hand had been, between two fingers. It does get the door to burst open, Taehyung’s men coming in with guns and suits.
Hoseok sobs some more at the sudden presence of alphas, though they are all scentless. Jimin stares them all down, slowly lifting the steak knife on his end, now covering Jungkook completely.
“You’re still so good,” Taehyung coos, taking back his hand and wiping it. Absolutely unbothered. The men surround them, standing behind Hoseok and Yoongi, behind Jungkook and Jimin. They’re outnumbered. “The answer is: if you don’t, I’m afraid your friends aren’t going to be leaving this place alive tonight.”
Just as he’d expected. Honour wasn’t something Taehyung did, at least not the way people expected. Jimin used to like that once. Now— not so much.
“I can take your men out,” Jimin says softly, and the guards bristle, safety locks clicking. “I don’t even have to try.”
“That’s true,” Taehyung nods, something like pride glimmering in his eyes. Jimin wants to gouge them out. “But can you focus on that and keep your friends safe?” He peers around, winking at Jungkook who still seems shaken. He’s staring at the knife in Jimin’s hand, the expert way in which he holds it.
So many things are going to change after tonight, no matter how Jimin handles it.
“You wouldn’t want to see me try.”
“Even you know that’s a bluff, sweetheart,” Taehyung pouts. Two kinds of people know each other the best— lovers, and enemies. In their case, they’ve been both. “I’m going to go for your alpha first. You can kill the rest of them, don’t let me stop you.”
“Not my alpha.”
“Ouch, don’t break his heart like that,” Taehyung says, voice dripping with fake sympathy. He looks around Jimin towards Jungkook. “Sorry about that, kiddo. Jimin’s really blunt.”
“Taehyung.”
“Be smart like you always are, and play nice,” Taehyung continues, cleaning his nails with the tip of his knife. “Do me the favour or you’ll be all alone again.”
Low blow, considering only Taehyung knew how Jimin felt about being left at camp. Jimin still doesn’t drop it. He probably should, because for the first time in his life he has people to care about. Loves to death and would do anything for them. They’ve made his life after the camp a wonderful place, taught him what it means to be a regular person, to enjoy the simple pleasures of life without waiting for death at every corner. Planning each move. Thinking everything was a threat.
They gave him a second chance at life, even if they didn’t know it. Even if after tonight, they’ll probably leave.
Everyone always does.
Eventually, Taehyung’s patience runs out. The alpha takes out another knife— a short one this time, sharp just by looking at it. He pulls back Hoseok roughly, who screams, and holds it against his throat. There’s a drop of blood just from pressing into his skin, right next to his mating gland. Yoongi hisses, lurching forward, but the man behind him slams a gun to his cheek and pulls him back. The grip on his hair looks painful.
“Chop, chop, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung sings, unbothered and careless. “These days I have random tremors. Wouldn’t want them to hit now and do something to your friend here.” Taehyung leans in and sniffs at Hoseok’s neck, raising his eyebrows. “He smells great. Freesias are the in scent now, did you know? We could keep him alive, take him with us, no?”
Yoongi turns, glaring at Jimin— pleading, really, and Jimin knows he’s lost this one. If it had been just him, he would have come through. As it is, the threat to their lives holds Jimin by the throat.
No wonder they drilled into their heads back at camp that to be close to someone is to sign away their lives.
So Jimin, for the first time, chooses to drop it. Or well, strike without inflicting critical damage.
The knife flies close enough, and a moment later, Taehyung’s cheek bleeds. The culprit is embedded in the wall behind.
Immediately, a gun is pressed to the back of his head. Taehyung pushes Hoseok away, tasting the blood left on the blade. Then he looks up at Jimin lazily, tucking away his knife.
“Let them go,” Jimin says, hands tucked by his side, head bowed down. His wolf howls, both in submission and anger. It’s always been a war inside.
“You’ll do it?”
“I’ll do your stupid fucking favour,” Jimin hisses, and Taehyung grins, taking out a napkin and dabbing it at his cut. “As long as you keep them out of this. Anything happens, a single fucking cut, and the deal’s off. I’ll come for you and your men.”
“Really, I’d prefer if you just come for me,” Taehyung winks salaciously, and Jimin gags internally. Makes sure it doesn’t bleed warmth into his veins. “Wonderful. If you misbehave, you know what’s going to happen.”
Jimin shrugs. Then he elbows the alpha behind, dislodging the gun and taking it for himself. Points it at the man behind Yoongi who’d roughed him up— and shoots.
Hoseok screams and Yoongi is immediately hovering over him, an alpha answering an omega’s distress call. Jungkook turtles under his shirt, which would be adorable in any other circumstance. Jimin wishes he didn’t have to display it like this, but he needs Taehyung to know. It’s been ten years, and he hasn’t forgotten. And neither should anyone else.
“Because Yoongi’s cheek looks nasty,” Jimin says, while Taehyung watches his man choke on his blood, blindly grasping at the carpet. “The only reason I give a shit is because you have the upper hand here. So don’t give me bull. I can and have done much, much worse.”
“Hmm.” Taehyung looks back, then signals his men to stand down. Gets up, brushing off his suit. “You still have excellent aim. Won’t miss that one. Too unruly.” He walks over to Jimin, taking the hand holding the gun and—making Jimin tuck it into the front of his pants for him. Jimin says nothing, holding his breath. Once done, he catches Jimin by the chin, and Jimin lets him. Shivers inside at the roughness of the fingers, the touch awakening old memories. “I’ll be in touch, Jimin. Don’t be a stranger this time.”
Then Taehyung walks out, leaving Jimin behind to clean the mess.
🖤⚔🖤
What no one tells about being an assassin—not that there is a How to Be an Assassin 101—is cleaning up after a kill.
Killing is easy. Once one is trained out of the whole moral justice system and personal ethics (usually through a good dose of torture and punishment), killing’s easy. People can die way too fast in way too many ways, and Jimin had been trained in figuring out the best way possible.
However, he’d been in the same boat as nearly everyone on this melting pot of a planet when it came to cleaning. The messiness of blood, the stains getting everywhere. The stench of it, really, which no one ever talks about or shows in movies. How sour it is and sticks to the back of his throat like rusted iron, melding with all the other scents. An assault on his senses.
It’s too familiar how it all rushes back once Jimin’s left staring at the body, his best friends all around him. Witnessing him as he is. Was, he chides himself, but that’s a lie, because it’s familiar, how quickly his body kicks into action.
He first takes out a wad of notes—he’d made it a routine to carry cash, an old leftover habit. Hoseok used to question him, and Jimin used to joke and call it a rich people thing. It might be, but Jimin’s had some sticky situations and everyone’s hungry for cash. So Jimin takes it out, walking over to the manager who stares at the mess left behind. The body leaking on the table. The alpha slumped in the corner.
The man’s hands shake as he pulls out a phone, and Jimin is quick to slap it out, crushing it under his boot. Pulls the man in by the tie, shutting the door softly. He can sense the gaze of his friends and ignores them. Cleaning up. Everything else comes later. He takes out the wad, stuffing it in the manager’s hand— and a switchblade against the throat for good measure.
“Keep quiet about tonight,” Jimin whispers, pressing the notes, “and there’s more where it comes from.”
The manager—maybe a beta—nods, stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “Is—are—are they dead?”
“Yes.”
“Goddess above,” the manager wheezes, sweat pebbled around his temples. Leaking into his colour, turning his scent rank. “What—how do we—?”
“I want you to block all activity towards this area,” Jimin states clearly. Coldly. Tries not to think how easy it is to slip back. “Guide me towards an emergency exit, keep the path clear. I want the cameras shut off. A single image, or a squeak, and I’ll cut your cock off.”
Harsh, but it always gets the results. The manager pails, sweating even more. He pats his face with a towel. “Y-yes. There is an exit right in the corridor, leads to the back alley. You can use that.”
“Thank you. Get to work.”
The beta walks out. There’s a commotion outside, some kind of misdirection maybe, but Jimin’s alone. He can feel the stares of his friends, but he doesn’t think he can face them. Not yet.
“J-jimin? What just happened?” Hoseok asks, his throat dry. The freesias are practically rotten, burning, and stinking up the room. Jimin’s omega whines, wanting to pacify its pack. “Jiminie, look at me, please—”
“Yoongi-hyung, please take Hoseok-hyung outside,” Jimin directs, staring at the salmon-pink wall ahead. “Make sure he has water and is scented. Keep him away.”
He expects some protest—but the alpha follows without a word, which should be alarming—but maybe seeing his omega in distress overrides everything else. Jimin does a recon of the room. It’s a VIP section, so they don’t have internal cameras. Jimin walks over to the windows, shutting the blinds anyway. The air conditioning kicks in, the only source of noise in the vast emptiness.
Jungkook doesn’t say a word.
It’s strange maybe. Or it’s shock, but Jungkook’s a cop, and they’re used to far worse than the average person. Maybe it’s that Jimin isn’t who he had said he was, and so there is silence. Acceptance. Confusion.
The manager comes by shortly—a couple of black bags in his hand, still shaking, hair sticking to his forehead and his skin pale. He takes one more look at the waiter and gags— before pointing at a side emergency exit. Jimin nods and locks the door for good measure.
Then he gets to work.
Years of habit bleed in as Jimin swiftly packs the body, offering a silent prayer when he closes the waiter’s eyes. He didn’t even know the person’s name, but it’s not like he killed him. But then, if Jimin hadn’t been celebrating, he might have lived. Then someone else would have died because Death follows Jimin like an annoying rock band groupie.
The remnants of their scents still linger. Jimin isn’t sure if Hoseok will be okay, gentle as he is, or if he’ll ever see Jimin the same way again. If any of them will.
If Jimin even wants them to. With Taehyung demanding to be a part of Jimin’s life, none of them will be safe ever again. Which means Jimin has to leave, and soon.
The waiter in the body bag, drags the other alpha over, packing him in as well. His is less messy, a bullet to the heart—Jimin never missed. The front of his pants is wet, and Jimin wrinkles. The evidence would be overwhelming, and Jimin doesn’t have enough cleaning supplies.
He rings the manager again, asking for basic wipes, bleach, and gloves. The manager looks two seconds away from breaking, so Jimin stuffs even more cash. It’s fascinating, how people are willing to let go of their morals for a little bit of money. Jimin certainly did. The beta comes back again with everything, and while it won’t be perfect—it would have to be enough.
“What’s going on, Jimin-hyung? Who was that? Who were those people?” Jungkook asks then, breaking the silence. The stifling, rotten presence that always lingered around Jimin back then. The alpha keeps away, cedar bitter like he can’t bear to touch or be close to Jimin. “What—who are you?”
Jimin halts. The manager had offered one of those industrial garbage bags, sufficient for a body. It sickens Jimin to the bone, but the question even more so. Who are you? Once, Jimin thought he knew. I’m an orphan. Or an abandoned child. I was sold to an assassin camp, and that’s what I trained to be. But I left and have never looked back since.
The thing is, most people will never wait to hear the last part before they run.
So he says none of those things.
If things work out, tonight is the last time he’ll be seeing any of them. Jimin can’t live with the idea that his best friends would know him. Know or have an idea as to what he did, what he is or was. That he’d been lying to them all along, for ten years, building up a false life and image, feeding them everything but the truth.
So instead, he directs Jungkook. “Move to the side. Don’t touch the body or anything else in the room.”
Jungkook, predictably, growls. There’s a spike of cedar, and Jimin breathes through it. “Hyung—”
“Jungkook, please,” Jimin begs quietly. He’s never quiet with Jungkook, indulging him and engaging with him since they met in university. “Let me do this. I’ll answer all your questions later.”
Like hell he will, but Jungkook’s the innocent sort. A believer. Jimin liked him because of it. Couldn’t really get behind Jungkook’s obvious crush, but it was nice to have an alpha who was so sweet, respectful, and kind.
Unfortunately, after the kind of alpha Jimin experienced tonight, he is no longer in the market. Doesn’t ever want an alpha close to him.
He’s detached as he goes about the task. Body memories are strange, the quick, efficient way he cleans up and makes sure there is no evidence of tonight. The last time Jimin had done this, he’d been nearly eighteen. At twenty-seven, his body should have forgotten— but like swimming, it will never forget.
It’s disturbing.
With the back exit in line, Jimin rolls up the bodies and drags them towards. Jungkook tries to follow, leaning down to help—but Jimin slaps his hands away. He would never ruin Jungkook’s innocence with this work. Instead, he tells Jungkook to meet at Hoseok’s apartment directly and to look after his hyung. Keep an eye out for lingering, unwelcome strangers. He can tell Jungkook wants to protest, but also protect like an alpha— so he lets out his scent, the one Jungkook reacts way too easily towards. He hates the dazed look in Jungkook’s eyes as the alpha leaves, making Jimin promise to meet them.
The cool, perhaps terrible, thing about being an assassin is that morals don’t mean much eventually. The promise is just that—insignificant, a way to get Jungkook out of here.
The exit leads him towards the room with a huge garbage chute. Jimin drops the bodies one by one, takes the service elevators and when he reaches down, picks them up from the bin. Years of this work have given Jimin a permanent sort of strength, far more than some alphas.
It’s all mechanical, how he gets his car out towards the back, opens the trunk, and shoves the bodies in. He drives all the way to the Han River, towards the edge of the city as the roads slowly get emptier and lonelier. Until he reaches the area with empty warehouses and broken-down shops. Unused, forgotten. Just like these bodies are going to be, yet another Jimin’s casually disposed of and never thought about twice.
He will after this one, though. Because Jimin’s gotten back most of his morals anyway.
He weighs the bodies down with rocks, tying them tightly— and drops them towards the deep end. They bubble furiously, like fish struggling to breathe before the rocks takeover, and the water rests.
Then Jimin throws up whatever little he ate, right there, the bile rancid and bitter, and his throat burning. With that come the tears, the bitter feeling of resentment clogging up. He can’t believe this. He can’t. He worked so, so hard to be good, to leave behind his shameful past— and it still followed. Still haunts him, refusing to let him forget, to move on and live.
All Jimin had wanted when he finally, finally escaped was the most normal, abysmal life he could have imagined. Where he’d worry about work and rent and making friends, where he’d get shit-faced with them and not worry. Not look behind his back, not always be on alert.
Damn Kim Taehyung, damn him.
He stays at the riverbank a long, long time until the October wind burns the tip of his nose and his hands are numb. Until he can’t see the city clearly anymore, the tears blurring his vision. Until he’s done begging the Moon Goddess for forgiveness, knowing it will never be enough.
His phone begins buzzing soon. The display shows Yoongi. Jimin ignores it, letting it ring, and it stops. It picks up again five minutes later, and this time it’s Hoseok, but Jimin’s sure that’s Yoongi trying from Hoseok’s cell. He ignores that as well. Jungkook calls soon after, probably asking him where he’s vanished off to. Why he isn’t there yet.
Too bad they’ll be wondering that for a long, long time.
Jimin ignores all of it, using his pocket knife—something he’s always kept with him, the one habit he refused to drop after leaving camp—to open the slot, taking out the SIM card and crushing it under his boot before chucking the phone itself into the water. Just like that, Jimin’s off the grid—at least, technologically.
He drives the car towards his apartment, swift and on autopilot, parking it in the garage and cleaning it up thoroughly. Turning on the inbuilt scent neutralisers, packing away the essentials. The apartment is much the same—it’s a penthouse, lavish and tasteful—and no longer his. Jimin can tell people have been in it, but he doesn’t care who or how, or when. It’s like his mind is blank, as he moves like a ghost through the halls and rooms, collecting his knives, and his passports (yes, plural). Bank account papers, only the ones for his aliases.
If someone thought to, Park Jimin would be reported as missing. If Jungkook decides to be a good cop and report everything, Jimin would have to run and vanish and make something off the shambles of his life.
Maybe it was karma. Or a joke, since Jimin never really stopped living that double life. Dropped the murders, sure, but there’s something about being raised in this way that winds its way through his bones. Settles in, makes a home— and is here to stay. No matter how normally Jimin lived— being an assassin had been driven into him.
And Jimin is good at escape.
With a final turn, Jimin looks around the place he called home for the better part of three years— and walks out, never to come back again.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
the banter was so fun to write! can't wait for more 'head-butting before inevitable attraction blossoms into love' trope to manifest hehe also fair warning, there will be crude sexual humour and casual mention of moral-less actions. hope you enjoyed this update, let me know how you found this!!
also, I have a major thing for knives so you'll see a lot of Jimin flinging knives at everyone like the hottie he is. taehyung is my baby you'll see. See you next update whenever that is!!
Chapter 3: Two Birds, One Knife
Notes:
i'm back!! between the whole bts break thing and the subsequent grieving, i wasn't sure if posting was the right thing but i have decided i'm gonna continue with writing cuz i've invested too much time and effort into my WIPS to let them go yeet anyway! i hope y'all are doing okay with the news. they're fine. we'll be okay. it's end of the chapter, which is why i offer u a measly update chapter to cope.
ngl this fic is half plotted half pantsing nightmare i'm scared what i'm going to do with it but i shall persevere and take it as it comes! trust my galaxy brain!! enjoy!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jimin was twelve when he’d been taken on his first recon mission.
It was training where he’d have to figure out ways into and out of different types of houses, so he could do his assignment undetected.
In all honesty—it was thrilling. Recon missions weren’t just slipping in, killing the assignment, and coming out alive; they included days, sometimes weeks, of seamlessly fitting into the lives of the people around and becoming one of them. Simultaneously being invisible yet good enough to earn their trust. And truth be told—Jimin was good at it.
He was good at most things. Top of the class, popular amongst his peers, and also hated by those very peers because he outdid them all. It was like a fire, an ever-burning source of flame fuelling his desire to succeed. It would all pay off eventually, won’t it?
Maybe then people wouldn’t leave him behind.
Jimin liked the recon missions the best mostly because he liked being around people. For the short few moments in his otherwise dangerous life, he could pretend to be—normal. Human. A regular person doing regular tasks, learning about people, and imbibing their qualities. Really, the fun part was earning their trust. Jimin learned quickly that people were quite…naïve at the heart of it all.
He learned how to slip into the shadows, and how to eavesdrop. Privy to the information, the secrets, and sometimes torrid affairs. It was all so very thrilling like he was trapped in a bizarre period drama romance. Becoming friends with the children was how he usually gained entry.
His task was to relay all the information back to the main assassin and retire once he was done. He had yet to transfer all the recon training into killings of his own.
But he enjoyed it. Learnt, eventually, to have aliases, second and third, and sometimes even fourth options. Never trust anyone else with his entire history, always leave behind tidbits that could never be traced back to him. People would know Park Jimin, but they would never really know Park Jimin.
That would be Jimin’s burden alone.
🖤⚔🖤
His second, hidden apartment is all the way across the city, in one of the posh outer complexes. Jimin had brought it some two years ago, an under-the-table deal with a completely new identity.
Kim Minseok. It’s hilariously infuriating that his alias shared the name Kim as if he hadn’t tried for the better part of his life to avoid the name. Kim, however, is much too common in South Korea, so it’s not like Jimin could ever escape it.
Still. The irony isn’t pleasant.
Buying a second apartment had been a thing of security. Jimin had funds left over from his assassin days, but they weren’t going to last long. He’d worked hard at the firm once he’d graduated, saved and invested like his life depended on it—and he reinvested it into a property. It had been essential to have one. Knowing he had a place to go to, a place no one, not even his loved ones, could reach him.
Jimin loves Hoseok, Yoongi, and Jungkook with his entire heart—but even as he drives down the road taking him out of the main city, he knows it’s the right thing to do. If he had to keep them safe, they would have to be kept away from him—and his life.
It still doesn’t make the hurt easier to bear.
His new phone has zero contacts—a clean wipe, nothing but a metallic body. It’s also registered to Kim Minseok, a random fucking name he picked out from the most boring drama he’d ever watched, but it sounded just like what he’d wanted—forgettable and invisible. The car he’s driving is also under the same alias. Jimin is good at escape, after all. Good at forging identities, charming his way out of tricky situations and potential fallouts. Almost always a winner.
Moving to this apartment feels very much like losing, though.
Perhaps there is a first for everything. Of course, it had to be connected to Taehyung, the one person who Jimin grudgingly admitted to being equal.
Taehyung hasn’t shown up since the dinner, which had been two days ago. After Jimin had disposed of the bodies and cleaned out his apartment, he’d holed up in a locker garage he’d rented, where he kept all that he needed to for a quick escape. It had been like a beacon in his head, back when he’d signed the lease. Always have an escape route. Always know you have to leave. Even though he’d stayed for ten years, it was an incessant call he struggled to ignore.
He hasn’t had the chance to really comprehend what Taehyung’s return means, or what the favour could be. Doesn’t think he ever could, working on autopilot—and barely existing. The hopelessness is lingering somewhere, he’s sure, but he hasn’t allowed himself to cry since the Han.
Jimin’s done shedding tears for Taehyung or because of him.
When he pulls in through the driveway of his new apartment complex, he’s greeted by the security guard. Inside, the concierge is a friendly man—alpha by the look of him, though he’s wearing a scent neutraliser. He’s polite, taking in Jimin’s registration documents, his IDs and papers, and signing him in. Asked genial questions—the weather, what made him move in, how long he would be here for. Jimin plays along, batting his eyelashes and letting his scent out, enjoying the way the alpha’s eyes glaze over from time to time. It’s always so fun to fuck around with that.
Which reminds him—he needs to begin using scent blockers again. Fucking Kim Taehyung, throwing his life out of order simply because it had been convenient. The spoilt youngest son needed a favour done, and he simply couldn’t have the decency to ask for it privately.
He hated scent blockers more than anything. They’d been crucial as assassins hoping to leave no traces, but Jimin hated them. The nothing scents, he called them, because that’s what they were.
When he’d left the camp for good, the first thing Jimin had done was get off them. Horrible contraptions, throwing his hormones out of control and making his heats worse. Not dangerous, but definitely annoying and far more exhausting, since wolves needed scent to function well. Jimin had been so used to the blank slate of nothing, so much so that when he’d first entered university he’d cried, nose burning with the assault to the senses. The itch of hundreds of scents at once, a language of their own.
Jimin couldn’t smell his own scent, but he’d been told that he smelled like oranges. The clementine variety, sweet yet tart, but definitely mouth-watering. Hoseok had been the first to exclaim, and the joy had been so lovely, that Jimin had sworn he’d never wear them again.
Well, until now, because Taehyung would probably be tracking him, and Jimin is nothing if not thorough.
After completing his formalities, he visits the nearby in-apartment supermarket, buying the cleaning supplies and basic essentials. For him, that also meant rolls of plastic sheets and blood solvents.
In the pharmacy section, he procures scent blockers—the pharmacist insisting on a prescription, which is the annoying part about blockers in the world outside of an assassin camp—they’re incredibly controlled and limited in supply, meant for special cases. Jimin had forgotten that.
“Please, I really need them,” he whimpers, widening his eyes and tearing up. Curling onto himself, the small, defenceless omega. It’s an image that has people rushing to help him. “My ex is stalking me. There’s a restraining order but he just—he’s never—oh goddess, please, before he tracks me here—”
“Oh sweetheart,” the pharmacist coos, and she ruffles Jimin’s hair, looking deeply sympathetic. Jimin sniffs silently and catches flowers—so an omega. His story isn’t even a lie (technically) but the action is so deep, Jimin wants to curl up and cry. He misses that. Misses omegas being there for each other. Shit, he misses Hoseok, and it’s only been two days. “Fine, here you go. Just provide the ID and signature, please. Would you happen to have a copy of the restraining order?”
Jimin does, obviously. This is his favourite story to fall back on because people eat up the helpless omega act so thoroughly, he kind of wants to get mad and scream about omega rights. He pulls it up, the pharmacist is satisfied, and soon Jimin is on his way out.
Maybe he can afford to nest for a bit before he carries out the next action of his plan. He buys all the fluffy blankets and cushions he can carry. Nearly cries because they’d only have his scent and he doesn’t even have clothes from the other three. This sucks. A big sincere fuck you to Kim Taehyung, to be repeated over the course of the night.
On his way out, he impulse buys a box of black dye. Back then, he’d kept his hair black—easier to blend in with the shadows. Then university happened and Jimin was free, so he went crazy—orange, pink, red, mint, purple, blue—his hair had been a bleached, fried mess. It is dirty blonde now, roots coming out and a bit straw-like, but black should help, just in case.
All this because his stupid ex from hell decided to descend into his life and ruin it, like a child kicking away his toys. Because that’s what Taehyung is— a goddamn fucking child.
Jimin keys in his code, immediately setting to cleaning the place. He’d had it furnished back then by an interior designing company, so it’s cold and plain, meant to be photographed for a magazine than a place to live in. Jimin’s not going to live in it; it’s a safe house. He hides the weapons first, tucking them between sofa cushions, casual decorative pieces littered about and the kitchen. Runaway cash stuffed in the safe behind a rather stupid-looking painting of a forest, what the hell, and bullet rounds scattered throughout, a gun tucked in close to his ass.
The work inevitably leads him down the path of thinking about Taehyung, something he’s been actively avoiding all this while (apart from the generous servings of curses). Reluctantly, of course, because it’s necessary to assess now. If he doesn’t, he’d be in danger. That’s all.
Ex. What a futile term. Taehyung had been more than that. Enemies, sure. Rivals, definitely. Some sort of fucked up rivals with benefits was at the top, a sick sort of addiction towards the alpha. Jimin’s wolf loved it, so Jimin had convinced himself he liked it too. Even if it made his skin crawl otherwise, sleeping with Taehyung right under his beloved, territorial, authoritative knothead of a father’s nose.
Taehyung still looked pretty. The years had been unfairly kind to him—beautiful, if not for the smirks and wolfish grins. Jimin used to find Taehyung the prettiest when he was far, far away—lost in his head, eyes hazy and mouth slack open. A boy, instead of a potential heir.
Maybe that’s why Jimin gave in so often back then. Knowing that behind the casual cruelty there was a boy locked away. A boy Jimin could like.
He shakes his head. It’s futile, thinking of the would-have beens. It’s in the past, no matter how many times Taehyung refers to it or talks crudely in a way that always makes his gut heat up. It’s a disgusting sort of conditioning, yet another memory his body isn’t inclined to forget— Kim Taehyung and how he made Jimin feel.
🖤⚔🖤
Assassins, above the killing and general debauchery of their lives, stuck to one rule: vanish without a trace.
With lives dripping in secrecy and lies, an assassin’s identity is their most precious commodity. Spun with the shadows they are privy to, identity is one thing they have to remember. Underneath the shrouds of unity, they were individual people.
Jimin remembers being thirteen, short of puberty and presentation, when he’d been called to the Master’s chambers and asked over and over again who he was. Who is Park Jimin? He is no one. He is nothing. I only live to serve the Code. It would have been an easy lie to believe if Jimin cared enough to.
Being Park Jimin, however, was central to who he was. Who he hoped to be.
He made sure, however, to let them believe he was loyal. That he only cared about the Code, and nothing else. He got rid of every trace of his, no matter how small the interaction.
It had taken months for him to stop when he began university. To not delete every chat or buy a burner phone. To stay, create his roots. Grow into the ground. To not vanish without a trace, and thus remain present.
Still, the habit of being an assassin is woven into him. Even when he’d suppressed that part of his life, he unconsciously created a parallel. Jimin can’t help it. His friends were a part of his life for nearly ten years, and a part of him had grown too attached to not pry into their lives. Just to keep aware, of course.
Jimin opens the voice application he’d installed in each of their homes, usually shut off— he did have some morals, hello. But Jimin also couldn’t be so normal. The only way he could protect people was the way he knew best— a little bit of privacy invasion. It’s not the worst thing in the world, right?
Jungkook isn’t home — either at work or with the other two, and his guess is right when he taps into Hoseok and Yoongi’s apartment next and catches their voices. Catches more the misery in Jungkook’s, a clear mark of him having cried. Jimin hears Hoseok murmuring, setting aside his own worries to soothe an alpha visibly in distress. Yoongi would probably be observing, silent and in the background.
“…he’s— he’s just gone! He told me to wait, but he never turned up. And his phone has been unreachable for days. His apartment is empty, hyung, I don’t—I don’t know what to do!”
“Maybe he just, I don’t know, needs some time.”
“For what? We’re the ones who had to see a dead man!” Jungkook chokes, and Jimin winces. The first few days in the normal world had made Jimin realise how horrific death really was to people. “And he— hyung shot someone. Didn’t even blink an eye.”
“Because he’s used to it, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says calmly. Jimin presses the bud in, curious to see what or how they explain. Cope. “Clearly, whoever that alpha was, he’s someone from Jimin’s past.”
“But we know him the best.”
“Do we really?” Yoongi says, and Jimin’s heart squeezes. They’ll never forgive him. Even if Jimin took the risk and met them again, they wouldn’t be able to put behind who Jimin is. “Like Hobi said, maybe he’s taking his time.”
“Or maybe that crazy asshole took Jimin-hyung away and he’s currently missing, being hurt,” Jungkook counters hotly. Jimin can smell the spike in cedar, even so far away. “And we’re just sitting here.”
“What do you suggest we do, Kook-ah, hmm?” Yoongi asks, the tone so frigid even Jimin shivers. “You want us to call the police, your cop buddies? Tell them we definitely saw someone getting murdered? That Jimin was a part of it before he took off?” He can’t see Yoongi, but he can sense it, the way Yoongi’s put up a cold, aloof front to protect himself. “Or how you stayed behind and none of us have said a word? That’ll help, won’t it?”
In times like this, Yoongi’s cutting rationality is both hurtful yet clarifying. Jimin used to both hate it and admire it, once he got used to it. The no-bullshit-ness of it all.
Jungkook, predictably, falls silent, sniffling away. He can hear Hoseok’s soft murmurs, the shuffling of clothes and sweaters. Can smell, for a moment, the comfort brewing amongst the distress. Sweet freesias clashing with bitter cedar, until it eventually won over. Hoseok had been gifted at swinging the favour to his side.
He hears Yoongi grumble, a shuffle of feet. The eldest deigning to sit next to the youngest, probably unable to bear his sadness. “Look, Jungkook— we don’t know what happened. Or what will happen. I don’t quite know what we can do sitting here, because going to the police is simply not an option. Jimin wouldn’t want that.” Agreed, 100%. “Whoever Jimin is or was— I don’t think going about it the normal way will work. Maybe he’ll reach out eventually and let us know he’s okay.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“Then I guess we accept and move on,” Yoongi says. Jimin’s heart squeezes. He thinks about it. Maybe he can send a message, a heads up that he’s fine. On the other hand, someone like Jungkook would definitely get into a tizzy, and be all hell-bent on figuring the message out. But it might be the only way to get them to stop worrying or assuming the worst.
After Taehyung tells him about the favour, then.
“I miss him,” Jungkook says, out of the blue. Jimin can’t see him but he can hear the pain, the longing. “Not even just— that way. Just him. Now he’s gone and it feels like we didn’t even know him enough to lose.”
No one says a thing, but Jimin’s heard enough. The sadness sits like a bitter pill in his chest, too big to be swallowed down. He logs out of the app, unable to hear more. His friends are fine. It’s been two days but they’re safe, so Taehyung kept his word. As long as they’re safe, that’s all that matters.
Jimin can make his peace with the loss. He’s used to vanishing without a trace.
🖤⚔🖤
He dreams of being left behind.
It’s the same—dry, dusty road. The sour rose scent around him, his mother’s coldness permeating through the smile she gives. The Big Man in dark clothes, eyes steely black and smelling like nothing.
Jimin had wet his pants the first night. In the dream, it happens over and over again, only he’s hit for it. Mocked, cold smiles turning cruel, wolfish grins as they laugh. Mocking him for calling his mother. His father. Locking him in a small room with little light, and no way out.
Through the bars, he can see his mother walking out, her back towards him. She never looks back once.
Jimin screams.
🖤⚔🖤
He’s chopping the spring onions for the japchae when he senses the shift.
There is someone in his apartment.
All of Jimin has changed overnight. The senses are back, the carefully honed skills of tracking and being aware, feeling and tasting the air for shifts. As assassins, they’d been taught to rely on everything but their scents. All of them wore scent blockers— and so, they had to perceive through sight and sound, the shift of the wind changing.
Jimin has always been able to smell him.
“Your scent blockers aren’t working,” Jimin says, still chopping away. He’s there, somewhere at the back. Maybe to his right, but further away. “I would have expected better from the jopok.”
He waits for a moment, sliding the chopped greens into a bowl and taking an onion. Jimin slices it down the middle, peeling it clean— and then turns around, flinging the knife with full speed.
It ends up right next to Kim Taehyung’s ear, mere inches short. “You missed.”
“I took mercy,” Jimin answers smoothly, leaning against the counter. It’s late evening, and the living room is dull. Across, Taehyung leans against the wall in a similar position, arms crossed. It’s a hulking figure, all lanky bones, and cunning curves. “Took you long enough.”
He can’t see him, but he can tell Taehyung is smiling. “Missed me?”
“Not at all. But I’m here to cover my dues,” Jimin answers. The knife stand behind him gives a sense of security. “Considering you up and ruined my perfectly normal life.”
“Boring, you mean,” Taehyung drawls, straightening up and ripping the knife out. It’s a clean-cut, the wallpaper with an ugly rip now. Taehyung twirls it between long, pretty fingers. “Birthday dinners? What are you, five?”
“Never got a normal childhood,” Jimin grits out. Isn’t sure why he feels the need to defend himself “What’s the favour?”
“Straight to the point, love?” Taehyung asks, walking over. As he comes closer, Jimin makes out the details. He’s dressed casually in all black. Hair a scruffy mess, artfully placed. A garter around his thigh, the glint of steel shining through. Taehyung hadn’t come unarmed, and smartly so. “Let’s catch up.”
“There’s nothing to catch up on.”
“No?” Taehyung comes into the kitchen spotlight then. Jimin’s heart starts racing, his wolf awakening. Taehyung looks beautiful. He always has, gifted in the physical department. All three siblings were, but Taehyung stood out because he didn’t look like an alpha. “Look at you. Mature, smarter, definitely hotter. Couldn’t believe my eyes.”
Jimin keeps quiet. He doesn’t want to get baited, hooked, and then reeled in. Taehyung had always been surprisingly charming. Or maybe Jimin had been plain stupid, thinking like a brainless omega on the hunt for a knot.
Taehyung stands in front, looking around. Unbothered that Jimin could easily finish him off. He won’t because he’s sure Taehyung’s kept men around his friends, told them if he doesn’t walk out alive, they’re to die.
“I like this place better,” he comments. Lavender comes off of him mildly. Jimin has smelt them in full bloom. “The other one was too…pretty. Naive. Not well stocked.”
“Did a recon, did you?” Jimin sighs, keeping still as Taehyung steps even closer. He keeps his arms tightly crossed, afraid of— doing something. Either stabbing the shit out of Taehyung or worse, hugging him. Pulling him close so he can get more of that lavender, fucking disgusting. “Anything you find interesting?”
“Cute pictures,” Taehyung says, eyes trained on him. His face is unreadable, and it has Jimin’s wolf on the hackles. “That baby alpha is in quite a few of them.”
“Mm. We’re close.”
“Dating?”
Jimin tilts his head. The last time Jimin had attempted to give attention to anyone else, it had ended with a messy body and a stamped note. “He wishes. I was taking my time.”
“Anything keeping you indecisive?” Taehyung leans in closer, and Jimin presses back. The counter digs into his skin. “He’s the cute variety. Doesn’t scream alpha.”
“You haven’t seen him without a shirt,” Jimin goads, internally crowing when Taehyung’s nose flairs. Territorial alphas were fun to mess with. “Not that you’re a prime example either. What alpha smells like a fucking flower bouquet?”
It had always been a point of contention between them, and the camp whispering about it. How Taehyung looked and smelled more omega than alpha except for his strength and height. Pretty, not handsome, and his scent of wild lavender with a hint of sage, instead of the traditional alpha scents. Jimin had always been favourable towards it, though he mocked him for it on the surface.
“A competent one,” Taehyung answers easily, though he’s concentrated on Jimin, eyes searching his neck, his wrists. He’s searching for marks. How cute. “You’re wearing scent blockers again.”
“Had to. You and your men are tracking me.”
“I can track you regardless,” he says offhandedly, and Jimin frowns. Scent was the primary source of tracking. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone to track Jimin now. “When I smelled the orange yesterday, I couldn’t believe it.”
Jimin blinks. Taehyung sounds…wistful? But that can’t be. He’s certainly not supposed to look like he missed Jimin, what even. “Fond memories?”
“The very best,” Taehyung whispers, and it’s too soft. He used to do that too. Whisper softly, the crudest things, sometimes cruel ones, and sound like a symphony anyway. Make Jimin weak in the knees, and his core heat up. “Missed you so much, Jiminie.”
Then Taehyung presses in, and suddenly, his nose is against Jimin’s throat.
Like this, the lavender is even more potent. It’s faint, under the bitter neutral of scent blockers, but it’s there, and it invokes all of Jimin’s best and worst memories. Afternoons spent sparring, coming too close to each other, the sweat making the scents potent. Of heats and ruts spent together, a casual convenience, and a hot affair. When it went beyond that and spilled over into something more, until Jimin had left.
It smells of comfort and anguish. His wolf howls, and as Taehyung scents him— scents him, like they’re still familiar, Jimin nearly drowns. Doesn’t even realise he’s holding Taehyung close by the shoulders, tilting his neck even more, an automatic submission that disgusts him yet thrills him. Jimin had promised he would never bare his neck for an alpha, and yet, Taehyung has always crossed those lines.
Jimin is nothing if not stubborn.
Just as Taehyung openly mouths at his neck and Jimin very nearly knocks his knees together, his slit slicking up, he raises a knee and shoves it right where the sun doesn’t shine. He pushes Taehyung back, whipping out the knife from behind and holding it under his chin— all in under ten seconds.
“Fuck,” Taehyung groans, cupping his groin, eyes watering yet dazed from the completely non-consensual scenting (Jimin refuses to acknowledge that he played a role or even enjoyed it). “Goddess above, you’re a menace.”
“Touch me against my will again,” Jimin mutters, pressing the tip of the blade, watching the small drop of blood. A bizarre part of him wants to lick it. “The audacity, Taehyung-ssi.”
Taehyung stands still, breathing slowly through the pain and also making no sudden movements. He stares at Jimin, fire in his eyes. “My men are outside.”
“I know. You have a terrible need for people.”
“Funny. They’re also around your friends.”
“I also know that. You never could work alone, could you?” Jimin tilts his head, keening inside when Taehyung’s gaze flashes over, hunger joining the fire. “And you call yourself competent. Get your shit together.”
His nose flares again before he slaps away Jimin’s hand, the knife clattering. Jimin’s become too slow, because Taehyung twists his hand behind his back and turns him around, pressing into him. Heat flashes all over when he feels the hard curve of Taehyung’s cock through the pants. Nope, nope, NOPE, not again.
Fuck his omega for being such a hoe.
“You forget you’re out of practice for the last ten years, Jimin-ssi,” Taehyung whispers hotly in his ears, lips nipping at his lobe. “You’re good, the very best the camp had. But you’re still out of practice. Don’t get cocky now.”
“Get off me.”
“In a moment I will. Gotta savour this,” Taehyung sighs, nosing up and down his throat, and it does things to Jimin, things he does not want to acknowledge. He can’t be that easy, c’mon. “You’ve grown up well. Still short, though. Adorable.”
Jimin shuts his eyes and breathes through the pain, the humiliation. He is out of practice. “That’s low.”
“You need healthy doses of reality checks, love,” Taehyung says, now tucking his head into the crook of his neck. It is disgustingly domestic and romantic, if not for the fact that Jimin’s arm is twisted and this is the worst reunion ever. “You still slick up like this, huh?”
And goddess, the shame, the sheer fucking embarrassment. The vulnerability of being known by someone he hated. “Shut up.”
“So easy, Jiminie,” Taehyung coos, winding his other arm around and holding him tight, or rather, away from the knives right in front of Jimin. Of course, Taehyung knows what Jimin’s thinking right now. “You always did love being roughed up. I’m glad at least that hasn’t changed.”
“Let me go.”
Taehyung does, stepping back swiftly and smoothly, sliding the knife away. Jimin turns around, rubbing at his arm. The pain is nothing— he’s been subjected to worse, built a near-permanent tolerance for it. What bugs him is the slick, something he’s always been able to control— just not around Kim Taehyung, it seems.
"Are you ever going to tell me the favour? Or was this all for nothing?" Jimin asks finally, walking around the kitchen island and grabbing an ice pack from the fridge, pressing it to his arm. "Because I'm losing my friends for this."
"Some friends, if they can't accept this," Taehyung mutters, grabbing a handkerchief and dabbing at the cut on his neck. It exposes its long length, the golden line of it. "Fine, since you look like you'd pin me to the wall and not the way I'd like— father is sick."
Jimin waits. Kim Joonjae, sick? That sounded about as likely as a person winning the lottery. "And? Why do I care?"
"You don't, but I need your help taking him out."
"Taking him out where—" Jimin stops short. Stares. Taehyung is waiting, careful, and collected. "You want— you want me to—"
"Kill him, maim him, end his miserable fucking existence," Taehyung cuts in, putting away the cloth. "Can't be the one to do it. Makes things messy on the inheritance front."
Jimin is going to be sick. "No. No fucking way." Taehyung only stares, and Jimin starts pacing. "Fuck off, Taehyung, I'm not getting back into this. I swore off killing the moment I left."
"Very noble," Taehyung says dryly, following Jimin's form. "But I don't care. Need Daddy-o out of the picture. Need a stranger to do the deed. That way shit doesn't fall on me."
"I'm not killing anyone, c'mon," Jimin pleads, nearly whining. The thought of it is distressing. He hasn't killed in ten years. Although, he did kill one of Taehyung’s men without really thinking about it, fuck. "That can't be your favour. Let it be something else."
"Oh, so you'll sleep with me?"
"Fuck off, not that," Jimin snaps, and Taehyung grins. He closes his eyes. "Don't be a prick."
"So you won't kill, but you won't fuck me either," Taehyung hums, chin in hand, the very picture of false innocence. "I'm just humouring you. This is a non-negotiable favour. Or you know what happens."
"Yeah, blah, blah, you'll kill my friends and make me watch," Jimin drones, squeezing his hands into fists. "Kill your dad? That's it?"
"That's it. You can push off after." Taehyung sits on one of the bar stools, popping in a carrot. “It’ll be an easy job. You have an inside man too.”
“And my friends will be safe if I do?” Jimin asks because that’s all he cares about. “And you leave me alone?”
Taehyung bites into a carrot, chewing slowly. “You don’t trust my word?”
“Not a fucking chance,” Jimin snorts, leaning in. “What’s the guarantee that you won’t pop right in and ask for another favour by threatening them again?”
There’s silence, and then Taehyung laughs. “See, this is why you were a good assassin. Shrewd to a fault.”
“And you’re not?”
“I like to kill, that doesn’t need brains,” Taehyung says, taking one of the knives and chopping the onions. “You, on the other hand, had that whole thing about morals.”
“For good reason. Even killing needs discipline.”
“And you were, weren’t you?” Taehyung remarks sweetly, eyes shining. “Look, even if I do promise it, you’re never going to believe me. I didn’t annoy you all these ten years, did I?”
“Joonjae kept you on a leash,” Jimin snips, taking some of the meat. It’s strange, doing something so domestic over a topic of death. Or with Taehyung, really. But Jimin’s hungry. “Now that he’s sick, you’re going crazy again.”
“An amazing theory! I like that one,” Taehyung says, swiftly chopping the rest of the vegetables. “Honestly, I was pissed you just up and left. And yes, father threatened to cut my knot off if I went anywhere near you.” Jimin waits. Ten years, and he can still tell Taehyung’s speech patterns apart. “Dunno. Felt it was right to leave you alone, so I did.”
That’s…new. Taehyung and being considerate of others’ feelings? “That’s…mature.”
“Right? The whole self-improvement shit works,” Taehyung says happily, keeping aside the knife. “Anyway. For whatever my word’s worth, I’m only going to use your friends against you once. Then I’ll be out of your hair and you can live your boring life once again.”
“Generous,” Jimin quips. Doesn’t want to think about the life after, how he’ll never meet Hoseok and Yoongi and Jungkook again. Probably would have to set base in another city, and start anew. That shit sucked. “Why do you want him out?”
“Hmm?”
“Joonjae,” Jimin clarifies, adding the meat chunks to the boiling broth. Stirs it once, and adds the necessary flavouring. He’d never called the assassin Kingpin by his title. Never respected him enough to. “Tired of him already?”
“Always have been” Taehyung remarks, and Jimin pauses. Back then, Taehyung used to be so defensive of his father. Even though he’d been treated so harshly. “He’s sick, so there’s the question of who comes next.”
“Oh, so it’s about being an heir?”
“What isn’t?” Taehyung smirks, taking out the bowls—how he knew where Jimin kept them, is not really a mystery. Creep’s probably been about, done a recon, and erased all traces before Jimin arrived. “Now that he’s out of the picture for a while, the throne is up for grab.”
“You want to be an assassin kingpin that bad?” Jimin asks, then cuts into his cheek—he doesn’t care. Shouldn’t care. “Like the power?”
“Turns me on the best,” Taehyung drawls, and Jimin flushes all over. He turns away but feels pinned to the spot with how Taehyung is staring at him. “Something about being at the top makes me fuck really well.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You can experience it before you leave,” Taehyung grins, and Jimin hates him. Hates more the way he leaks a bit at the thought of it. It’s some bizarre, automatic reaction he’s always had to Taehyung. “I promise I’ll make it good.”
“No, thank you,” Jimin says primly, scooping out the broth and pouring it into the bowls. Passing one over to Taehyung, who accepts carefully—and their fingers brush. Jimin pulls back, electricity crackling inside. “I’d rather keep myself pure.”
“Aw,” Taehyung coos, but the wicked slant of his eyebrows says it all. He had the most expressive eyebrows, speaking more than he did. “This is delicious. But then, I didn’t expect anything less.”
“Fuck you, I don’t work according to you,” Jimin says, but his wolf is already lapping the praise up. He just knows Taehyung did it deliberately, too. “I’m assuming you’re sleeping here?”
“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you, love,” Taehyung says, eating like there’s no tomorrow. “Might up and run. You’re good at escape.”
“Not when my friends are in danger.”
“You really care about them, huh?” Taehyung asks, and for a moment, there almost seems to be a hint of…envy? In his voice. “Whatever. Might as well as enjoy a night with you before we go on a mission.”
“You’re sleeping on the couch,” Jimin says automatically, taking away the empty bowls and washing them. He shouldn’t turn his back, but he can sense it. Out of practice and yet, still the best. “Don’t even think of coming near me.”
“Of course not. I’d rather come in my pants,” Taehyung says, and Jimin groans. Disgusting, and it still does him no favours. “Or rather, come on you, but that’s not allowed is it?”
Crude as a horny, newly presented alpha. Jimin can’t believe he used to fuck him. Then again, maybe that’s why he did. Because Taehyung had always been willing but made it a challenge. “One more innuendo, Taehyung. I’ll gut you, I swear.”
“Funny you say that. You’ve been slicking up like mad—” Taehyung slides when Jimin flings another knife, catching it deftly in one hand. He’s grinning, wiggling his eyebrows when he tongues at the knife. Asshole. A giant, fucking asshole. A hot one, his wolf whimpers, and Jimin snarls at it to shut up. “Try not to think of me when you get off tonight.”
“I’m most definitely not doing that.”
“So you agree, if you did, you’d think of me?” Taehyung presses. Jimin is so done. Someone kill him, it would be better than the crude remarks Taehyung leaves around. “Both of us know we won’t be sleeping tonight.”
“You’d still be at the couch, away from me,” Jimin snaps, getting back to the dishes. “Sleep or not. Just shut the fuck up.”
Taehyung does, surprisingly, but Jimin’s not going to check. It’s embarrassing, because he has been slicking up and it’s disgusting but thrilling, and no, he won’t get off to it. He’s got way too much dignity for that.
He finishes, drying his hands and walking off. Doesn’t bother or care to provide Taehyung with pillows or blankets. He’s an inconvenience, not a guest.
Just before he vanishes off into the hallway, Taehyung whispers, “Don’t mind me if I get off to you, darling. Good night!”
Fuck Kim Taehyung. And not in a good way.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
fair warning kim taehyung the assassin is CRUDE and sexual humour is his diet. he's gonna eat jiminie up ooh boy he's in for a rideeee
also the way i update is- i'm gonna work on ch 5 next, and once that is done THEN i'll post ch 4. it's a weird way of motivating myself. and also teaching myself patience. look forward to more!
Chapter 4: Road Tripping Like A Cliche
Notes:
I'm back hehe I'm so sleepy but I wanted to post!! Declaring this in case there are still mistakes in spite of proofreading.
I'm loving the vmin banter, ngl for the longest time they were always the best friends 5ever in my head & I had been doubting them as rivals...hence proved vmin fits literally EVERY trope ever it's not even a joke at this point.
enjoy banter, hate-fueled attraction, guns, and hotties being thotties (ew, cringing).
warning: guns and shooting, though not extensively described.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Waking up at camp had always been the worst.
The dorms were cold and cramped with no privacy; the beds made of the barest lump of a mattress on a plank wood. Some days if they didn’t get up on time, the warden would splash them with ice-cold water.
Jimin learned to not sleep in after the first couple of times.
Two months in, he’d given up hope that he’d get his old life back. He cried without fail, and the other kids laughed, and sometimes the warden would cane, which made him cry harder.
At three months, he stopped, diverting his attention to mastering his lessons. Holding knives in the blazing hot sun for hours until his wrists ached. Eating gruel for breakfast, lunch, and dinner without complaint. Sleeping in that horrible bed with a thin excuse of a blanket till the cold ate at his toes.
Waking up at camp, no, staying alive at the camp was a burden indeed.
Yet, Jimin carried on—his parents had left him for a reason. Maybe he fussed too much with his food or didn’t sleep on time, or any of the million reasons children tell themselves to make sense of their lives. He had no choice but to do what they asked— and do it well
He’d make his parents proud, and maybe they’d come back one day.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin wakes up to Taehyung hovering over him with a pillow in his hands.
In less than a second, Jimin has a knife under Taehyung’s chin and turned onto the bed, knee pressed into his back. “What the hell?!”
“You tell me.” It’s the middle of the night. The 4 a.m. blues roll over into a new day. “You’re in my room and leaning over me. With a pillow.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Taehyung pouts, and Jimin presses the knee in further, making him grunt. “Goddess, let up so I can breathe.”
“You don’t deserve to.”
“Your bluntness isn’t attractive anymore,” Taehyung grumbles, but Jimin removes his knee. Keeps the blade under his pretty—no, not pretty—chin. “I mean it. I couldn’t sleep.”
“And breaking into my room would help?” Jimin asks. The blade is so close to the scent gland, and he’s so tempted to nick him. “What part of stay away from me didn’t you get?”
“It was hardly breaking in. If that’s what you call a locked room, you’ve really downgraded,” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t move, leaning on his elbows. Silky hair falls over his eyes. “Neither do I listen to you. If I want to sleep in your nice bed—holy shit, is this twelve hundred thread count? Anyway—if I want to sleep in your really nice bed, then I will.”
“And the hovering?”
Taehyung grins. “You’re just so pretty when you’re sleeping.”
Shit. He can’t be this weak. But Jimin’s wolf preens, yipping away in delight. Traitor. “Shut up.”
“Aw, is Jiminie blushing?” Taehyung sings, wrapping a hand around Jimin’s wrist and gently turning the blade away and pulling him closer. Jimin now stands almost between his legs. “You’re prettier when you blush. Makes your cute nose wiggle a bit, I always liked that.”
“Fuck off,” Jimin hisses, snapping the blade shut and pushing away. His heart is racing too fast, skin prickly with heat. “Go back to the couch. I’m tired.”
“With the way your scent is? Please,” Taehyung snorts, kicking off his house slippers and snuggling into Jimin’s bed like he owns it. “Get in. We need to be fresh for the morning.”
Jimin frowns. “What’s in the morning?”
Taehyung opens one eye, smiling angelically. “Why Jimin—we’ll be going on a road trip. Now get in, it’s nap time!”
Jimin does not accept ‘nap time’.
The first thing he’s going to do is burn the bedsheets. Maybe the entire fucking bed, though his wolf is already salivating at the idea of having lavender-scented sheets in its nest.
As if Jimin’s life wasn’t enough of a pain, Taehyung had woken him up at such an ungodly hour he couldn’t go back to sleep. Said culprit is sleeping away soundly while Jimin sips a cup of chamomile tea.
The other option had been lavender, and over his dead fucking body is Jimin indulging in that scent in any other way.
“Fuck him,” Jimin mutters under his breath, staring outside, looking for Taehyung’s men or the snipers. A cowardly move for any assassin. Having a backup team? That’s just weak.
It’s like Taehyung to be loud without being loud. Insisting on the flashiest spears or the biggest gun even though he’d mastered stealth. Loud in his infuriating grins yet remain a mystery for all.
Jimin watches one of the men take a smoke, so lost he doesn’t realise Taehyung by pressing up behind him until it’s too late. All his training has gone to shit.
“What you looking at, Jiminie?” Taehyung whispers in his ears, and Jimin goes rigid, hair raising along his arms, lavender wafting under his nose. “The view isn’t that great.”
“Ten seconds,” Jimin grits out, and maybe the Goddess has given Taehyung brains after all because he moves, chuckling. Jimin tries not to think about how it vibrates through his skin. “Slept well?”
“The best,” Taehyung yawns, stretching. His shirt rises, a sliver of a golden, toned stomach on display. “Your scent is like a drug.”
Taehyung used to say that too. He’d lean in close and talk about oranges in the vilest of ways, have Jimin weak in the knees. Jimin shakes his head; he doesn’t need reminders. “I hope you choked on it.”
“In a sexy way, or for real?” Taehyung asks, eyes wide and innocent. “Because if it’s in a sexy way, then yes. I hope so too.”
“Fuck off,” Jimin groans, pushing past him, avoiding the couch because Taehyung’s scent is all over it. “What’s this about a road trip?”
“Well, we obviously can’t kill father from here,” Taehyung says, fluffing his hair—black as midnight, soft as silk—in the decorative mirror. “Imagine if we had assassin drones. How cool would that be?”
“We’d be jobless.”
“We, huh?” Taehyung smirks, wiggling his eyebrows, and Jimin curses under his breath. Ten years, and he slips back much too easily. "Glad to see you accepting your true self.”
“No, I’m not. That was a slip-up,” Jimin says, putting his legs up. He tracks the way Taehyung looks at them through the mirror, eyes hungry. Somehow, it helps him feel like he’s winning. “So road trip where?”
“Back home,” Taehyung says, walking over and sitting on the opposite end. Even this is too close, the space too small now that his large presence is filling it up. “So pack the essentials—not too many weapons, obviously. I know you favour your darling knives.”
“If I’m going for an assassination, shouldn’t I be stocked?”
“Yes, if you were going incognito. But you won’t be,” Taehyung says, picking at any dirt under his nails. Jimin feels confused, his wolf whining in his chest. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll tell you all about it. Now go wear something sexy.”
Jimin wears a tracksuit because fuck Taehyung.
And fuck him for making even that sexual, somehow.
“Holy shit, your ass looks so good,” Taehyung whistles, and Jimin has a vivid imagination for a moment. Just him and Taehyung in a cold, dark room. Taehyung on a slab, naked, and Jimin with his curved dagger, his favourite one, slicing him a hundred different ways. Tasting the way his scent rots from fear.
It feels so good, that Jimin nearly cries. That is until Taehyung snaps a finger under his nose. “Earth to Jimin. Are you thinking of killing me?”
Jimin sniffs. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re slicking up again,” Taehyung grins, and Jimin does chuck a pillow at him, which the alpha easily dodges. “So easy, Jiminie.”
“I’m not,” Jimin states, and he’s not, even though killing Taehyung could definitely be orgasm material. But that means Taehyung would be a part of the whole journey, and Jimin can’t have that. “Can we please discuss the plan?”
“All in due time, love,” Taehyung says, slurping away at…is that a milkshake? Where the fuck did he get it—oh, the blender is in the sink. He didn’t even wash it, the asshole. “Okay, though, seriously. Pack something sexy. There is a purpose to all this.”
“What, more staring at my ass?”
“Of course, it’s the eighth wonder in the world,” Taehyung fires back, and Jimin, curse his wolf, blushes. “Definitely keep up that blushing thing. It looks cute as fuck.”
“I’m not your fucking trophy omega, Taehyung,” Jimin says, edgy and restless. He needs answers, and he needs them now. What is Taehyung getting at? “What is going on?”
“Moon above, it is so like you to be relentless,” Taehyung mutters, rolling his eyes. “We’re going back home. Aka, camp. Happy?”
No, but at this point, Jimin’s accepted being miserable for the rest of his life.
🖤⚔🖤
As an assassin, Jimin had been trained to be ready for anything. Change of plans, technology, friendships, and enemies—and mostly, death. Death would always be around the corner.
Being an assassin, however, did not equip him with the social skills to handle someone as infuriating as Kim Taehyung. Maybe that’s why Jimin—or rather, his wolf—is so confused when it comes to the alpha. Morally and logically, Jimin knows Taehyung is a bad choice. Biologically, however? His wolf is a whore.
(Or maybe Jimin’s using it is an excuse because why the fuck does Taehyung have to be so hot?)
Here is Jimin, dressed in an everyday tracksuit—it’s a good one, one of the top brands—while Taehyung struts in wearing tight, form-fitting jeans and a leather jacket. Seriously, fuck Jimin’s life.
“Sexy?” Taehyung twirls and Jimin’s wolf nearly howls. Taehyung’s lanky, legs for days, but he’s also lean for an alpha. Long, like the Goddess couldn’t decide how to fill him up. He’s got a cute ass, an S-line that could rival omegas, and he’s just—pretty. And pretty isn’t something people use for alphas, but Taehyung cuts it. “Be honest. I’m not in a mood for criticism.”
“A wilted kimchi leaf has more charisma,” Jimin says, feeling inadequate and less-than. All because Taehyung carries off sex-bomb outfits. “We’re going to camp. Why are you dressing up like it’s fashion week somewhere?”
“What I’m hearing is you think I’m sexy enough for the runaway,” Taehyung says, tugging on the garter belt around his thigh—okay, that’s definitely filled out—and strapping on his weapons. “Also, because I have an image to maintain. But it’s okay. You still look hot in the tracksuit.”
The last thing Jimin wants or needs is validation from this prick. “I do not. And I don’t care.”
“Uh, yes, you do,” Taehyung says, sliding in the belt with the hooks in it. “I’m the one that fucked you, remember? You were always attractive. And you still like praise.”
“Can you not,” Jimin says, looking away from his body and the waist and the Taehyung-ness of it all. He opens up the email application and begins typing in the response. “How long do you think we’d be away?”
“Dunno. It depends on how much time you take,” Taehyung says, turning around—his eyes falling on Jimin’s laptop. They narrow. “Why do you ask? Are you leaving behind a trail?”
“No, asshole,” Jimin snorts, fingers hovering. Would sending an email create an electronic presence? He could be tracked. Then again, no one’s going to be searching for him, least of all his firm. “I’m giving in an emergency leave response. Need to offer them a reasonable excuse.”
“Just say you need to murder some people.”
“I said reasonable,” Jimin says, typing and backspacing. He’s tempted to blame Taehyung again and put up the fake restraining order as a sample. Help, my ex is a raging maniac and he’s harassing me. I need to leave. No, then asshole Donghyuk from management is going to have a great time rubbing it in Jimin’s face if he comes back. When, Jimin amends, not yet ready to give up his life in Seoul. “Ugh, they know I don’t have parents. Can’t even say one of them is sick.”
“How about ‘my alpha’s father is dying and I need to be there?” Taehyung says, leaning over the back and close to Jimin’s face. If Jimin turns, his lips could brush against his cheeks and—nope. “My father will be dead, and you do need to be there. It’s not even a lie.”
“Yeah, except you’re not my alpha,” Jimin says bluntly, and in a moment, the lavender spikes before it gets back to the neutral scent. He’s positive Taehyung’s nose is flaring in indignation. Alpha egos, ugh. “And none of them think I had an alpha either.”
“So you were single all this while?” Taehyung asks casually, but Jimin picks it up—the feigned disinterest, the probing around. Taehyung always had a problem with Jimin’s experiments. “No one interesting enough?”
“Didn’t really care to date around.”
“So you didn’t get over me,” Taehyung says, smirking, close. “As expected. I was phenomenal.”
“Yeah, at making me swear off alphas in general,” Jimin says, typing a response—opts for a ‘relative is sick and dying’ excuse— “Infuriating knot-heads. Omegas are so much better.”
He says it for the kick of it, and it’s not a lie anyway. Jimin did fool around with some, and they were great, even if in the end the disappointing result was that he liked knots more than slick. Disgusting. But Taehyung doesn’t know that, and he’s sure that the alpha’s nose is flaring—either in jealousy or interest. Maybe both.
“Omegas, huh?”
“Mm,” Jimin says, sending the response, and shutting down his laptop, packing it away. When he turns, Taehyung’s still close, leaning over the back of the couch. Jimin stays still. “They know how to please you just right. Alphas only ever want to shove their knot in.”
“If I recall, you liked it when I shoved my knot in,” Taehyung says slowly, breath warm and lavender-scented. “Kept begging for it too.”
Jimin warms. This is the problem with sharing history with someone who knows him well, even if they hated each other. “I didn’t know any better. Not like I had many options.”
Taehyung says nothing, simply stares, and Jimin holds his stare. Keeps still as Taehyung looks all over, gaze dropping to his lips. A lick and Jimin wonders what would happen if Taehyung kissed him. If he’d let it happen or shove him away. He’s afraid to find out what he’d choose.
“Well, I’m glad you had options, then,” Taehyung says, moving away swiftly. Jimin blinks and watches Taehyung resume packing. “Are you packed? We need to leave soon.”
What the hell? Taehyung, accepting defeat? That has never happened before. “Yeah.”
“Cool, I’ll call the car upfront. See you whenever you’re ready.”
🖤⚔🖤
Leave it to Taehyung to come to a quiet complex in the flashiest and noisiest car.
“She’s sexy, isn’t she?” Taehyung coos, leaning against the driver’s side, leg over the other and arms crossed. He’s wearing aviators now, so obviously Jimin’s wolf is having a mental orgasm. “Just got her. Dad didn’t even notice.”
“It’s ugly as fuck,” Jimin answers, and it is, so he’s not just being petty. It’s too large and clunky, a fuel guzzler of a car—black and shiny, but made for a monster. It has a bulletproof body supposedly—so it makes sense for Taehyung to have it. Jimin had expected more class, though. “Where do I keep the stuff?”
Taehyung wordlessly opens the back seat, and Jimin chucks his luggage in. It had been a rush job, packing everything—his clothes, sure, but also some weapons (like hell he’ll listen to Taehyung’s instructions) and all his counterfeit papers. Taehyung had told him to pack light on the clothes too.
It’s not the smoothest way to pack for a mission, even if it’s going to be the only mission Jimin’s ever going to have. But he remembers the old days. How meticulously he’d pack everything, and have backup plans of backup plans. Even if he hated his job, he did it well.
He gets into the passenger side, clicking the seatbelt on. He’d left standing instructions with the guard—he’s going on a vacation and should be back soon. A tentative span of two weeks, though Jimin assumes it would be a lot longer since he’s going in so blind. But the guard knows what to tell any person seeking him out.
It’s Jimin’s desperate call for help, even if he doesn’t want to involve his friends in this.
Taehyung gets in and drives out of the gated complex. The guards are nowhere to be seen, and it’s just the two of them in a huge car on a wide, empty road. Super fun.
And as if Jimin needed to add more to the images already getting filed away in his mind against his will, Taehyung driving is—really attractive. It’s so stupid. Jimin didn’t even like him that much. He used to find him hot, and that’s why they’d fuck, a little release going a long way in a stressful camp. But Taehyung now—leather jacket, aviators, a lip ring for heaven’s sake, and the black curl of hair artfully falling over his forehead— it feels a lot like a cliché road trip movie. Except they have a bag full of guns and knives at the back.
“Liking the view?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence of the last half an hour. He drives one-handed, and it’s something Jimin’s never been able to master, not really. The cockiness of it, the control—goddess, why Taehyung of all people— “Really liking the attention.”
“Every time you open your mouth, I realise why I hate your guts,” Jimin says, looking away and out the window. They’re on the highway now, the open fields nearby flying away. “Did you always talk so much?”
“Are we reminiscing then?” Taehyung asks, looking over his glasses. His eyes are so pretty. “Revisiting the good old days?”
“I literally just asked why you talk so much. It’s not a compliment.”
“Your interest in my life is.”
“Wow, buddy, you’re doing wonders for your self-image,” Jimin snorts, reaching into his satchel and taking out a protein bar. “And please look at the road.”
“What, you follow traffic rules now?” Taehyung asks, still not looking at the damn road. "We’ve trained not to use our eyes, you know.”
“Yeah, and it’s a miracle we’re alive,” Jimin shoots back, biting into the bar. He remembers those classes all too well. Sensory deprivation, and not the sexy BDSM way. “You’re not going to listen, are you?”
“Never have, baby,” Taehyung grins, but then he does turn away, hand out the window and tapping onto the roof. Tip, tip tap. “And I didn’t talk back then because I was busy listening to you crying my name out.”
“Moon above, Taehyung,” Jimin hisses, reaching over and punching his thigh. Taehyung curses, flinching. “Stop making everything about sex.”
“It is all we did, Jiminie, c’mon—”
“No, it wasn’t all I did,” Jimin grits out. “I had a fucking life, and so did you, and they were separate from each other. You don’t have to keep reminding me we fucked. It’s getting pathetic.”
Mostly, Jimin’s afraid all those memories would flood his mind, and the next time he sees Taehyung roll his lips between his teeth he’s going to jump his bones, and Jimin can’t be that omega. No matter how tempting Taehyung’s body is, even if his personality is rancid.
He expects Taehyung to say something back. They’d banter back then, the nasty kind, all hurtful words, and petty jabs. Jimin did at least, and Taehyung would chortle with his gang of chosen bullies. He’s waiting for it now, but Taehyung only shuts his mouth and focuses straight on the road, eyes unblinking. “Okay. Got it.”
Jimin blinks. Just like that? No rebuttal or one of those infuriating lines that got Jimin’s blood boiling? “Right.” Taehyung’s looking straight ahead, mouth in a straight line—not pissed, exactly, but gone is the humour. For how long, Jimin’s not sure, as all he has are outdated memories from ten years ago. And Taehyung ten years ago wouldn’t have just given up as he has now.
The silence allows for…some reflection, though it’s not what Jimin really wants to do. He doesn’t want to do any of this, and he’s still not sure why Taehyung wants Joonjae dead—apart from being an alpha dick, but the Kim family had always been strangely loyal to each other, in a way where the outsiders clearly knew not to cross lines. They never made sense, their own sense of the Code skewed, and much too terrifying to challenge.
Without the constantly heated words or Taehyung’s lingering glances igniting the annoying flame under Jimin’s skin, he assesses Taehyung from a non-attracted glance. As much as Jimin dislikes him—and he does, especially for disrupting his carefully curated life in a matter of seconds— Jimin can’t and has never been able to deny his attraction toward Taehyung. It’s a futile thing, one he gave up on a long time ago—whether it be the camp or now, Taehyung’s pretty. Apparently having the worst morals does not rot a person inside out.
He’s grown up, is what Jimin recognises first. Grown into his features, mature looking (even if he has the mind of a child) and shaped well. The leather jacket clings to a well-toned body, the hands on the steering weathered with age and practice. Silvery scars dot the surface, but then again, even Jimin boasts of the same. Taehyung’s nose is no longer thick and large for his face—his face has grown out, and his once large eyes look stable and precise. The eyelashes were always Jimin’s weakness, contrary to what most people assumed about them—the thick ring of it, the casual way they brushed against Taehyung’s cheekbones. His moles were the second—Taehyung had many, and it should have been ugly but it only provided character, a uniqueness that was unfound at an assassin camp.
Lastly, Taehyung’s perpetual sense of ‘not alpha enough’—one that Jimin secretly liked, especially as an omega in an alpha-dominated world, weaving his way in and around posturing alphas of all sorts. It’s not luck but a careful choice that had Jimin choosing the least alpha-like alphas amongst his friends—and it’s an amusing pattern that might have started with Taehyung himself. As if he needed more attachment to the guy.
Taehyung shifts in his seat, shoulders hunched suddenly—and the movement allows for his neck to be exposed, the strains of ever-growing lavender flooding the car slowly. Jimin wrinkles his nose. “Aren’t you wearing scent-blockers?”
“Didn’t reapply them,” Taehyung mutters, but something’s up. His eyes shift, nose flaring ever so slowly— alphas had a natural advantage in having better senses from the old days of hunting, while omegas were naturally inclined towards protection and close combat for pack welfare. Jimin had trained extensively to smell as well as an alpha could. “Something’s weird. Cohort’s not following.”
Jimin stiffens, looking behind him, and—sure enough, Taehyung’s men aren’t following them anymore. “Were they supposed to?”
“At a certain distance,” Taehyung says, looking at the rear view mirror, and the sides. “Father’s orders. Told him it was a city visit.”
“Aw, he had to send the baby with protection?”
“More like keep the baby from secret anarchy,” Taehyung snaps, then scowls. “Also, not a baby.”
“Sure act like one.”
“You’re being the brat right now,” Taehyung says, but it lacks the vindictiveness. “I’m serious. This is weird.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’s my problem,” Jimin says petulantly, even though he can sense it—the danger in the air, a familiar friend. His wolf is pacing, restless inside. “You’re the one who dragged me out, remember? Take care of it. Make sure I don’t die.”
Taehyung sends a baleful look his way, driving slowly towards the side before stopping, and switching the parking lights on. He takes out his phone, rings up someone—and is met with a voicemail. Lavender immediately takes a turn for the bitter, and Jimin nearly chokes.
Then a bullet smashes straight into his window, and he screams.
“Down!” Taehyung yells, dragging him down and way too close to his crotch, shit, but Jimin can’t be horny now. Hopefully not, actually, because sometimes being close to potentially dangerous situations has also made him slick up before, and he’s not yet understood why. He hopes it’s not a kink. “Shit, they caught up. Fuck.”
“Who’s they?!” Jimin yells, twisting away from the crotch as Taehyung curves over him into the backseat, trifling for the weapons. It’s the most cramped and uncomfortable position. “Can you let me up?”
“And have your head blasted? No thanks,” Taehyung snaps, before getting out the guns—one for Jimin, one for him. Jimin grimaces, and Taehyung tuts. “No time for knives, baby.”
“I know that, idiot,” Jimin says, but he misses his blades. He has them tucked, but they would be of no use. He also doesn’t like how quickly Taehyung read through him. “Who is ‘they’”?
“People who want to kill me, duh,” Taehyung says, clocking the gun. The bullet is stuck in the window—right where Jimin’s head had been leaning. The monster of a car is truly a monster. “Surprisingly, you’re not the only one who does.”
“I’m not surprised at all,” Jimin says, setting his own gun up. There hasn’t been an attack since the first bullet, and the air is pregnant with tension. A ‘make your move now’ tension, like a grotesque game of chess. “Maybe I should join up with them.”
“I’ll gut your friends,” Taehyung says, looking around. The roads seem empty. “If not my men, me personally. Do you see anyone?”
Jimin wants to place the gun against Taehyung, but he believes the man too. Taehyung, as bratty and loud as he was, had been a gifted killer himself. Excellent at recon, a silent master as opposed to Jimin’s preference for drama and attention as a method of distraction. The display of men was just that—a display. “All clear. The bullet seems to have come from across.”
“A sniper then,” Taehyung assesses, tongue peeking out of his pink mouth. The lip ring glints, and god, he did not want masturbation material. Disgusting. “I guarantee if I drive right now, they’re going to blow the tires out.”
“What are they waiting for then?” Jimin asks. He’s scared, and yet, there is the familiar thrill—an itch under his skin, the race of his heart. Action, the kind he’d craved and suppressed for years. Taehyung unlocks his door slowly, opening it a peek, and stepping with a leg out. “And why are they after you—?”
A smattering of bullets shower on Taehyung’s side, and maybe it’s instinct, but Jimin’s over in a second, clambering over the seat and hauling him in just before a bullet grazes past his leg. He barely manages to shut the door, pulling it with all his strength before the bullets stop again—and sits back on his haunches. Then realises he’s practically in Taehyung’s lap.
The Moon Goddess never stops giving, does she?
“That was hot,” Taehyung says, and it breaks the—not spell, necessarily, but some odd freezing of time. “Your eyes are all blue. I didn’t know you felt that strongly about my protection, omega.”
Fast track history lesson— omegan instincts. For whatever reason—latent evolution, leftover juicy aspects of an old-time when shifting had been possible— omegas were the protectors of the internal pack systems. Where alphas were in charge of overall boundaries, providing, and hunting—it was the omegas who were in charge of protection of the pups and the well-being of the community. This was before bullshit capitalism had its way and stupid alphas supremacists took over, reducing omegas to the role of breeders and nothing more.
To that Jimin says—fuck you very much.
Omegan instinct often showed up as intense blue eyes—a moment of deep instinct, the closest the conscious got to one’s inner wolf. For alphas, the eyes were golden. Moments of heat, rut, childbirth, protection or fear—these instincts manifested and the person was said to be more wolf than person. Jimin never understood that. He still is very much in control, even if he feels something claw-like punch out of his being.
“It’s not because of you,” Jimin says, still in Taehyung’s lap, still holding a gun in his hand. It would be so easy to press the gun to his head or neck or even his stomach. To shove it in his mouth and blow his brains out. It’s one of those morbid intrusive thoughts—the kind Jimin’s had many, many times and never followed up on, no matter how depraved his upbringing had been. “It’s instinct. Get over yourself.”
“Of course, pretty,” Taehyung mutters, his lips parted and pupils blown wide—from fear or, dare he say, attraction, Jimin doesn’t want to know. “Try not to blow my brains out while we wait.”
“Or we can do something and get the fuck out of this situation,” Jimin says, getting out of Taehyung’s lap and back into his seat. The other door is barely hanging on—if it falls, they’ll be butchered inside. “Drive the car.”
“Are you insane?” Taehyung asks, sweat dotting his forehead and gleaming across his neck. The lavender intensifies. “They’ll—”
“Hit a moving car, right?” Jimin challenges and Taehyung nods stiffly. “That’s fine. Better than being sitting ducks.” Taehyung’s nose flares and Jimin can taste the refusal. He doesn’t want to, but he lets out some of his scent— another handy omegan gift—and the immediate haze in Taehyung’s eyes should not be an ego-boost, but whatever gets the alpha to comply. “Trust me. Okay? Drive really, really fast, so that even if they blow out, the inertia should carry us a safe distance until it stops.”
“And if it does?”
“Fucking run for it, I guess,” Jimin says. It’s not the best plan. It’s not even a plan, but Jimin’s never been one to let life happen to him. Not after getting the hell out of that misery. “On my mark. Just hit the accelerator.”
He can tell that Taehyung wants to refuse— and Jimin’s ready to pump out bucket loads of his scent, manipulate the shit out of his mind if he has to—but Taehyung presses his lips into a line, puts it into drive—and guns the car.
The answer of smattering bullets would be music to Jimin’s ear if he wasn’t the target.
“Faster,” Jimin says, clicking the safety off. Pays attention to the sound, and the zing of the impacts. The direction. “They’re behind us. Does this thing have a sunroof?”
“Does this have—goddess, it’s like you want me to give you a car lesson,” Taehyung mutters, eyes focused dead ahead. “Of course, there is a sunroof. Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?”
Jimin grins. “It’s time people found out, hmm?”
Taehyung smiles.
Within moments, Jimin has one of the cars flipping onto the side.
Jimin likes knives. A lot. They’re convenient, easy to hide, small, and portable. They also make him look really sexy, that sort of convoluted omega sex bomb image Jimin gets angry at in porn but secretly adores emulating. Mostly because porn looks so fake and Jimin? He’s so the real deal.
Anyway. Jimin likes knives, that’s true. And he’s good with nearly every weapon known to man, so guns? Piece of cake.
“Two out. Two left.” Jimin gets back down, curling in the seat. He’s sure he has a graze on his cheek somewhere, but the adrenaline helps. The back of the car looks horrendous. “Hand me another clip. How are they not going for the tires yet?”
“It’s a chase probably,” Taehyung says, dutifully driving like Jimin asked, though there is the occasional gun in the hand shooting out of the window. “Want me alive. This is so cliché, ugh.”
“What, kidnap the boss’s son and ask for ransom?” Jimin asks breathlessly, fixing the new clip in before loading it. “Never mind. The other car’s loading in. Think you can drive it off the road?”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “It’s your side that would hit.”
“I’ll move, don’t worry,” Jimin says, grimacing internally at how. “I’ll take the one out behind. When I tap the seat, drive sideways.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Taehyung mutters, but nods anyway, and Jimin’s out again, shooting like his life depends on it. The other car seems to have been waiting for him, and they’re pissed now. Jimin aims for the front tires, two careful shots, and taps his boot against the seat.
Taehyung swerves into the other car, Jimin rolls inside towards him and the other car flips right onto where they had been a moment ago. “That was your plan?!”
“Not like you to be complaining,” Jimin mutters, still curled into Taehyung’s lap while the car stops. Jimin’s side is crushed in, and his ribs hurt like a bitch. Fuck impact injuries. “Motherfucker, that hurt.”
“Yeah, and you’re crushing me too,” Taehyung says. The car smells like a mix of lavender and burnt tires. They’re probably moments away from their car bursting into flames. “Get up. We gotta move.”
It’s a tangle of seatbelts and crushed seats, but they manage to stumble out—and goddess, what a mess. “It’s good we aren’t upstanding citizens of the country, huh?”
“I am,” Jimin says, forlorn. First reluctant mission out and he’s already destroyed state property and wrecked a total of four cars. “Who the fuck wants to kill you so badly?”
“Who doesn’t, is the question,” Taehyung says, cracking his neck. Sweat, soot, and blood lines his face. “Four cars, though? That’s overkill.”
“Not if you hate Joonjae enough,” Jimin remarks. The assassin overlord’s personality was in a league of its own. “And we’re in the middle of nowhere. Great.”
“Poor omega must be so tired,” Taehyung coos, but surprisingly does not add a sexual overtone to it. Huh. “I have to say, though. Your ass looked phenomenal so close to my face.” Yep, there it is. It had been nice while it lasted.
“You didn’t tell me people were after you,” Jimin says, ignoring it and walking down the road. The noon sun is blaring down hot at their heels, and Jimin’s melting. How is Taehyung surviving with a jacket is beyond him. “Am I going to have a target on my back after I’m done with this favour?”
Taehyung shrugs, still scrolling through his phone. “I hope not. But hey—if they bother you, you can always let me know.”
Jimin snorts. “Yeah, right. Like I need a big alpha protector.”
“No, but you can surely want one,” Taehyung says cheekily, and Jimin groans. Another one coming. “You like ‘em big, don’t you?”
“And respectful, but that’s being too greedy, isn’t it?” Jimin fires back, before halting. Crossing his arms. “I refuse to walk in this heat for you. I have to draw a line somewhere."
“Chill, Kyungmin is on the way,” Taehyung says, snapping his phone shut. The adrenaline is wearing off slowly—Jimin’s heart is still pounding away, loud in his ears, and he can’t yet feel the pain of the graze—but it’ll follow soon. He does not miss this, not the after-effects. “Thank you, though. For protecting me.”
Somehow, his heart races immediately. Jimin looks away. “I wasn’t protecting you.”
“Whatever you were doing that accidentally resulted in my protection, then,” Taehyung says, and nods. It’s weird. They’d been on a couple of missions before, each a challenge, a testament to their willpower back then. This isn’t a mission, not a joint one anyway, but Taehyung thanking him…there has got to be more to this than whatever he’s showing. “You were great.”
“Of course, I was,” Jimin says, bristling, his wolf pawing at him to pay attention. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that in ten years many things could have changed—including Taehyung.
🖤⚔🖤
They decide to rest at an out-of-the-way motel, one of those shady ones with terrible service and dimmed-down lights, a festering cesspool of good things gone bad. Or bad things turning rotten. Jimin hates every inch of it, and he hates Taehyung more for getting him down to this.
“Moon above, it’s just a couple of hours,” Taehyung snaps, when Jimin whines again—the scents are too rotten, bitter, and decayed. His wolf is not happy. “I got a pack of scent neutralisers. Go crazy.”
“It won’t be enough to bear this,” Jimin says, bending down to pick—ew, is that someone’s underwear?—and gags. “Taehyung, c’mon. You can’t hate me that much.”
“I don’t hate you at all,” Taehyung says, pinching his nose delicately, using bottled water to wash his face and clean himself up. “No one would expect me to hide out here. This is just to throw the pursuers off.”
“Right, because a spoilt baby alpha won’t ever be caught here,” Jimin snorts, then winces because even that’s too much air all at once. He doesn’t focus on Taehyung’s statement. “Since we’re here—can you please tell me what’s going on?”
“With the attackers? Thought it’s obvious enough,” Taehyung says, before grabbing a fresh cloth and wetting it. He steps close to Jimin, who stiffens—he smells like lavender, blood, and salt, and it’s not entirely unpleasant. “Stepping out of camp does that.”
Right. It used to be a thing, back when they were kids. Taehyung and his family were under constant protection, despite the training they received. It was an oxymoron in its own way; Taehyung could protect himself well. Was he allowed to? Now, that’s a different question altogether.
Joonjae, more than an authoritative dictator, had been paranoid. As expected of leaders like him, and it showed, in the boys around Taehyung, always present and lingering. The few times Jimin and Taehyung were allowed to go out for a mission—Taehyung had to report every few hours. It had been annoying, and once Jimin had thought it was nice to be looked out for like that.
Now he can see the control for what it is. “I know that. I don’t care. I meant the reason.”
“To kill father?” Taehyung asks, bringing the cloth close to Jimin’s face—he flinches, but Taehyung grabs him by the chin anyway. And Jimin doesn’t fight him—it’s nice to be held, even if it’s in the barely-there grazes of a person he hates. Jimin used to hate post-mission come down. He’d always wanted a hug but was received only by a cold, empty bed. “Thought I told you that too. Inheritance.”
“Bull,” Jimin says, watching as Taehyung dabs at his cut carefully—gently, like Jimin could break. It’s too tender from all their other moments—those had been heated touches, skin pulled apart and hands in the hair. “You’re not even trying to lie.”
“I don’t care,” Taehyung says, wiping down Jimin’s neck. He tilts it further, and watches the way Taehyung’s eyes linger, his pupils dilating ever so slowly. He shouldn’t do this—it only encourages the worst of their instincts, instincts that he hasn’t ever been able to control. “Your job is to kill my dad and get the fuck out. That’s it.”
Jimin bristles—but it’s a fair reminder. He’s not here to get the tragic back story or understand why; he’s here to do a favour—sorry, comply with blackmail—and make sure his friends are alive at the end of this ordeal. He’s lost his touch in ten years of trying to fit in with a moral society.
Rule number one of being an assassin—say goodbye to morals, and just do the assignment given. No matter what.
So be it. Jimin’s not going to probe. He is curious—but he doesn’t want to waste it on Kim Taehyung of all people. “Okay. So how are we going to explain my return to the camp?”
Taehyung smiles and alarm bells ring in Jimin’s head. Oh no. “Why, Jiminie. I’m so glad you asked.”
Once again, fuck Jimin’s life.
Fake dating. That’s how.
“I was both anticipating and not expecting that reaction,” is what Taehyung says, lounging on the gross motel bed and eating away at honey butter chips that make Jimin’s stomach growl, if not for his wolf howling away too. Jimin snarls at him, and Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Moon, relax. It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“Does my life look like a fucking fanfiction to you?” Jimin yells, chucking yet another empty bullet clip at Taehyung. “I didn’t like you at camp back then. I certainly haven’t changed my opinion now.”
“Enemies to lovers, so perfect,” Taehyung sighs, eyes vacant and dreamy. “Not going to lie, that’s my favourite trope ever.”
“Enemies only, and stop distracting me,” Jimin snaps, snatching the packet away and digging into it. He hadn’t thought Taehyung would get the reference. “Actually, not even enemies, because that means I care, and I don’t give a shit.”
“Which is why you’re throwing a fit, obviously,” Taehyung deadpans, hands behind his head, licking each finger of the chip dust. It’s not erotic, nope. It’s gross and unhygienic and moon above he has long fingers, fuck. “I too throw a tantrum when I don’t care about something.”
“I hate your fucking guts.”
“So you’ve said.” Taehyung takes out a wet tissue and wipes the rest. “Look—it’s the only story that makes sense and won’t be suspicious.”
Jimin snorts. Assassins, always sceptical. “We hated each other back then.”
“Yeah, and people grow up. The right person right time thing is real. Just spin it into whatever,” Taehyung says, eyes sparkling. The fucker must be enjoying this so much. “So it’s been ten years, and I came across you at—I don’t know, choose whatever boring place you want—and it was an instant connect. Couldn’t help ourselves. I’ve got you back home until we go on a trip, I just wanted to tie together a few things.”
It’s…not a bad premise, for a story. Even at camp, with their infamous rivalry, the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other—hate sex, the only sex, also the best sex Jimin’s ever had, and they had been teenagers. A part of him wonders if Taehyung’s improved since. Jimin’s certainly gotten…bolder. He shakes his head. “Not…bad.”
Taehyung gasps. “What is this? A compliment from the great Park Jimin?”
“Don’t,” Jimin says, finishing the last of the chips and folding it away. “And what would compel me to give up my non-assassin life in Seoul to come with you?”
“My handsome face, of course,” Taehyung says without missing a beat, and Jimin sighs. “I’ve changed since I was a pup. Now I’m all mature and obviously a good candidate as an heir, and you’d since changed your mind.”
“Not compelling.”
Taehyung licks his lips in challenge, the lip ring glinting. “We ran into each other at a club. Fucked. You couldn’t get enough of this knot.”
“I will impale you if you ever say that in public,” Jimin says lowly, though the image is already settling under his skin like a warm blanket. The worst part is, he can see it happening in an alternate life. Maybe even this one, but Jimin respects himself. “As if my standards would be that low.”
“Ouch, Jimin. Give a man a break,” Taehyung pouts, but his eyes still hold mirth. “Look, the stories can be endless. If you have a better one, I’ll run with it.” Then he tilts his head. “Make it cheesy. Seokjin has lactose intolerance.”
It’s been a while since Jimin’s heard the name. “Does he now?”
“He keeps complaining about his gut,” Taehyung mutters, settling lower into the bed. “Or was it garlic? I can never keep up with him.”
Jimin keeps quiet. He wants to probe, the ever-curious part of him, about the rest of the camp. The rest of Taehyung’s family, and how they feel about Taehyung’s scheme. “Do they know?”
For all his infuriating presence, Taehyung always catches on. If Jimin actually believed the stories he’d read, he would think they were connected somehow. Taehyung shakes his head. “No. This is a private endeavour.”
“So they can’t know, can they?”
“No, so don’t go around getting funny ideas,” Taehyung says, then his eyes light up gold briefly. “I’ll kill you first before they do.”
Jimin believes him. He goads him anyway. “You never had the balls to.”
“Couldn’t, you were the favourite, baby,” Taehyung murmurs, opening one eye briefly. “Mine too. But favourites change, don’t forget that.” Then he goes right back to sleep.
Jimin doesn’t sleep a wink at night.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
fake dating hahahaahaha my favourite trope ever also jin's mentioned at last!! I'm already done with ch 5 but I'll post that once 6 is done, it's the only way I can keep up with this pantsing adventure. this has got to be the first multichapter where I'm not paying attention to word counts at all. it's fun.
hope you liked it! let me know your thoughts if you please <3
Chapter 5: Nostalgia Is A Bitch
Notes:
hi? I'm back? :D
between More and Hoseok becoming Jack and ruining my mental peace, I just had to take a couple of deep breaths also ARSON COMING OUT TOMORROW
I was busy trying to figure out chapter 6, and I managed to finish it yesterday so today y'all have a treat! I'm actually excited about ch 6 because my brain bulb went off big time and now I have even more worldbuilding notes that I'm so excited about yeeeeesh I love a/b/o also I checked out an omegaverse masterlist on tumblr, holy shit you guys there are entire dedicated accounts to this trope? and it's still open for interpretation??
anyway, I hope this chapter is enjoyable!
warnings: description of killing, blood, and minor death.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There was something cold about determination that Jimin liked.
Colder than the mornings at camp, barely awake and the sun a distant dream. Colder than the frigid breeze entering the half-open windows freezing their toes all night. Determination, Jimin felt, was a welcome friend—a cool hug after a blistering hot summer.
Jimin never quite felt warm after the first few months.
He was determined to be the best of the best. It didn’t matter how, or in what manner; where there was a challenge, Park Jimin had to excel. He couldn’t be just enough; he had to dethrone whoever was the current holder. In a camp full of hundreds of children like him, it was an ambitious goal to have.
And Jimin never turned down a challenge.
The tears stopped, eventually. Only weak people cried, and the strong were the ones who prevailed. So he practiced, kept quiet, and did what was asked of him.
He developed a special fondness for knives. They felt familiar, after all those hours of standing in the sun, the rain or the slice of ice; his wrist now moulded around the blades, one with the edge. Knives were the symbol of determination. Slow, steady, and precise.
Just how it should be. And would always be.
At eight, Jimin finally came across Kim Taehyung.
He’d heard the rumours, of course. The seniors would talk of the higher-ups, and Jimin never understood. He knew there was something high to aspire for, to achieve—but what, he’d yet to learn.
Determination had helped hone him into a knife. Three years, and Jimin had climbed through the classes, hated and loved and admired. It didn’t matter, none of it did. He cared for none of them. All he wanted was to be the best so he didn’t have to hurt anymore.
When he reached the elite class—his master had been impressed.
“You’ve done well, haven’t you, Jimin-ah?” He had asked, and Jimin had nodded. Eyes kept down, the floor a slate grey. Never meet eyes with the head assassin, or he risked getting a cut. “You’re where your peers could never dream of reaching.”
“All thanks to you, master.”
“Yes,” the master had said. A tap on each shoulder. “The family is impressed. You’ve been allowed to enter the ranks of their kin.”
Jimin didn’t really understand, and neither did he want to. He just went along with whatever was asked of him.
That’s where he met Taehyung—and hated him. Hated the pretty face, the shiny clothes, and the hands yet to be roughened by blades. Hated how he already stood at the podium, the centre of attention— while Jimin was still lost in the crowd of children dressed in grey, the youngest of them all.
He hated him and swore to dethrone him one day.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin has always prided himself in having sufficient control over his omega.
At camp, he’d been trained to near death in wrenching control from his wolf. To create a harmony suitable for battle, and nothing else. As assassins, they all had to make sure their wolves were kept aside. Even more so for omegas, so prone to obedience and ‘spreading their legs’ as the alpha dicks used to say.
It resulted in disconnect over time—an omega overpowered by the Alpha Command was bad news. An omega assassin—it simply had to be removed. And so, though Jimin experienced most omega biology—he had been uprooted from what it meant to be guided by his wolf. The alphas could keep theirs so they could ‘hunt’ better. What a load of bullshit.
In the past ten years, he had managed to get pieces of his omega back. The healthy, normal way, where his wolf threw tantrums, whined and thirsted after stupidly hot knotheads, the unfortunate side effect of getting his life together after camp.
Now—Jimin’s throwing a fit exactly as an incorrigible omega would, and he’s going to make Taehyung miserable.
“Goddess, shut the fuck up,” Taehyung hisses, chucking a pillow Jimin’s way without opening his eyes—and Jimin cackles in glee as he ducks. “It’s one shitty motel in the dozens you’ve lived in. You can bear this.”
“I can, but I don’t want to,” Jimin says, resuming the distressed purring he’s been doing since the past hour. It must be about three in the morning, and Taehyung is restless on the bed even if he’s been studiously ignoring Jimin. A first for him. “Not until you get me out of this hell hole.”
“What part of laying low do you not get,” Taehyung says, hands over his ears now, like that would help him ignore the distress call. All alphas were sensitive to it, an innate need to reassure the omega— even if they didn’t like said omega. Jimin is having so much fun. “Please, Jimin, please stop. I’ll give you anything.”
“You’ll release me from the favour?”
“Not that, fuck off,” Taehyung says, and Jimin keeps purring louder. He wants to get out of this stupid room with its stupid, rotten smell and be on his way. Unfortunately, Taehyung’s got the command to lay low while his cohort checks out the damage they left behind and any other suspicious activity. Jimin doesn’t trust them one bit. “You’re not going to listen, are you?”
“Nope,” Jimin says, kicking his feet. He does feel like a child, but that’s what Taehyung deserves. “I don’t like this place. My omega doesn’t like this place. I am in distress.”
He receives no response, so maybe Taehyung’s given up. After all, Jimin has the amazing ability to annoy people into defeat. He hums, and strokes his arms a little—it always soothes his omega, though it is nowhere close to the way Hoseok used to do it. Jimin winces at the thought; he hasn’t thought of the others in nearly twenty-four hours—and he wants to keep it that way.
It’s not that interesting to watch out the window, waiting for some action so he can get out—when he’s jerked back so suddenly, his brain rattles inside. It doesn’t matter, however—Jimin freezes when he hears a snarl.
It vibrates through his head straight into his throat and his chest— he stops purring, his omega dazed. He fucking hates how, at the end of the day, omegas always seem to be at a disadvantage no matter how much they progress or fight.
Jimin can’t do anything as he calms down against his will. Taehyung stands in front of him, hands pressing into his shoulders and his eyes gold, the snarl toning down to a low growl. A nice, comforting one, the kind which warms his bones like warm honey— so obviously, Jimin hates it. “There, omega. Calm down.”
Though it’s not a command, Jimin’s omega whines inside, sitting down on its haunches and sniffling away. We made alpha upset, it says, and Jimin gnashes his teeth as he waits for the effect to reduce. He’s going to gut Taehyung alive, tie his balls to his knot and rip them apart.
Random history lesson #2: Growls and distress calls are a curious thing of the past, back when omegas couldn’t express their distress verbally and their alphas could ‘tame’ them, which Jimin finds obnoxious and oppressive. The horrid thing is that it’s a nice sensation, like cold water on hot skin. It’s supposedly a calming thing, an answer to an omega’s distress that all is safe. Jimin doesn’t appreciate it one bit because 1) it is not safe at all, and 2) it’s from an alpha he doesn’t like.
“I’m not your fucking bitch,” Jimin spits, once both their wolves recede, and it’s asshole Taehyung in front of him. Jimin slaps his arms away, reaching automatically for his tucked-in dagger—but Taehyung is equally quick, hand blocking Jimin. “What the fuck?”
“You need to stop behaving like one, then,” Taehyung says smoothly, turning away and flopping onto the bed. Jimin keeps standing. “Your purring was loud. Every other alpha would have zoned in soon enough.”
Oh. Jimin hadn’t considered that when he’d first started his annoy Taehyung agenda. Shit, that is a stupid thing to do. “Took you long enough.”
“Hey, you’re the smart one between us. Should have realised,” Taehyung says, smiling. He goes back to staring at the ceiling. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a crumpled won, flinging it Jimin’s way. Zero remorse for doing that against Jimin’s will. “Would you be a peach and get me something from the vending machine?”
“I’m not your secretary either,” Jimin says, crossing his arms in defiance. That is until his stomach suddenly growls at the thought of food. His body just loves betraying him, doesn’t it? Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows, and Jimin huffs, picking up the won. “The only reason I’m going is that I’m hungry. That’s it.”
“Sure.”
“Not because you said it.”
“Whatever you want to believe, love,” Taehyung grins, and for a moment Jimin can see that Boy part of him again. Crinkly, sunny smile. Box-shaped mouth. He looks away. “Honey butter chips, please.”
“Eat shit,” Jimin replies sweetly, walking away—not before tucking in a couple of knives in his belt and in the sole of his boot.
Outside—it’s better, in terms of air quality, not the surroundings. Those are still shit, as Jimin walks down the dark hallway with the peeling wallpapers and mouldy stains. It’s quiet so late at night—though Jimin can hear sounds from the doors. TV blaring, people fucking, and someone definitely shooting a porno somewhere—he clicks his tongue as he moves carefully, hands in his pocket and whistling.
Contrary to popular belief, sometimes a noisy assassin is the best distraction.
He reaches the vending machine—it’s next to the reception desk, which has one lone man dozing away and snoring so loudly Jimin’s ears vibrate. He could steal some of the stuff without haggling with the machine. But he doesn’t want to leave too much of a trail.
He looks up at the camera pointing at him. Looks back down. That should be enough.
The vending machine, surprisingly, is the only well-maintained aspect of the entire establishment. It works smoothly, delivering the honey butter chips and sour punks without being a pain. The glass is clean too. Jimin grabs the packet, turns around— and stabs the guy behind him.
It’s so sudden, the man doesn’t even get time to react—simply chokes, blood staining the worn-down floor carpet as he grasps weakly for the blade. Jimin leans against the machine as he rips open the packet—sorry, Taehyung—and pops one in. “You don’t know how to track, do you?”
Of course, Jimin had noticed it the moment he’d stepped out. He’d been stupid once, lulled into a false sense of security after ten years of peace—but never again. There was no way people who sent in snipers and four cars were going to give up that easily after a pathetic ‘chase’.
He watches him now as the killer—an alpha, by the scent of him, shoddy work on hiding his trace—groans in pain. The receptionist is still sleeping, but Jimin needs to be quick about this or he’ll risk the man waking up to a crime scene, and then Jimin would have to do something even grosser to keep him quiet.
“Who sent you, darling?” Jimin whispers, tapping the toe of his boot to the man, who snarls, golden eyes weak and flickering— so he must be close to death. Jimin did stab him at an angle, oops. “I’m asking nicely. You don’t want to test me.”
“Fuck you, omega cunt,” the alpha spits out, and Jimin sighs. Al-fucking-ways. Alphas get bested and they lose their goddamned minds. Jimin leans down and grabs hold of the hilt. He takes the now empty packet and stuffs it down the alpha’s throat—and then twists the blade right where it is. The man screams though the sound is muffled. Blood leaks down the front of his shirt.
“I’m going to assume you’ll only swear at me if I remove this, so,” Jimin comments ideally, dragging the dagger backward, ripping into the alpha’s skin. Drool leaks out of the sides of the alpha’s mouth. He moves the blade closer to the jugular. “Goodbye. See you never.”
Then he slashes upwards, right towards the vein—and blood joins the drool. The attacker can’t say much even when Jimin removes the packet—he has maybe a minute and a half before he chokes, his lungs filling with blood instead of air. It’s a plain looking fellow—rough, day-old stubble shining grey on his cheeks. The eyes are tinged yellow—a weak alpha, a desperate one. He smells like piss and blood now, a faint scent of smoke coming through.
Jimin pulls back his wrist—no mark there. His collar, the other side—and he sees a faint star tattooed. A gang member, one of those no-name ones trying too hard. Taehyung had predicted people of all sorts being after him.
Speaking of Taehyung— he’d be all alone in their shitty motel room. If this is a decoy—
Jimin curses under his breath, ripping the blade out, and apologises to the dozing manager in advance for the mess they’ll open their eyes to. He runs down the hall, to the end where their room is—and yep, the door is open.
Moon above, these people are really amateurs.
Jimin waits outside, getting his scent and breath under control. His scent blockers must be still working, but he can’t take the risk. Once he’s calm enough—he inhales, and steps in.
The asshole is standing right next to the bed, hovering over Taehyung’s sleeping body—visible in the moonlight. Jimin hates gangs. He hates more people who underestimate the art of killing, because Taehyung is awake, and he’s not going to do anything until the last moment because he likes showing off.
He probably knows Jimin is there, too. Asshole.
The man—Jimin can’t tell if it’s an alpha, omega or beta— raises a knife and strikes down at Taehyung— at the same time Jimin gets behind him, slitting his throat without a thought. Blood showers upon Taehyung and the bed in a holy rain, and the man flops on top with a choked grunt. “Fucking hell, Jimin. You couldn’t direct the blood away?”
“Serves you right for playing possum,” Jimin says, wiping the blade on his tracksuit. “Wanted me to save you so badly?”
“Just wanted to see you kill someone,” Taehyung says plainly, still laying on the bed. He pushes the man off himself, wrinkling his nose. “Goddess, he stinks. Were there more outside?”
“Yeah, one was hungry for a little snack,” Jimin says, still staring at the blade in his hand. It’s shiny and clean with a little blood along its edge, but it shows Jimin’s face clearly. The dead eyes he’d spent so long running away from stare right back.
In the span of ten minutes, he’s killed two people as easily as buying groceries.
Maybe Jimin had never truly gotten rid of this stain on his life.
“Hello? You still there?” Taehyung taps his forehead, and Jimin snaps out. The spiral had been so close, is still licking at his heels. Jimin hasn’t stopped to think exactly how easily he’s gone back to who he used to be. Probably still is. “I get you look hot after a kill, but maybe don’t make it so desperate.”
“Fuck off,” Jimin snaps, tucking away the blade and grimacing at the work cut out for them. “Help me clean up or I swear to the goddess, I will kill you.”
In the end, they decide not to bother with it. It simply isn’t worth the effort.
“Have you seen this place? I’m pretty sure they shoot true crime here,” Taehyung says after dragging the body to the corner, a trail of blood in its wake. It’s messy—the bed is ruined, the wall has a splatter and the carpets finally have some colour in them that isn’t musty brown. Instead of cleaning up, they’ve made things far worse. “I can’t be bothered to clean.”
“Typical,” Jimin snorts, using a cloth to wipe down their prints. “Couldn’t clean up then, can’t do it now.”
Taehyung doesn’t reply, surprisingly, and the difference throws Jimin off once again. He moves past, wiping down the sweat on his forehead. There is blood all over his shirt and neck, though he’s wiped away most of it from his face. “The body outside. Bad?”
“It’s…bloody,” Jimin says, thinking of how he’d have to wipe the camera clean. His face had been too clear when he’d looked up, it would be an instant red alert. “You’re right. Fuck it. Let me just wipe away the traces.”
“Could have Kyungmin do it.”
Jimin snorts. “Please. I’d trust myself over your little fan club.” He tucks in the cloth. Their shoe soles are soaked in blood, but they can’t do anything about that now. “So. This is an everyday thing, huh?”
“What is?”
“Getting murdered.”
“A normal Tuesday,” Taehyung says, sighing and leaning against the wall. For a moment, he looks—tired. Not physically, but like the weight of the world is bearing down upon him. Jimin shakes his head. Must be the moonlight making Taehyung look more normal than ever. “Like, they should go after father directly. I don’t know why they’re after me.”
“It’s because you’re so pretty,” Jimin coos, and to his delight, Taehyung blushes. Aha! “Aigoo, look at you getting all shy because of a compliment.”
“Shut up,” Taehyung says, cheeks bright red. Interesting. Jimin never praised him before, so this is new. “I hadn’t been expecting that. That’s all.”
“Sure, and it has nothing to do with your giant praise kink.”
“No, but it might help my giant—”
“Nope, I’m out of here,” Jimin says, stuffing his fingers in his ears and walking out. “Tell Kyungmin to have a car waiting. I’m done stalling this out.”
🖤⚔🖤
It’s been a week.
A week since Jungkook had gone to Jimin’s birthday dinner and found out that everything he knew had been a lie.
Growing up, Jungkook had always known he’d do something in the name of justice. That’s a wide range, and becoming a cop is so typically alpha of him, that his omegan parents still laugh. So does Jungkook. Diving neck deep into a world of crime—he hadn’t really anticipated that.
It’s been a week, and Jungkook can’t stop thinking about the way Jimin shot a man like it was a normal Tuesday.
He can see it, even now. Here he is, in his apartment staring at the ceiling, listless and tired—but also scared. For what he saw, where Jimin could be and how he’s supposed to cope with all of it—and come out sane.
It had been one of the first things he’d learned at Police University. You’re going to be seeing the world differently from a civilian. You’ll see a world that is not so innocent, and carry on anyway. Jungkook had taken it in his stride, despite his parents’ protests. Jungkook-ah, are you sure? This seems like a tough field. Too hard.
I’ll be fine, Eomma. I’ve always wanted to.
In some ways, he’d thought he’d been prepared for the ways of the world. Yet six years of education and one year of work hasn’t prepared him for the truth: that Park Jimin, Jungkook’s best friend and, fuck it, crush, is potentially…a killer.
He gets off the couch, shaking his head. His wolf whines inside, questioning. Maybe he’d had too much drink. Maybe it had been a one-off incident and Jimin had done something in a moment of survival. That’s a thing; he’s seen perfectly normal, good, morally upstanding citizens do the most heinous of things at the moment. And Jimin was someone who could get frighteningly protective of the people he loved.
Yet Jimin had flung and caught those knives so precisely, it screamed experience. The way he’d been calm, his scent under control—almost as if it didn’t exist. How he’d coolly turned the gun towards the alpha behind Yoongi and shot without blinking an eye.
Because Yoongi’s cheek looks nasty.
Not even Jungkook with his love for stories and fiction could delude himself out of the truth.
The truth is that Park Jimin isn’t all that he’d said he was. And perhaps Jungkook had never known him at all to begin with.
🖤⚔🖤
Kyungmin takes care of the bodies, giving Jimin the stink eyes of stink eyes the entire time.
“What?” Jimin snaps finally, and Kyungmin's nose flares, but he keeps shut. He carries the bitter neutral of scent blockers, and it has Jimin’s wolf on its hackles. Goddess, he hates that smell more than anything. Well, maybe not above Taehyung. “Can you please ask your bodyguard to stop glaring at me?”
“Not my bodyguard,” Taehyung says, arms crossed and overseeing the process. He has the rest of the cohort guarding the other doors in case some poor soul attempts to get out, and another team cleaning out the security feed. Jimin huffs to himself. Back in the day, he’d have done all of this single-handedly. Taehyung has nothing on him. “And you did create a mess. Also, they don’t like you.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Jimin mutters, scratching around his gland. Too many alphas are present; he can feel how swollen it is. “Poor choice. I’m so much better than the baby they have to take care of.”
“The baby that personally trained them and to whom they are loyal,” Taehyung says, then hisses, joining the glare at Jimin parade. “Not a baby, stop that.”
“Aw, baby’s hurt,” Jimin coos, and Taehyung snarls. Not like the kind before. “Maybe if I stack on a compliment, baby’s going to blush.”
“I hate you.”
“Thought you didn’t hate me at all, Taehyung-ssi?” Jimin asks, batting his eyelashes. He hadn’t acknowledged the statement earlier, and a part of him keels over from having to do so now—but all’s fair in hate and war. “Should have known it was a lie. You don't have an honest bone in your body.”
“The body you stare at way too much.”
“I apologise for having eyes,” Jimin deadpans, and Taehyung raises an eyebrow. Jimin looks away. Now, does he want to admit he’s physically attracted to Taehyung? No. Is his body going to betray him and show it to the world anyway? Hell yeah. So might as well as own up to it. “How long is this going to take?”
“About as long as they need so we’re not blasted across national TV,” Taehyung says dryly, opening a second packet of honey butter chips. “Can you imagine? Our headshots all around. Killers on the loose. I hope they choose a good angle.”
Jimin doesn’t bless it with a response, mind shuddering at the image. Thinks of his friends seeing it in their living rooms, their opinions of Jimin changing by the minute. Not only did he lie to us, but he’s also apparently returned to his debauchery! And showing it off!
He prays he doesn’t ever see the judgment in their eyes. Let them cut him off, but moon above, don’t let them hate him for something that he’d tried so hard to grow out of.
That’s turning out to be impossible, however, so yeah, Jimin might have to take a pause on the whole penance journey.
Eventually, the clean-up is done, and the place looks less like a gristly crime zone and more like the motel had seen only unfortunate times. The bodies have been disposed of somewhere—Jimin hasn’t cared to ask. He looks longingly at the camera across, and wonders if he can get himself back into the frame again without anyone noticing.
With the way Taehyung’s close by, Jimin probably can’t.
He doesn’t know why he’s doing that, leaving little traces of him when he knows he has to keep his friends away. Maybe it’s a breadcrumb trail being left by his wolf—someone will care. Right? Someone will notice Jimin disappearing without a trace or a message and want to look for him. Jimin’s allowed to hope for that.
It’s a stupid thing. Jimin of the past would have hated it, berated him inside out, but Jimin of the present is closer to being a normal person with normal feelings, and he’s grateful it hasn’t vanished entirely.
“We can leave now,” Taehyung says, breaking Jimin out of his thoughts. “They have another car. Let’s go.”
“Will we face another attack?” Jimin asks, grabbing his bags and walking out—it’s seven already, the sun over the horizon. “I really don’t want to kill more people than your—hmph!”
Jimin freezes as Taehyung looms over him, hand over his mouth, and pressed too close. The men around them ignore it. Jimin blinks, the faint scent of lavender right over his nose. “Don’t. Not here.”
Taehyung looks…scared. Or nervous, eyes briefly lit with gold but they vanish just as quickly. Jimin doesn’t protest and waits it out. Tries not to do something bizarre like licking Taehyung’s hand. When they’re out of earshot, Taehyung removes it, breathing shakily.
“So…no one knows, huh?” Jimin whispers, curled into himself. He’d believed Taehyung had a plan. That these people who were loyal to him would know. “Exactly what do they know?”
“Nothing,” Taehyung says, still looking at the ground. He looks up, squaring his shoulders—Jimin prepares for yet another threat, but Taehyung shakes his head. “Look—no one knows a thing. They don’t know why I was in Seoul or why I looked for you. They don’t know what favour I’ve asked. So don’t go around blurting it out loud.”
It makes sense. Joonjae was hated, but more than that, he had been feared. There would definitely be people who would kill, literally, to have this kind of information and have a favour from the assassin kingpin himself. “Seems like a bit of an effort to seek out an ex-flame.”
“You said it,” Taehyung says, crossing his arms. He looks…sad. Far away. Boy, Jimin’s wolf says, and Jimin tramps down on it. “I’m the spoilt youngest son with a glad eye and zero responsibilities. I’m sure they’ll make up their reasons.”
Then Taehyung walks away, and Jimin stays for a moment before following—but not before wondering if Taehyung is really the same person he’d hated—or something more.
🖤⚔🖤
His parents used to describe him as a restless baby, and worse as a teenager. An adult now—and Jungkook is still restless.
Staying inside the apartment is madness. Attending work when this knowledge is worming through his skin is torture. Visiting Hoseok and Yoongi and seeing the way Jimin’s loss has struck them is agony.
Yoongi had told him to let it be. To not meddle, to trust Jimin and keep his head down low. Jungkook snorts to himself. Trust Jimin, as if he knew him anymore to do that. The way Jimin had packed those bodies. The way he’d smoothly promised Jungkook he’d meet him and explain, and never showed up. Simply vanished, like he had never existed at all.
Jungkook is going to go mad staying inside and doing nothing.
On a sane day, his restlessness and concern would be attributed to the giant crush he’d developed on Jimin over the years. The one he knows and Jimin knows and so does the entire world, and they keep quiet to save Jungkook’s dignity. He’s not stupid; he knows Jimin doesn’t and hasn’t ever felt the same about him. Kind enough to not reject Jungkook directly, and never leading him on—Jungkook had made his peace a long time ago.
No, his concern stems from a careful mix of leftover feelings and his general care for Jimin, for his friend who has been with him through the best and worst of times. Has that perception been thrown out of the window? Yes. Can Jungkook trust his judgement of Jimin? Maybe fifty percent. Seventy. Does Jungkook still want to find him and see him safe with his own eyes? One hundred percent.
Jungkook simply wants to know if Jimin is okay or not.
He visits Hoseok again, and it’s not the cheer-up it used to be. The apartment has wilted in the week since the Incident. As Jungkook enters, he can taste and smell the depression—the scent’s rotten with sadness and anguish. The semi-permanent staleness of an omega in distress that alphas are biologically made to respond to, whether it be mate or friend. He can smell Yoongi, an alpha’s distress so different from an omega's, with a tinge of anger. Jungkook swallows them all down.
His parents had described it to him once, the loss of a pack. They’d been kicked out of theirs—some of the few omegas to mate each other, back when the world had been more traditional. It still is, though there are relaxations now, especially in bigger cities. They’d told him it was a keen loss—a hollow inside that never closed, always lingering until the pack bond was formally cut or a new pack was found. Hoseok, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Jimin hadn’t officially applied for pack status—but the feeling had been there all the same. Seven years, nearly ten for Jimin and Hoseok—they’d been closer than blood family. Jungkook can feel it now, the hollow chasing at his heels.
Hoseok’s grieving the loss of a pack mate, and he isn’t grieving well.
“Jungkook-ah? That you?” Yoongi says from the kitchen, and Jungkook toes off his shoes, slipping on the house slippers. It smells like ramen, overly salty yet watery. Jungkook enters the kitchen, and Yoongi greets him with a feeble smile. “I figured. Scent’s fresh.”
“This is bad, hyung,” Jungkook says, no greeting. He sets down the groceries Yoongi had asked for. “Is Hoseok-hyung still…?”
“His wolf isn’t letting him out of his nest,” Yoongi says calmly, but Jungkook knows he’s anything but. And it’s bad. Over-nesting without a pre-heat, heat, or pregnancy is a typical sign of poorly handled distress. “Don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything.”
Yoongi sounds pained and looks even smaller than usual. The first time Jungkook had met him, he couldn’t believe someone so atypical could be an alpha. It had been refreshing, especially when Jungkook himself used to feel like a sore thumb, with his more omegan parenting. “Don’t you think getting Jimin-hyung back would help?”
Predictably, Yoongi’s nose flares. “Not this again. I thought I told you to drop it.”
“Yeah, back when it wasn’t looking so bad!” Jungkook snaps, then holds himself back. Yoongi may be small, but he had a vicious tongue and a dominant wolf. “Hyung. I know you told me to lay low, but please—it hurts. It hurts to look at you guys like this. I lost Jimin-hyung. I can’t lose you two as well.”
Yoongi’s eyes shutter, glistening with unshed tears. He’s always hated Jungkook being sad, and Jungkook hates to use it like this. “C’mon, Kook. It’s not—”
“Don’t tell me it’s not worth it,” Jungkook says, hands curled into fists. Thinks about Jimin’s sunny smiles, the kindness with which he led his life. Helping Jungkook, never making things awkward because of Jungkook’s inability to control his feelings. “It’s Jimin-hyung. He’s always worth it.”
“I know.”
“And Hoseok-hyung is important to both of us,” Jungkook presses. He can’t meet him now; he won’t be allowed into his nest or anywhere close to it, and Yoongi’s alpha would see him as a threat. Damn it, he misses Hoseok too. “Please, hyung. You know I’m right.”
“It’s not safe,” Yoongi says eventually, and Jungkook bristles. Yoongi holds a hand up. “Hear me out. It’s risky for you as a cop. For us. The manager at the restaurant hasn’t said a word, but we can’t count on that. We have to stay low.”
“But—”
“And Hoseok doesn’t want to,” Yoongi says. His eyes are downcast. “He’s sad, yes. Devastated. And he’s…he’s mad as hell, Kook-ah. I’ve barely been able to enter the nest. I don’t think Hoseok’s ready yet.”
Well then. That puts a knot in the thread of his plans. “I see.”
“It’s not that we’re giving up on Jimin,” Yoongi hastens to explain, but Jungkook’s already far away. “But I think…this is a lot, even for us to ignore. We don’t know who Jimin is, Jungkook. Putting ourselves at risk when we’re already vulnerable…it’s a stupid thing to do.”
It makes sense. And that’s why Jungkook hates it, feels the familiar call to rebel anyway. It’s in his blood. His parents never cared, so he wouldn’t either. Not for morals and feelings, not when someone he cared far too much about might potentially be in danger.
Jungkook only nods, eats the ramen—and swears to do something about it, regardless of what Yoongi had said.
🖤⚔🖤
They travel back in another monster of a car—but this one’s even fancier, with a divider and everything. Meaning, Jimin and Taehyung are alone in the backseat, cut off from the rest of the world.
“Tell me everything,” Jimin whispers, unsure of what he can and cannot say. He’d assumed so far Taehyung knew what he was doing, and now… “I can’t keep up a solid cover if you’re going to keep secrets.”
Taehyung, for the most part, has been silent in the corner, arms crossed and legs spread. His scent is getting stronger by the minute, and Jimin hasn’t gotten a chance to reapply his scent blockers either. In this closed space, it’s going to be…difficult, especially with Taehyung’s scent in full bloom. “It’s fine. It’s under control.”
“It’s clearly not,” Jimin snaps, and Taehyung glares. “Have you stopped and considered for even a moment that I haven’t exactly been throwing myself at you? No one’s going to believe the love at first sight bullshit.”
“Maybe you should have.”
“Maybe you should stop being a knothead and tell me,” Jimin hisses, wolf agitated. He’s not safe here, and he doesn’t feel safe with Taehyung. “C’mon. I’m not asking for the reason.”
It’s like talking to a brick wall, but Jimin’s talented at needling information out. Taehyung stares at his feet, and Jimin’s about to give up when— “They’re not going to say anything about…not being together or whatever.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s none of their business. But mostly, it’s not them I care about selling the story,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “They’re my men. I’ve hand-picked them. They get paid to keep shut and do what I ask.”
“But?”
“They obviously can’t know about why,” Taehyung mutters. It rubs Jimin the wrong way, whatever Taehyung’s planning. Or not planning, but his wolf is restless. “Look, it really isn’t a concern. Okay? I just need you to keep quiet. They don’t care why you’re here. Hell, they don’t even know you. Not from before.”
Oh. New recruits then. They wouldn’t know about Jimin or the way he left. They wouldn’t know the sheer fucking drama, the price he had to pay, or what he and Taehyung had once been. “Right. They don’t know the history.”
“Yup.” It’s silent, the awkward kind from back in the car. Jimin can’t recall a moment he’s ever had with Taehyung where the latter was quiet. “Thank you once again.”
Jimin frowns. “For?”
“Killing the guy,” Taehyung says, his tone…sincere. “I know you didn’t want to. And I promised you’d only have to kill…him. So thank you.”
It’s wrong. Never has the alpha thanked Jimin before, not so sincerely. His eyes are soft now, his face tired. The thought comes again, the traitorous one about Taehyung being different, Taehyung being a boy, and Jimin can’t have that. “I’m not letting you die after the way you fucked my life up.”
Sickeningly enough, Taehyung chuckles. The soft kind, none of those cruel ones that used to haunt Jimin for months after. “Sure, whatever you say, love. Thank you anyway.”
Jimin doesn’t like it one bit.
The softness doesn’t last, of course. That’s not who they are or could be, and Jimin feels vindicated. Like all order is back once again.
They’ve reached the destination apparently, and Taehyung’s looking at him in that curious way. Hunger lines his eyes again, and fire licks down Jimin’s spine. Yet, he’s grossed out by what he’d just heard. “I’m sorry, what?”
Taehyung sighs like he’s the one suffering. “We need to scent each other.”
“Over my dead fucking body,” Jimin hisses, pressing himself to the other side, away from Taehyung and his slowly strengthening scent. Goddess forbid if Jimin drops all his walls should he come close to the lavender. “Are you insane?”
“You let me at the apartment.”
“You forced me,” Jimin snaps, and Taehyung presses his lips into a line. “Come near me again, I’ll cut your knot off.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung starts, then drags his hands over his face with a frustrated groan. “Moon above, it’s for the role. I don’t want your fucking scent any more than you do.”
Jimin scoffs. Liar. Taehyung had always liked Jimin’s scent. “At least lie well.”
“Okay, I really don’t want your scent when you’re being so bitchy,” Taehyung corrects, and Jimin glares. His wolf huffs, insulted. Taehyung’s eyes widen before quirking into a smile. “Cute. You hate me, yet you want the praise.”
“Stop confusing my wolf,” Jimin says, looking away. Scenting. Such a deeply personal act, reserved for friends and family. Mates too, but Taehyung is none of those things. Scenting is intentional—meant to strengthen bonds, and establish familiarity and trust. “We can just rub our wrists and get it over with.”
“And you call yourself an assassin,” Taehyung mutters, adopting a similar position. “You know what? Let’s do that. When Jin sniffs it out in under a minute and you become chopped liver, don’t come crying to me. Because what do I care, right?”
Huh. Okay. So maybe Jimin’s being too bratty. “Wait. Seokjin’s here?”
“It’s the camp, Jimin. Why won’t he be?”
“Didn’t he graduate, like, ages ago?”
“You have a lot to learn, darling,” Taehyung says, still looking away. Jimin bites his lips. The thing is—Jimin doesn’t want to do this. The only people he’s allowed himself to be scented by have been Hoseok, sometimes Jungkook. Rarely Yoongi. Before that, it wasn’t something he liked. Too vulnerable, too close to his neck—too trusting, and trust had been something he couldn’t afford as an assassin. It had taken him years to let people in.
His personal preferences aside, however—Jimin would rather avoid the eldest Kim brother. If there’s anyone that terrifies Jimin—it’s got to be him. He’d finish their story before it even started, and the last thing Jimin wants is to be trapped in an assassin camp surrounded by other assassins, left to fend for himself.
Guess he’s Kim Taehyung’s…something now.
And obviously, because he’s Park Jimin and his luck has always been shitty, his omega’s having the time of his life.
“Will you relax,” Taehyung murmurs, which would be soft if not with murder in his eyes. “I’m not going to eat you.”
“You look like you want to.”
“I do, but even I have boundaries,” Taehyung says, and Jimin’s heart races. Taehyung’s halfway across the seat, and Jimin’s still pressed to the door behind. It’s been a few minutes. Taehyung’s wiped down the rest of the blockers, and the lavender is overwhelming. Mouth-watering, his wolf amends, and Jimin really wants to punch it back down. “It’s just a few moments. I promise nothing else will happen.”
Yes. That should be reassuring. Except Jimin’s wolf is whining, because it certainly wants something more to happen. Even in the trysts he’s had with other lovers, Jimin’s never allowed scenting. Yet the moment it’s Taehyung propositioning it—sure, it’s going to wag its tail in delight.
Taehyung waits, and doesn’t force himself into Jimin’s space—patient, which isn’t like him at all. Back then, he’d be in a hurry—and Jimin was okay with that. Time was always of the essence when one is an assassin. Especially if one is fucking their rival and doesn’t want to be caught.
The alpha remains seated, waiting for Jimin to come forward. “Won’t your cohort mind?” Jimin asks.
“Mind what?”
“That’s we’re just…sitting here.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “It’s my car. I can do what I want.”
Right. Jimin’s lost his touch in ten years. Assassins are an obnoxious fucking lot. “Is that an assassin thing or a spoilt youngest thing?”
Above all, he wants to not feel so awkward, so seen. Wants Taehyung to go for it, to get him mad so Jimin doesn’t have to think. Taehyung huffs. “How about both?”
Well. “I swear if you do anything else—”
“Think I need to be saying that, Jiminie,” Taehyung drawls, tilting his golden neck. Unmarked. “Last time you were the one with—”
“Goddess, just do it,” Jimin hisses. He pulls Taehyung forward by the collar—and meets him halfway. He doesn’t want to hear about his reactions to Taehyung’s impromptu scenting from last time.
Clearly, Jimin should know by now not to be so impulsive.
So close to Taehyung’s neck—the lavender floods his nose, crawling to the back of his throat. It tastes thick in his mouth, and Jimin gulps even as he noses up and down the expanse of skin.
Taehyung’s just smells so damn good, it’s not fair.
Jimin’s in a daze, head spinning from the assault of lavender and sage, growing stronger the more he scents Taehyung. He wants to choke on it, have it imprinted into his skin forever. He’d always loved the scent, even if he didn’t like the person owning it. It had been so peculiar for an alpha, a cross between sweet and strong, and a rhythm of its own. When Taehyung had presented, Jimin couldn’t tell for a week after—not until Joonjae had held a celebration feast and announced the rank. Even then, Taehyung had looked so—pretty. Petite, lovely, and it made him so angry, how Taehyung could somehow have all the benefits of being an alpha while looking like that. Smelling so beautiful, being mistaken for an omega so his missions were all the more fun.
It wasn’t fair, and it still isn’t now as Jimin hitches himself close, crawling over the little space and pulling down Taehyung’s collar to get more of it. In a strange nostalgic way, Jimin had missed his scent. After leaving, he’d gone on a lavender strike—avoiding the scent like the plague. It’s been ten years—and the memory is fresh as ever.
Taehyung’s much the same—touching him carefully, hands tight on Jimin’s waist as he mouths openly at Jimin’s neck— and Jimin tilts his head, even more, making Taehyung growl in response. The alpha sucks the skin around his gland, and heat flares up so strongly in Jimin’s gut— he can feel his slit slicking up instantly.
How fucking embarrassing. Does he stop, though? Absolutely-fucking-not.
It should be alarming and disgusting, how easy he is. Park Jimin, who never gave in, opening himself up to be devoured. He used to hate it, hate how Taehyung made him feel. How easily he got through Jimin’s walls, and the worst part was how Jimin would let him.
Taehyung pulls away from his neck. “Pretty baby,” Taehyung murmurs, dropping pecks all over the heated skin. Jimin’s head spins. “You say you don’t want it, but look at you. So perfect like this.” His hand squeezes Jimin’s ass, and the wetness is all the more clear. “So wet, aren’t you?”
“Fuck you,” Jimin gasps, pushing Taehyung away and stumbling back—he’d been practically in his lap, what the hell, and god, he’s slicking up so much. His cock is semi-hard. He hates Taehyung, moon above. “It’s biological. It doesn’t fucking matter.”
Taehyung smirks, absolutely unbothered. “So you’re like this with the other alphas?” He asks, still sitting like he owns the fucking place, his collar still stretched out—his mating gland is pulsing pink. Jimin’s own is throbbing with need. “Those omegas too? I’d kill to see that.”
Jimin throws himself to the other side. The car smells like them—lavender and oranges—and slick too. Maybe musk, but Jimin is too dizzy and a little too turned on to cope with that. He has no doubt that he probably reeks of Taehyung. The other is practically dripping in orange. “I’d kill you first.” He sets his clothes right. “Shit. Fucking hell, you said you wouldn’t do anything.”
“Not like you left me alone either, baby,” Taehyung says, fixing his clothes. He looks at the mirror to fix his hair, an artful flush on his cheeks. His lip ring glints, and Jimin thanks the goddess for not letting him do something gross like kissing him in the process of scenting. “I think the slick is a good effect, no?”
“I hate you,” Jimin mutters, twisting in his seat. It’s uncomfortable, sitting with slicked up pants. “This is the worst biological thing about omegas.”
“Hey, it’s an ego-boost,” Taehyung winks, rolling his tongue. Why did the most annoying person in Jimin’s life have to be so damn pretty? “It adds flavour to the lovesick thing. Can’t keep it in the pants.”
“You mean you can’t,” Jimin deadpans, but accidentally does look down at Taehyung’s crotch so now— “What the fuck. Are you hard from this?”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “Was I…not supposed to be?”
“It’s scenting. It’s not a sexual thing.”
“Yeah, but it’s you, so obviously I’m going to respond,” Taehyung says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I hope you realise one day that you’re hot and I still have wet dreams about you sometimes and those are my favourite dreams ever.”
Something this disgusting should not be making Jimin’s heart skip. “Or maybe you’re just a horny alpha and sex is all you think about.”
“Sex with you? Yeah, for sure.”
“Not happening again,” Jimin fires, but the words have already made a home inside, heat trapped under his skin. Leftover, disgusting desire settling in his bones. “Jin better fucking believe this.”
Taehyung’s eyes light up. “Well—that depends on you, doesn’t it, darling?”
Jimin lets out a frustrated scream. Seriously, fuck Kim Taehyung.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
that scenting scene tho dahufsdjivbsjvb so hot
also, YES NEW POV haha surprise with the jungkook POV- my detective boy is tryna be the hero and add light to what happened after Jimin left. I'm so excited to write out all the points and then tie them up spectacularly aaahhh
thank you for reading! see you soon <3 let me know what you think in the comments :D
Chapter 6: Not Recommended: Trips Down Memory Lane
Notes:
in time for a month-end update! phew boy, chapter 7 was such a bitch to write, while ch 6 languished in the drafts. it's okay baby. you can be free now.
thank you for the comments on the last chapter! I honest to god don't know what i'm doing with this fic but! joy of writing! we must focu-anyhoo, onward! enjoy!
(i apologise for any editing mistakes lord i am so tired).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a cold day when Jimin won his first sparring.
The sparring ground had been dull with fog, and wispy clouds of it hung around. Jimin shivered in his grey uniform, watching and waiting. Bare feet on the hard, cracked ground, trapped in the middle of the ring. Surrounded by the people he was supposed to fight—and escape, somehow.
Fear lodged in his throat like a stone he couldn’t swallow. Dread wrapped a fist around his heart, and his toes hurt. The shivers never stopped. Above, the Master watched with keen eyes. “We start when you pick your weapon, young one.”
Weapon. Any weapon, up to his discretion. He’d won the right after a class debate, and this was his reward. At least it wasn’t to the death. The Master had offered him grace.
Jimin looked at the table. His eyes were drawn to the assortment of knives—curved, straight, wicked sharp, and fatal. Beautiful, and Jimin’s hand hovered over them.
He looked back at his opponents. They were of varying heights and weights. Larger than Jimin, so he had to be quick on his feet. He couldn’t be weighed down by weapons, couldn’t have the risk of them stealing them from him.
One good weapon then.
Jimin picked the long spear. Light, sturdy—and easily maneuverable. Prone to breaking if Jimin wasn’t fast enough—but that wasn’t a problem.
He was light on his feet. Jimin walked to the centre, and bowed down to his Master.
By the time the bell stopped echoing—Jimin had already speared two of them down.
🖤⚔🖤
The questions haunts him still.
Do I really know Jimin?
Jungkook doesn’t know how to answer it. It’s disturbing, to think one knew their friend of nearly seven years only to find out how utterly wrong he had been. And that’s why Jungkook’s here, ignoring Yoongi’s advice—and potentially misusing his position as a police officer.
It’s not that bad when worse cases of corruption have been noted.
“Who is this guy?” Yugyeom asks, slurping on an iced Americano and clicking away. The iced Americano had been a bribe. Jungkook had gone to the IT room after work hours and asked for a favour. “You’ve never used me for personal reasons.”
“That sounds so wrong,” Jungkook mutters, leaning over Yugyeom’s shoulder. The beta has a mild scent, something like laundry detergent—as most betas do, in line with their usual roles in society. The peacemakers, strategists, and mediators. Apparently also government-appointed hackers, but for good reasons. Jungkook snorts to himself. “And it’s the first time I’ve been genuinely worried about him.”
“Jimin-ssi, right?” Yugyeom asks, and Jungkook nods. The beta begins clicking, going through the directory. “The omega you have a crush on.”
Jungkook’s cheeks heat up. “That’s so not how I want to be seen as.”
“Okay, then the one who keeps rejecting you.”
“If I didn’t need your help I would burn your stupid computer,” Jungkook says, and Yugyeom gasps. “He’s missing for nearly a week now. No contact.”
Yugyeom frowns. “Why not file a missing person’s report?”
Right. Jungkook should have thought this through. “Jimin’s had…vanishing spells before. He’d always come back but…I don’t know. This time I felt like it was a bit much.”
“Okay…” Yugyeom’s fingers fly over the keyboard, as he goes through the directory and the resulting searches. There were so many Park Jimins in this country. Not the most unique name. “Park Jimin. Born 1995, age 27. This one, right?”
Jungkook looks at the screen. The picture is old, from university—when Jimin had orange hair. Even in an official photo, he looks gorgeous. “Yep, that’s the one.”
“He’s hot,” Yugyeom drawls, and Jungkook hits the back of his head. “Ow. Asshole. I don’t know why we’re friends.”
“I’m the only one who visits you in this hole.”
“True,” Yugyeom says, sighing. He scrolls, going back and forth between some documents before frowning. “Huh. That’s weird.”
Jungkook leans in. “What?”
“He…doesn’t have any details prior to university,” Yugyeom says, refreshing and checking again. “Like nada. Nothing about school. Simply entered the system when he was the legal age.”
“How is that possible?” Jungkook asks, taking over and checking for himself. And it’s true. Usually, the system refreshes once the minor becomes a major, but even then, details and past records from the person’s life are kept. It’s mandatory for all parents and schools to upload the documents regularly.
In Jimin’s case, he’s only been a legal citizen since he was eighteen.
“This is whack,” Jungkook says, and Yugyeom hums. “Right? It’s not possible.”
“Anything’s possible if a person’s got connections,” Yugyeom shrugs. They check out the other details—where Jimin went to university, his current workplace, his license details—all of it is there. Just not him as a baby or a child. “Does he?”
The Jimin he thought he knew did, sort of. In a more ‘I’m rich and born to rich parents’ way. At least that’s what Jimin would offhandedly refer to himself as in university. A rich trust fund kid, with too much money to spend and not enough things to spend it on. Then Jimin entered law school, so he must have made those connections…but this reeked.
It makes sense if Jimin is…something else. Something the law cannot know about. Something he can’t be traced for.
Then why would Jimin leave that life and come to this one? To a life where he’d be constantly tracked, a part of a system, and forever watched in some form? And where had he been before?
“Yugyeom,” Jungkook starts, feeling both bad yet fired up as his brain works overtime. “You don’t mind a little bit of tinkering around, do you?”
Yugyeom smiles. “What are you thinking?”
🖤⚔🖤
The drive down the road and through the massive, iron gates is smooth—and opens up to a driveway so large, a mini plane could have used it as a runway. It’s lined with trees, those aesthetically spruced ones that scream money to throw at a team of horticulturists.
In short, the camp has improved…significantly.
“What the hell?” Jimin says as he looks out the window. Maybe improvement is an understatement. In ten years, the place seems to have become less of a ‘camp’ and more of a ‘mansion’, and it makes Jimin’s skin crawl. “What the actual fuck?”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Taehyung hums, eyes closed and legs spread. The car smells like their combined scents, one that Jimin had the pleasure of not having to smell until today. “We did some major home décor revamp.”
“Clearly,” Jimin murmurs, feeling like a child with his nose and hands pressed to the windows. It looks like a Disney castle walked out of a fairy-tale. There are fountains—fountains! — and an actual garden bursting with flowers. The camp had been nowhere close to this level of magnificence when he left. “Home décor or a quest in vanity?”
“Ah, there we go again with the cynicism,” Taehyung snarks, then opens his eyes—they’re ringed with gold and still dazed. Jimin looks away hastily. He doesn’t want to think about what happened mere moments ago, and how close he’d been to yielding to his omega and claiming Taehyung right in the car. Disgusting. “You speak as if your penthouses—two of them, mind you—weren’t an interior designer’s wet dream.”
“At least I’m generous enough not to hog all this land,” Jimin fires weakly, knows it’s a poor comeback and that he can do much better. As it is, the shock of seeing something so drastically different in addition to being scented has, well. Scrambled his brains a bit. That’s all. “Joonjae certainly developed a taste.”
“Yeah, just a reminder—maybe don’t call him by his name from now on,” Taehyung murmurs. His hand twitches a little, his right leg shaking. Kim Taehyung, and nervous? “You’re grossly in love with me and you respect my family so much.”
Jimin might vomit a little in his mouth. “Right. Of course. What should I go for, darling? Daebonim?” Jimin flutters his eyes. “How about Abeonim? Abbeoji? He’s going to be my father-in-law and everything.”
Taehyung coughs at that, twin pools of red on his cheeks. Jimin will never get enough of this. “Just…don’t call him Joonjae. You’re not going to be meeting him anyway.”
What? Then how the hell is he supposed to—“I’m so fucking confused. This is the worst part about working with you.”
“More reminiscing! Yay!” Taehyung’s eyes twinkle, and for a brief glimpse, it’s Boy Taehyung again. Jimin’s chest feels tight. “Trust me, yeah? We’ll figure something out.” He undoes the seatbelt and taps the screen between them and the driver’s seat. “Kyungmin, we’re ready.”
Jimin’s not ready, but obviously, Taehyung’s never going to be the decent alpha, and ask him first. That, or Jimin’s annoyed after an adventure of almost twelve or so hours and he’s hungry, for fuck’s sake. And high on Taehyung’s scent, a little bit, with slick drying in his pants. He hates life, truly.
He knows he reeks of Taehyung when Kyungmin opens the door and wrinkles his nose slightly. Jimin ignores that, walking around the back and joining Taehyung, who’s carrying both their travel bags. The alpha stands tall, looking every bit like he belongs to this place of wealth even though he’s like Jimin—blood-stained outfit, greasy skin and cuts all over. It’s not fair.
There is breeze all around, and it amplifies the orange in Taehyung’s scent—tart and sweet, and if Jimin can take a moment to be self-obsessed—mouth-watering. In hindsight, it’s fair that Taehyung got turned on from scenting. Jimin just hates how cool he is about the fact while Jimin feels like dying at the thought of slick in his pants.
“Goddess, you smell so good,” Taehyung mutters under his breath, and Jimin whips his head around. The guy is still looking ahead, eyes closed and inhaling in the pleasantness of this mansion. Jimin refuses to call it a camp anymore. “Okay, a few things. Come here.”
Taehyung presses him to the car—he’s a bit too close, towering over Jimin with his lavender in full bloom, exactly the kind of scent that made Jimin weak in the knees far too often. Right now, they’re in public, and the cohort stands at a respectful distance away. “Do you need to hover like this?”
“You’re the love of my life, I can’t bear to stand away from you,” Taehyung pouts, and a ballerina flips in Jimin’s belly. Weird. “Anyway. From here on we’ll be playing…the roles.”
“Right. Hence the cheesiness.”
“Aw, I’m glad you approve!” Taehyung grins. He looks a little too…happy about this, which makes sense since Jimin’s misery is Taehyung’s happiness. Ass. “I’m letting you know because I’ll probably be touching you, or holding your hand and I would really appreciate you not chopping it off.”
Jimin blinks. Right, that’s a possibility. He’s been running on instincts for nearly a week now, hypervigilant and a little too prone to startling. He would definitely love an excuse to stab Taehyung in his stupid guts. “What kind of touching, exactly?”
Taehyung presses in even more, lips near Jimin’s ears. To outsiders, it would look like two lovers whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears. “Nothing too bad. Maybe something like this.” Taehyung’s hands weave in between Jimin’s, long and rough, somehow…perfect. “Or like this.” His other hand trails up his arm, ghosting over his skin and neck, before gently cradling Jimin’s head, thumb fluttering over his jaw. Jimin’s breath hitches at the…tenderness of the whole thing. It’s so different from the rough way Taehyung had been handling him. “All part of the plan, okay? Just little touches here and there. That’s all. I promise.”
It sounds like one, a little too sincere and gentle, soft and tired. Jimin closes his eyes, and hopes Taehyung can’t feel the slight rise in his heartbeat. When the alpha moves back, his pupils are slightly blown out too, as if he is affected as well. “Okay. That’s….that sounds good. Thanks for letting me know.”
He’s being soft too. He wants to curse and hate Taehyung, and he does somewhere, but right at the moment, it feels nice. Like his comfort matters to Taehyung. It’s definitely his omega going all moon-eyed when rationally, Taehyung just said he doesn’t want to lose a limb. But maybe after almost two days together, Jimin can seek delusional comfort somewhere.
Taehyung stares at him for a few moments, still close, and Jimin looks away at the door. It’s all fancy oak wood now with a gold doorstopper. Once they enter through—Jimin would be playing the role of his life.
Well. He did hide his past as an assassin fairly well for ten years. Acting like he was in love with Taehyung should be a piece of cake.
“Don’t do that a lot,” Taehyung suddenly says, pulling Jimin’s face back to him. He’s frowning, smoothing out Jimin’s forehead. “You know this place. You were one of us. Don’t be nervous.”
“I really don’t know this place,” Jimin says, and goddess, Taehyung needs to stop doing that with his thumb or his wolf is going to purr, and that’s more humiliating than slick. “Everything’s different.”
“Just on the outside. You’ll see,” Taehyung says, then snaps his fingers to the side—all the while looking at Jimin. Something unreadable swims in his eyes. “Kyungmin, the cohort can leave. We’ll manage from here.”
“You sure, boss?” Kyungmin asks, eyeing Jimin suspiciously. Jimin raises an eyebrow. Whatever comes of this, he’s going to hate Kyungmin for life, guaranteed. “This one’s a bit wily.”
“He’s tired, he can be tamed,” Taehyung laughs, and then groans when Jimin presses down hard onto his toe. “And he’s hungry. Better get some food in him quick! Thank you for your good work.”
Who the hell is this guy? When has Taehyung ever thanked anyone in his miserable, spoilt life? And why couldn’t Jimin have had that back then?
What, you would have changed your mind and stayed? His wolf snorts, and Jimin hates it too. Stupid, sassy thing. Our wolves are the deepest, most instinctual part of who we really are, Jiminie, Hoseok’s voice sounds, and Jimin bites on his lips hard. He cannot remember the omega, not now when he has limited control over himself.
The cohort salutes and leaves, dispersing fast until it’s just the two of them in the massive driveway. “Did you just thank them?”
Taehyung frowns. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”
Because you never did, Jimin wants to point out, but then, Jimin wasn’t an exemplary character himself at seventeen. “Doesn’t seem like you.”
“Right, because I’m totally the same person you used to know,” Taehyung says, rolling his eyes. Jimin doesn’t like that; Taehyung has to be because if he’s changed… “So let’s go over the story quick.”
“We already did. I don’t see the point in discussing something which you’ll obviously use as opportunities for more sex jokes.”
“I swear, I won’t,” Taehyung smiles, taking a step back. Immediately, Jimin’s wolf whines. “Look, I know you think I’m having fun at your expense, and I am, but I’m also serious about this. And I would like if this doesn’t blow back up in either of our faces.”
Jimin gulps. It’s just a matter of a couple of weeks. Once Jimin’s woven in, all he has to do is find a way to kill Joonjae, cover his tracks, make sure Taehyung is free—and get the hell out. That’s all. He’s done worse for recon missions. “You’re right. And no, do not use it against me in the future.”
Taehyung smiles. “Right. So. The nightclub thing?”
“It’s a little too…lusty,” Jimin says, biting his lips. He can’t believe he’s out in front of a fancy house discussing fake relationship stories with a person he hates. Rivaled with for a decade. “It’ll look suspicious. Unless you do fall in love in two seconds flat because you have a problem?”
“Ha, very funny,” Taehyung says, tapping his lips. It brings attention to his lip ring, which is highly distracting for this mission. “No, you’re right. I’m not that sort of a person. So we need to borrow from history.”
“We weren’t exactly in love back then,” Jimin says, looking around. Taehyung doesn’t say anything, and when Jimin looks, the other is looking down. “How do we go from fucking to ‘we met and sparks flew and now I have heart-boners for you’?”
“Exactly like that,” Taehyung mutters. “Camp was…stressful. There was a lot of pressure back then, on you and me both. Fucking was a casual, no-strings-attached thing. Now, things are different.”
“How?”
“I’ve grown up, Father trusts me more and I’m trained. You’re…away from this lifestyle, and we just—we have time now. Time we didn’t back then.”
There it is again, that soft tone. Like Taehyung has fond memories of the past that haunts Jimin still. “That’s…good enough. So we met how?”
“Don’t know yet, but I’ll figure something out. You follow my lead,” Taehyung says, and then he smirks—so Jimin braces himself for the next crude remark. “Try not to fall in love with me for real, though.”
Moon above, what a self-entitled prick. “What, really? Oh no, what will I ever do, my real plans have been foiled!” Jimin gasps, hiding his face behind his hands before giving Taehyung a middle finger. “Sorry to tell you, but I fall for people with a personality.”
“So I’m in danger then.”
“I'm glad you finally realised,” Jimin says sweetly, then pushes past him. “Come on now. I’m sure people monitoring the feed are wondering why we’re in the driveway.”
“You’re so gorgeous, I couldn’t help myself.”
Jimin thanks the Moon Goddess he’s not facing Taehyung, because damn that’s a smooth line. “Save the drama for inside. Let’s go.”
“As you wish, baby.”
Jimin smiles to himself.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin’s phone went off the grid near the tail end of the Han River on the night of the murder. His apartment had been empty for over a week, and the doorman didn’t have a lot of information about where he’d gone next.
“He seemed worried, but told me had a family emergency,” the man says, shrugging. According to Yugyeom’s intel, the cameras around the area haven’t shown Jimin or that man, that alpha, anywhere close. “I was surprised he had a family.”
Huh. Not that it’s any of Jungkook’s concern, but the blank in Jimin’s file also digs at him. “His parents are dead.”
“Oh, I meant apart from them,” he says, pity in his eyes. “Jimin-ssi would visit the funeral home regularly. But he never mentioned anyone else, Jungkook-ssi.”
Right, because maybe Jimin never had a family in the first place. With the kind of experience Jimin had shown, it would make sense that he’d been trained from a young age. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch if there are any new developments.”
Jungkook walks back to his car, ringing Yugyeom up. “Yo!”
“Dead end,” Jungkook says as a greeting, getting inside. “Any luck with the cameras?”
“Taking their time. It’s a lot of data and a lot of Park Jimins to filter out,” Yugyeom drawls, munching on something. “Apparently your boy cancelled his phone services and froze his bank accounts. That which we know of.”
What the hell? “So this is like…a proper vanishing, off-the-grid type of thing?”
“Dunno, dude, but it reeks,” Yugyeom says, clicking away. “Like not being in the system? This is a special guy.”
Special is a good word, alright. “Let me know if the cameras lead you anywhere. Thanks, Gyeomie.”
“Mwah, just buy me beef next time!”
The line clicks, and Jungkook’s left staring at the screen. The background picture is one of him and Jimin—they’d gone on a trip to Tokyo, and it had been the best trips of his life. He couldn’t shut up about it for weeks after. As it is, it pathetically also looks like Jungkook had been obsessed with his crush, and the picture now makes him cry.
He just misses Jimin so much.
Or whoever he was. Regular civilians didn’t know about vanishing without a trace. Most people didn’t know just how much they were monitored, how much information they gave away simply by existing. Even the records Jungkook has now of Jimin after he turned the legal age—the omega has led a careful life. A sense of control all over, like he had to keep tabs on himself at all times.
Jungkook had figured Jimin was just one of those omegas. The ones who have seen a lot and have put up walls, especially because of the alphas around. Jungkook had enough stories from his moms, and he’d been okay with it. How careful Jimin was. Never the kind of guy to flirt a lot or have a lot of hookups. He had his fun, but never beyond a certain number of drinks. Keeping track of his health and friends, very ‘mom of the group’ responsibility which Jungkook, frankly, had enjoyed.
To think that maybe all that was just an offset of a different sort of life…
Jungkook places his head on the wheel as tears leak out.
He’s filing in the paperwork for his latest case when he gets a text from Yugyeom.
Yugyeom
Managed to locate him. Come over lunch break. We can look.
[Sent: 11:23 a.m.]
Jungkook sends a thumbs up, putting it away. He’s excited and can’t wait for lunch hour to begin soon enough. He needs to know. He’s not even sure if it’s about safety anymore or simply proving himself right.
Yugyeom greets him strangely, and that’s saying something. “So, before we look—I think you should know something.”
“Huh?”
“Your omega is…I don’t know how to put this. But a lot of the shots looked like he wanted to be noticed.”
“What?” Jungkook asks, dragging a chair and sitting next to the hacker. The flat screen has a series of blown-up images waiting to be looked through. “What do you mean? Like a cry for help?”
“Not that, but like…I don’t know, man. It seemed deliberate in a lot of places. Like he knew the cameras were there.”
That…makes sense. Someone wanting to vanish would know how to avoid the cameras… but then, deliberate? “Okay. Let me see.”
Yugyeom does. Jungkook hadn’t told him about Namsan, so they start from the Han River—Jungkook’s heart races when he sees a tiny figure at the edge. Hopes that Yugyeom doesn’t see those body bags. But as they zoom in, it’s only Jimin, hunched over. “That’s the first shot?”
“Yep. Based on the timeline you gave, I started from here. One moment it was empty, next he was just—there.”
They see Jimin crush something under his boot—his phone presumably—and chuck the device across the water. Then he walks away—until they come to another feed, some couple of hours later. It shows Jimin in a…is that a new car? He’s waiting at a red light—and looking straight at the camera ahead.
“He sure knows how to hide. Which is why I said all this is deliberate,” Yugyeom says, and Jungkook can see why. The average civilian would have shown up in so many places.
“How many feeds are there?”
“Like maybe twelve?” Yugyeom answers, slurping on his coffee. “So you can see why.”
“Yeah, that’s not normal.” Unless one was used to working in the shadows. “Keep moving.”
They follow the silver car, as it merges into the highway. The next time, Jimin’s entering a gated society—new, one of those complexes built far away from the city so that the rich can experience a ‘suburban’ life. What they mean is they don’t want to share the same city with grubby Seoulites, Jimin had snorted when reading the description—Jungkook knows that place. Had Jimin bought one of the houses? “That’s one of those high-end homes, right?”
“Yep, where the rich can pretend they are not human,” Yugyeom snorts, clicking away. “That’s about it. There was a corrupted file—but I’m not able to access it though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it was there, but it’s probably been wiped clean and a corrupted one has been left in its place. Can’t restore it. It was from some kind of motel near this swanky place if that helps.”
“Okay. Thanks, Yugyeom.”
“All good,” Yugyeom says. He stretches, the knots in his back cracking. “Go find your lover boy.”
Sure, that’s what it’s going to be. A lovely, grand reunion straight out of Jungkook’s dreams.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin nearly stumbles right where he stands when the massive oak doors swing open.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
“Are my eyes deceiving me or…?”
“Nope, we did a major revamp. Welcome home, baby,” Taehyung says, a hand at the base of Jimin’s spine, pushing him in gently. The floors are squeaky clean, all Italian marble and reflecting Jimin’s face. Which, by the way, he looks like shit. “Don’t worry, the old camp is there. Somewhere.”
“What the hell is this bright and sunny place,” Jimin says, looking around. He feels a bit stupid, getting so tongue-tied—but jeez, camp back then had been dark and damp, more like a dungeon and an unwelcome place. There had been a persistent stench of scent blockers and neutralisers, and now there was some kind of pleasant fake floral perfume. “I swear to god if you’ve kidnapped me—”
“Shh, none of that. Trust me, the camp of your nightmares is there. I’ll take you on a tour.”
“How romantic.”
“Only the best for my best,” Taehyung says, leading Jimin down. “We hit a jackpot with a couple of deals some years ago. Decided we needed a better place if we went down the more…business-y route, so to say.”
Oh. So not just an assassin camp anymore. “So it’s not…?”
“We do all kinds of things now. Importing, exporting, killing, a bit of clean deals so the monarchy doesn’t fuck us inside out—stuff like that.”
“Like a mob.”
Taehyung wrinkles his nose. “Well, a classier version of it.” He twirls in place, stopping in front of Jimin. “Cool, right? Father resisted a lot, but Jin-hyung and I talked some sense into him.”
It makes sense. Joonjae was a traditionalist asshole. “Seems like an omega’s touch.”
“Most of it was actually mine,” Taehyung bristles, and Jimin gapes. “What? I like decorating.”
Jimin wants to snap back about how that’s a lie but then…he hadn’t really known Taehyung. Who he had been outside of a killer and his father’s loyal guard dog, and Jimin’s fuck buddy. “That’s…nice. Good taste.”
The complement is sour in his mouth, but Taehyung beams. “Thank you! I appreciate that. Took a lot of time.”
The alpha turns around and walks, whistling away. Jimin follows.
It makes things difficult for the recon. Jimin has a fair idea of the old structure—he spent nearly thirteen years learning its ins and outs. With this new establishment, he’s not sure how to navigate without raising suspicion. He’s already located at least five cameras just in this hallway alone, so everything had to be precise.
They come at the end—and it opens to another room, less bright and more camp-like, yet still tastefully decorated. Less like an interior designer puked all over it, and more like someone with respect for art history went to town on it instead. Which means—
“Let me guess, this is all Namjoon?” Jimin whispers, his voice echoing somehow despite the number of things present. The ceiling has always been tall—it had been like walking in a cave somehow, even though they hadn’t yet reached the underground structure, or more terrifying still—the catacombs. “Feels like him.”
Taehyung shrugs. “It’s the art nerd in him, what can one say,” he says, hands in his pockets. “You already seem to be catching on, Jiminie.”
“I did spend a lot of time with him,” Jimin says, watching the way Taehyung stiffens slightly, jaw tense. Still so easy, even after a decade. An alpha pup, his omega giggles, and for once, Jimin agrees with it. “I’d recognise his, hmm, touch anywhere.”
It’s worth it. The way Taehyung halts, jaw ticking and breathing fast. Jimin stands behind him, arms crossed. It’s cheap, definitely. And he deserves to be, considering the amount of crudeness the alpha gets up to. He isn’t surprised when Taehyung turns towards him, eyes blazing.
“I’m sure you would,” he murmurs, tone not in alliance with the irritation in his eyes, his scent. Somehow, Jimin’s always been able to tell Taehyung’s emotions from his scent alone. “You must have missed him, if you remember him so fondly.”
“A lot, actually,” Jimin continues, poking at Taehyung’s chest. He doesn’t falter even when he gets the hint of hard planes underneath. “He was such a kind alpha. So steady, dependable. And goddess, his dimples,” Jimin sighs, smiling to himself. The fun part about all this is, Jimin isn’t even lying. Namjoon’s dimples had been to die for. Or in his case, kill for. He turns towards Taehyung, lip curling. “Pity I had to settle for the lesser brother.”
The moment he says it, he knows it is mean. The kind that digs under Taehyung’s skin, and picks at his deepest insecurities. Insecurities Jimin hadn’t known but guessed at, in the way assassins were trained to glean information without asking. The kind he’d seen Taehyung bear quietly, every time a master admonished him or put the brothers in a sparring ring, Joonjae watching with a dark gleam in his eyes.
The kind Jimin used to think was unfair, and still does, but he can’t stop. Some part of him wants to punish Taehyung for dragging him here after so long, for bringing him back to where it all started. Where he lost his chance for a normal life, where he’d been left and no one had ever looked for him. He wants Taehyung to…hurt, really. To feel even a fraction of the pain Jimin’s been pushing aside because he refuses to lose himself in this camp, this nightmare he’d barely escaped from.
And the Moon Goddess be cursed, he knows he’s towing a dangerous line. Back then, they’d say the pettiest things to each other, keep digging until they both bled and they’d relish in that bleeding. The kind teenagers enjoy—but they’re no longer teenagers. Jimin knows better now. Knows how to be kind, to walk away, and still have his head held high. Yet, coming back to this place unlocks all his darkest shadows, and Jimin hates Taehyung for that.
Hates him for drawing it out ever so slowly, since the night he crashed into Jimin’s life and ruined it.
It’s a dangerous thing, because if there’s one thing Jimin knows like the back of his hand—it is Taehyung’s temper, and how quickly it takes over. And maybe in punishing Taehyung, Jimin simply wants to punish himself for giving into the waiting shadows.
He isn’t surprised when Taehyung slams him against the wall, and the cold flick of a switchblade rests against his throat. “Namjoon wouldn’t have done this so quickly.”
Jimin smiles. Holds himself absolutely still. “Namjoon wouldn’t have done this at all,” he says, and the blades scrapes against the hollow of his throat. How thin the skin is. “Maybe that’s why he’s the better one, don’t you think?”
Taehyung, above all, abhorred being compared. The youngest of the three siblings, the least alpha-like. The son of a dictator, yet considered almost a runt by many. Too pretty, too soft. Too gentle, some masters would say, and Jimin then had never understood why Taehyung was still in the running. Why he was competing at all, stealing all this space. It hadn’t been fair.
The alpha had never said it, but Jimin could taste it. The subtle ways Joonjae would pin the siblings against each other. The way Taehyung was kept a little further away, had to earn his spot next to Joonjae. The way sometimes Taehyung would lose to Namjoon or even Seokjin while sparring and fuck Jimin a little rougher. That desperation to prove himself.
So if Jimin’s using it right now? Maybe he’s not so bad. All’s fair in hate and war, after all.
“Don’t,” Taehyung whispers, eyes boring into Jimin’s, flickering between that and his lips. Jimin dares him to do it, to even think about kissing him. The position is all too familiar; Jimin against a wall, Taehyung towering over him. Their scents out of control, even back then with their scent blockers still on. It invokes all of Jimin’s worst and…fine, best, memories, loathe as he is to admit it. “Don’t rile me up.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Don’t play coy,” Taehyung warns, tapping the blade. Taehyung’s eyes strain towards Jimin’s throat as he uses the blunt edge to scrape against it. Jimin shivers, the betrayal of want joining the anger. The sadness. “You’re angry with me.”
“Congratulations, asshole. Didn't know you could tell.”
“No. You’re angry because I brought you back,” Taehyung murmurs, still trailing the knife along the edges of his neck. So close to Jimin’s mating gland, and it throbs, with need or danger—Jimin isn’t able to tell. “Isn’t it? You wouldn’t be so mean otherwise.”
He says it softly. Gently, like he’s cradling the words in his arms. Pity lines his eyes, and Jimin hates it. How is Taehyung able to read him so well? “Excuse me? I’ve always been mean to you.”
“Not the way you could have been,” Taehyung says, still soft. Jimin wants him to scream, to growl—to be angry at him. To hurt him so he doesn’t have to relive this stupid camp and its stupid memories anymore. “It’s fine. I get it. Just don’t do it in front of the others.”
Then Taehyung pulls back, keeping a safe distance between him and Jimin—and flicking the blade shut. It’s a tiny thing, hanging from a bracelet on his wrist that Jimin hadn’t seen before, what the fuck? He really has worsened with time…but why is he upset about that?
“I meant it,” Jimin seethes, still against the wall, willing his heart to calm down. His omega has curled into itself tightly. Alpha isn’t mad at us, is he? It asks, and Jimin tells it to shut up. He doesn’t care what Taehyung feels about or towards him. “I meant every word.”
He hadn’t, and Taehyung knows that. The alpha smiles, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m sure you did, darling. All that pent-up rage. Or should I say frustration?” Taehyung tilts his neck, looking akin to a playful puppy. “Liked being pinned to a wall, Jiminie? I remember how thoroughly you enjoyed it.”
Goddess above, someone please kill Taehyung. “I liked being fucked against the wall. Not held at knifepoint.” Jimin pushes himself off, pushing past Taehyung. He hates him. Lunar Mother be damned but he hates him, and hates all those memories, and hates how Taehyung hits the aim every damn time— “Get over yourself."
“You really hurt my feelings out there,” Taehyung drawls, strolling behind him while Jimin walks briskly towards the exit of the hallway. The door is dark, iron spikes lodged deep into it—the original entrance of the camp. Jimin breathes through the panic. “Considering how often Namjoon-hyung rejected you.”
“Shut up,” Jimin hisses, bile rising up in his throat. Those gates. Where he’s walking now had all been dusty nothingness for miles on end while the orderly had pushed him inside on his stumbling legs, while his mom just stood there and did nothing— “He was a decent alpha. Unlike someone else.”
“I feel like I was more honest,” Taehyung says, his steps quickening—yet still far behind. “Fair warning, the other side is teeming with guards.”
“And I’m your omega, surely you’ll fucking protect me?”
“Not with that attitude I won’t,” Taehyung says, though his tone sounds—pleased. Typical alpha, pleased to have an omega submit to them. There’s an alarm from his phone, and he stops, frowning when he checks it. His lips purse into a thin line, mild irritation lining his face. “Could you wait? Kyungmin texted me; I need to check something out.”
No, Jimin can’t wait. If he waits, he’ll have to think, and Jimin can’t think, he can’t let the memories flood his brain. The iron spikes, the way Jimin clutched at them as he stared and stared before he screamed, before the guard pulled him in and he kept screaming— “I’d prefer to get this over with now so I can get out of here soon.”
Taehyung sighs. “Jimin, c’mon. It’ll take a couple of moments, so just wait. I’d rather you don’t do something rash and ruin this from the start.”
“Wow, that’s bold of you,” Jimin mutters, shifting from foot to foot. He can’t wait. He can feel the pull, the rush to get out of here before he gives in. “Whatever. As if I care.”
Not that Taehyung cares either, because he leaves Jimin right there, right where it all started, and sure the dusty lands are fruitful now, but Jimin knows what is right underneath. Knows the spot under his feet, the way it had been steady rubble when he’d left that night, how he hadn’t dared to look back. No amount of shiny marble or classical artwork would ever hide the ugly truth from Jimin.
He can’t think. He refuses to think, and maybe that’s why instead of waiting and being rational about it, he’s willing to take his odds with the guards because Jimin’s done doing that after a lifetime of it. It’s fruitless to wait, and this had been his first lesson at age five.
For the first time in ten years—Jimin pushes against the door—and watches as they give way.
🖤⚔🖤
Jungkook makes it all the way to Jimin’s secret second home when his phone rings and Yoongi’s name glares at him from the screen.
“Hello?” Jungkook says, his breath harsh. He’s driven for nearly an hour and then some, leaving behind the congested Seoul traffic till he pulled into one of the highways, and then to the desolate, underdeveloped regions close by. It’s already rich; Jungkook can tell by the quality of the air. “Yoongi-hyung?”
“Kook-ah?” Yoongi says, voice raspy and sore. It sounds like the aftermath of an alpha’s call to calm down an omega’s distress. “Where are you?”
Right, Jungkook hadn’t told him. He hasn’t told anyone, having requested some time off citing his mother’s health. The chief in charge of his branch is a kind man, and Jungkook didn’t have to haggle much. “Out on some work. Why? Is everything…okay?”
No one knows where he is except Yugyeom. The beta had provided him the coordinates and the various feeds, but held his hands up at helping Jungkook from beyond the computer—something reeks all over this, man. I don’t like it. Jungkook doesn’t blame him. He’s grateful he’s gotten him this far—but this is Jungkook’s choice and madness. He’s not going to drag anyone down with him beyond necessary.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good…” Yoongi trails off, but something sounds off. He sounds tired and drained like he’s at the last line—and Jungkook’s heart pinches. He’s left his pack at such an unstable, grievous time. “Actually, no. No, it isn’t good. Hoseok’s asking for you, Kook.”
Jungkook halts the car. Just at the edge of his vision, he can see the gates of Jimin’s complex. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that Hoseok’s weakening and his omega wants pack around. I,” Yoongi shudders, his voice cracking. Jungkook clutches at his phone. “I am not enough anymore, Jungkook. He wants the pack.”
“Shit, hyung.”
“Can you drop what you’re doing and come, please? Yoongi’s never begged. Always the stoic, steady hyung. Even the first time Jungkook had met him and felt intimidated, he’d also felt…safe. Like he could trust the other alpha, despite his serious look and dark eyes. “Hoseok’s omega would never ask. You know that.”
Jungkook aches to drop everything and make it back. Refuse to leave Hoseok’s nest. But he’s so close, and he knows Hoseok won’t be okay with just him either. No, who he needs is the most important member of their makeshift pack. “I can’t, hyung. I’m…I’m really occupied.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Jungkook doesn’t even have to face Yoongi to understand the angry huff in his voice. “Occupied with what? What could be more important than Hoseok being sick?”
A tired, distressed alpha was a primal alpha, close to their wolf and far from their rationality. Jungkook knows this, and he doesn’t begrudge Yoongi—but it hurts anyway. “Finding Jimin-hyung.”
He squeezes his eyes shut even though he knows Yoongi can’t see him, or the guilt he’s sure he’d be showing if he had been there. The silence is telling enough, Yoongi’s anger and disappointment cutting through the network. “What.”
“I’m sorry, hyung. But I can’t give up. Not like this.”
“Jungkook.”
“I have to find him. I have to know he’s okay,” Jungkook rambles, phone held so tight his palm hurts. Blood rushes to his ears the harsher Yoongi breathes. He’s probably gearing for an Alpha Command, the pack alpha’s ultimate call—and if Jungkook hears it, he’ll be compelled to listen and drop it. He needs to cut it before it can get through. “I’m going to find Jimin-hyung, and bring him back. Take care of Hoseok-hyung till then.”
Yoongi growls through the phone, and Jungkook feels it lodge at the base of his neck. Shit. “Jeon Jungkook—”
“I’ll see you soon, hyung! Don’t look for me. I love you, I’m sorry.”
Then Jungkook hangs up—and with it, cuts all contact with Yoongi.
🖤⚔🖤
The entrance is just as he remembers.
Ten years. Ten years and Jimin remembers it like the back of his hand. The tunnel-like passage made of rock as dark as ebony, the torches flickering with flames and providing a dim light. With a step, it’s like Jimin’s back in time—only this time, he’s still very much his present age.
It’s huge. The ceilings are high above and dark, and the air is cold. It had always been cold, but October onwards had been frigid hell. Jimin exhales in white puffs, and he shivers. His tracksuit does little to keep him warm.
Goddess, it’s still the same. Like she’d dipped her quill in the ink of Jimin’s memory and drawn it right out, the stuff of his nightmares. The ground is the same slate grey, and Jimin remembers being five and his shoes squeaking on it as he tried to keep up with the orderly. Remembers how silent he’d been when he’d finally sneaked out, the floor stained with blood.
It’s training that keeps him deathly silent even now. Training, or maybe habit. Jimin’s body will never forget what it’s like to be an assassin.
He takes another step—and immediately his path is blocked. With spears, what in the name of medieval Korea? “Um? What?”
Brilliant. Great going Park Jimin, ten on ten eloquent assassin of the century. “State your name and purpose,” one of the guards barks—ooh, they’re even wearing a different uniform now.
“I’m Park Jimin. Under Kim Taehyung’s watch,” Jimin says carefully, heart racing when the guards don’t make a move. “Kim Taehyung? The assassin?”
“We weren’t told of any visitors.”
Oh, what the hell? “What do you mean? I was told explicitly that I would be granted entry.”
The guard raises an eyebrow. “We don’t see the Young Master with you.”
Shit, right. Taehyung had asked him to wait, and Jimin hadn’t because when has he ever listened to Taehyung? But the asshole should have informed the guards! “He’s gone to attend to a matter. He’ll be here shortly and told me to go on without him. Let me through.”
Jimin takes another step—and his chest is slammed back by the spears. “Back away. Another step and you’ll be taken.”
He so did not have time for this. “Are you serious? My dudes. Listen. I’m Park Jimin. Ask any of your buddies here, I was an assassin here. One of the best, really.”
The guard snorts. “All the more reason that this is a plot, and the Young Master has been taken care of.” He tilts his head and takes a deep sniff. “An omega assassin? Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Serves the Master right,” the other asshole snorts, his grip on the spear loosening. “Sinking into any omega’s cunt. Sends them our way and makes shit difficult.”
“Forgets fuckin’ protocol,” the first one mutters, eyes now raking over Jim’s body. Disgust crawls under Jimin’s skin. “One of the best. You’re just an omega whore he decided to leave, sweet thing. No one’s coming for you.”
“A good one this time,” the second one says, walking around Jimin. He’s close enough that Jimin smells that nothing scent again, the horrible aftermath of scent blockers. He stands still, and flinches when the man—alpha, most likely, Joonjae preferring traditional roles—presses a hand at the base of his spine. “Gotta say, Master has a good pick of ‘em. Look at this ass, moon above.”
The issue with traditional, alpha supremacist assholes is that they always, always forget how angry omegas are. How much they burn inside, how they crave violence but keep quiet, keep it buried because the anger has consequences. The issue with the assassin variety of the same is they forget that omega or not, an assassin is an assassin. And Jimin had been a damn good one.
The guard squeezes Jimin’s butt—and all hell breaks loose.
He slams his foot back into the guard’s kneecap—smiling at the satisfying crunch that echoes through the tunnel—before turning around, grabbing him by his neck—and slamming his forehead into his nose.
The iron of blood replaces the nothingness, and Jimin doesn’t wait. He whirls the alpha around, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him over his shoulder and into the ground—before taking his spear and driving it deep into the guard’s gut.
The first one watches with his mouth open—and Jimin smiles.
The cool thing about not thinking mode is—Jimin doesn’t have to cater to any thought. In this zone, he can let loose, and give in to the bloodlust that’s been building ever since—a grotesque wake-up call, the slumbering monster awakening at last. The one that Jimin’s stuffed and stuffed, tied up, and held hostage through sheer willpower, but it had never truly died. It probably never will, and somewhere he’s glad he didn’t kill it entirely. It’s hungry now after years of being deprived, and it laps up the sacrifices offered.
Sheesh, Jimin sounds like a maniacal ritualistic killer. Oh well. Maybe someone will make a true-crime documentary on him someday.
The guard yells, running towards him with his spear—and Jimin waits until he’s just close enough before grabbing the spear and using the guard’s momentum to pull him forward, twist the spear right in his arms—and push it forward in the man’s chest. Blood bursts out in a spray, and the man falls to his knees. What a pretty position for an alpha.
“That’s two,” Jimin says, watching as the guard slumps forward and the spear pushes through further, the grind of bones a strange squelch. It’s not as disgusting as Jimin thinks it would have been. “Spears. Did no one teach them physics?”
He walks past the two bleeding bodies— but the gates open at the other end, and another team of guards comes out. Right, the first one had yelled like the typical alpha knothead. These ones don’t have spears, thank fuck—but there is an assortment of blades and daggers, and thankfully no guns. Joonjae used to believe guns were a form of cowardice, and a true assassin was one who could wield weaponry without convenience. Oh boy, when Jimin killed him—he’d do it with a silencer just to rub it in the dick’s face.
Jimin has his daggers—his sweet little babies. But against this team, he’d have to be careful about flinging them carelessly, since he won’t be able to retrieve them easily. He breaks the spear still sticking in the first alpha’s chest—and gets it out, the blade dripping blood. His tracksuit is definitely messed up, and he’s going to make Taehyung pay for a new one. Everything’s going on his tab.
Jimin faces the group—and beckons them forward with a crooked finger.
It’s not even a fair fight, in the end.
Not because Jimin’s outnumbered. That’s never been a problem for him. He’d meant it when he told Taehyung the night of the dinner that he could take all of his men out, and he wouldn’t be winded. It’s still easy, his body remembering the training like lyrics to a song.
It’s not as effortless, though, even if Jimin slips into the mindset fast enough; his reaction time is slower than it used to be. He runs through them like a waterfall, and by the time he’s done with most of them, the grey floor is slick with blood and his tracksuit is in tatters. Jimin’s sure he’s way worse, splattered head to toe.
He’s become slower—and maybe that’s why, as he’s lost in the high of winning and finally, finally standing up for himself—he’s apprehended by surprise.
A secret door camouflaged within the side walls. Shit. Jimin struggles as the guard—a beta, but one built like a rock—grabs him in a chokehold and stays there. The second one comes upfront—these ones are wearing formal suits, clean as a baby’s breath—and looking unbothered by the mess Jimin has created.
It doesn’t stop them from landing one on his nose, ow. “Page the staff to clean this up. We are to have guests soon.”
“Roger that.”
Guests? Cleaning staff? What the hell has this camp come to? Jimin struggles against the hold of the beta but it’s like being bound by a steel rod. He opens his mouth for a distress call— Taehyung has to be close by—and the guard at the front doesn’t even look as he stuffs Jimin’s mouth with a cloth. It tastes like bitter chemicals and instantly makes him woozy—not chloroform, but a numbing agent all the same. If Jimin struggles to speak, his own saliva would take it in—and he’s not eager to find out if the material is poisonous or not.
He did not miss this aspect of an assassin camp. The constant death lingering, the thousand ways he could die before he even blinks.
So he keeps his mouth shut, controlling his glands—and walks steadily, as much as he can. Shouldn’t the guards be able to smell Taehyung on him? What was the point of scenting and nearly becoming a brain-addled whore if it does nothing? Or maybe the blood is overpowering the scent, his wolf is pumping his own out.
It doesn’t matter; Jimin’s being dragged down the familiar tunnel as a captive—and the panic bubbles in his gut. Where is Taehyung, where is the useless alpha and why did he have to leave now—
Well, you could have waited but you had to be a bad omega, his wolf huffs, and Jimin growls at it. Unhelpful bitch. Wait, no, then he’d be talking about himself like that, and that’s the last thing Park Jimin is going to accept. No self-hate in this house, nuh-uh.
They don’t go towards the end of the tunnel—no, they take the detour, going down the secret side doors. It’s something he’s never seen before, and it pinches at him, how in his thirteen years here, he hadn’t come across this. Bad assassin. It’s a tight fit, and the bitterness of scent blockers almost gets to him when the walkway suddenly breaks out into a large room.
A room he unfortunately recognises.
A room he’s spent countless hours in, sometimes punished and rarely praised. A room that still, even now, unlocks Jimin’s worst memories, and pulls him right back into his past.
For there, at the end of the long table, stands someone Jimin had hated and feared in equal tandem, and never quite processed those feelings after leaving.
“You were impressive back there,” the person says, hand in his pocket and a graceful arm leaning on the chair. A fire burns in the hearth beyond, its flames making the shadows flicker. “I didn’t even need a moment. I’d recognise a Park Jimin kill anywhere.”
The person’s still showing their back— but Jimin would recognise the omega anywhere.
“I suppose it’s been a long time coming. Welcome home, Park Jimin.”
It’s been ten years. And yet, no amount of time would make Jimin ever forget Kim Seokjin.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
me: i'm writing for fun and not caring lalala
also me: *analyses each plot hole, worries over how to plan the fic ahead, and procrastinates indefinitely* :D
no but for real, I hit a planning block (yes, that's another horror writer's have to deal with. Writing is easy. Planning? Devil's love child). I'm stuck at ch 8, and I have all these glorious scenes all across the plotline but I'm missing the parts to link them seamlessly together.also i loved this ch sm? it's not as plot-centric, and focuses more on jimin's inner experience of returning to camp-- i loved writing the whole panic attack-trauma response scene with the fighting, the mixed feelings he has, and how he hasn't recovered from his past. and ALSO THE CLIFFHANGER REVEAL HAHAHAHA
Hope u liked it, apologies for the rambling. See you next ch (whenever THAT is oh god pls let ch 8 insights come soon).
Chapter 7: And There Is Only One Bed
Notes:
i'm backkkk
sooo remember when I was lamenting the last chapter about having no clue and no plot? ya turns out i can't trust myself because my long story many words loving ass has plotted a story that's worth 20+ chapters at least so y'all are in for a RIDE.
Anyway- here's 10k because I can't write short. I should give up on this goal. I just cannot NOT plot and add drama. that's not me. Thank god this is fanfiction and not a book being published IRL because the publishing house would throw it away fr fr.
ENJOY!!
warning: minor torture with knives? i guess?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jimin had only been five when he’d started, and he didn’t think anything could be more difficult than training in the camp.
He thought wrong. For starters, being a part of the elite circle came with its own challenges.
Such as how Jimin now had to be twice as careful about opening his mouth. About the way he acted, how well he did, and who he spoke to. How he survived, and that had never been easy—but the circle made it worse.
The elite circle consisted of students belonging to the richest families in the underbelly of Korea. Not mere mercenaries like the rest of them, but leaders. Powerful people. And Jimin stuck out like a sore thumb, a thorn in a bush of roses. Unclean and underprepared. A runt.
Jimin hated them from the start. The snobbish attitudes with their noses up in the air. Their shimmering uniforms, blades sharp enough to cut just by looking at them. How they never seemed to run out of new ones or how they never slogged over preparing them, not the way Jimin did simply to keep up.
He hated them all. He was scared of them too. And none scared him more than Kim Seokjin— the eldest son of the Kingpin.
At ten, when he’d entered the circle— Jimin had been struck by the force that was Seokjin, and that too at the mere age of thirteen. A phenomenon of its own kind—ferocious, beautiful, and untouchable. The Kingpin’s favourite.
Jimin both feared him and hated him.
He’d always look down at Jimin as if he was vermin and didn’t deserve a place amongst the rest of them. It wasn’t even in petty words, not the way Taehyung would say things. If there was anyone that made it abundantly clear how unwanted Jimin was both at camp and perhaps, in life—Kim Seokjin took the prize.
Jimin didn’t quite know how to face that.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin finds himself frozen.
It’s like being ten all over again. The surroundings have changed; it’s not the main hall with hundreds of trainees—it’s the dining, designed for kings but carrying none of the glamour. Jimin had only been allowed here sparingly—and for good reason. The room carried the stench of death deep within its walls.
Kim Seokjin somehow makes it colder.
“You know, I didn’t believe it when the guards told me someone was attacking all the other sentries,” Seokjin says, still showing his back to Jimin, fingers gliding along the back of the head chair. In the fire, his silhouette glows. “It would be foolish to try. Then I saw Daesik’s body, so it clicked.”
In the frigid light of the room, the omega finally turns around—and Jimin’s wolf whimpers. Ten years—and Seokjin hasn’t changed a bit.
Well, that would be a lie. When Jimin had been allowed to leave (honestly, it had been a good old escape), Seokjin had been a budding twenty years old. A decorated, established assassin, taking charge of factions that were simply unheard of for omegas to do, at least in a place so traditionally stifling like assassin camps. Seokjin had been formidable—teeth gnashing, claws out, and eyes a fiery blue. Always on the lookout for a threat. Jimin had been both terrified and in awe of the omega for his strength.
Seokjin has grown only more beautiful, and the nasty, insecure side of his wolf hisses in anger. How can one live in an assassin camp and keep looking like that?
“So, Park Jimin,” Seokjin says, words soft yet laced with a threat. The promise of power and how he could peel Jimin layer by layer. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Jimin hates this. He hates the power dynamics most assassins engage in. He does it too, but he does it sexily. What Seokjin’s doing is passing time before he inevitably orders the guards to impale Jimin on a pole. The omega wouldn’t catch himself getting his hands dirty taking care of a runt like Jimin.
Seokjin notes the gag and tuts. “Don’t just keep him gagged like that. I want to know if he’s still a loudmouth after all these years.”
So naturally, once the gag is out and because Jimin lacks a self-preservation instinct, or maybe he’s tired and weak and just killed, like, eight people in a go—he says what he says. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Yep, still the loudmouth,” Seokjin says calmly, lips curling upward. “Want to explain why you’ve returned and killed my men?”
His men. Huh. Is Joonjae really that sick to leave an omega in charge? Not that Jimin minds it, but Joonjae definitely did. Jimin had to fight tooth and nail as a mere member to be taken seriously; he can’t imagine how Seokjin must have fared. “Your guard squeezed my ass.”
Seokjin whistles, tilting to check Jimin’s ass out. “That should do it. Was it here or out in Seoul?”
Jimin stiffens. “You knew where I was?”
Seokjin scoffs. “You’ve not kept a low profile exactly. Not that I cared. Just tying off some loose ends back in the day,” he says casually, like he’s not admitting that they might have tracked Jimin after he left. After Joonjae had explicitly promised that Jimin would be left alone if he passed the trials. “You weren’t a gifted assassin. I’m still not sure what Father saw in you. Average at best.”
This is why Jimin hates him and avoided Seokjin like the plague. Not the fact that he was the eldest son of a dangerous man—but the casual disdain in his tone. Something about the way he acted had Jimin tucking his tail between his legs. “I was good enough to leave.”
Seokjin smiles, like he knows he’s gotten under Jimin’s skin. And the worst part is, he has. He doesn’t even have to do anything—he stands there in his million-dollar suit, hands in his pocket and a sneer on his face. “You have thirty seconds to explain why you’re here before I strip you tendon by tendon and serve it to the dogs.”
If someone else had said it, Jimin would have laughed. As it is, Jimin has always taken Seokjin seriously. “I need more than thirty seconds.”
“Then I suppose my darlings will be well-fed today.” Seokjin nods at the guards, and they capture Jimin’s arms instantly, nails biting through his tracksuit. “I should have had you killed the moment you trespassed.”
“I literally came in through the front door,” Jimin says, but the guard flicks open a pocket knife and digs it under Jimin’s chin, a trickle of blood traveling down his throat. Jimin panics. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m here with Taehyung!”
There’s nothing for a moment; just silence and the crackle of the hearth. Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “With…Taehyung?”
“Yes, your brother,” Jimin hisses, tilting his neck away from the blade, and keeping very, very still. “Taehyung got me here. You really think I want to be here?”
Okay, shit, he sounds like he’s a captive. What was he supposed to do? Act like Taehyung’s lover, and Jimin’s blown it already. Seokjin is so going to sniff this shit out, good god. “You expect me to believe that Taehyung, who you haven’t seen since you left, brought you here. To a camp. Which you betrayed.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. If Jimin messes up and Taehyung’s scheme is ruined from the start, the alpha isn’t even going to hesitate before killing Jungkook, Hoseok, and Yoongi. Why does Jimin open his stupid mouth? No, wait, why is he so shit scared of Seokjin that his brain melts into a useless puddle?
“I know how it sounds but I swear, I came here with Taehyung. I promise.”
“Your promises mean nothing to me,” Seokjin says slowly, walking over. Jimin’s omega is on its hackles, backing away. He can sense the omega in Seokjin rising up front, the way it establishes dominance. The heavy presence of it and how it chokes Jimin with a well-placed paw. “What prompted you to kill eight of my men?” Seokjin stands in front, a couple of steps away. Jimin smells nothing; he’s not sure what Seokjin’s scent is like. The omega has never been off scent blockers as far as Jimin’s been around. “And where is he?”
Never again is Jimin going to disobey Taehyung because goddess, he’s such a damn fool. So caught up in his panic, his rebellion that he’d forgotten that camp had changed. He might not have forgotten being an assassin but he’s definitely forgotten the sheer rules and the paranoia. The rigidity that had been ingrained in them, the one Jimin had taken years to train himself out of. Taehyung had asked him to wait, and Jimin had taken the warning for granted.
Oh man, the alpha is going to be insufferable about this—provided Jimin doesn’t die here first.
Jimin has nothing to say as a response, so Seokjin turns away and waves at the guards. One of them punches Jimin in the gut, and he wheezes. “S-shit, I don’t know.”
“Let’s try this again, Jimin-ssi,” Seokjin says, flicking a lighter on and off. “You infiltrated our base of operations, killed my guards, and continue lying about coming with my brother, who I haven’t heard from in a while. See how that sounds?”
What? Taehyung hadn’t been at camp? Jimin rises up when another guard twists his arm behind his back and the first soldier—a crew-cut adorned asshole—punches him again. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, curses that were thrown at Taehyung turning into curses for himself.
“I swear, I’m here with Tae— fuck, ow,” Jimin gasps, feeling the next punch in his ribs. It’s with knuckle rings too. “Seriously, Seokjin, I’m not lying. I have his scent on me!”
“Did you know we tend to release scents close to our deaths? It’s potent enough to overpower even scent blockers,” Seokjin comments, leaning against the table. Jimin waits because that’s all he can do. It’s better if the guards get a hit in because Seokjin’s specialty had never been brute violence. “You’d know that if you paid attention in class, but all you did was twirl around with your little games,” Seokjin says sweetly, though his lips curl around each syllable. “Had half the alphas wanking their cocks out, winding your way to the top. A sweet little runt. Now you’ve killed Taehyung, bathed in his scent, and gotten in. You must think you’re so smart. Or us incredibly stupid.”
“Killed—I haven’t killed him—will you stop punching me?” Jimin snaps, which gets him another one right on the left side. His body throbs. Fuck this. “This is all a serious misunderstanding and I’m not lying, Taehyung’s alive—”
Seokjin checks his nails, utterly disinterested, as the guards happily have their way. He’s not going to survive. All this fight, this struggle, but right now, Jimin doesn’t think he’ll survive. He’s trapped in his worst nightmare—alone in a camp surrounded by other trained assassins.
Jimin doesn’t know how, but somewhere in the middle of this realisation—he begins purring.
All at once, several of the alphas in the room stiffen, some stuffing their ears with fingers as they attempt to ignore Jimin’s call.
The guards around Jimin, however, barely react. Seokjin raises an eyebrow when Jimin stops momentarily, stunned. Omega guards? “What?”
“Did you really think I’m stupid enough to have alpha guards around me?” Seokjin asks quietly, eyes now ringed a light blue. Jimin tries to take a step back—but the guards hold on tight. “Was that your grand plan? Get the alphas down, take me on? We both know who would have lost.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t underestimate me.”
“In terms of skill? Please,” Seokjin scoffs, taking a hand out of his pocket—and a silver blade with it. It’s so thin, its edge vanishes in the light. “All you ever did was games and trickery. I don’t know what anyone ever saw in you, but I’m glad to be ending it at last. Reveal the truth and stop the infernal nonsense of what a great assassin you were.”
Seokjin nods and the guards drop his arms, taking a step back. Jimin’s knees shake, but he does his best to stand tall; he refuses to give in to Seokjin or his taunts. He stands even as Seokjin places the blade at the edge of his cheek, and draws a line; the slice of the blade against his skin is crisp, and Jimin bites his tongue. Seokjin stares the whole time, digging a little deeper at the hollow of his throat. It’s so close to his jugular that his mating gland throbs in fear.
The blood runs warm. Jimin is frozen.
He’s seven again, locked in one of the dungeons built underground. He’d failed his task, passed out in the sun, and dropped the water jug that he had to balance. Failure had been always punished, and the master had drawn the blade across his soft, supple baby skin. Jimin had cried. Pissed his pants, and shivered in the cold while the blood had run hot, a constant trickle. He’d thought he’d die that day. He didn’t yet know that blood could clot and injuries didn’t mean instant death.
He’s twenty-seven now, and he knows better—but the seven-year-old in him shivers, and when Seokjin’s blade slices through his shirt—Jimin opens his mouth and purrs loudly, uninhibitedly, chock full of fear. Alpha, alpha, please. Please, alpha, I don’t want to die.
The rational part of him hates it, hates that he can’t just slap the blade out of Seokjin’s hand and fight, fight like he’d been trained to do— there’s a distant ring in his ears, the overwhelming voices of his masters—you can’t even fight back? Is this what we trained you for? But his omega is subdued by the presence of another omega, a far more powerful one, and it whimpers in his chest.
Seokjin smiles red, and Jimin shuts his eyes. He’s going to die right where he began, and for all his hard work to be better, to grow into someone else—he’ll die as the one thing he hated the most in the world. A cold-blooded killer.
Somewhere Jimin shuts down, white noise in his ears as he gives into himself, curls inside—and a ferocious growl breaks through the chambers.
A warm press of air and then—
Jimin is pressed between a wall and a broad back, held back by an arm and much, much further away from Seokjin than he recalls. He blinks, because he had been sure he was about to die, and as he presses fingers to his cheeks, his hands come away red. The cut stings, and he feels the stickiness of the clot on his cheek, neck, and chest. That’s going to be a bitch of a scar to hide. He looks back up at the back covering most of his vision—and it smells pleasantly of lavender and leftover orange.
Oh. It’s Taehyung.
“How dare you,” Taehyung growls, standing tall and proud in front of Jimin. He smells…angry? But why? Ah, maybe because Jimin fucked up his plan and ruined it. Now he’s going to kill him, and then kill his friends out of spite, and in the end, Jimin still can’t do anything right— “How dare you harm my omega?”
The words ring in Jimin’s ears. It warms him up, straight into his chest and spine, a pleasant flush all over. He stands on his toes, leaning over Taehyung’s shoulder to watch—and the alpha growls lowly at his side, a warning sound. Jimin isn’t in control as he backs down. His omega has taken charge.
“So you’re not dead after all,” Seokjin says lightly, cleaning the blade with a handkerchief and packing it away. “What a pity. I was so worried for a moment there.”
“Overjoyed, you mean.”
“If you insist,” Seokjin shrugs, blue eyes glinting cruelly. “Little minx says he’s with you. Is that true?”
“My question first,” Taehyung snaps, stepping forward and pulling Jimin along with him, but keeping him close. Heat comes out in waves from his body, and Jimin takes it in. “Where is the compensation for your mark on him?”
Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Oh, grow up. It’s just a little cut.”
Taehyung snarls, and Jimin whines, swallowing it down. “It’s from his cheek to his chest, asshole!”
“And look how pretty he is with it!” Seokjin replies, turning around and walking towards the right of the head position. A maid brings in his meal in a covered silver dish, and Seokjin tucks himself in. “Quitting has made him pathetic. Look at that skin. Unblemished. Father would be so upset.” Seokjin digs into the meat. “Why are you upset, though? You hated him.”
“We were rivals. That’s different.”
“Oh, I hate to break this to you, but he definitely hated you,” Seokjin snorts, though his position never relaxes. “Don’t delude yourself, brother. Did you know he killed eight of my guards?”
Taehyung’s nose flares. Oh, he’s so upset. “I know.”
“So where’s my compensation for that?” Seokjin asks, delicately cutting the—steak, is it? Goddess, Jimin is so hungry— into thin slices, stacking them one by one. “Eight well-trained guards. My protégés. And your little runt killed them all.”
“You didn’t train them well then, did you?” Taehyung says, arms crossed. He even puffs his chest out. “Ten years of inactivity and Jimin still takes them out. Fucking hilarious.” The alpha smirks. “Actually, really fucking pathetic.”
Seokjin stabs the stack, a murderous glint in his eyes. “What is he doing here, Taehyung?”
“If only you’d led with that,” Taehyung says brightly, a whole switch from the protective alpha he was being. Jimin is taking his time to come to terms with what just happened, but once he gets his shit together—he’s going to kill him. For real. “I’m proud to announce that Jimin no longer hates me and we are very much in love.”
Then Taehyung pulls him from behind, and tucks Jimin in by the waist, squeezing it. Heat bursts instantly, and Jimin looks down. What the hell?
Seokjin blinks. “I’m sorry?”
Taehyung presses a cheek to Jimin’s head, rubbing into his hair like he’s some sort of— pet. The humiliation, moon above. The comfort is nice, his omega ventures, and Jimin hisses internally. Dumb bitch. “Jiminie and I came here together, hyung.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Moon above, you’re so slow in your old age,” Taehyung sighs. He turns Jimin towards him, his eyes full of…Jimin can’t call it anything but fondness, and it freaks him out. “To put it simply: Jimin and I are dating.”
Seokjin chokes on his meat and thumps himself on the back. Taehyung blinks innocently, though nothing about his smile can be innocent. Just follow his lead. He knows what he’s doing.
He literally got us killed, like, at least a million times.
And he saved you each time! Just don’t do anything stupid, please.
For once, Jimin will listen to his omega.
“What?!” Seokjin yells, his face red and eyes bloodshot from tears. The ring of blue has greatly reduced, but it’s still present; the rumours at the camp said that Seokjin never let his wolf recede. “You’re dating him?”
Taehyung grins. “Surprise?”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Seokjin snarls—snarls, like an alpha, even though he’s a hundred percent omega. It’s also a hundred percent effective in raising Jimin’s hackles. “You didn’t just vanish for fucking weeks and come back with a traitor. Let alone be dating him.”
“Traitor? Jimin left fair and square,” Taehyung says coolly, dragging a chair out and making Jimin sit. He stands behind, rubbing Jimin’s shoulders soothingly; he almost moans, wanting to sink into the warmth of those big hands. Wait, no, he hates Taehyung. His hands are not comforting. “In fact, I remember that one of his challenges had been to bypass you, and he did.”
“He left camp, you overgrown brat,” Seokjin hisses, glaring at Jimin. His eyes dart all over like he’s waiting for Jimin to start flinging his daggers all around. “He betrayed the Code. You were in in the fucking dungeons because of him. Or have you forgotten it all now that you’re getting your cock wet?”
“Splendidly wet, I must say,” Taehyung drawls, and Seokjin turns beet red, though Jimin isn’t any less; he feels like he’s on fire. Jimin pinches Taehyung in his thigh, and the alpha winces. “Sorry, baby. You know how I get when he’s being all mean.”
“Doesn’t mean you can talk about me like I’m an object,” Jimin says, and wow, his voice sounds so hoarse. All that fear did a number on him, but at least he didn’t piss his pants as he might have at age seven. “Seokjin, for fuck’s sake. We can explain.”
“Nothing can explain this,” Seokjin says, sitting down and curling his hands around the chopsticks. “Father is going to have your hide, Taehyung.”
“Right, like he’s been around to do that the last couple of months,” Taehyung scoffs, picking up Jimin’s hand and scenting along his wrist—there’s a light burst of oranges and lavender, and it calms Jimin’s frazzled nerves. Scratch killing Taehyung, there has got to be a way to kill his own wolf without permanent damage to himself. “Though if you go tattle to him as you’ve always done, then we’re going to have a mess to clean. Nothing new there.”
“I don’t tattle-tale.”
“No, you whine like his little prince and throw a fit,” Taehyung says, pulling out the chair next to Jimin and sitting in. He never lets go of Jimin’s hand, thumb rubbing circles into the back of it. “I’m sure he’ll understand. We’re grown up now.”
Seokjin looks between the two of them, then at their interlinked hands. Jimin tightens his hold, his omega giddy at the steady grip Taehyung has on him. Post-fight comfort, and it’s not enough. Not the way Jimin needs it to be. “Explain.”
“If I don’t?” Taehyung asks, clicking his fingers—one of the servants or whatever the hell they’re called—steps forward with a jug and two glasses. “I don’t recall owing you any information.”
“You do when I’m in charge,” Seokjin grits out, a vein throbbing in his otherwise immaculate forehead. It’s strange how different the omega is in Taehyung’s presence. Jimin had never seen the siblings interact outside of the sparring matches they’d all been forced to watch, and he’s fascinated, to say the least. “Which you would know if you weren’t running away all the time.”
Interesting, so very interesting. Here Jimin had thought Taehyung had been holed up in camp, planning the demise of his father, when Jimin should have realised—Taehyung never planned. A whimsical bastard if Jimin ever saw one and goddess, why him? Why did he have to be tied up with someone who didn’t have an ounce of planning in his stead?
“So the old man is letting his little cub play?” Taehyung says, a cruel smirk lining his pink mouth. “Finally realised he can let an omega take charge and not suffer for it.”
Over his dead body is Jimin having omega sexism being passed around. He would never fake-date a dick like that. “Excuse me? Omegas are great leaders.”
Taehyung huffs at him—Jimin sees the brief murder in his eyes before there’s a genial smile on his face. “Babe, you know I didn’t mean it that way.”
Right, Jimin had to play a role. “I know, I’m sorry. I just—it’s so hard for omegas in the cities too. Hearing things like that doesn’t make it easier.”
And then Jimin pouts.
Taehyung’s eyes visibly widen before he turns away, shaking his head. He turns on the charm, but wow, Jimin now knows he has a secret weapon in his arsenal and it’s not only his ass. Who knew? “Anyway. Where were we?”
“You explaining what the hell you’re up to,” Seokjin says, hand gripping painfully white around his chopsticks. “Also, thank you, Jimin-ssi. Maybe you have some hope after all.”
Jimin bites his tongue, and focuses on the way Taehyung presses softly into his hand. He can’t blow their cover by being a brat. It has to be a careful balance between nice and cute, and he’s already in a precarious position because of the guards he impulsively killed.
“I’m not up to anything, hyung, for the last time,” Taehyung murmurs, squeezing the bridge of his nose, a tired expression on his face. “I was in Seoul. With Father sick, it’s easier for most of us to relax, isn’t it? Including taking over unofficially.”
Seokjin’s lips curl. “Stop stalling.”
“Moon above, fine. So I was in Seoul, yeah? I know I’m not supposed to be, but whatever. I was. And all of this happened completely by accident.”
“You’re telling me you were in Seoul. For nearly three weeks.”
“Aw, you counted? You must have really missed me,” Taehyung simpers, batting his eyelashes. Who the hell is this guy? Why did Jimin never get to fuck him? “Yes, I was. I had a grand time. Lawless fucking city.”
True, but it pinches to have it confirmed by a literal fucking criminal. “It’s not that bad,” Jimin mumbles. Taehyung scoffs, but it’s one of those gentle, ‘I’m in love with you but this isn’t it’ scoff. “What? I know the city better than you.”
“Jimin, baby, I know you aren’t about this life anymore but c’mon,” Taehyung pouts, and okay, Jimin understands why his pout is threatening. Taehyung’s is kind of cute. No, wait, delete. “Anyway. So. Three weeks. Best damn weeks of my life.”
“Because you met Jimin?”
“Because I met Jimin,” Taehyung sighs dreamily, pecking the back of Jimin’s hand. He’s filthy and they haven’t showered in hours but somehow, Taehyung does that. Jimin’s skin burns. “It was pure accident. Honest. We ran into each other at a club, and hit it off, I guess.”
“You guess?” Jimin asks, incredulous. He can’t be his real self but he’s going to pull Taehyung’s leg.
“Babe! I don’t know how else to put it across.”
“You’re hopeless with words even now,” Jimin mutters, shaking his head. He gasps when Taehyung suddenly pulls him forward straight into his lap. Death. Straight up, slow-burn death. “Taehyung! Not in front of Seokjin.”
“Exactly in front of him. I couldn’t resist,” Taehyung says, eyes wide yet smile impish. “Sorry, hyung. It’s just a lot. My alpha still thinks Jimin’s distressed.”
“I don’t care,” Seokjin says, leaning back and looking at the two of them with narrowed eyes. Should Jimin make out with Taehyung? No fucking way. He’s not kissing him with a ten-foot pole ever, no matter how depraved this situation gets. PDA is so 2000. “I want to know why an ex-assassin who betrayed our Code is entering my base of operations, killing my men, and close to humping my brother right in public. And why I shouldn’t end him right here and now.”
“I’ll gut you if you lay a hand on him,” Taehyung says quietly, looking over Jimin, tucking his hair behind his ear. His eyes never stray, but his voice carries the quiet promise of a threat. Taehyung’s specialty, and Jimin’s weakness. “But mostly—Jimin’s not an assassin anymore. You don’t have to worry about him.”
“Oh yeah? Tell that to my guards.”
The anomaly. Jimin looks back down at Taehyung, eyes pleading. He’s messed up, he knows, and he doesn’t want to pay for it. He doesn’t want his friends to pay for something he did. Jimin would never forgive himself.
Taehyung looks soft, however, with none of the anger Jimin had been anticipating. He winks at Jimin before turning to Seokjin. “I asked him to.”
What?
“What?” Seokjin asks, frowning. Taehyung shrugs, and the omega bristles in his seat. “You asked him to kill my guards.”
“Yep.”
“And he just…did.”
“Oh yeah. Love makes you do crazy things,” Taehyung lies easily. It’s the worst lie in the history of lies, and Jimin wants to cry. Where the hell has he ended up? “But you won’t know that because you’re a single, loveless omega. It can be a little hard for you.”
Seokjin growls. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Ooh, hit a nerve there, did I,” Taehyung snarks, before lifting Jimin off and standing, stretching. His shirt—stained with blood like Jimin’s—clings to his frame. “Long story short—I ran into him. You can see, he’s still hot as fuck. And it’s been ten years, we’ve both grown. Especially him. We got talking, talking led to fucking, fucking led to feelings, and boom—here we are.”
“In the span of three weeks, no less,” Seokjin says lightly, even as his eyes promise suspicion. And Jimin knows, that the omega doesn’t buy it, and never will. Jimin won’t be safe until Seokjin’s a little convinced, and it’s time.
“It’s just dating,” Jimin says, curling into Taehyung and wrapping his arms around him. It is way too much contact with someone he does not like, but at least Taehyung doesn’t have a bad body. A very huggable one, actually, but Jimin will never admit it out loud. “Like you said, three weeks is too less. We like each other, but we don’t know yet. We’re figuring it out.”
Taehyung catches on and nuzzles into his hair. They avoid each other’s necks; Jimin is too weak to control himself if he’s scented now. “Yep. It’s not set in stone—but I’m committed to finding out. And Jimin’s darling enough to give me a chance. Thank you, baby.”
Then Taehyung presses his lips to his forehead and Jimin’s omega bursts into flames.
Okay, that’s too dramatic, but shit, it’s close enough. This is not what they agreed on. Taehyung had said touching; this is straight-up romance. And the variety Jimin is incredibly fond of in romance tropes. Along with the smut, obviously, but what the fuck—
“How cute of you two,” Seokjin cuts in through the haze, and Jimin thanks him. “But I have a question, Jimin-ssi.”
Jimin gulps. “Yes?”
“Why would someone who has left this life for good,” Seokjin starts, and oh boy, here it comes. “Willingly date an assassin, no less someone as atrocious as Taehyung?”
Great question. In fact, Jimin wants to know the same, because in no world would he ever agree to such a convoluted scheme. “Ah, I can see why that’s something that could be bothering you.”
“Bothering. He’s so sophisticated now,” Seokjin says, and Jimin blushes. Lawyer speak incoming.
“You’re being so mean,” Taehyung whines, hold tightening around Jimin’s waist. “Just leave us alone. No one cares enough about you or your stupid paranoia to do something to you.”
“Taehyung’s worth it,” Jimin blurts before either of them start their bickering again. Jimin looks straight at Seokjin, even as he feels the press of Taehyung’s surprised gaze. “I mean— you’re right. I didn’t want to. I haven’t done—anything after I left, and I don’t care to start now. I practice, obviously—I didn’t want to go stale.
“It’s a part of my life that I have left behind. And I didn’t want anything to do with it, but when I saw Taehyung and the way he was I just—,” Jimin takes a breath in. He refuses to look at either of them, or even indicate that despite being a lie, not a lot of it is a lie anyway. “He was different. And we weren’t teenagers trapped together anymore. We’ve led different lives and are different people. So when he asked for a chance, I decided to go ahead.”
It sounds raw, is the thing. Like the words were there in Jimin’s heart and he flung them out with an intensity that could destroy everything. Destroy, perhaps, his own beliefs.
“Baby,” Taehyung whispers, and his eyes are misted over. Kudos to Taehyung for that splendid acting. The alpha doesn’t say much but turns to Seokjin. “You probably won’t believe me, and I don’t care. But for what it’s worth—I’m not really interested in taking over, not anymore. The spot is yours.”
That gets a reaction out of both, but Seokjin especially. “Excuse me?”
“Father’s sick, and I know the two of us want what we want but, well, Jimin’s here and he’s not for this life, and frankly, neither am I. Or maybe I’m okay with the business. I just want to experience something normal for once, and I’m glad Jimin’s there for the ride. So,” Taehyung shrugs, while both Seokjin and Jimin gape at him. “The spot is yours. Congratulations, you’ve won.”
“What the hell, Kim Taehyung—”
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to my omega and clean the wounds you so rudely inflicted. Have a great day, brother!”
Then Taehyung whirls him around, not waiting around for Seokjin’s response or the guards—and leads them out of the hall.
Jimin’s not sure if they played their parts right—or made things just that much worse for themselves.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin’s second apartment is made for the rich, and Jungkook can’t breathe.
The guards are overly pretentious. Eventually, after what feels like hours but is mere minutes, his ID checks out and Jungkook is allowed inside. The area is monstrous and sparsely populated, but whoever he comes across as he drives to the parking lot stinks of money.
Strangely, Jimin had never felt that way. Everyone knew he came from old money—dead parents, a trust fund kid. He always had the newest books, the trendiest clothes, and the latest gadgets, but even then, Jimin never came across as someone who would throw money at a problem or make others feel bad about their income status. He’d pay for Jungkook’s meals and coffee (innumerably so), throw them elaborate birthday parties or sometimes parties for the heck of it, and help them out in times of need.
Jimin had been kind and generous. Jungkook used to feel intimidated by the casual display of wealth, having come from a modest upbringing—but Jimin had won him over when he’d signed up to donate to an orphanage, one of those humanity drives that had been frequent in and around campus. Poor kids don’t have a support system. It’s the least I can do, Jimin would say, not even blinking an eye at the amount—but Jungkook had seen the sadness. The grief of a child having to walk alone in this world even when money could buy everything.
He can’t place the omega in these surroundings. It just doesn’t match, even though Jimin lived in one of the swankiest places in Gangnam. This place simply doesn’t feel like home; it presents more as a catalogue. And Jungkook hates it.
He hates more the thought of Jimin spending his last days here instead of safely at home.
Well, that is if he was truly in danger, his alpha counters, and Jungkook huffs. His wolf is usually in congruence with him—Jungkook’s deeply connected to it and the reliance on it helps him tremendously with his instincts. But right now, he wants it to shut up.
He parks in the slot for visitors and gets out. Even the air smells like rich people and that pretentious perfume they all seem to share, and his nose tickles. The scent neutralisers are many, irritating his nostrils—he always did have a sensitive nose. Jimin used to tease him a lot for it, and for a moment, Jungkook can imagine his face as they enter this complex. Getting your nose, Kookie?
Shit, why is he getting so emotional over scents?
Jungkook shakes his head, walking to the building that Jimin’s house is in—and prays he gets to hold on to the piece of the omega he once knew.
The doorman for the apartment building, once he takes in Jungkook’s credentials again— enters in Jimin’s code—and the moment Jungkook enters, he knows.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
Maybe it’s instincts, maybe it is experience and his belief—but the apartment smells off. The bitter neutral of scent blockers lingers in the air, and with it comes the faint traces of orange. Jimin had been here.
Jungkook waves off the guard, checking the apartment with a trained eye. The first thing he notes is how tasteless it is—none of it matches Jimin’s preferences or aesthetic. Unless he lied to you about that as well, his alpha hums and Jungkook growls under his breath. It’s stupid, and a little desperate because no one is here to hear it. Jungkook is alone, and it seems like that’s meant to be his fate.
It’s designed like an interior designer’s dream home—glass, metal, and that oppressive minimalist design that is all the rage supposedly. Jimin claimed he liked a mix of two styles—earthy pastels and minimalism—an organised mess to the core. The apartment is spacious—it could fit nearly three of Jungkook’s tiny one-bedroom—but it’s not lived in at all.
He enters the living space, with its open kitchen design. It’s spotless and arranged neatly—but Jimin had been here. Maybe someone else too, if the scent blockers indicate anything. Jungkook turns around—and his eye catches a mark on the wall.
A knife mark cut neatly into the wallpaper.
Jungkook checks all the places he can think of, and the hope keeps drowning. In between the sofa cushions—a gun. Two of them, the military-grade kind that ordinary civilians aren’t supposed to have. The table next to it has a drawer, and there is a Swiss switchblade in it—the complicated variety. Shamelessly, once Jungkook gets to know of it— he searches like a hound.
More weapons. Cash hidden in a safe under the living room portrait, wads of it. Jungkook leaves the living room, checking out each of the rooms—only one of them seems to have been accessed, the trace of oranges strong in the air. The bedroom is beautiful—but Jungkook walks to the closet. It’s not stocked yet, but he searches all the nooks and crannies—and finds passports in the bottom drawer. A number of them, each of Jimin under fake aliases, all looking different from the other. They list a number of addresses—but Jungkook’s pretty sure they’re fake.
The alarming, but mostly heart-breaking, part is that a lot of the passports are of Jimin in university.
The omega had been a killer even then.
Jungkook’s hands shake as he looks at each one. There is Jimin in his orange hair, his favourite version, also the version haunting his dreams and nightmares. Another one in his black hair, maybe early twenties—and a third with the pretty bubble-gum pink, one that endeared Jungkook a lot. Some of the photographs have glasses, some even have fake piercings, and if Jungkook didn’t know Jimin inside out—or at least thought he did—he wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart.
He pockets them all and blinks through the gathering tears. He can’t cry, he can’t be weak right now. He’s far from the stereotypical alpha portraying strength, but even the strongest alpha would crumble at this betrayal.
Jungkook wipes his tears and continues. The only way out is to keep breaking his heart.
When Jungkook shows him a recent picture, the doorman recognises Jimin, and is only too happy to speak.
“Can’t really forget him. He was mesmerising,” he blabbers, as he marks Jungkook’s exit into the log book. “Looked scared, though. Shifty, like he was runnin’. No one believes me, but I’m pretty sure he scent-dazed me.”
No fucking way. “Are you sure?”
“Hmm, I didn’t realise until hours later. It was like being dumped in ice-cold water, y’know? Waking up from that. I didn’t know omegas could do that still.”
“They’re not supposed to,” Jungkook murmurs, though his mind is in overdrive. All those moments where Jungkook would enter a happy state around Jimin. When he’d get too touchy or whiny, wanting Jimin and letting his desires get the best of him and Jimin would sweetly turn him away—and Jungkook would listen, even though he didn’t want to.
Scent-dazing is, by law, not illegal. Like an Alpha Command, it’s an evolutionary ability they have from the past— back when omegas were chased, and had to flounder their alpha pursuers. Jungkook’s studied all about it—an omega can use their scent to turn an alpha into their favour, and it’s discouraged. It’s an instinctive ability that they all carry, just like the Command for alphas, but not a lot of omegas know how to use it.
Jimin knowing changes everything.
“What time would you say he was here?” Jungkook asks, letting the chatter in his mind take a backseat and focusing on the now.
“Dunno, maybe around the evening? Came in a swanky new car, wasn’t talkative—just wanted to get on, and I found that weird. Most people here chat, it gets kinda lonely. But not this one, no sir.”
“Evening. Alright. Did he go somewhere after?”
“Any reason you’re asking, sir?” The doorman asks, curious, and Jungkook holds in a sigh. He hates inquisitive people. “Is Kim Minsung-ssi fine?”
Right, because Jimin had a fake name, in addition to this whole mess. “He’s missing, which is why I would like your full cooperation,” Jungkook replies as politely as he can. “It would make a huge difference in finding him.”
“Of course!” The doorman says, nodding furiously. “I think he took a walk to the in-apartment department store. Had a bunch of stuff when he came back in.” He frowns, thinking. “He left in the morning, some two days later, I think. Had a car waiting outside.”
Jungkook raises his eyebrows. “Car?”
“Mm, this huge monster of a thing. Looked like it could tear through entire houses. Got into it and drove off. Never seen him since.” The doorman frowns before his eyes light up. “Oh, and one more thing!”
“Yes?”
“He didn’t say much, seemed to keep shifting…but he said if anyone came lookin’ for him, to tell ‘em he’s safe. Said he was going to the countryside for a bit, kinda off the grid.” The man nods, blinking at Jungkook. “That help, sir?”
Specifically telling a doorman he’d be safe like he’d known Jungkook would come searching. Driving off in a car towards the countryside…off the grid. Why would Jimin do that…unless it had been that alpha’s car? He’d busted into the dinner asking about a favour. Jimin had vanished without a word. I’m safe. Had Jimin run away to protect them?
That sounds like him, his alpha whines, and Jungkook agrees. He doesn’t know who Jimin is or was, but he’s sure—knows this one truth in his bones— that Jimin would go above and beyond for the people he loved.
Even lie to them, if need be.
The pharmacist at the store is the one who informs him about the scent blockers.
“He bought a large prescription,” she confirms when Jungkook shows Jimin’s photo and his ID. She’s a demure-looking omega in a lab coat and smells like petunias. It’s a nice scent. Mild, pleasant on his nose. “We normally don’t sell scent blockers without a government-approved prescription, unless in cases of emergencies. But the omega had a restraining order as proof.”
“Restraining order?” Jungkook checks, and she nods. Huh. Had Jimin thought so far ahead? What exactly had he been doing to be so careful? “Could you show me a sample, if you’ve kept them in your records?”
“Sure, just a moment,” the woman says, running through her laptop. “Yep, here it is. Kim Minsung-ssi. I was honestly horrified by his story and would have given them even without. Poor thing was shivering.”
But Jungkook doesn’t care. He’s looking at a restraining order against a made-up alpha, or maybe that alpha—no wait, his name had been something like Taehyung. This fictional person in the order doesn’t exist, but the template seems so real it chills Jungkook to the bones. “What was the story?”
“A lot of stalking and threats,” the omega says. “He said he was tracking him. Can you believe it? In this day and age.”
Jungkook definitely can. Most civilians don’t indulge in these behaviours—tracking has been reserved for police, military, and special forces. He also understands the pharmacist’s shock—and why, if he’s gleaned anything about Jimin’s past from these snippets, it makes sense Jimin used it. Because if Jimin is the killer Jungkook is discovering him to be—then he would definitely know about tracking. And perhaps indulge in it as well.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” is all Jungkook says, turning away the screen and taking in the sample of the scent blockers Jimin supposedly used. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Of course, officer.”
A heavyweight settles on his heart as he walks towards the security office. A numb daze, as he requests the building camera feeds to be pulled up. Sees it all—Jimin entering, shopping, and cleaning his doorway. Checks the day Jimin supposedly left—pausing when he catches it.
Jimin staring right at the camera, just before he leaves.
It’s like he knows, man, Yugyeom had said, and Jungkook then hadn’t believed it, because no civilian was that aware—but he remembers what Jimin had said the night of the killings. Make sure the areas around have dead cameras, or something of the sort—he knew about being captured. He definitely knew how to slip away unmarked. And this—this was Jimin asking for help.
Jungkook watches as he crosses the road across the gate and slips into the ‘monster of the car’— and sees the lone figure of that alpha leaning against it.
His blood boils.
Jimin shuts the door—and they drive off. But Jungkook knows now, even as he gets the camera feed details and notes them down, that he needs to find Jimin more now than ever—and get his own answers while he’s at it.
🖤⚔🖤
The moment they exit the hall and turn around the corner—Jimin pushes Taehyung away.
Annoyingly enough, the alpha sticks anyway. Jimin is strong, but something about the past couple of days has shown him how weak he has become—how underprepared and trusting. Even if he had killed eight guards, Jimin had been captured. And now, he can’t even push Taehyung away sufficiently enough. “Go away.”
Taehyung says nothing, moving maybe an inch away before silently pointing at the cameras— the hallway is full of them, diligently blinking red. Jimin gulps, already feeling like he’s on thin ice. From now on, they’re going to be constantly monitored—he would at least, because Seokjin doesn’t believe them. They didn’t do a good job, but then again—what exactly would be a good job in this scenario anyway?
Maybe if you’d listened to the alpha and waited, it could have gone so smoothly, his omega huffs, and Jimin wishes again for a way to snuff it out without harming himself. There has got to be a way to separate his wolf and him, and throttle it to death.
Taehyung leads them down the hall—it’s a part of the estate he never quite had the chance to explore back then. Everyone knew it was off limits—the Kingpin’s residence, for his family and relatives. The assassins were only allowed to the main dining hall at best, where space was cleared and events were held from time to time. The entrance was in another wing that led straight to the training camp, and further inside, to the barracks.
In its own sick way, a kind of school that Jimin never got to experience the normal way.
The walk, long as it is, leads Jimin down the familiar and horrifying passage of his thoughts. Eight guards. None of it had gone according to plan—though, there hadn’t been any. But Jimin had killed, and he’d slipped into his old shoes so easily, it terrifies him. Ten years of penance and being away from this world, and none of it matters—put Jimin in a fight or flight situation, and he would choose to fight with razor-sharp claws.
It breaks his heart.
His wolf whimpers inside, keen distress rising in his chest and belly when Taehyung wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in close. Jimin snaps out of his thoughts, raising his eyebrows—and finds Taehyung already looking at him with concern in his eyes.
Jimin looks away. It’s a look he hates the most, perhaps, because it paints Taehyung as human, and Jimin can’t have that. He’d have nothing to hold onto then.
He allows Taehyung to hold him, because as much as Jimin hates the weakness, he craves comfort. It had been the one thing he disliked most about growing up here—how distant everyone was, how competitive and cold, untrustworthy and unreliable. Ready to stab each other in the back and so, he always had to be on his guard. When really, Jimin had wanted the comfort of home in a place where homes had gone to die.
Taehyung turns yet another corner, which consists of a hallway with doors—and opens one of them to the left. The moment they enter and Taehyung closes the door—Jimin pushes him away.
It’s to no avail. The room smells overwhelmingly of lavender with homely sage, and his wolf whines, wanting to bury itself in the scent. Shit, shit, shit. It hadn’t been enough that he’d bathed himself in Taehyung’s scent; he now had to smell it even more, and it drives his head into circles. Then he realises he is in Taehyung’s room.
“This was your room?” Jimin exclaims, taking in the sheer opulence of the place. It’s huge, the ceilings so far above they seem dark, a long ceiling fan hanging from its centre. It’s painted in rich tones of browns, ochre, and maroon, hints of gold shining through—with big bay windows on one end. They have a ledge to sit on under it, and the bed, holy shit— “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“This is majorly revamped. The earlier version was drab,” Taehyung says casually from somewhere behind him. Jimin looks around, but his gaze is pinned to the bed. It’s huge, a king’s size with what looks like the softest mound of pillows and blankets, and he bets his ass it’s twelve hundred thread count with down feathers. He can feel it with all the might of his spoilt ass. “This is nothing. If you saw Seokjin hyung’s or Namjoon hyung’s, you’d realise who’s the favourite son.”
“Shut up,” Jimin says. The bed was once a poster, but that’s been replaced and reworked. And goddess, does he want to slip right into those sheets and create the nest of his dreams—wait. “This is the bed?”
“Why, yes, Jiminie,” Taehyung purrs, and Jimin turns around to look at him. A horrifying realisation is at his heels. “Go on. You can dive right into it.”
“No. I don’t want to,” Jimin lies, and Taehyung laughs. Jimin needs a distraction. “Do you think he bought it?”
“Seokjin? No way,” Taehyung says easily, removing his leather jacket and throwing it on a chair—good to know he’s just as messy as before. “Could have easily though; he’s not that sharp, especially with how little he knows about love and its other drugs.” Taehyung cracks his neck side to side, rolling his shoulders. “But you just had to go and mess it up for me, didn’t you, Jimin-ah?”
Here it is. The threat he’d been waiting for, the inevitable moment Taehyung would take out his anger on Jimin’s friends. “I—I didn’t mean to.”
Taehyung slinks towards him slowly, gaze unreadable. His shirt is stained with blood and he stinks, but there’s also the raw scent of lavender. “Stuttering even. How cute.”
“Please,” Jimin begs, the terror crawling up his belly and into his heart. “Please don’t hurt them.”
“Hurt who?” Taehyung asks, tilting his head. It speaks a lot that Jimin doesn’t immediately look at the long neck. “Your friends?” Jimin nods. “Now why would I do that, Jimin?”
“’Cause I messed up.”
“You did,” Taehyung murmurs, stepping too close, towering over him. Warmth radiates off of him, and Jimin instinctively leans in before grounding his feet. “All I asked you was to wait. You couldn’t even do that, Jiminie? You had to be a bad omega?”
He hates him. Jimin knows Taehyung is deliberately doing this, talking not to him but to his wolf that’s curling in shame, and all Jimin can do is stand there and take it. “Please. Just don’t punish them for my mistake.”
Taehyung says nothing, breathing evenly. Jimin looks at the ground, right at their feet and closes his eyes. His heart pounds in his head, and he’s never been as afraid as he is at this moment. Not for his life, but because Taehyung can do so much worse. Hunt the others, taunt them, and kill them so slowly. That was Taehyung’s specialty; where Jimin’s talent lay in earning trust and weaving in, the poison unfurling in the bloodstream— Taehyung enjoyed the thrill of the chase. The call of the madness, he used to say, knowing he could torment someone to death than simply killing him.
If Jimin messes up, Taehyung’s going to torment him by picking off his friends one by one— making Jimin watch the whole time.
The alpha lifts his chin by the index finger, and Jimin has to meet his eyes. Taehyung searches his face, nose flaring slightly when Jimin’s scent reaches him, but his gaze remains focused. “You better give the performance of the lifetime from now on. Because if you mess up, darling, I will definitely make sure your friends get my regards.”
It’s not an empty threat. “I understand.”
Taehyung keeps him like that and then nods sharply, stepping away. “Well, then, I think all things considered— we did great! We might have to develop the story a little more now that we’ve chosen the angle we did. Like, why would I ask you to kill the guards? Even I’m not that unhinged.”
“One of them squeezed my ass,” Jimin answers, and Taehyung stills. It’s a sudden shift—Taehyung’s hands clench into tight fists, and Jimin can taste the bitter anger in the lavender. “It’s fine. You wanted to do the thing, but I insisted? And just because I’ve stopped being an assassin doesn’t mean I’ve stopped my, um, practice.”
Taehyung doesn’t say much but nods stiffly eventually. “That works. Also, nice work on the dating addition, by the way. Very romance-y.”
Jimin says nothing, still getting his heart under control. The room swims in front of him, and his cuts sting. He needs a shower badly. But his attention is caught. “What’s next?”
“A surprise for you,” Taehyung says, taking off his watch and belt. “Don’t worry. I won’t shock your pretty face more than necessary. You’ve been so brave today, darling.”
The praise gets to him, mocking as it is. “Thanks.” Then he notes that they’re still in Taehyung’s room. “Where’s my room?”
Taehyung frowns. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“I mean, where am I sleeping?” Jimin asks, and Taehyung turns around slowly. The slow rise of blood to his cheeks is clue enough. “No fucking way. C’mon.”
“I honest to the moon goddess forgot,” Taehyung says, a guilty expression on his face like a pup caught with stolen candy. “But come to think of it, it’ll be weird if we sleep in separate rooms.”
“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you!”
“Voice down!” Taehyung hisses, looking at the door. “We’re dating now. We kind of have to, baby.”
“Don’t call me that when we’re out of earshot,” Jimin snarls. He can’t believe this. He also doesn’t understand why he’s so shocked. It makes absolute, logical sense. “Shit, is there like, I don’t know, a separate mattress or something?”
“Can you not be a brat for once in your life?” Taehyung asks, arms crossed. “Just once, play the fuck along. You’re not in your apartment anymore, or a run-down motel. You’re at camp, and everyone fucking knows everything.”
“I hate your fucking existence,” Jimin says, walking past him and calling mental dibs on the bathroom. “Seriously, fuck you.”
“That’s what the bed is for.”
“Argh!” Jimin huffs, slamming the bathroom door shut. Infuriating fucking alpha—and goddess, even his bathroom is a dream. All Italian marble and a godly shower. It just isn’t fair. Taehyung had been living like a king while Jimin had been packed with other assassins like sardines in a can, fighting for space. Privileged asshole.
He looks across at the giant mirror—he looks like shit. He felt like shit, but now that he can look at himself—his skin is ruined. He’s definitely going to break out, but the cut Seokjin made is wafer thin, barely visible—it’ll heal and hopefully leave no marks. His neck and face are dotted with blood, his hands crusty and rust red. He can smell the iron, and he needs spa treatment ASAP.
Jimin’s going to exploit the hell out of the bathroom.
He undresses, hissing as the clothes catch on his injuries and scratch at his skin. He leaves them—someone will burn them and hopefully, he’ll never have to see them again. When he figures out the complicated knobs, he moans at the first spell of warm water, simply standing under it and envisioning a waterfall. Like that one temple he’d visited once in Kyoto on a mission abroad. Peaceful and grounding. He scrubs himself clean, wanting the blood out. Watches it flow rust-brown down the drain.
The peace doesn’t last long, however. Too much has happened in too many days—and Jimin has coped poorly. Scratch that, he hasn’t coped at all, running on fumes and poorly maintained repression. Now as he stands, his thoughts wander. His wolf slithers out, and everything crashes—the past few days, the rise and fall of adrenaline, the lingering effect of scenting present still— Jimin can’t help it, as his hands wander to his cock. He shouldn’t. Right? This is someone else’s home, and yeah it’s the home of someone he hates but guest etiquette still applies. He shouldn’t be getting off. It’s not right, but his hands move along, using the water to create a rhythm. It’s just release. That’s all. Stress needs to be released for the body to cope, and that’s all Jimin’s doing.
You just had to be a bad omega?
Jimin so doesn’t want it, but he’s under a heavenly waterfall, and fuck it, no one’s watching. What’s one more shameful act in the face of what he’s doing?
You’ve been so brave today, darling.
He whines, slapping a hand over his mouth as he moves his hands past his cock, caressing his folds, and he gasps. It’s been so long since he’s gotten off or done anything, and being around Taehyung and his stupid scent with his stupid grin and his god-awful stupid legs is impossible to ignore. He doesn’t want to but he can’t stop once he’s begun, cursing himself for thinking of Taehyung’s face and getting off like a teenager.
The praises the alpha had littered since they’d crashed into each other. The way he’d pressed into Jimin in the kitchen of his home, and all the shameless ways he’d made his attraction to Jimin known so loudly. It’s a drug, one that Jimin gets high on as he spreads his folds and curls a finger in, teasing himself because he can’t go full out here. He doesn’t have that sort of time, so his cock will have to do. His slick would have to just drip.
The strokes sting even with the water and slick, but Jimin gasps as the tension builds. Imagines Taehyung’s face in the car, his eyes blown wide and high on Jimin’s scent. Hard under his ass like he would fuck him right there and then, uncaring of the setting or the audience or how filthy they were. And Jimin lets him, in his fantasy. It’s been years and he doesn’t know the other, but he can imagine how full Taehyung would make him feel, and his lavender scent with musky undertones would burst through the car—
It doesn’t last long. Before he knows it, he’s coming, and Jimin can only watch cum mix with the slick and go down the drain with the water while he stands, fingers pruned and legs shaking. Not the best orgasm, not like the kind Jimin deserves— but a relief all the same.
He prays to god it doesn’t smell like his scent. He lathers himself up, and hopes the artificial scents cover up the act of his shame—because he will never hear the end of it if Taehyung catches on.
Jimin scoffs. Who is he kidding? Taehyung will definitely know because Jimin’s luck is shitty, and the alpha is a teenager in an adult’s body. Fuck Jimin’s life, once again.
He only comes out once Taehyung taps on the door, an annoying series of sounds that disturb his mojo. Jimin’s omega just had to choose an annoying dickwad to get off to, didn’t it?
“Jeez, I’m coming!” Jimin snaps when it plays for the third time, shutting the shower and wrapping himself up in a fluffy bathrobe. He moans. It’s like wearing a bunch of clouds. A sharp rap sounds at that, and Jimin hurries. “Can you fucking wait?”
He opens the door—and Taehyung’s right there, hand raised to knock. “Took you long enough.”
“Excuse me while I had to shower off literal blood and dirt of days,” Jimin snaps, curling into his amazing robe. His best friend from now on. “If you could move, that would be great.”
Taehyung doesn’t, however. He’s looking at Jimin, hunger in his eyes, like he’s a wolf and all he wants is to eat Jimin up. After what just happened, the last thing Jimin wants is more masturbation material. “Taehyung?”
“Right,” Taehyung murmurs, still standing, gaze hungry. Jimin’s skin burns. They both move at the same time and clash. Taehyung’s scent is warm, not as strong—but Jimin feels heady anyway. They move again, and it’s the same story until Taehyung steps aside and makes way. He peers into the bathroom, looking between that and Jimin—and smirks. “You look like you enjoyed yourself.”
He knows. He so knows, and he’s going to make Jimin’s night miserable. “Whatever. Please shower, you stink.”
“So eager to scent me, baby?” Taehyung coos, and Jimin groans, shoving past him. Taehyung chuckles, shutting the door behind—and Jimin falls into bed. Asshole. Jimin’s never getting tired of calling him that.
And the bed is a blessing to his sore bones. “Shit. Why, moon above. Why.”
He makes his side of the bed—the right side as always, gathering pillows and blankets and making a wall down the middle. The bed is large enough to have plenty of space when he’s done—and then he sets about to make a mini nest on his side. It can’t be the proper one with scents, but it’ll do for comfort. As he removes his bathrobe and changes into sleep shorts and a t-shirt, he can hear Taehyung whistling, humming occasionally under his breath.
It’s a nice voice. Jimin edges closer, placing an ear on the door. This is wrong, and he shouldn’t care. A depraved part of him wonders if maybe Taehyung will get off as well if he can smell Jimin’s scent. He had no qualms about letting Jimin know how willing he is to fuck him. Would he, in some sort of poetic move? Stand under the shower and stroke his cock until he—
Jimin squeaks before he slaps his hands on his cheeks and backs away. What is wrong with him? Why in the moon’s name would he want Taehyung to do anything of that sort even if he is attracted? Jimin’s lost his mind, it is official.
He jumps into bed, snuggling deep inside the covers. It’s warm, and he’d guessed right, it’s definitely duck feathers. It’s comforting as it can be, and despite Taehyung having vanished for months, the sheets still carry faint traces of lavender—and it’s enough, for now.
Jimin closes his eyes. It’s a heavy kind of sleep swooping in after days of being alert, and a part of him chastises him for letting his guard down here of all places—but he feels so safe, for once. He blinks his eyes and lets them stay shut when they close.
They open moments later, when Taehyung steps out of the bathroom half-naked with just pajamas on—and Jimin is wide awake. Water glistens on his chest, and Jimin burrows deeper even as he watches from under the covers—the way Taehyung shines in the moonlight streaming through the windows. How he wears his shirt, raising a towel to his hair and rubbing it furiously—it gives a hint of his body, and it’s one Jimin doesn’t want but will keep.
Taehyung doesn’t say a word as he steps around, snorting when he sees the pillows. He shuffles forward, falling into his side—sending a flourish of lavender and sage fresh from the shower.
If anything, the scent makes Jimin fall asleep faster.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
what fake pretend relationship trope (even a subversion as this one) does not have the Only One Bed incident pls lmao my babies are in for a surprise <3
also yes THERE IS SO MUCH PLOT INCOMING all i wanted to write was smutty sexual tension rival assassins to lovers vmin and instead what do I do? that's right, i get a STORY and DEVELOPMENT and worldbuilding. i'm not that upset because i think i've planned a feast but i am upset that i can't write punchy short/fast-paced stories maybe? what if i want to be an author later on IRL and this stops me?? sigh. sorry i just had to ramble and get this off my chest.
oh, and yeah. seokjin's sexy. and no this story doesn't follow the typical trope. thank you muchly, pls comment and look forward!! <3
Chapter 8: To Be Or Not To Be
Notes:
....hi i'm back :D
no excuse for the delay i was just procrastinating writing ch 9 and unless that's done. ch 8 languishes in my drafts. but it has been birthed now.
not very happy with this chapter, but ENJOY!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jimin was ten when he was finally sent out on his first mission.
It had been after five years of mind-grueling training. The years had blurred—one moment he’d wanted his mom back, and the next—Jimin thirsted for blood. Recognition. Achievement. Anything that kept him at the center of attention, and made sure he’d never be forgotten again.
Five years, and he was finally out of the stifling camp and on the way to making his First Kill.
The First Kill was a rite of passage—each assassin had it, and it was an auspicious moment almost. In their line of work, only the first and last mattered. And for Jimin, it had to be perfect—there wasn’t an option.
Mostly, he wanted to pass Kim Taehyung’s record of the First Kill, and take the glory for himself. It made sense, considering he had no family and no money to back him. No friends, either. Not like Taehyung did, and Jimin had to prove that he could be successful without.
So he did.
He didn’t remember much of it; only that it was messy. So much blood, running in rivulets. The knife had been too thin for the man’s thick neck; Jimin had been too light—both an advantage and a disadvantage. In the end, his nimbleness and fast reflexes helped him, climbing the back of the man’s spine like a tree—and stabbing him in the jugular. Again and again and again.
Jimin didn’t remember much—but he remembered how red his hands had been. How wet. How on the drive back they had dried and crusted under his fingernails, the stench of iron and salt following him everywhere, even after the warden scrubbed it off.
He didn’t think much of it—but before he fell asleep, he wondered if other children at his old school knew as much about blood and the sound of human flesh ripping as he did.
🖤⚔🖤
Sitting in the car while waiting for news about his missing, possibly delinquent, best friend is about as nerve-wracking as they come.
It’s not like Jungkook can go home, though. He’s sure by now Yoongi must have gone to town on his apartment, or maybe even waiting there, scent-marking it so that the moment Jungkook smells it he’d submit immediately. His phone had buzzed incessantly—until Jungkook had blocked the alpha’s number, feeling only a twinge of guilt at the action. Also, the guilt of ignoring Hoseok when he needs Jungkook most—but he has a bit of a tunnel vision regarding Jimin. It’s okay to prioritise, right?
Yeah, going home isn’t an option at all.
He hadn’t even planned this excursion. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision—when he’d received those updates and found out, Jungkook had left. Maybe that had been a poor decision because he’s suffering now—his car is chilly to save gas, and he’s barely dressed up. Just jeans and a hoodie, his badge somewhere on his person along with his state-issued gun. His chief in charge thinks he’s back home in Busan, and so Jungkook can’t get into trouble—at least, not on state property or with it.
He sends Yugyeom the area coordinates from the camera at the apartment complex—it had been a bit to haggle with the security personnel, but nothing a bit of badge-showing and gun-toting wouldn’t push along. Yugyeom responds with a thumbs up, keeping the communication minimal—this isn’t legal, after all. Not that Jungkook cares.
The piecing together of whatever little clues they come up with will take its own sweet time, so Jungkook puts the car in drive—and follows his instincts up the road.
There’s only one wide highway leading out of the complex—and in no time, Jungkook comes upon his first clue quite accidentally.
Four totalled cars, glass blasted to smithereens, and road barricades crushed by said cars. In short, a horrible car accident—though by the look of it, it seems like an accident at all.
“What happened here?” Jungkook asks once he’s out, showing his badge before the officers on duty can even ask. It feels dirty like he’s a cop accepting bribes under the table. “This looks like a mess.”
“It’s one alright,” one of the officers drawls. His name tag says Cha Hyunsoo. “Happened a couple of days ago. Didn’t discover it till some civilians called it in. Empty roads.”
“Right,” Jungkook murmurs. The cars are big—tires blown out, and bullet marks all over the now cracked windshields, as well as the body of the car. Definitely not an accident. “The bullets?”
“Seems like some kinda car chase,” Hyunsoo says, sipping at takeaway coffee. “Been up since three working the details out. Managed to get some feed.”
“Mind if I come along?” Jungkook asks, and Hyunsoo must be too tired by the way he waves Jungkook in. He walks behind, hands in his pocket and thumbs twiddling. Not everything is about Jimin. Stop being so stupid. His alpha says otherwise. This is connected. You’ll see.
Jungkook’s always trusted his wolf, more than anyone else.
The footage isn’t much—it is indeed a wild car chase, four cars speeding down the highway, black-masked men out with guns blazing. They shoot at something in the distance; Jungkook squints his eyes—and he’s almost positive it’s another car. If he convinces himself enough, it could be the car Jimin and that alpha vanished off into. “What are they shooting at?”
“Can’t say. Feed’s muddled at the moment. Tech would have to get on it.” Hyunsoo sighs, rolling his neck. “Shit’s fuckin’ ridiculous. On a Saturday too, like we get any offs.” He peers at Jungkook, squinting. “Why is a Seoul cop from Gangnam here?”
Good question. One that Jungkook doesn’t have an answer to. “Going for a weekend stake-over. Plain clothes. Can’t say much.”
“Shoot, does it have to do with the murders nearby?” Hyunsoo asks, and Jungkook’s brain freezes. What the fuck? “Y’know, the ones at the motel?”
This is so not what I wanted my weekend to be like either. “Haven’t been told my assignment yet, but the location seems close by. What about it?”
“Nothing much. A couple of murders down at the motel, real messy. That’s what my partner said anyway.”
“Looks like it was a day for crime,” Jungkook comments ideally, and Hyunsoo nods. “Say, you know the name of the place? Might want to see for myself.”
“Sure, just a sec.” The officer shuffles and scribbles a name on a piece of paper. “Follow the road straight, should be on your far right. Hard to miss.”
“Thanks a lot.” Jungkook pockets the paper, saluting the officer—and then he’s on the way.
He’s a lot of things. Impulsive, stubborn, naïve, a little too compromising—and a believer of gut instinct. And say whatever one wants to say about being a cop and the world of crime—no amount of statistics or logic could ever beat the good old sixth sense brewing in his belly.
The sixth sense tells him that the chase and the murders are most probably, definitely, related.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin is burning. Slow-cooked and roasting over a fire, screaming but with no sound coming out of his mouth.
He’s had this dream many times before. It’s one of those unfortunate accessories in a life of an assassin— trauma shows up. So does guilt, shame, and all the thousand emotions Jimin’s suppressed for years, free to explore the wasted battlefield of his mind once he’s asleep. Part of the job, whether that be as an assassin or as a blood-thirsty lawyer.
It, however, is an uncomfortable sort of burning. Not painful, for once, just the kind when one mistakenly wears a sweater in fall, and it is hot mid-afternoon but it would be inappropriate to remove the sweater so they suffer. Yeah, like that. Sweaty and sweltering, like bodies pressed too close in a crowded room.
Like bodies pressed together.
Jimin’s eyes fly open, and yep, there it is. The stuff fanfiction readers eat for breakfast, but mostly a nightmare in Jimin’s case.
Taehyung’s impossibly long body is pressed close to his, their legs tangled together in a twist of golden limbs that he is unable to tell who belongs to who. The wall of pillows had done nothing; it’s all broken down, some on the floor chucked away as if sleepy Taehyung had a pillow fight with himself, and some just uncomfortably in and around his body. But mostly it’s Taehyung hugging Jimin so close and tight—and smelling like fresh lavender.
How many times has Jimin repeated this sentence? Right, not enough, because fuck his life moon above.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, the alpha had crossed all boundaries Jimin had set so carefully, and now his chest is pressed to Jimin’s back, nose in Jimin’s neck. His breath is warm on the back of it, and Jimin is drowning in lavender, with that delicious hint of sage. It’s like a flower shop married to an apothecary, and Jimin’s some medieval damsel in distress looking for the next herbal cure. Except there is no cure for this humiliation and a test of Jimin’s patience.
The worst part is, he can’t even move. Taehyung’s weight is like a log, pressing him into the mattress, and not even in a sexy way. Wait, no. He’s not supposed to want that or even think that, even though Jimin had…gotten off to the thought of it last night. Which is fine! It happens, people get horny and get off, and it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean Jimin wants to do anything with Taehyung or be pinned down by him anymore; he’s not fucking sixteen for Moon’s sake—
Taehyung shifts in his sleep, curling a leg around Jimin’s waist—and Goddess be damned, that is a very hard cock nestled right between Jimin’s ass cheeks, no, no, no—
He slicks up. One whiff of the lavender with the comfort—not comfort, stop being a touch-starved whore! — And the presence of a dick, and Jimin’s slicking up. He can’t do anything but be horrified as his slit throbs, his cock chubbing up as well. Taehyung’s dick is so close to him, all Jimin has to do is push back a little and rub it through underwear, get some relief and that delicious full feeling—
Jimin shrieks and pushes Taehyung away, tangling himself out of the massive bed that’s proved to be useless since all that space has gone to waste. And of course, since he can’t control his volume, Jimin has to face the next mortifying reality—Taehyung waking up, chapping his lips, and blinking blearily at Jimin, looking so adorably confused—no! He’s not adorable! Stop it! He looks like a Boy even though mere seconds ago Jimin had been (shamefully) thinking of humping him while he slept. Fucking disgraceful. “What happened?”
“What happened? What happened?!” Jimin shrieks anyway, not bothering about secrecy— he’s sure someone as loaded as Taehyung and the Kim family could afford soundproofed rooms. Not like the cold barracks Jimin had to suffer through, sometimes fucking people with a sock in his mouth so he and his partner of choice didn’t disturb other sleeping people. “You did! What the hell?”
“What are you yelling about at— hell, is it seven? In the bloody morning?” Taehyung says, and his morning voice is perfect too. All gravely and thick, barely pronouncing the syllables right and going straight to Jimin’s half-chub. “You can’t catch a break, can you? You gotta be a menace so early?”
“You were the one humping my ass,” Jimin says coldly, blatantly denying the thoughts he had. Those were some alien thoughts. He would never. “So seven is fine.”
“What, I come all over you?” Taehyung asks, looking down his blanket and tilting his head in confusion. “Underwear remains clean. How unfortunate.”
Jimin burns red. “I hate you so fucking much.”
“So you say,” Taehyung says, winking and stretching in bed. His shirt rides up, and Jimin looks away resolutely. “That’s a nice semi you’re sporting. Bet you’re slicking up too.”
“Shut up. It’s just—scents. And hormones.”
“Our wolves are attracted to each other,” Taehyung says, batting his eyelashes. They’re so long and pretty, shit, why did the asshole have to look photogenic all the damn time? “I don’t blame it. You’re hot as shit.”
“That’s not the compliment you think it is.”
“And yet, we’re both hard and if you wanted, I’d give you what you want.”
The nerve. “I don’t want you.”
“Didn’t say you did, but now that you offered so nicely,” Taehyung says sweetly, and Jimin groans. The actual worst part is, it does nothing to get his dick down. Or his stupid slit to stop slicking up. “You sure, darling? I’m offering nicely, too.”
Jimin snorts. “I don’t want to be fucked by you.”
Taehyung stares, doesn’t follow it up with immediate banter—and Jimin fidgets, mentally willing his boner down. Thinks of paperwork, agreements, and boring corporate meetings that kill his soul. The stare, however, pins him right where he stands.
“Funny you say that,” Taehyung starts slowly then, and Jimin tenses. He knows in his gut it is bad news. “Considering you were getting off in the shower yesterday. But you’re right, it’s too egotistical of me to assume you’d think of me, isn’t it, love?”
It’s the smug grin that does it. Not the boring corporate meetings, but the smug grin Taehyung sports, like he’s won. Which he has, and Jimin hates to admit that. Because he did get off and he did think of Taehyung the whole time and Taehyung knows. It’s useless.
So Jimin picks up one of the pillows on the ground—and smashes the alpha’s face with it. “Choke on this, might help me come faster next time.”
Then he stalks off to the bathroom while Taehyung flounders in the sheets.
After a steaming hot short shower, Jimin attempts to talk with Taehyung about the bomb he dropped last night. Namely— giving up his claim on the throne.
“Not here,” Taehyung hisses, the moment Jimin utters three words of the sentence. He looks scared, or more alert, looking around like they’ll get caught. Jimin’s tired of this secrecy. “Come with me.”
He drags Jimin all the way to the bathroom, where he switches on the shower and creates enough white noise that Jimin can’t hear a thing. He panics a little about all the water getting wasted. “Are you seriously going to let it go to waste?”
“It’s an integrated irrigation system,” Taehyung says absent-mindedly, shutting the door behind them. If he hadn’t been who he was, Jimin might have slicked up a little at that. Environmentalism is hot. “We need to be careful. Can’t just go around announcing things.”
“We’re literally in your room.”
“And it could be bugged,” Taehyung says, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and Jimin looks steadfastly at his face. “Never know with my dad. He’s a bit…careful.”
“You mean insane,” Jimin says. “Look, as much as I hate talking one-on-one with you, you’re my ticket out of this place. I need to be safe. The last thing I want is to say something by accident and be speared on the camp walls.”
“We don’t do that anymore,” Taehyung says casually as if the number one punishment back in the day hadn’t given Jimin nightmares for weeks. “And don’t worry. I got this.”
“No, you do not 'got' this,” Jimin spits, stepping toe to toe. He has to look up at Taehyung like this, and the alpha gets to look down. He smells like sleepy lavender, amplified in the shower steam. “Seokjin doesn’t believe us, you’re dropping plans without telling me and I look bad. I look suspicious. Don’t be an idiot; Seokjin will sniff it out sooner or later.”
“And like I said last night, you just have to act better and follow the rules—”
“What rules?!” Jimin yells, then shuts his eyes. Speak in a measured manner. Don’t let the asshole know how much he gets under Jimin’s skin. “Taehyung. I’m asking respectfully for clarity. I’m on your side here, stop hiding shit from me.”
Jimin’s joined his hands together by the end of it, and Taehyung staring at him with his lips parted and eyes wide. His black hair falls in scruffy, sleepy waves and he looks like a Boy again. Jimin has to fight the urge to coo.
“Okay, I hear you,” Taehyung murmurs then, looking down and scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not…fine. First of all— let’s get this clear. Seokjin probably doesn’t believe us, and that’s fine, our job is to keep playing it up and gather data about my dad and ways to get to him. I’ll handle Seokjin. You just play dumb if he asks you anything.”
“Really don’t appreciate being called dumb.”
“Secondly,” Taehyung presses, ignoring Jimin. What a bitch. “It’s just to throw Jin-hyung off. We’ve been fighting about ascension for a while now. But I’m just here to close off some of my deals before I whisk you off to Jeju and ravish you, love.”
Jimin blushes. He actually blushes, that uncontrollable surge of blood rushing to paint the crime on his face, and Taehyung laughs. Jimin can’t stand being the butt of jokes, so he uses the opportunity to sucker punch Taehyung right in his belly. “Jeju? Wow, your standards have fallen even lower than before.”
Taehyung wheezes, raising his head to glare. “Somewhere else you want to go, sweetheart?”
“I deserve better,” Jimin quips sweetly, shutting off the showers and fluffing up his hair. The roots are growing out; he’ll need to re-dye. He likes the blonde. “Don’t tell me Jeju is all you can afford?”
It’s a cheap shot, and obviously, a lie; the sheer opulence on display tells the truth. Alphas, however, aren’t so rational, always falling prey to their basal instincts of caring for an omega and wanting to prove their worth, and so what if Jimin plays into that from time to time? It’s the least omegas can do after centuries of alpha-pandering bullshit.
Taehyung buys into the bait. Jimin ignores him, but he can feel his stare burn into the side of his neck. “You sure you want to play that game, darling?”
“I’ll play any game, as long as you can afford me,” Jimin says, patting Taehyung on the cheek. The alpha’s nose flares, and Jimin crows inside. “Isn’t it breakfast in a while? You should get ready. No one likes a tardy date.”
Then Jimin walks out, pleased that for now, he has one up over Taehyung.
The feeling doesn’t last long. It’s like Jimin’s destined to lose all the time, and the Moon Goddess gets a solid kick out of it.
“Seriously, again?” Jimin asks when Taehyung informs him that they need to scent each other. As if being tangled in bed hadn’t been enough. “Everyone already knows we’re together.”
“Yeah, and people who are together scent frequently,” Taehyung deadpans like he’s tired of Jimin’s stubborn refusal. What else is he supposed to do, give in? No thanks. “You make it a bigger deal than it is.”
“Because the last time you promised me nothing would happen and something did!” Jimin says shrilly, and Taehyung’s eyes land on the door in panic.
“Only because we came out of a stressful situation and, as I’ve also said, our wolves are attracted. I promise you, I wasn’t enjoying it.”
“Your dick said otherwise.”
“Also controlled by wolves,” Taehyung says, then sighs. “Seriously, Jimin. I swear I won’t do anything, okay? Hands to myself.”
Taehyung does a whole show, dressed in his leather jacket and boots, his aviators hanging from his collar which is so stupid because who wears sunglasses inside? Apparently Kim Taehyung. And he has to look like the Goddess’ gift to the earth while he does, doesn’t he?
Jimin bares his neck, pulling his collar slightly to the side. His gland is itching, perhaps sensing a potential alpha close by. And true to his word, Taehyung leans in without touching much, sort of…gently nosing along Jimin’s neck, leaving a trail of lavender strong enough that Jimin actually salivates. He audibly swallows, loud enough that Taehyung leans back, smirking. “Your turn.”
The alpha bares more than his neck, t-shirt showing his golden clavicle and how defined it is. It’s pretty, with a mole at the jut of his shoulder and neck. Jimin shakes his head and does the same, smelling the lavender, leaving behind a burst of orange. Together, the two scents merge well, like a blast of essential oils for a romantic evening.
It’s far too gentle, at least if he compares it to the mad rush in the car. Maybe they’re freshly showered or Jimin’s presently not in survival mode, so it’s…nice. It affects them both, for once they’re done Taehyung’s looking dazed, and Jimin’s sure he’s no better.
Taehyung continues to watch, tutting when his eyes land on Jimin’s cut from last night. He puts his thumb in his mouth—nope, not erotic, nope— and rubs it right over his cut.
And the strange part is, Jimin can feel the burning sensation of healing. It’s also slightly turning him on, only slightly, but he can manage. When he reaches up to touch it—it’s smooth skin again.
Huh. Jimin hadn’t known they could do that. “How did you—?”
“Let’s go, we’re late,” Taehyung says softly, turning away—but not before Jimin sees the distant sadness in his eyes. Like he knows something Jimin doesn’t.
He shakes his head. It’s just him imagining things because Jimin’s always been a slut for Taehyung’s more humane moments, which he can count on one hand. It’s pathetic, honestly.
Once they’re out, Taehyung winds his hands through Jimin’s—they’re rough but long and nimble. Jimin resists the urge to squeeze it. He instead focuses on playing his part right, smiling as they see the guards nearby. Some greet Taehyung, and some bow respectfully. Taehyung is nice to all of them, and Jimin holds his tongue. Later, maybe in another shower rendezvous, he’ll interrogate Taehyung again.
They make their way down the hall—same as yesterday—and when the doors open, it’s not just Seokjin anymore.
Sitting next to him is his and Taehyung’s brother—Kim Namjoon.
🖤⚔🖤
Jungkook shifts for the millionth time, sure that there are crumbs in this stupid motel bed—when his phone blasts on the side desk.
Well. Talk about a rude wake-up call.
He forgets his annoyance when he sees Yugyeom’s name, eager to learn more. “Yo. Find anything?”
There’s silence on the other end, and if it hadn’t been for Yugyeom’s breathing, Jungkook would have thought the call cut. “Gyeomie?”
“How long have you known?”
“Huh?”
“How long have you known that your Jimin is a criminal?” Yugyeom sounds angry, and Jungkook gulps. Did the hacker find out about the Namsan Incident? He pretends to be ignorant anyway.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, don’t pull that crap with me,” Yugyeom snaps, and he’s mad, he’s really mad, in a way he and usually betas are not. “Isn’t that why you’re searching for him? Or pretending to, so that he has to time to escape?”
“Yugyeom-ah, I swear I don’t know what you’re on,” Jungkook says, rubbing his eyes. “I’m searching for him because he vanished suddenly, and my hyung is suffering from distress. I need to bring him back home. I promise.”
There’s more breathing, a few clicks, and then a sigh. “Shit. Sorry. I just—what I found, Jungkook, it just freaked me out.”
Jungkook holds the phone tightly. “What did you find?”
“Sending it over right now. It’s a video…and it’s not good, JK. Really bad for your friend, or at least whoever you knew him as.” There’s a ping, and Jungkook puts Yugyeom on speaker. “I’m right there on call, alright? Don’t think you should be alone.”
He mutters thanks, opening the file and watching it load.
Jungkook had never thought his life would change because of a video, but at that moment—nothing is ever the same as it used to be, and nothing ever will be.
The video quality is choppy—black and white, grainy with a lot of disturbances like it’s been wrung out dry and patched together. Jungkook recalls Yugyeom telling him about a corrupted video in some motel; this must be it. And the hacker has brilliantly come up with a passable output—only, Jungkook wishes he had never found out.
It shows the site right next to the reception desk, where the manager is sleeping in a chair. The only bright light is from a vending machine, a new one clearly. Nothing happens for a bit—and then, Jimin walks into the frame.
Jungkook can barely make him out, but he’d know the omega anywhere. Those are his favourite track pants—and he’s walking casually in the video, mouth puckered into a whistle. He puts some change into the machine, and then—someone wearing all-black crawls up behind Jimin, taking out a gun. Jimin doesn’t notice.
Then he collects his packet—and turns around, stabbing the guy right in the jut between his shoulder and neck.
The worst part is, Jimin in the video barely blinks an eye. Just like at the dinner that night. Dead eyes, pursed lips. Like he’s done this a thousand times and is bored of it now.
Some conversation happens between the two—the video glitches a bit but clears up right when Jimin stuffs down a packet in the killer’s throat, and then drags the knife from the entry point right to the jugular—with careful expertise that only practice could have taught.
Then Jimin leaves the body right there, bleeding all over the carpet—and stalks off, knife in his hand.
“Shit,” Jungkook says after a while. It’s all he can say. He’d had his doubts, but what does one do when it’s confirmed? “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t accidental at all,” Yugyeom mutters, a little sympathetic. “Listen, JK, you know I love you, right? You’re like a brother to me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But man, I can’t—I can’t help you no more. This is a bit, uh, risky.”
Jungkook shakes his head, getting it right. He needs Yugyeom because there’s no way he can find Jimin, now that he knows what he’s up against. Do you, though?
He can scent daze. Probably knows how to track, and definitely knows how to handle guns and knives. I’m not a match for him. “Gyeomie, c’mon.”
“Man, I helped you out because he was missing but he’s doing some shit and we didn’t go about this the official way—”
“Yeah, but think about it this way—now we have to find him more than ever. Get him to justice, try him properly,” Jungkook says, squeezing his temples. What the fuck had Jimin done? “I can’t do it alone, Gyeomie. I didn’t know all this—but now that I do, we need to find him. Someone like him can’t be roaming free now, can he?”
It’s silent again, and Jungkook can hear Yugyeom’s brain whirring. “Man—fucking fine. You’re right.”
“I promise I’ll keep you out of the final report,” Jungkook puts in. He’s never known himself to do things out of desperation, but oh well. Not every day it’s confirmed that your best friend is a killer and a trained one at that. “Say, you know how to track?”
“You want to track him?”
“What other way is there? Clearly Jimin—sorry, the suspect— knows his way around some shit. I’ll need to be somewhat equipped.”
“What, you didn’t learn this in police university?” Yugyeom snorts, though he sounds sensitive still. “Nah, man, I don’t know it well. I’m used to the tech side of it. Tracking is…primal. So to say.”
So it is. The reason why Jungkook had been stumped when the pharmacist lady had said Jimin was afraid of being tracked. Tracking, though it sounds simple, is more to do with giving in to one’s wolf and using that to identify scents, people, and sometimes even locations. Due to the loss of those instincts over the years, it’s not as common anymore—though it is still taught in special agencies and institutions. Most consider it too animalistic to learn, and Jungkook regrets not paying better attention in his tracking class at university. Now it’s biting him in the ass.
“Teach me what little you know,” Jungkook says, rotating his shoulders. “You’d have some idea, even if tech is involved.”
“I’m not good at it—”
“I’ll take my chances. And I don’t want to involve you or anyone else more than necessary, so it’s gotta be me. You know this is the best course of action.”
“Don’t know about best, but it’s a course alright,” Yugyeom grumbles, clicking on his keyboard. “Okay, since you’re so determined. Are you listening? Because I got some tips for you.”
Jungkook smiles.
🖤⚔🖤
The first thing Jimin notes is how tense the environment is, so thick that he could cut through it with one of his knives.
The second thing is how hot Namjoon is even now. In fact, hotter. Teenage Jimin would have gushed right then and there. Thankfully, adult Jimin can control himself well enough that he apparently only gushes around Taehyung, which isn’t that much of a victory.
“Hey, Jimin. Long time,” Namjoon greets with a dimpled—his dimples! — smile, eyes kind as ever. He’s wearing a black turtleneck, and it clings to his frame. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this for breakfast.”
Jimin blushes, only this time it’s because of a pathetic teenage crush he used to have on Namjoon, which the alpha never paid heed to. Also because it sounds dirty, though knowing Namjoon, is probably really genuine and sweet, so Jimin should take his mind out of the gutter. “I wasn’t either, ha-ha.”
“Oh c’mon, you know how that sounded,” Taehyung snaps suddenly, arms curling possessively around Jimin’s waist and pulling him close. “And I told you.”
“What’s he doing here anyway?” Seokjin snaps, eyes blue and hand holding the fork tightly. “This is a family breakfast.”
“And Jimin is family. Or going to be soon, anyway,” Taehyung says, before looking at Jimin with the mooniest eyes. “Aren’t you, love?”
Fuck him. He never told Jimin about mating or marrying, and it disgusts Jimin to consider the notion even for a fake plot. Jimin bats his eyes, looking down. “I can’t wait to be mated to you, alpha. You’ll make a good mate, won’t you?”
As he thought, Taehyung’s eyes widen, his cheeks tainted red. Hah, call him an alpha and mildly insinuate mating, and his wolf would sit around with its tongue lolling out. “Y-yes. The very best.”
“Goddess have mercy,” Seokjin mutters, stabbing moodily at his rather continental breakfast. “It’s only been three weeks.”
“Three weeks for what?” Namjoon asks, leaning forward—and as he does, Jimin notices a third thing. How, beneath the smile and general positivity, Namjoon looks…pale. Sick. His eyes seem sunken, his cheeks sharper. Then he smiles, and the image vanishes. “Please, Jimin. Sit.”
“We’re dating,” Taehyung says happily, maybe a little too possessively, as if he needs to stake his claim on Jimin publicly. Loudly. “It’s only been three weeks, though. Darling Jin-hyung is a prude who thinks that’s not enough.”
“I will stab you with the chopsticks.”
“You can try, but throwing was never your speciality, was it, hyung?” Taehyung says, and thank goddess Jimin didn’t have siblings. Well, he didn’t have parents either, greedy assholes who sold Jimin to an assassin camp. Simple abandonment hadn’t been enough; no, they had to drop Jimin in the vilest and most degenerate place, didn’t they? He’s going off-track though. As Taehyung and Seokjin snipe at each other, Jimin takes the opportunity to look at Namjoon—and finds the alpha looking back, a soft and fond look on his face.
“How have you been, Jimin?” Namjoon asks, polite as ever, and Jimin sighs. Out of all of them, and really anyone at camp, he had liked Namjoon the best. Mostly because he never stood out as an assassin, always walking around with his head in his books or high up in the clouds. And never mean to Jimin, not once. It had been practically unheard of in camp.
“I’m good. How about you?”
“Same old. I still like books more than swords,” Namjoon chuckles, his dimples popping out, and shit, Jimin’s so weak. Why couldn’t he have sex dreams about Namjoon instead? Or wake up tangled next to him, and he’d be nice about it too, all sweet and adorable. He’d never tease Jimin or make him deliberately uncomfortable just for fun. Not to mention, that chest to snuggle against? Jimin would die.
“Well, someone was consistent,” Jimin giggles. He actually giggles, what is wrong with him? He’s twenty-seven, not fourteen anymore fighting a bad crush. “I switched to law.”
“And now you’re back?”
“Ah, no, I’m with Taehyung,” Jimin says, and maybe he doesn’t sound dreamy or giggly. “He, unfortunately, did not switch to books.”
“He’s better with the swords, trust me,” Namjoon laughs, and Jimin sighs again. Maybe too happy, and surely his scent must be giving it away—because suddenly, Taehyung growls, pulling Jimin close enough that he’s practically in Taehyung’s lap, again. “Ah, Taehyung. You’re hurting him.”
“Stop making a move on my omega,” Taehyung snaps, and unlike Seokjin, Namjoon only raises his eyebrows. “He’s mine.”
“I agree. I don’t see Jimin like that, don’t worry.” Well. Hope crushed alright. “But it might help you to be a little more trusting of him since you’ll mate each other.”
Taehyung, like the child he is, only grabs Jimin’s wrist and scents it lightly. It’s embarrassing, with the way Seokjin seethes and Namjoon looks amused. And then Namjoon coughs.
Jimin’s never heard a cough like that before.
It’s thick and ugly, like Namjoon’s hacking up a lung. His entire body shudders and Seokjin swiftly gets up to help him—but Namjoon waves it off, laying his head down on the table. When he rises—his eyes flicker between brown and yellow. Not gold, but the sick kind.
Taehyung continues eating next to him, occasionally feeding bits to Jimin—who eats obediently. “You okay?”
“Just the flu,” Namjoon answers, gulping water and patting his forehead. It’s clammy like he has a fever. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be alright soon.”
It doesn’t sound like it will, but Jimin keeps shut. Seokjin’s gaze keeps flickering towards Namjoon, and Taehyung keeps ignoring him. The tension increases ever so slightly, Jimin is going to choke on it.
“So Taehyung, now that Namjoon’s here,” Seokjin starts then, and everyone tenses even more. “Do you want to tell him what you told me last night?”
Taehyung chews on a carrot. “Nope.”
“Knew it,” Seokjin mutters, stabbing again at his breakfast but hardly eating anything. “You’re a damn liar is all you are.”
“I was gonna tell him after I announced the good news,” Taehyung blinks, eyes round. “Your stupid addiction to power is the least of my concerns.”
“My stupid—how dare you—?”
“Anyway, Jimin and I will be leaving for Jeju shortly,” Taehyung says, wiping his hands and wrapping them around Jimin’s, where he proceeds to kiss each knuckle. Jimin’s cheeks burn. “My baby deserves the best.”
“Jeju’s certainly nice this time of the year,” Namjoon comments. He looks okay now, though still pale. “What’s the other thing?”
“Ah, hyung, it’s not that important—”
“Taehyung-ah, stop tormenting Seokjin-hyung,” Namjoon chastises, and Taehyung actually turns red in shame. Wow. Who would have thought? “He’s stressed as it is without you creating trouble and vanishing for weeks on end.”
“I’m creating trouble?”
“Don’t even try,” Namjoon says quietly, and though it’s measured, the authority behind the words is—strong. Not dominant or overpowering, but commanding respect nevertheless. “You like it. What is it?”
“Only because you’re a decent hyung,” Taehyung grumbles, before clearing his throat. “I’m dropping my claim. Seokjin-hyung can have the throne.”
Jimin frowns. Why not Namjoon? He was a capable alpha, strong and just, definitely favouring omega rights more than Joonjae. “Why not Namjoon?”
All three shut down, looking away. Then Taehyung coos, tucking Jimin’s hair behind his ear. “C’mon, don’t tell me you forgot how Namjoon used to be.”
“I don’t want the throne,” Namjoon explains, taking mercy on Jimin and smiling, though his eyes seem sad. Pensive. “I’m happy with strategy. Taehyung and Seokjin hyung like the competition.”
“Not anymore. Seokjin-hyung won,” Taehyung quips, and this time, Seokjin reacts visibly—by stabbing the table with the steak knife. “Calm down. That’s mahogany.”
“I don’t care,” Seokjin hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re up to something. You would never give up that easily.”
“Uh, I would if I’m in love,” Taehyung says, kissing the back of Jimin’s hand, and holding it close to his chest. Jimin can feel his heart racing underneath. “What’s so hard to understand? Jimin left camp for a reason. He doesn’t intend on coming back, which means I need to leave this life. Can’t do that when I’m heading it.”
“You’re leaving camp?” Namjoon exclaims, and Taehyung’s mouth drops to an O. Serves him right for coming up with ridiculous plots out of thin air. He could never lie well. “What?”
“Oops?” Taehyung says, face guilty and smiling sheepishly. “But I mean, it’s kind of obvious.”
“It really wasn’t, babe,” Jimin cuts in, tangling their legs together under the table and pressing close. Taehyung’s skin heats up in Jimin’s hand. Jimin smirks but turns towards the other two. “He’s a little excited. What I told him was that I wasn’t entering this life again. I’m done. And I’d prefer if he kept me out of it. If that means a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ sort of policy, I’m good with that.” Jimin runs his hand through Taehyung’s, pushing it off his forehead. He looks sexy with all that golden skin on display. Jimin holds back a shiver. “If he wants to leave camp, that’s on him. I would never ask him to place me above his duties or his family. That’s just not done. Right, baby?”
“R-right, love,” Taehyung says, looking down though his red neck betrays his feelings. “It’s my choice. Jimin just doesn’t want to be involved.”
“And yet here he is,” Seokjin points out.
“Because I need to close off some loose ends, jeez,” Taehyung snaps, and Jimin sighs as they bicker. He wonders for a moment what it would have been like to grow up with siblings. Or if his parents went on to have more kids, ones that he would never know about.
Jimin shakes his head. It’s better if he doesn’t think of his family or lack of it. Camp, however, has always been a sore reminder of what he lost and what he’ll never gain back. It’s not a surprise that he’s only been here, what, forty-eight hours or so, and the memories are already leeching away at him.
It’s why he left the cursed place in the first place. That, and the unbearable suffocation.
He really needs to stop thinking.
“Baby, are we done?” Jimin breaks in, placing his bunched-up napkin at the edges. “I’m tired.”
“Doing what? It’s not like you killed more people after you left, did you?” Seokjin snarks and Jimin really wants to shove the napkin down his broad throat.
“Your brother fucked me so well, I can’t help but feel sore,” Jimin says sweetly, and Taehyung chokes on his water, spluttering all over the table. Seokjin turns red with anger, and Namjoon hides his face in his hands. “Any more questions? Maybe I can tell you how he did it too.”
“Whatever,” Seokjin mutters, and Jimin gets up, dragging Taehyung with him, who is still red. Maybe it was too much to insinuate sex, but then again, that’s what they do best. Lie about sex, whether back then when they fucked but pretended they didn’t, or now when they definitely didn’t.
Events of the morning notwithstanding.
“What the fuck was that,” Taehyung hisses into his ear, but Jimin giggles, curling a hand around the lapel of his jacket. “You minx.”
“Learn from the best,” Jimin says, exiting and walking straight. “You’re terrible at this.”
“Maybe it was all part of the act.”
“Oh please,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes—but jerks to a halt when Taehyung pulls him back. “Let me go.”
“In a moment,” Taehyung says, gaze searching. Long enough that Jimin begins to get antsy. “I have classes to take, so you can do whatever you want.” He leans in close, right next to his ear, lips touching his lobe and his breath warm. Jimin shudders, and Taehyung holds his waist lightly. “You were really good though, today. Thank you, love.”
Then Taehyung walks away, the bugger—whistling while Jimin tries to control the heat in his core, breathing through his heart racing. Asshole. A very hot asshole, but still.
He proceeds to do a silent recon—one of those assignments he hated because it meant not getting caught. The estate is huge—the sheer amount of wealth is disgusting, but the decorating is somewhat tasteful. Taehyung had a good eye. Of course, he does. He picked you as his date. Jimin scoffs, walking along with his fingers trailing across the walls.
It’s endless, and when he takes a turn towards a particular section—he’s assaulted by a terrible scent.
Jimin’s grown up with a lot of scents. The blockers, blood, shit and piss, his heat and Taehyung’s rut, the smell of sex—he’s smelt them all. Then he lived in Seoul with its thousands of scents both strong and sweet, and no amount of cleanliness can ever get rid of the city stench.
This particular scent, however—it’s like no other. It’s rotten, like something turning rancid. Yet, it beckons him forward, asking Jimin to indulge some more. It smells like sickness and death. Jimin walks toward it anyway, almost in a trance—his wolf is paralyzed by the scent, for it says nothing.
Suddenly, there are guards in front of him. “What business do you have here?”
The voices are gruff. Jimin blinks, the distraction cutting through the thick glaze of the scent, which smells even worse so close. He notes the guards wearing masks, and also that they’re nothing like the guards from yesterday. Dressed in suits, with microphones and wrist handsets—they pose a threatening image. Jimin backs away, playing dumb. “I’m sorry! I don’t know where I am. Is this— is this Master Seokjin’s wing?”
“That’s the other way. This is Daebonim’s wing,” one of them replies, and Jimin nods, mouth in an O. “Go on, be on your way. And don’t come back this side, this area is off limits.”
“Got it, really sorry again,” Jimin says hastily, bowing quickly and walking back. So that was Joonjae’s wing—and the scent must be of his sickness. Just what did he have that it was so bad? And what had that been, the way it had called to Jimin and asked him to have a little taste? The effect is still there somewhere, his legs not moving as fast and stumbling every couple of steps, like the phantom call is still there.
He somehow manages to get out of the wing altogether—only to be cornered by Seokjin. Shit. “Little omega. Hello.”
“Seokjin,” Jimin nods, keeping his hands fisted in his pockets. Seokjin wouldn’t attack him, right? Taehyung will have to do something, or Jimin’s going to skin him. Slowly. “What’s up?”
“Oh, drop the act,” Seokjin snaps, taking out a pocket knife and twirling it in his hands. Huh. He has rather weird fingers, all crooked like they were broken repeatedly. Wait, were they? “We both know this is a farce.”
Why does Jimin have to be alone for this? “What’s this?”
“This ‘thing’ between you two,” Seokjin says, fingers curling in the air. “You can fool Namjoon, but you can’t fool me.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Jimin says, backing away—and meeting the wall. Could this get any more cliché? “I seriously don’t know what your problem is. Why can’t you just leave me and Taehyung alone?”
“Hah, and so you can infiltrate the camp, using my brother, and get away with it?”
“Get away with what?” Jimin yells, and Seokjin blinks. He can’t let the other know, he can’t. His friends’ lives rely on his secrecy. “I don’t fucking know what goes on in your shit for brains head, alright? Stop trying to make a big deal out of nothing!”
“You? You? Are dating my brother. The one you hated and professed to keep hating for the rest of your life,” Seokjin hisses, pocket knife aimed at Jimin but a distance away. It sucks when his rivalry is well-known throughout this cursed camp. “The one who made you run away, Jimin, you don’t expect me to believe all is forgiven?”
Shit, shit, shit. Jimin hadn’t known Seokjin had been aware, at least not of the why behind leaving camp. And he can’t waste time remembering now. “People change, okay? Even assassins. Especially when they leave and learn about a different life.”
“But Taehyung hasn’t,” Seokjin says lightly, and Jimin gulps. “He’s still the same, infuriating knothead of an alpha. Didn’t you see before? Got all possessive over you. Just like he had with Yuri.”
Goddess, no. Why couldn’t Seokjin ever be in solidarity with omegas and be useful for a change? Why had he always been such a bitch to Jimin? “That was different. And of course, he’d be protective. It’s not like I wasn’t confused between him and Namjoon back in the day. Insecurities take time, but you won’t know that since you eat, breathe and love yours so much.”
“Careful,” Seokjin whispers, but Jimin’s done. He raises his chin, facing the pointed blade head-on. Seokjin’s eyes widen, the blue ring brightening. “Are you challenging me? In my home territory?”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Jimin says, stepping close and pushing against Seokjin, who stumbles back. “I don’t care if this is your home or that you’ve never stepped a foot out of it because you’re daddy’s little prince, but I did. I’ve seen things you can’t imagine. So stop thinking you know better than me because you don’t.
“Taehyung has changed; you’re just blinded because all you care about is competition instead of family. That’s pathetic, don’t you think?” Jimin asks, tilting his head, watching Seokjin’s mouth part. Serves him right. Jimin’s not sure where the energy is coursing from, but his wolf is yipping away in triumph. “You think I want to be in this godforsaken camp? That I would willingly step into this shithole? After what I went through to get out of here?”
“I didn’t say that, just that there is more at play here than—”
“Again—don’t care” Jimin snaps, and he’s so sure by now his eyes are blue. He can feel his omega roaring, a strange primal battle between it and Seokjin’s, and he’s definitely winning. Hah. “I’m here because I love him, and he wanted support before he exited. That’s all I care about. So maybe I went overboard and killed your precious men, which by the way, you’ve trained like shit. It’s a pity you are going to be on the throne.”
Seokjin turns red. “That’s not—”
“I don’t what you to ever question my allegiance to him,” Jimin says, standing straight and tall—well, as tall as he can, damn his short height genes. His speech was pretty great, though. “I’m going to stay here in your precious home and take over your space, and shit in it if I must, and wait for him to finish his work— before I leave. You’re fucking welcome.”
Then Jimin walks away like the bad bitch he is. Hell yeah.
Except he doesn’t feel like a bad bitch. As he turns around the corner, he falls against the wall, breathing heavily. His heart races and Jimin shuts his eyes. I love him??? Seriously? He wants to vomit in his mouth. Why had he been so intense about this? This is just a fake thing. It doesn’t mean shit, and Seokjin’s opinion of them doesn’t matter.
Taehyung has changed.
Hah, as if. He’s still the same, infuriating, unorganised alpha who only ever made sex jokes or made Jimin’s life more difficult than it had been. Is he though? What about the way he thanks people now?
The day Jimin’s wolf stops betraying him will be a grand day indeed.
🖤⚔🖤
Tracking is like seeing images through the water.
It’s not stable, Jungkook finds. It hardly ever stays, and it’s the barest flutters of images or impressions, the taste of scents that swirl around him every time he closes his eyes.
He knows Jimin’s scent like the back of his hand. Or nose, in this case, but semantics. It had always been tart oranges, sweet yet sour, playful but nurturing underneath. Jungkook loved his scent, and he still does as he tries to focus on it.
All he sees are long roads. Flashes of a mansion, but that doesn’t look like it belongs anywhere in Korea. He doesn’t see Jimin— the connection’s too flimsy, Yugyeom had told him it would be— but the frustration is real when he actually faces the issue.
It’s hard to focus on Jimin or his scent—because his mind keeps getting dragged elsewhere.
It’s vague, smoky— Jungkook can’t see, but he does see the back of— someone. Clad in a dark suit, walking away from him. He never turns, no matter how much Jungkook screams— why he screams, he doesn’t understand, it’s not like it’s a dream. Jungkook is rooted to the spot, unable to search for anything—the man walks away, and with him— so do the rest of Jungkook’s senses.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
NAMJOOOOOOONNNNNN is here heh & he has a delicious plot i am vibrating. Jiminie just challenged seokjin :O and what's this that's jk doing ;)
Note- Daebonim is Korean for boss basically. From what I've read, it mostly applies to mobs/mafia? Not sure. But yeah.
btw jk retracing jimin's steps has a purpose mostly that we get to see jimin's world/life from someone else's eyes, so yes that's why it's like a repeat? sorry if that's annoying jddkjnkjvn
i'm so excited to write ch 10 cuz ch 9 is HOTTTT (or is it? heh).
Chapter 9: Tug of War
Notes:
an update so soon? why yes you guessed correctly i procrastinated on all my other important tasks and wrote fic instead. ignorance is bliss.
okay no but seriously, i'm excited and pleased about this chapter. i was really happy with the flow? i hope it's enjoyable for you too hehe have a blast <3
also i've been compiling a playlist for this fic i'll link it soon when we reach ch 10 OMGGGG
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Taehyung began taking an interest in him sometime after they both turned ten—and Jimin could never shake it off.
Until then, Jimin had been hidden. Somewhere in the background, content with practicing and quiet about his ambitions. He’d seen the youngest son and sworn to defeat him, but such goals took time. And Jimin could be patient when he had to be.
Kim Taehyung, however, could never let him rest. One moment Jimin was unknown; the next, he was the target of Taehyung’s relentless bullying. Hatred, or some kind of incessant competition that the other insisted upon. The worst part was all the friends Taehyung had, and how Jimin was utterly alone.
That was okay. He could make peace with that and take Taehyung on if he ever crossed the line.
The competition nipped at his heels day by day until Jimin wanted to compete right back, and put Taehyung in his place. That was a dangerous thought to have, for, in a place like an assassin camp that bred nepotism, Jimin was supposed to be unimportant. Keeping his head low and voice quiet.
Jimin never listened, and so it was set in stone. Once Jimin started fighting back—it was clear as day who was a born winner.
Kim Taehyung had a rival at last—and his name was Park Jimin.
🖤⚔🖤
The estate is huge, but like most buildings—its’ boundaries end eventually.
Jimin finds himself on familiar grounds—there is a back exit through one of the wings, and soon, he’s walking on thick gravel, the crunch resounding with each step. Had it only been yesterday that he’d arrived here? It seems much longer, and the anxiety trails after him in a sinister hush. This is where you walked when you left. This is where you almost tripped and got caught by the camp dogs.
He shudders through the memories, treading forward. He’s not going to fuck up again because of his past. His friends’ lives depended on how well he behaved, and Taehyung’s promise still rings through his bones. I’ll send them my regards.
Jimin doesn’t want to be around for that.
The camp had been built like a military training ground—acres of land, an odd smattering of buildings and barracks. On the surface, it had always looked like a sprawling school—the mansion is a new addition and a blinding cover. Generally, whenever Jimin used to be assigned on missions, he’d leave through the back—regular assassins like him were simply not allowed to set foot anywhere close to the more elite sections.
Hilarious how classism follows even in a ground breeding death and decay.
As Jimin crosses the pathways and onto the barracks, he thinks about Seokjin. The sure-fire ice blue in his eyes, the disdain, and suspicion. More than that, he thinks of his ‘passionate’ speech on his ‘real’ feelings for Taehyung. As if, he snorts, though the confession rubs oddly in his chest. He doesn’t love Taehyung, he never has. Whatever benefits they both derived from each other had just been that—benefits, and in a stifling camp with no outlets, Taehyung had been convenient. That’s all.
Why did it feel so easy to say all that, then? His wolf asks, and Jimin’s given up trying to argue with it. He misses the old days, if only because his wolf had been so suppressed, so quiet that Jimin knew he could rely on his logic alone. Now, after ten years of unlearning all that bullshit? It’s next to impossible. Don’t lie to yourself.
“I’m not,” Jimin hisses under his breath, shivering as the October chill runs its teeth over his skin. A headache blooms between his temples, and he presses his fingers in, trying to massage the pain away. He must paint a lone figure, huddled into himself and muttering under his breath like a maniac. Stupid camp with its tendency to dig deep into his psyche.
Taehyung hasn’t changed, Seokjin had said, and even if Jimin desperately wants to agree—he knows he’d be lying to himself. Maybe he’s not changed with regard to Jimin, but he’s gleaned enough in the past week and knows better. He has changed. It’s simply Jimin that can’t accept it, he just can’t.
If he does—then the past means nothing. All that effort he made to keep detached, to not beat himself up for his failures, and the final straw of the escape—all of that means nothing. But you were merely seventeen then. You’ve grown. So has he.
Jimin grits his teeth and stalks forward, letting the gravel consume his ears once more.
Exploring the camp as an adult is simultaneously easier and the hardest thing Jimin has had to do—but a more than good enough replacement for the other, traitorous thoughts. He puts it all aside—waking up pressed against Taehyung, getting off to him, all the accusations Seokjin made or how different Namjoon had seemed—and focuses on the camp. In ten years, it hasn’t changed much—the same buildings of red brick and grey stone, so that if there was ever a surprise inspection from legal authorities, it would pass over as a boarding school. It makes Jimin sick, how well-crafted the system is so that anyone who had the slightest chance to be rescued—wouldn’t.
There are classrooms, a mess hall, sports arenas, and the like. In a way, it had been like a school—Joonjae had the philosophy that good assassins were trained in everything, and that included normalcy. Jimin had learned how to kill and followed it up with some quick math.
The walk evokes all the memories Jimin has carefully slotted away over the years. Being an assassin is something he can’t ever hope to unlearn—that much is true. Still, he had hope, a burning wish that he’d wake up one day and he’d be free of the cursed knowledge. Every day, he would try to take one more step away from his past, hoping if he put enough distance, it would eventually be too far to see.
No such luck, though, but then again, Jimin’s had shitty luck since he was five years old when his parents decided to sell him for cash. Assholes.
The camp is silent this time of the year—winter is when a lot of their missions would occur, the transition between seasons. Even as he walks, he catches only a few people—and that had been one distinction from a school back then. The lack of noise, the screams of curious children swallowed down by the gaping maws of Death. It was one of the first things he’d identified when he’d been on his quest to separate his identity as an assassin from his identity as a person.
A lot of self-reflection has happened in these halls.
He ends up going towards the training grounds—placed at the back of the estate, it was where most of their physical activities had occurred. It had also been Jimin’s favourite place on Earth—the only place where he could taste the fresh air and the delusion of freedom. It’s nearly empty now as if the camp hasn’t been active in years. It makes some part of his heart happy. Good, if that is the case.
Jimin would like nothing more than for this place to burn down, to take away all its still innocent children and keep them safe.
As he nears the barracks, he hears the clash of weapons. It’s a familiar song to his ears, and Jimin walks towards it in a trance. He didn’t like camp—but he’d enjoyed learning how to fight. To handle so many different weapons, to know so much more about this world. It’s a strange clash Jimin feels inside, this tug of war between disdain and nostalgia for his past.
He follows the sounds and comes upon the old sparring grounds—and a crowd of people standing in a ring.
They all look…young. Heartbreakingly so, as Jimin watches them for a moment. Barely in their early teens. He catches the natural, neutral scent of unpresented wolves, catches some spicy or sweet ones—the older teens who must have presented recently. Jimin can’t tear his eyes away from them—he used to be that young. He was that young when he’d stood in this same training ground, eyes narrowed and face set in a determined scowl.
Nausea forms a lump in his throat.
He shakes his head, breathing deeply. A boy at the back catches the inhale, looking back and gasping-. He immediately pokes a person next to him, pointing blatantly at Jimin. Well. That’s not unnerving at all.
The two have wide eyes as they appraise him, and Jimin feels too perceived under their…star struck? Gazes. They break out in a whisper, and soon the outer ring of the circle is looking at Jimin and pointing at him, then pointing to somewhere in the sparring ring—at whatever they seem to be looking at.
Jimin’s had enough. “Excuse me. Could one of you tell me what’s going on?”
The kids—goddess, Jimin hates saying that— keep silent. Then one of them tilts their head. “Are you the Park Jimin?”
He didn’t expect to become a noun, what? “Uh, yes. That would be me.”
The whispers increase, while some of the kids grin mischievously. It’s the teasing kind, like children do. It’s nice, even if the stark reminder that they are assassins in the making bums the whole deal out. “Sparring. The Young Master wanted to practice.”
Jimin’s about to ask who when lavender reaches his nose—and his mouth waters. Shit, not here.
He can’t help it, however, when the scent—amplified by sweat—weaves its way into his skin and tongue. Jimin has always been sensitive to Taehyung’s scent—but he’d also been particularly weak to it after a workout. The number of times they fucked after a practice round, goddess above—
Jimin pushes through the ring of kids—they’re sweet enough and not so jaded yet that they flinch at his careful touch—and comes upon the owner of the delicious scent.
The owner who exists to make Jimin’s life difficult.
Taehyung is sparring with one of the older trainees—and apart from the beautiful technique that’s hot enough to make Jimin swoon (hey, he can appreciate the art of fighting)—he is shirtless. In mid-October, he is shirtless, wearing only his pants. Sweat runs down his body in rivulets—and the scent is so heady, Jimin can taste it at the back of his throat, almost as if he’s being scented again.
It would be so embarrassing if he whined or, goddess forbid, got wet in public.
For safety measures, he keeps his legs tight together, watching the way Taehyung moves. It’s fascinating, and Jimin’s never shied away from the fact that, for all his annoying qualities and terrible attitude, Taehyung was—is—a brilliant assassin. A talented one, skill tightly woven into the sinews of his limbs. It’s why he liked, in some grotesque way, competing with Taehyung— Jimin outshone most of his peers and was hated for it. Taehyung was his equal— and he respected Jimin in this. He may be a total, alpha-pig otherwise but fighting is where Taehyung treated Jimin with the utmost regard.
Hard not to fuck someone like that after a point.
Taehyung moves like a wraith. It’s a peculiar comparison, but one that makes the most sense—he is loud on the surface, but his movements are so silent they feel almost ghostly. Speed had been his biggest advantage—Taehyung knew how to measure his pace. As Jimin watches, he sees that little has changed except that his skills have improved even more in the ten years since. Watches as Taehyung wins easily—it’s not a fair competition, but the boy beams when Taehyung ruffles his hair, a kind smile on his face. The crowd around him cheers—out of joy.
He hasn’t changed, Seokjin had said, and Jimin still doesn’t know if he can trust this but he can trust kids. Even assassin kids that are trained to lie from birth. Kids don’t lie.
And they seem to really like Taehyung as a person.
Taehyung goes to the corner, guzzling water and crushing the bottle afterward. He shakes his hair like a wet dog, pushing it back from his face. Jimin can’t speak for a moment, the entire beauty of Taehyung just shoved right into his face.
Then Taehyung catches his eyes—and smirks for a moment before switching to a bright smile. “Ah, Jimin-ah. You’re here.”
He says it softly like nothing makes him happier than seeing Jimin. He pulls Jimin in, and he’s too frozen to react—by the time he wakes up, he’s out of the ring and by Taehyung’s side, pressed closed against his body. His sweaty, heated body. Jimin’s mind is in overdrive. He can feel his mating gland throb under his sweater, so close to a scent he’s naturally attracted to.
“Missed me, did you?” Taehyung says, leaning in to nuzzle his hair, carefully avoiding his neck. “Everyone, meet Jimin. The love of my life.”
Can he stop saying that? It’s embarrassing and also, contributes to the growing knots in Jimin’s stomach. The uncomfortable, non-sexual variety. “Stop.”
“Isn’t he the All-Kill All-Star?” One of the kids chimes, and Jimin’s eyes widen. He turns to Taehyung, who looks…proud? His tongue peeks out. “Undefeated, too.”
“It’s insane. I wish I could be that cool,” another one says, looking at Jimin like he’s some god. “Apparently no one’s good enough to get it.”
“Yeah, mostly the Elites do,” says another, and Jimin can’t breathe. They’re admiring him? They want to be a part of the camp and kill enough people to achieve some horrendous prize? One that Jimin had slaved away to earn, and upon getting it realised how hollow he felt? “Are you back, Ahjussi?”
Taehyung barks out a laugh at that, and Jimin blushes. “C’mon, I’m not that old to be called that.”
“How old are you then?”
“Twenty-seven,” Jimin says, and the children gasp in genuine surprise. Must be because assassins have a shit expiry date. “I’m not—” He feels Taehyung’s hard squeeze at his waist, and when he turns, a firm shake. Don’t tell them. “I haven’t practiced being an assassin for a while.”
“You’re dating each other?” A girl asks, her voice pretty and sweet amongst the hordes of boys. “Sunbaenim, you never told us!”
Taehyung winks at her. “Wanted to keep him a secret. Isn’t he the prettiest?”
The children nod enthusiastically. Jimin blushes again. Something in Taehyung’s voice…but no, he’s just teasing. It’s all he ever does. The same girl who’d whined steps closer, holding Jimin’s hand. “You really are very pretty. I didn’t expect that.”
“They never show the pictures,” another one pouts. Jimin doesn’t know what to do. “I think you should have gotten a trophy for your beauty.”
What the hell? The kids giggle while the main culprit smiles sheepishly, and Taehyung just stands there with a smug smile. Absolutely content. “Thank you?”
“Stop now, he’ll get all shy,” Taehyung says, coming to the rescue and ruffling the kid’s hair. He picks up another spear, throwing it at Jimin—who catches it on instinct, and barely blinks before he realises. The kids gasp. “You want to show them what a Star you are, darling?”
“What—I’m not—I’m not fighting you!” Jimin says, even as his hand tightens comfortably around the spear. Rough wood, the kind that he’d worked at for years and years until there were callouses on his palms. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Aw, poor Jiminie’s too shy,” Taehyung croons, waggling his eyebrows as he walks backward. It’s really fucking attractive, but Jimin tamps down on his wolf. Not here. “Maybe he’s scared he’ll lose to me.”
Okay, so maybe Jimin is petty enough. “What a joke. I’ve never lost to you.”
“That’s a lie,” Taehyung fires back, pointing the spear at him. “You shouldn’t lie to kids, Jimin, don’t you know better?”
What is he even doing? “I’m not lying. I’ve never lost.”
“What about that time in Gwangju—”
“Gwangju doesn’t count,” Jimin cuts in harshly, stiffening. That had been an eventful mission, one that he hasn’t thought of for years but now, with all this exposure, consumes his mind. “Let’s not spread misinformation.”
“Interested in spreading something else?” Taehyung asks, smirking and—wow. Wow. Right in front of the kids, who watch in rapt attention but the older ones…oh man. In an assassin camp, age isn’t just a number. People grow up fast. “Because that can be arranged too.”
His body is caught in a hot flush as the image flashes by— Jimin somewhere on a bed, spread eagle and naked while Taehyung stands there and keeps spreading them, keeping working him open until Jimin is nothing but a good hole to fuck—
Fuck no. Over his dead body is Park Jimin, All-Kill All-Star, ever going to get wet and hard from an intrusive thought, no fucking way. Certainly not over Kim Taehyung.
“Oh, fuck you,” he mutters, low enough that the kids don’t hear but Taehyung does, who grins, wolfish and sharp. He’s sunk his claws in and Jimin will answer. “Let’s get this over with.”
He removes his muffler, chucking it to the side, folding the sleeves of his sweater to his elbow. He picks up the spear, and Taehyung makes a come hither motion with those long fingers of his, gait cocky and effortless. Somewhere, the cursed image in his head adds those long fingers trailing over his flushed, sweating body and—nope, there’s a tell-tale trickle of slick that Jimin squeezes shut. It’s not fast enough, however, because Taehyung catches it—he’s always been able to catch Jimin’s scent no matter what, and right now, his nose flares, pupils widening in surprise before hunger crawls into them.
Jimin remembers. He remembers all too well their spars, the intense competition, the fierce drive to topple the son of the Kingpin down from his undeserved throne—the way their scents intensified even back then, and it had been difficult—especially after the presentation. Then, neither of them had been particularly well-versed in anything—but the attraction had been so stifling.
He remembers how Taehyung would trail after him and Jimin would push him away, and then he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help this need to taste him and rip him apart at the same time.
The only difference is that this time—Jimin wouldn’t let it happen.
The first strike of the spears rings loud, resounding through the chilled air. Whenever he fought, Jimin used to enter a different zone—one where things moved too fast, and he couldn’t afford to process them. He still can’t, as he drives into Taehyung again and again, and the alpha matches him move by move. They would always be equal, and the only way either of them would win is if they yielded first.
That’s out of the question.
Or maybe not, as Jimin blocks the attack. “Not much for defence anymore, then?”
“I take what’s mine now,” Taehyung replies easily, his jabs fierce. His style has changed—Jimin’s is ten-year-old knowledge that he hasn’t refined much, and it is harder to keep up. That’s humiliating, even if understandable. “I always have.”
“You never had me,” Jimin says, and Taehyung falters for a second before resuming. It’s cheap, but Jimin’s always worked well emotionally. That’s the secret to human battles—emotions.
“I will now,” Taehyung says softly, and they’re so close—the annoying aspect of sparring with someone who is your equal. The distance varies. “I like pretty things, after all.”
Jimin blinks, and Taehyung’s next blow nearly sweeps him off his feet—he regains his balance quickly. “Why are we doing this again?”
“Because you have an insane need for winning?” Taehyung tries the same technique again, but Jimin meets him halfway, twirling the spear before stabbing the blunt edge into Taehyung’s side. Yikes, that’s got to hurt. “Jeez, what the fuck?”
“Don’t fucking annoy me,” Jimin says sweetly, and Taehyung’s eyes narrow. He goes for Jimin’s legs, the cheap fuck—but Jimin’s advantage has always been his height, and he dodges, side-stepping and using the spear to trip him up. Taehyung yelps, but Jimin holds onto his shoulder and flips him to the ground—before straddling him, spear to Taehyung’s throat. “Or I’ll win.”
In the distance, the crowd of children cheers—but the sounds ring in Jimin’s ears as the moment slows, and the chilled October air flutters in between. Both of them heaving, pressed so close to each other that Jimin can feel the searing heat of Taehyung’s skin through his sweater. So close that he can smell the lavender press against his mouth, the taste of sage underneath so delicious his mouth waters again. So close that he can feel how hard Taehyung is right under his ass—and the knowledge is a lot. It can be explained away, of course— fighting does that, but Jimin knows this isn’t because of a fight. Knows that his own scent must be off the charts, the sweat amplifying the orange, the sweet undercurrent that his slick carries burning between them.
Jimin stares so long, that his hold on the spear weakens and he pulls back slightly—perhaps too slowly even, maybe even intentionally though that’s too much to admit—feels the hard drag of Taehyung’s cock through his pants, and allows himself just one moment to enjoy it. That’s all.
It’s a mistake, and Jimin should have known not to trust him because Taehyung—who’d been staring at him eyes wide and mouth parted—smiles, and flips Jimin around.
Now, all Jimin can feel is the cold, hard ground beneath his back. “What the hell?”
“Yield,” Taehyung whispers, pressing his spear point against Jimin’s gland, though it’s too light to be threatening. Still, Jimin’s wolf recoils in fear. Anger is quick to replace it, however. “You look so pretty like this.”
It might as well have been just the two of them, and it certainly feels like that—like nothing else exists or matters when they’re like this. And that’s a dangerous, dangerous thought because Jimin knows what happens when he falls in Taehyung’s orbit. It can’t happen again. “You fucker.”
“Mm, say it after I do it,” Taehyung says, leaning in close—Jimin can still feel his abs and his dick, and it’s not—he doesn’t want to be trapped like this. “Should have known better than to lay down your guard, baby.”
“I won,” Jimin says, doing his best to strain away but it’s a half-hearted effort; a traitorous part of him enjoys the closeness. Post-fight cuddles, fuck. This is not the same, you stupid slut, he scolds himself, but his wolf just sits there, its tongue lolling out. “You cheated.”
“So did you. Let’s not get into the ethics of it,” Taehyung says, eyes searching and nose flaring. Jimin tilts his neck just to be a little shit, and Taehyung growls—it goes straight to his core, the slick building. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything, alpha,” Jimin purrs, having half the mind to clasp his thighs around Taehyung’s back and pull him in, really drag him where he needs it—no, wants it, Jimin can totally make the right choice— most. However, the kids. “You seem so comfortable, don’t you?”
“I am, but let’s not start here.”
“Or what?”
“I’ll have to make you behave,” Taehyung says smoothly, shifting his hips slightly enough that Jimin feels his dick even more— and they never discussed this. They never agreed to it, and sure, they say a lot of shit between the lines but it’s one thing to say it and one thing to act upon it, and that’s one line Jimin will draw this time. “Mouthy little omegas need to be put in their places, hmm?”
It’s so sexist, but Jimin’s blood sings. The way he says it, goddess above. “You’ve never been able to. I think it’s about time you realised you’ve never owned me and will never own me, I won’t allow it. Okay?”
“I don’t want to own you.”
“Lies,” Jimin scoffs. Taehyung’s always liked to own pretty things. “You’re not good at lying either.”
“Let’s not fight in front of the kids, baby, please,” Taehyung coos, tucking Jimin’s hair behind his ear. Jimin barely holds back a flinch—or leaning into the touch. “It’ll traumatise them and everything.”
“Goddess, why must you be so infuriating?” Jimin huffs, still not moving or pushing Taehyung away like he very well could. “It’s like it’s your job to annoy—”
He doesn’t get to complete his sentence, because fucking Kim Taehyung—he fucking kisses him.
Okay, it’s not really a kiss as much as it’s a peck, and Taehyung does pull back immediately, his eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to before a charming mask slips onto his face and he gets up, holding a hand out to Jimin. He’s back to playing a role, but Jimin is frozen on the ground before Taehyung kicks his foot slightly, and he shakes his head, getting up on his own and ignoring the hand.
What the fuck. What the fuck was that? Jimin simply stands there, waiting in numb silence as the children crowd around Taehyung, as the girl from before congratulates him and tells him quite sweetly that he’s still the winner in her eyes. Jimin brushes her hair absent-mindedly, smiling mutely and ignoring Taehyung on the side. His gaze. The bell rings, signaling the end of the period—and the children scatter, leaving the two of them behind.
Jimin, for all his bitterness and self-righteous anger, can’t bring himself to say anything. There is a lot, yet he doesn’t know how to start. Instead, he walks away, arms crossed and curled under his armpits, steps swift. He can distantly hear the rushed scramble of Taehyung’s footsteps, but Jimin pushes on anyway.
Taehyung catches up. “Jimin—”
“Don’t,” Jimin snaps, refusing to look at him. It’s a jumble of—things, none of his thoughts make sense. Lips seared even though it was just a peck.
He can smell Taehyung’s frustration. “Listen to me—”
“I think I’ve listened to you enough, haven’t I?” Jimin says, walking briskly through the trails. The back of the estate is in sight, and he can’t wait to get inside—and do what? “If you tell me this is for the role—”
“It is for the role—will you stop?” Taehyung growls, but it doesn’t bother Jimin for once, too focused on his goal. “I can explain myself.”
“I don’t want your fucking explanation,” Jimin snarls. The door is so close. “All you ever do is lie, and use people around you and then—and then you just do whatever the fuck you want, just who do you think you are, Kim Taehyung?”
“Careful. Keep your voice low.”
That does it. Jimin can’t believe the nerve of him and stops just outside of the door. “Does it look like I give a fuck?”
Taehyung’s eyes darken. “Jimin. I’m serious.”
“Well, so am I!” Jimin says, pushing against Taehyung’s still naked chest—he stumbles, and then he growls. “Oh, go ahead and do your worst. That was out of the line. Not that you know what lines are, do you? You cross them even when you don’t draw them, I’m so sick of you—”
He doesn’t get to complete it again, because stupid Kim Taehyung drags him to the wall next to the door and crowds against him. Jimin can’t believe it. Why does he bother getting surprised, after all this time anyway? No, Kim Taehyung hasn’t changed. Seokjin had been right. “Keep. Quiet.”
Jimin juts his chin forward in a challenge. “Or what? You’ll make me behave, alpha?”
“We have watchers,” Taehyung whispers, and Jimin freezes. He sounds serious—but then again, Taehyung is a liar. “I’m not lying.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jimin says, refusing to check. Taehyung stares into him, but for once Jimin’s kept the door shut. “What, are you trying to recreate the old times? Follow me after a fight and fuck me raw knowing someone could watch?”
The words get to him, it’s obvious as day—Jimin can feel it, taste it and smell it. Hell, it affects him too, and he shouldn’t have said it but he’s just—he’s so angry, and upset but he doesn’t know how to put it across. Mostly, he’s confused because he’d liked it—but admitting it would be too much. He can’t.
“Is that what you’d like, darling?” Taehyung asks, voice hoarse with want. He cages Jimin between his arms and doesn’t touch him but the expectation of it keeps Jimin on his toes. “You’d always go to the empty classes after, wouldn’t you? You knew I’d follow you back then. You’d tell me no but showed me yes. Am I remembering the old times correctly?”
He is, but Jimin will never admit it, not out loud. “You’re deluded.”
“Am I? Then why am I smelling slick, baby?” Taehyung continues relentlessly, leaning in and nosing his neck slightly, tantalising. “Is that what you thought of in the shower last night?”
Jimin tenses. Not here, not now. “No.”
“No? You didn’t think of me? Didn’t think of—” Taehyung tucks his hair again, but that’s all the touch he provides. “— our scents mixed together? They match well, don’t they? Didn’t think of how I’d fit your perfect little cunt?”
The slick leaks, his cock hard. The shame is strong, but the want is stronger. “Stop it.”
“I came so hard last night, thinking about it. Pity you didn’t get to experience the same.” Taehyung pulls away, flushed and slightly sweaty again— the lavender swirls around them. His eyes are black with want, and Jimin turns away—only to find himself being watched. Some distance away, but watched all the same. Taehyung hadn’t been lying. The shame burns bright. “Don’t be so loud next time about how much you hate me.”
Then he begins walking away, leaving Jimin behind a confused mess.
After willing his boner down and making sure his slit isn’t a sopping, wet mess—Jimin walks back into the estate embarrassed, furious, and—not horny, necessarily, but something like it. As he said, action, and not feelings, determined the final outcome.
He catches up to Taehyung, who’s already changed and wearing clothes like a normal person, though he hasn’t showered yet. The intensity of his scent has reduced though it still carries the tinge of latent arousal. I came so hard thinking of you last night. So he had been getting off too? Or was it when Jimin was in deep sleep? No, that’s too deranged even for Taehyung, and Jimin is a fair man.
“I wanted to ask something,” Jimin starts, and Taehyung turns around. He raises an eyebrow, but Jimin will absolutely not address whatever just happened or admit that he was wrong. They’re going to be watched all the time from now on. “Is this a safe place to talk?”
“Depends on what you want to talk about.”
Jimin’s not sure why he stopped Taehyung or caught up to him—but he’s known to be blunt, at least Hoseok used to always say so. A part of him wants to talk about what happened, but the wise part of him doesn’t. “I accidentally went to, um. Joonjae’s wing.”
The air shifts so suddenly, that Jimin couldn’t have seen it coming from a mile away. Taehyung pales, his hands holding Jimin’s arms tightly. “Are you okay? Did anything happen?”
“What? No. Nothing happened,” Jimin says, and Taehyung exhales, eyes shut. “It happened because I got lost. I don’t have a map of the estate, and if I need to—” He looks around, before leaning in close. “If I have to do the thing, I need to know where the fuck I’m going.”
Taehyung’s still shaky, looking down at the ground. He leaves Jimin’s arms, nodding to himself. “You sure you’re alright?”
What’s the big deal? “Yes, I am. The map?”
“Too much of a risk,” Taehyung mutters, biting his lip. “Can’t leave a paper trail—oh, moon goddess above. Is he for real?”
“What?” Jimin asks, just before Taehyung wraps his arms around him, nuzzling his hair. Jimin’s mouth is right at the hollow of Taehyung’s throat, oh no. No, no, no. “Taehyung—”
“Runner’s watching,” Taehyung murmurs, before pulling back, hands slipping to Jimin’s waist. “My brother is not going to leave us alone.”
Maybe Jimin shouldn’t have gone so hard with the whole dissing thing. Now Seokjin is going to be petty for more reasons than one. “Might have pissed him off after you left.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow before he laughs, throwing his head back. It’s a real laugh, and it’s nice. Soothing, even. “Goddess, what did you say?”
Jimin finds himself placing his arms on Taehyung’s shoulders, and for a moment, his eyes fall on his lips. No. They shouldn’t, but Taehyung’s looking, too. He’s always looking. You’re the one who has to control it, or you’ll fall. He looks away. “Told him he needs to back off or he’ll have to meet my wolf.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen at that. “You challenged him?”
“Mm. Someone had to.”
“You’re—moon above, I wish you’d been around when we’d been younger.”
“I was.”
“I mean, in the family.”
“Then fucking would have been out of the question, huh?” Jimin doesn’t know what possessed him to say that. Especially after the grounds. Taehyung coughs, cheeks flushed. “Is he still watching?”
“Being so obvious about it too,” Taehyung croons, pulling Jimin in closer. “Don’t get mad about this, okay?”
Jimin narrows his eyes, but Taehyung has that stupidly soft look on his face again. “Is it going to be cheesy stuff?”
“Yep. You’ll eat it up.” Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Jimin’s forehead—and just like last time, his skin flares. No, not the romantic shit! “Gotta go, love. You’ll be alright?”
He says this louder like he wants the runner to hear him. Jimin’s too flabgastered to respond well. “Y-yes.”
“Good. Have fun, okay? See you soon.”
And this time—Taehyung walks away for real.
Jimin’s heart threatens to walk with him.
🖤⚔🖤
He finds himself in the library.
In a daze, he’d walked from the spot, refusing to think about—anything, really. If he stops and thinks, it’ll all catch up and then Jimin will have to fall, he’d have no choice in the matter.
He’d asked the runner himself, who’d looked too scared and had run off after muttering the directions. Some errand boys Kim Seokjin has, really.
Jimin had wanted to go to the outside grounds—but he’d misunderstood, and the library is just as he remembers from the few times he’d sneaked in. He wasn’t supposed to be in the estate ever, but Jimin had never been one to listen. He’d even dragged Taehyung here once and they’d fucked between the shelves, stifling their moans and making sure the librarian never caught them.
In hindsight, the two of them had been really, really horny, hadn’t they?
It’s a beautiful room, large with stained glass windows filtering in the sun in myriad colours. The air is cool, and the ceiling fans spin lazily, keeping the air ventilated. Jimin shivers even as he enters, his feet quiet on the grey stone floor.
There is no librarian in sight this time, just shelves upon shelves filled with books of all sorts—why an assassin camp had a library should be a mystery. It’s not like Jimin learned about fighting by reading, but then again—an intelligent assassin was one that survived the longest.
Jimin had always liked reading, so maybe this misdirect isn’t the worst.
Especially when he comes across Namjoon sitting at one of the tables. “Oh, hey.”
Namjoon startles, fingers fumbling for the pages within the book he’d been reading—he shuts it hastily, hands over the cover. “Hey, Jimin.”
“What’s up?” Jimin says, going straight for the kill with some casual conversation—it’s Jimin’s forte of course, and one that gets him the quickest results. “Still a library nerd?”
In his thirteen years at camp, Jimin hadn’t made a lot of friends. He didn’t want to, and there was enough competition to kill any familial bond from forming in the first place. Kim Namjoon, however—if there was anyone Jimin would have considered a ‘friend’, the alpha would have fallen into that category.
Namjoon wasn’t the typical alpha. In fact, Jimin felt most comfortable with him even if they weren’t fast friends; he always liked to be holed away in his room or the library. Now, Namjoon has grown up well—though he looks tired.
The alpha smiles. “Still the nerd, yes. You still haven’t improved your vocabulary, have you?”
“Or my childish ways,” Jimin trills happily, sitting across from him. In the sunlight, he can observe Namjoon better—and see for himself how different he looks. At first glance, Namjoon seems normal—a formidable physique captured by the well-fitting turtleneck, slicked-back hair, and a sense of authority. However, just like the hall—Namjoon carries with him the trails of…sickness. His honey-melon skin is paler, and his lips are cracked. His pupils are wide, constantly fluctuating in size.
It’s his scent that piques Jimin’s interest—sandalwood, but so faint he can barely smell it at all. Namjoon isn’t wearing scent blockers either.
“What are you reading?” Jimin asks, reaching for the book—but Namjoon takes it away. Jimin raises an eyebrow, turning on the pout—he didn’t like Namjoon like that, alas, but he isn’t above using his charms wherever he goes. “You won’t educate me, hyung?”
“Goddess, still a menace, aren’t you, Park Jimin?” Namjoon says with a laugh, pushing the book over. It’s an old one, the pages yellow and some loose. The title is too faint. Transitions something. “Nothing much. Just some light autumn reading.”
“Light, he says,” Jimin says, opening the book gently. The print is tiny, and a headache to read. It’s about wolves and their history. “Old times?”
“I’m always fascinated,” Namjoon says, spreading his hands. His expression, though relaxed, carries with it a certain pensiveness. “It’s hard to imagine that a long time ago, we could shapeshift. We lived in packs and had zero civilisations. It just doesn’t seem possible.”
Jimin agrees though he’s never quite liked knowing that. It’s too uncomfortable, to think he could have turned once. Imagine if you and Taehyung fucked as wolves. Jimin yelps, snapping the book shut, and starling Namjoon again. “Sorry. Intrusive thoughts.”
Namjoon grins, taking it back just as gently as he’d given. “Happens. They say up North, there is the Moon Goddess’s temple, where it’s still possible.”
Jimin snorts. Namjoon’s smart, and too lost with his head in the clouds. “Doubt it. Someone would have found it, I’m sure.” He stretches, wanting to sun himself like a cat. “How are you doing now?”
“What do you mean?”
“The—you were sick this morning,” Jimin ventures carefully, casually. Not that he should care, because he doesn’t want to involve himself with more of Taehyung’s family but—Namjoon’s always been a friend. Sort of.
Namjoon stiffens a moment before giving him a close-lipped smile. “Ah, I’m better now. Just a bout of sickness.”
“Sounded rough.”
“It was,” Namjoon shrugs, placing a bookmark and keeping the book aside. “What about you? How is life after camp?”
Is. He used the word is, as if Jimin still has access to it. To Namjoon’s knowledge, he does. Only Jimin knows how fucked his present life is. “It was—is—good. I guess?”
“You guess?”
“I mean,” Jimin starts, then bites his lips. Should he? Then again, Namjoon had always been the least assassin-like amongst them all, and least bothered by the Kim brothers’ competition. Almost like he’d been trapped here himself instead of being born into it. “No, it is nice. Really nice.”
“Yeah?” Namjoon smiles, leaning forward in genuine interest, cheek resting on his hand. Jimin suddenly yearns to spill—to talk about his ten years. How despite struggling to leave, he’d found joy in the end. “Tell me about it.”
So he does. He avoids the details of the escape and the rough couple of months after—the jobs, the kills, the saving up so he could bribe his way into records and offices, so he could create a new identity and fill the gap in his life.
He instead talks about the university and meeting Hoseok on the first day itself. How he’d felt this instant connection, so strong that he’d been terrified. How he’d run away the first day—too overwhelmed by the concentrated number of students and their collective scents, the noise, and chatter. How they all stayed, didn’t think of vanishing or death.
“It took me a while, adjusting to the normal life, I suppose,” Jimin says, the familiar pang of nostalgia growing in his chest. “But it was also fun. A new experiment. Learning about humans the normal way, instead of with weapons and threats. Once I did get used to it—it was a ride. Like I’d never been in an assassin camp at all.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Namjoon says, looking dreamy and…sad? “Did you ever tell them? Your friends, I mean?”
“Goddess, no,” Jimin says, shuddering at the thought. Not that it was an issue anymore. Which reminds him, he needs to text Jungkook and make sure the idiot isn’t off moping or doing something reckless. The thought of him makes the nostalgia stronger, and Jimin blocks it. “I wanted to pretend it had never happened. So that wasn’t an option.”
“So it was this Hoseok and…?” Namjoon sounds curious, even if Jimin’s antenna rises. The alpha notices, raising his hands. “I’m not going to do anything. You know me. I’m just curious about you, Jimin-ah. Not many of us get to leave camp unharmed.”
They don’t, do they? Jimin had been the first in a long time, and a rare one, someone who’d bargained his way out. Usually, those who tried to leave were executed. “Jungkook and Yoongi.”
“All from university?”
“Jungkook and Hoseok, yes,” Jimin says, playing with his fingers. “Yoongi came by later—he’d started university late, and we met quite accidentally. Then he met Hoseok, and they liked each other, so…”
“So he stayed,” Namjoon finishes, chuckling to himself. He really has the most gorgeous dimples. “It all sounds so lovely, Jimin. Taehyung told me you are a lawyer?”
“Yeah, in finance,” Jimin says. He hasn’t thought about his work for days. Surprisingly, he doesn’t find himself too anxious about it. Not after the past week or so. “It’s fun. Stressful, sexist, and alpha-ridden, but fun. I earn bank.”
“Looks like you do,” Namjoon snorts. He seems happy, if thoughtful. “May I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
“You are happy like this,” Namjoon starts, carefully chewing through his words. Not reckless and wild like Taehyung. “Why did you decide to come back? Or date my brother?”
The same question Seokjin had asked—but here, it’s so sincere Jimin doesn’t have the heart to be defensive. And he doesn’t know what to say, truly, in response to such a genuine question. “I don’t…I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“That’s fine. Again, no pressure.”
“No, but it deserves an answer,” Jimin says. Why, he doesn’t yet know or doesn’t want to know. “I haven’t come back, in my understanding. When I met Taehyung again, it just—I don’t know. Kind of clicked.”
“Ah, like a connection?”
What the hell is that sap? “Uh, yes. I guess you can call it that.” Jimin’s a better liar than Taehyung but he feels stumped. He feels scared because—if he says what he says, it feels too true here. “It was a surprise. I obviously didn’t want to—well, it’s a reminder of my past. My friends were there. I was terrified.”
“Understandable.”
“But then…I don’t know. Taehyung seemed different. More alert, less impulsive—more willing to listen, I guess. He’d come for business, and I decided, what the hell, you know? Just have a chat. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Ah, the classic,” Namjoon smiles, and Jimin smiles with him. That same foreboding feeling brushes against his chest. “Didn’t stop at the chat, huh?”
“Nope. You know me—know us. I don’t think we’ve ever been able to ‘just’ chat.”
Namjoon laughs. “You two weren’t as hidden as you believed.”
Jimin wants to say a quip about Joonjae—but he keeps his mouth shut. “I think as teenagers, we believe the impossible.”
“That’s true. So Taehyung, what, confessed?”
“Pretty fast, actually,” Jimin smirks. Now, this is a story he can spin. “He asked me to come with him. I refused, obviously—I’d worked hard to bargain. He promised to take care of things, and then we’d be on our way. So I put this, uh, ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy, and it’s working out great.”
“I’m glad. You do sound so much happier and look healthier, Jimin,” Namjoon says with utmost sincerity. “My brother too, really—I know you weren’t there to see it, but he’s grown. I’m proud of him.”
That piques his interest again. “Grown how?”
“I’m sure you must have already experienced shades of it,” Namjoon says, and Jimin nods. He hasn’t, but he can pretend. “He’s kinder. Thinks before he speaks, and participates in business more. He still has a reckless side to him, I won’t deny that—but he tempers it down brilliantly. Talks well, too. I really thought for a moment there we’d never get him to talk properly.”
Jimin stares with his mouth open—and shuts it just in time. Who was that Taehyung, and why hadn’t he shown himself to Jimin? “That’s—wow. Yeah. He used to be so crude.” Still is. “I guess aging helps, huh?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Namjoon gets up and stretches. “Say, Jimin. Is it…is it really better out there?”
Namjoon sounds so wistful, eyes lost and sad once again. Jimin gulps, but he knows he has to be honest. “It’s…a challenge of its own kind. That’s the way I’d put it. There are a lot more things to consider, and a lot more complications that life and death seem much easier to handle. So if that’s better for you…”
“Hmm. Guess it’s a subjective interpretation then,” Namjoon concludes, picking up the book and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll be leaving then. Unless you’d like to join?”
“Sure,” Jimin says, feeling perfectly relaxed and finally unaroused. “Say, how’s your father?”
Wrong question to ask. The temperature actually dips—the warmth of their conversation is replaced by the ice-cold of mistrust, and Jimin shivers. Namjoon’s hold on the book tightens. “Why do you ask?”
Jimin’s never seen Namjoon so wary. He looks positively suspicious like Jimin’s out to get information on his family. The Kim Family, so protective of each other no matter what. Jimin plays it dumb, just like with the guards. “Oh, Taehyung told me he was sick for a while. And I haven’t seen him around at all, so I just—I mean, he was my boss, technically. Just a curiosity from the past.”
At that, Namjoon relaxes. He bites his lips, not out of worry but—something darker. It vanishes when he meets Jimin’s eyes. “He’s fine. He contracted a sickness that appeared out of the blue—the doctors don’t know how to fix it, and Father prefers to keep quiet about it and keep himself hidden.”
Huh. Jimin still remembers the sick stench of decay, the enticing nature of it. “Oh. So it’s not treatable?”
Namjoon’s antsy again. “I’m not sure. He operates the business from his side of the wing, but his presence is weakened—we haven’t seen him much ourselves. I’m sure Taehyung told you that.”
No, he didn’t, because he’s a secretive little turd who seeks to make Jimin’s life miserable. “He mentioned it, but I don’t think he likes talking about him much.”
Namjoon snorts, and it’s so different from the protectiveness he’d displayed. “I wonder why that is.” It’s too cryptic a comment, one Jimin doesn’t want to dig into just yet. “I have some work to do. Let’s see if we can meet soon. I would like to know more about the outside world more if that is okay with you.”
“Of course!” Jimin says, too excited but equally genuine. It’s so much better than dealing with alphas or omegas with massive attitude problems. “Take care, Namjoon-hyung. It was nice to chat with you.”
“You too, Jimin-ah. How well you’ve grown,” Namjoon says, a warm smile on his face. On impulse, Jimin finds himself opening his arms—and Namjoon looks surprised, before he steps in, dwarfing Jimin completely. And goddess, hugging Namjoon is exactly how Jimin had imagined. He runs hot, like most alphas, though even this close his scent is all sorts of wonky like it can’t decide if it wants to be strong or mild. The hug is tight, just what Jimin needed—it’s not like he can hug Taehyung without it meaning something. When he pulls back, he squeezes Jimin’s shoulder, close to his gland but carefully avoiding it. There’s a burst of sandalwood that’s quickly overtaken by the mildness. “You make sure my brother is alright, hmm?”
“I’ll do my best to tame him,” Jimin snorts, and Namjoon nods, walking away swiftly and disappearing around the corner.
It’s easy to find his room—well, their room, ew— from the library, now that Jimin’s getting slowly familiar with the unwinding hallways. He enters to a flourish of their mixed scents—the leftover lavender and tart orange floating around like dust motes, embedding themselves into everything. Jimin stretches again, twisting his back and crying in relief at the cracks that sound; Hoseok used to find it hilarious. Talking about them today had been…something. Even if he is avoiding the emotional outburst it carries.
He’s arranging his suitcase and placing the clothes in the closet when he hears the familiar footsteps followed by the deeper imprint of lavender. “You’re back, finally.”
No response. He can see in the faint reflection of the vase in front that it is Taehyung, so Jimin doesn’t have to worry about it being someone else. “Listen, I was thinking—if I can’t get close to Joonjae’s wing, then there has got to be another way to observe it. I need to study the patterns, to understand an entry point. Maybe a mini camera. What do you think?”
When he still doesn’t get a response, Jimin turns around to check—and finds Taehyung mute, eyes fixated on Jimin’s…neck. His lip curls and Jimin holds the shirt in his hand tightly. “Taehyung?”
The alpha’s nose flairs, and before Jimin can anticipate it—he’s in front of him, tilting his neck back and sniffing deeply from his skin. It’s too intimate and too sudden—Jimin pushes him back. “What the hell?”
Taehyung growls. “Have you been hanging out with Namjoon?”
It sounds…jealous? Not that Jimin cares, feeling defensive over the sudden invasion of his private space. “What?”
“You smell like him,” Taehyung says, voice too gruff. Anger lines his entire body. “Have you? Again?”
It’s the tone that does it. “And if I am?” He challenges, jutting his chin forward, and crossing his arms. Taehyung scoffs.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” he says, hands clenched into fists, even as a cruel, cocky smirk lines his lips. “It’s what loose omegas like you do, anyway.”
Jimin’s not an impulsive person. He’s worked hard on his violence, done a ton of classes and major self-work to see reason beyond picking up a knife and stabbing the shit out of someone who pisses him off. He has grown, but not enough to take shit.
He doesn’t even wait to think—one moment Taehyung’s cocky and a self-satisfied pig, the neck moment Jimin slaps him across the cheek—hard enough that it leaves an angry red welt in the shape of his hand— and the alpha is left standing cradling his cheek. He looks back at Jimin in surprise, opening his mouth—but Jimin snarls, and Taehyung cows down. An angry omega isn’t one to mess with.
“Don’t you ever speak to me that way again,” Jimin says quietly, sure that his eyes are icy blue. Taehyung’s eyes are wide with fear, and it’s a thrilling feeling. “I’ll take your shit. I’ll follow your stupid plan and play along, but don’t you ever think you can walk over me and talk down to me, Kim Taehyung. I won’t allow it.”
Taehyung nods in mute silence. His cheek is swollen—it needs ice, or it’ll leave a bruise—but Jimin doesn’t care. How dare he? First, he kisses him without warning. Then he corners him and proceeds to sexually harass him—okay, not harassment if it’s mutual and for a good reason anyway—but it had been deliberate. There could have been many ways to assuage a spy. And now this—no, Jimin won’t stand for it.
Taking shit lying down isn’t how he managed to leave unscathed anyway.
Jimin shoves past him, collecting his clothes and shoving them into the closet while Taehyung keeps standing. The anger burns—his hand itches, and he wishes for one of his daggers so he can carve shit up, go to town on those designer pillows, and really do property damage. Mostly, he just wants to punish Taehyung—and send him away. It’s too conflicting a feeling.
“I’m sorry.”
Jimin halts. He can smell the growing distress in Taehyung’s scent. That’s not what stops him, though. It’s the fact that Taehyung apologised. He’s never done that, not in all the years Jimin’s known him. Sure, shallow ones said for the sake of it have happened, but this one—Jimin can taste the genuineness.
He’s become kinder and thinks before he speaks. Talks well. Namjoon’s words echo through his skull like a bouncing screensaver. Has he? Has Taehyung changed enough to develop grace in the way he deals with people? It brings him to his conundrum of the morning. If Jimin admits to himself that Taehyung has changed—then what does it mean for him?
He can’t think of that now. “It’s fine. Whatever.”
“No, it’s not fine. I was out of line, and I’m ashamed I did,” Taehyung continues, and Jimin turns around. So well spoken? He does look mollified, though. “Let me make it up to you.”
Jimin sighs. “Taehyung—”
“Please,” Taehyung says quietly, eyes sincere. Jimin can’t take this. “You must be getting restless sitting in the estate all day. Let me take you to lunch nearby. It’ll be a nice change.”
It’s…thoughtful, far more than Jimin had expected from Taehyung. From anyone, really. “I—sure. Whatever.”
Taehyung smiles. “Great. Let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“No time like the present,” Taehyung says and opens his arms sideways—asking Jimin to lead the way.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
can we talk about that TENSION phew i recently saw a post that said "you're saying mad shit for a guy within kissing distance" and i'm TELLING y'all that is taehyung to jimin in this fic 90% of the time. I love putting jimin through this sm <3
the namjoon sequence ahhh i love minjoon bonding here it just felt so natural and right? almost like they were old friends instead of former assassins heh.
no jk pov in this cuz my boy's out there being resourceful and mysterious mwahaha. idk when i'll update the next one but i'm going on a trip so i wanted to leave y'all with a treat! let me know ur thoughts!!
until next time <3333
Chapter 10: Save The Date
Notes:
HELLO EVERYONE
okay apologies for the enthusiasm but life was a roller coaster after i came back from my trip. in short- i had to immediately go in for a toenail removal surgery (fuck ingrown nails), then I was trapped in my friend's house for 3 days because there was a random cloudburst and the city was DROWNING, so that's a nice touch of misery. but worst of all-- FUCK ch 11, I couldn't figure it out for the life of me and so this delicious chapter was on hold until I did. last night i had a writer gasm and i'm so glad.so anyway- FINALLY ch 10 omg we hit the first decade. i see my ass plotting a 30 ch saga (it's at 25 rn) so fingers crossed. as promised- here is the playlist for the fic that i totally did not painstakingly try to arrange according to the mood and progression of ch haha i totally have a job :D
hope you enjoy this! muah!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In a lot of ways, assassin camps were different from the real world. Jimin didn’t get a lot of opportunities to explore when he went on his missions, but what he did observe—he consumed voraciously.
All of thirteen years old, Jimin began developing a new fantasy. It began with a mission he shared with Kim Taehyung in Gwangju of all places—too intense, his life almost forfeit had it not been for Taehyung’s quick thinking. Jimin hated that, hated that he owed Taehyung anything at all. Owed Taehyung his life—and nothing was a worse insult for an assassin.
He avoided Taehyung in the weeks after.
Gwangju, however, had opened his eyes. Not just to the world, but to the camp—and how much Jimin despised it, even though it had been all he’d ever known. He could barely remember school—eight years, and all Jimin knew was to wake up with the sun and kill, paint his hands red until they were hands no more.
His mission, though unsuccessful—he’d been punished for it along with Taehyung— had taught him a valuable lesson.
That Jimin wanted to leave the goddess-forsaken camp once and for all.
In the dining mess, Taehyung refused to leave him alone. “Yah, Park Jimin!”
Silence. There always was whenever Taehyung spoke—really, when any of the Elites did. As talented as Jimin was proving to be, he was still at the bottom rung of the ladder—and expected to behave as such. Expected—because Jimin never listened to anyone. “What?”
“Carry this for me,” Taehyung said, stacking his finished plate on Jimin’s still unfinished one. Speckles of food-stained his grey shirt. “Be a good boy now. It’s what you’re meant to do.”
It had been hell, after the mission. Taehyung had decided to earn his favour of saving Jimin’s life by making him do the most asinine tasks—and Jimin had followed. This, however—was beyond his fucking paycheque.
Jimin took the plate—and flung it at Taehyung’s face. “Clean your own shit, asshole.”
There were gasps—fucking suck-ups refusing to stand up for themselves. What was the worse that would happen, anyway? Sprints around the field? Sharpening the blades? Cleaning the toilets? Jimin had done it all.
Taehyung stood frozen, fancy silvery uniform speckled with kimchi and rice. His eye twitched, while his cronies watched mouth open. “Did you just—”
“Get out of my way,” Jimin said, already knowing he wouldn’t be able to escape easily. He would still try. He pushed past the assassin—only to stop when a plate clanged against the back of his head. He turned, catching one of the cronies in the act. “Typical. Can’t even fight back yourself, can you?”
“I saved your fucking life,” Taehyung snarled, and Jimin smirked. “Apologise.”
“Or what? You’ll run to Daddy and cry about me?” Jimin goaded, hands clenched. Weapons were not permitted outside of practice hours. Jimin noticed the forks and chopsticks; they would do. “Do your worst, Kim Taehyung. I’m not scared of you.”
They were unpresented pups, yet at that moment, Jimin swore he could feel some phantom wolf answer his challenge—Taehyung leaped at him, and it spun into an all-out brawl.
Jimin fought. He nicked Taehyung in the eye, all the while the other tried to choke him—before the Master broke them apart.
“To the Penance Hall, now!” He roared, grabbing them by the scruffs of their neck and dragging them out.
Hopefully this would allow Jimin to be kicked out of the stupid camp.
🖤⚔🖤
Jungkook wakes up with a heavy head.
What no one tells about tracking is how draining it is. How it leaches at his soul, the reserves of his mind, and the strength of his body. He isn’t even sure what day it is—just that each morning he wakes up, his head is heavy and his body, weak. It regains strength throughout the day, he gets a little closer to—somewhere, he’s not sure about that either—and then he crashes into a deep yet restless sleep.
He shrugs on his hoodie, scrubbing the grit away from his eyes as he stumbles down the stairs of the local inn he’d taken shelter in two days ago. The ahjumma running the place had been kind—motherly, reminding him far too much of his parents. Of Hoseok, suffering away back in Seoul, whom Jungkook had neglected for—what, some lost fantasy? He bites his lower lip as he sits at one of the tables, mumbling good morning to her.
As he eats the jiggae, his phone buzzes in his pocket—he’d kept it switched off, turning it on in intervals to make sure he wasn’t completely out of touch. Maybe it’s Yugyeom—unlikely, considering how reluctant the beta had been with partaking in Jungkook’s madness. Could be Yoongi, too, from some other number—it was known to happen.
Jungkook takes it out—and chokes on the stew.
[Unknown Number]
Jungkook-ah
This is Jimin-hyung
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m sorry.
Don’t look for me. I’m okay, really. I promise.
I’m safe, and healthy.
I’m sorry for leaving without an explanation. And I can’t give you one.
Nothing would make sense
I know you won’t leave it alone, so I’m begging you
Don’t find me. Don’t look for me. Keep yourself and the hyungs safe
Promise me? Aish, why would you over text
….
I wish I could talk to you some more, you know?
Hyung misses you, Kook-ah
But I don’t think we’ll meet again
I’ll make sure we don’t
So please—please don’t look for me
I love you
Take care. Be healthy.
[This user is unavailable. You will be unable to send messages or call them.]
Jungkook’s hands tremble, screen blurring as the tears—unshed, collected over days—gather at the edges of his eyes and fall in a steady stream. He can hear Jimin’s voice through these words and drops his soup spoon as he hastily tries to text anyway. It doesn’t go through. Neither does the call—an eerie dial tone at the other end.
That can’t be it. What if Jimin had been forced to send these texts by that alpha so that he’d be left alone? He’s seen kidnapping cases like this before. It sounds like Jimin—but who is to say that he wrote this willingly?
“Fuck, fuck, pick up,” Jungkook mutters as he rings up Yugyeom. The call remains unanswered twice before it clicks. “Gyeomie?”
There are only slow breaths at the other end before a deep sigh sounds through. “I told you not to call me again.”
“I know. But—emergency.”
“Everything is an emergency with you at the moment.”
“Yeah, but this time I mean it,” Jungkook says, clutching the phone. “I got a lead, Gyeomie. Just need a little help. Please.”
Silence and then— “Fucking fine. What is it?”
“I got a text from an unknown number. It’s from Ji—the suspect.”
“You can call him Jimin, you know? I’m not questioning your allegiance.” There are clicking sounds of a keyboard in the background. “Tell me the number. I’ll do my best.”
Jungkook rattles off the digits, praying the whole time. He hears Yugyeom working his magic in the background, hoping against hope that he gets something. He’s sick of tracking. Especially because it leads to—
Not important. “Anything?”
“Hold on. It’s a bit tricky.” More clicks. “Uh, I’m not getting the exact location of the cell tower used to send this message from—but I got a close enough hit.”
Jungkook waits with bated breath. “And?”
“It’s some 200 kilometres away from where you’re at. Yeah, I checked your location too,” Yugyeom says, shuffling some papers. “I’ll delete your trail but—if you move towards your southeast, you should come upon it. I think. Take the road that leads towards Daegu.”
“Daegu?”
“Yeah, it seems to be pinging somewhere midway—not exactly Seoul or any of its nearby towns. It’s so fucking weird.”
“It’s not on the map?”
“It is, but it’s also…not? Like a ghost town. I’ve heard of them in theory but…”
None of it makes sense. Where had Jimin gone, exactly? Or rather, where had he been taken? Sure, he’d killed those people at the motel but…Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay. Thanks, Gyeomie. A lot.”
“Yeah…listen, JK?”
“Mm?”
“I thought about it some more and man…I don’t want to be involved. I’m sorry. I get why you’re doing this and I trust you but…this is hanging heavy on my conscience.”
Jungkook gulps. He’d expected that, after the last conversation. What he was doing—or well, the way he’s doing it— is not at all conventional by cop standards. He’d known, yet this separation from Yugyeom pinches. Jungkook doesn’t blame him, however. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it. Thanks, anyway.”
“Yeah? You sure?”
“Just don’t report me,” Jungkook jokes half-heartedly, and Yugyeom chuckles in response. The beta wouldn’t, Jungkook knows that much. “When I come back—will it be the same?”
There is silence. Yugyeom sighs. “Depends on how you handle it, JK.”
Right. As much as Yugyeom said he trusts him—there is still a very real chance that Jungkook will shift sides for love. Or friendship.
He inhales, eyes stinging. “Alright. Goodbye, Gyeomie. Love you.”
The line clicks.
Jungkook leaves his stew uneaten.
Back in his room, he showers and prepares for the arduous process of tracking.
He’s discovered a system in the past—what, three days? — Since he’d begun. And he’s made a lot of mistakes before coming upon a method that works, somewhat. All his research on the Internet amounted to nothing—tracking was considered sacred knowledge. As a skill that can be trained and developed, access to it had been deemed dangerous and open to being misused.
Of course, there are some inconspicuous threads and groups which specialise in it. Jungkook’s lurked enough, and he’d tried some out. Certain things are required for tracking to be the most accurate, namely:
- The scent of the person one is tracking. As accurate as one can imagine.
- Bonus points if they are mates; the bond will take care of a lot of factors
- A clear mind, and focused visualisation
- A surrounding free of disturbance
Mostly, these have worked. Again, somewhat, because Jungkook doesn’t have Jimin’s scent. He knows it, but he doesn’t have it. He has a clear image of Jimin, though, and now he has a potential location—so if he visualises Jimin within that, he’d be guided better.
It’s icky to rely on his wolf instincts—and discover so much more about himself in the process.
He lies on the bed, eyes closed and room set to Do Not Disturb. It takes a while, to enter the headspace for tracking, especially if one is not at all trained in it. Briefly, Jungkook wonders how Jimin does it. If he struggles so much. He wipes the thought away, focusing on one singular sound to ground his mind—and emptying it out.
Time passes, and he soon enters that familiar, murky stage. Like walking through water, eyes burning from the dirt and chlorine—and seeing everything through a haze. He imagines Jimin, imagines his scent—that glorious orange he’d grown so fond over. He smiles when Jimin’s image materialises—the happy laugh, the giggles echoing in his ears. The mischievous look before he played a prank on their hyungs. The care and love in his eyes whenever he tended to Jungkook’s boxing wounds.
Jungkook stares. Imagines the location of the place, and Jimin in it—makes sure he doesn’t cook up something distressing. That’s essential.
And just like always—whenever Jungkook gets just close enough—the image shifts, like sifting through silt. The orange vanishes—he smells something entirely different. Like patchouli oil and wet earth, a heady scent he’s never smelled before. Jungkook tries, straining away from it—distantly, he can feel his body clenching, and his hands in fists—but the scent chases him. Then it beckons him, asking him to come closer.
He can’t help it, taking a heady step toward the call.
Every time, there is an interference from something—and once again, it’s the man in the suit. Back turned towards Jungkook, walking ahead with hands in his pockets. Only this time—when Jungkook calls, the man stops. Turns slightly, and takes out a hand beckoning him forward—before walking away again.
Jungkook follows.
🖤⚔🖤
The drive towards the location of the apology lunch is silent—and too heavy for Jimin to bear.
He’d left the camp in righteous anger—the fact that he could just leave camp now! Without worrying about the guards, being shot at, or the death traps. It drives something bitter inside, this helpless comparison he makes between how he’d left and what his reality is now. Still a prisoner, still trapped by a favour—but free at the same time. No rules, no threat of death.
It’s heedlessly confusing for his wolf, who’s curled inside. Jimin can’t have that. “Where are we going, exactly?”
Taehyung has been resolutely silent, lost in thought as he drives one-handed—and it speaks a lot to Jimin’s anxiety that he doesn’t find that hot. He’s been silent since he apologised to Jimin, then offered to take him out—not out of pity, but as a treat—because he understood, at some level, that Jimin was going nuts inside the mansion.
It had been a whiplash from the man who’d cornered him and spoken those filthy things in his ears.
Don’t think about it. Don’t. That’s harassment. You didn’t enjoy it. No. It’s to no avail, since Jimin had reacted. And what of the after? Taehyung getting territorial over Jimin—he doesn’t want that. He’s familiar with what happens to things owned by Kim Taehyung, and if someone takes those away.
The images flutter in his mind, and Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. Not now. He doesn’t want any revisits of traumatic memories to ruin his mood.
If you don’t remember, you’ll be trapped again. Remember when you ignored it, and then you had to run? Do you want to run again? Your friends will die instead.
That’s not the voice of his wolf. Or maybe it is, and it’s joining forces with the Voice of Conscience, which is equally annoying.
“Is it a surprise?” Jimin prods again, and Taehyung keeps quiet. He used to be a lot easier to annoy, back in the day. “Are you taking me to be killed? Is that it?”
That brings about a reaction. Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Ten years, and you still don’t know how to shut up, huh?”
“I have the right to know,” Jimin says, pouting for a stronger effect. Taehyung’s lips twitch. “You say it’s an apology lunch…but what if I am the lunch?”
“Yeah, this is absolutely a grand scheme by me to eat you up,” Taehyung mutters, but his lips betray a smile. “Like the Big Bad Wolf I am.”
“Stop it. Don’t make Red Riding Hood jokes about me.”
“You’d look so cute in a red hood, too,” Taehyung coos, tongue swiping at his lower lip, playing with that cursed lip ring. It seems to magically appear and disappear as per Jimin’s misfortune. “It’s a place in the town close by. Great food. A good break from the chefs at home.”
“They’ll be so hurt when they hear that.”
“Planning on snitching?”
“I don’t know, should I?” Jimin hums, pressing his chin in mock innocence. “They all like me, anyway.”
“Probably just to fatten you up before the big feast, Red.”
Jimin slaps his arms, and Taehyung curses. “Stop it! That’s not the way to apologise to me.”
“Alright, jeez,” Taehyung mutters, though there’s a small smile on his lips. Jimin looks away, traitorous warmth bursting in his chest. He squashes it down. He hasn’t changed. “Here we are. Chop, chop.”
“Taehyung, I swear—”
The alpha gets out of the car, and Jimin suppresses a groan. Unbuckling the seat belt, he gets out—and faces a quaint town. “Woah. What the heck?”
“Pretty, right? We established it a couple of years back,” Taehyung says, stretching. The town looks so ordinary, and Taehyung looks ordinary within. In the camp, he seems so much more…serious. “Needed a cover and base of operations.”
“A whole town?” Jimin says, twirling around. It’s regular in appearance—shuttered shops, advertisements for helping staff. A number of chicken and beer shops, and people milling about. “Isn’t that a bit overkill?”
“Nothing’s overkill when you’re pandering in weapons, murders, and drugs,” Taehyung says, smirking. “C’mon, the owner has a table waiting for us.”
It’s like a fever dream, as Jimin walks through. Like one of those phantom towns or villages he’d read about, ones that don’t exist on a map or satellite network and so, can’t be located or reached. Not without insider information or accidentally stumbling upon them. They walk side by side, taking off their shoes at the entrance of a cute café—where Taehyung bows deep, the owner returning the favour.
Yes, a fever dream indeed. Taehyung never bowed back then.
“Ahjussi, this is Jimin. My mate-to-be.” That’s how Taehyung chooses to introduce Jimin? “Jimin-ah, this is Yoo Cheongsan. Owner of this lovely café.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Cheongsan says, a warm smile on his face. Jimin bows and the man returns it. “I have the table ready as requested, Taehyung-ah. At the back.”
“Lovely. You always come through, Ahjussi,” Taehyung beams, and Cheongsan ruffles Taehyung’s hair like he’s a boy. “I’ll talk with you later. Is Cheonghyun keeping well?”
“All well. Attending school without trouble. Thank you for your help,” Cheongsan says, squeezing Taehyung’s hand before shuffling off.
The alpha leads them towards a table, away from the other customers yet in view of people so it doesn’t feel too private. Jimin doesn’t know what to do with himself. “What was that?”
Taehyung looks through the drinks menu. “Hmm?”
“Being all—that,” Jimin says vaguely. What does he even say? You were resembling a human and that’s just weird. “Who is Cheonghyun?”
“Oh, Cheongsan’s son. Middle school. Was getting bullied, so I sent some, ah, friendly reminders to the administration. Glad it worked out.”
Jimin’s eye twitches. “You threatened them?”
“No, I’m pretty sure it was friendly,” Taehyung says airily like he hadn’t just admitted to exposing himself. “What would you like to have? I recommend the mushroom fettuccini. Marvellous.”
“I’ll decide for myself, thanks,” Jimin mutters, taking the menu. None of it makes sense—his mind is too occupied with everything. The kiss, the apology, the cordial way in which Taehyung is behaving— “So. Fake town?”
“Shh, don’t call it that. The residents get very offended,” Taehyung says, winking. Jimin curls his lip, and that gets the message across. “Alright, alright. Sorry. Well—you heard me the first time. When we began expanding, we realised that we needed covers. It’s a legitimate town—people exist, there’s a school too, and they all pay taxes—but the town doesn’t necessarily…exist. So to say.”
“How is that possible?” Jimin asks, but before he can get the answer the waiter comes by asking for their orders. Taehyung is distracted again—and Jimin is distracted by him.
“Ah, Haesu-yah, thank you,” Taehyung greets him, a smile on his face—Haesu grins, pouring water and noting their orders swiftly. “Eommonim keeping well?”
“Ah, yes. She’s recovered quite a bit. On the road to recovery.”
Taehyung’s eyes light up. “Yah, why didn’t you tell me?! I’ve been waiting for an update.” He asks for some more updates—apparently, Haesu’s mother had been badly injured at work, and Taehyung had helped pay her hospital bill. The more Jimin hears, the more something chokes up in his lung.
This is some kind of simulation. Maybe the Matrix guy came to me and offered me a pill and I’m hallucinating. Yet, Taehyung’s joking, and he looks—he looks so nice with his bright eyes and wide laugh, his deep voice reaching into Jimin’s bones. He hasn’t changed.
What if he has?
No, you saw him! Possessive and territorial and—
Aren’t you still having similarities? Is Park Jimin of Before— dead?
Jimin presses his nails into his palms at that. No, he’s not dead. Only buried.
Taehyung finishes his conversation, humming to himself happily—before meeting Jimin’s eyes. “So?”
“Hmm?”
“Reviews on the place? Good choice?”
Jimin looks around. It is well-made—clean, smells heavenly, and is properly neutralised. “It’s—good. I like it.” He turns towards Taehyung. The alpha looks genuinely relaxed—Jimin only notices now, how at camp Taehyung’s always walking like he’s got the weight of the world on him, how tightly he controls himself—but he seems lighter here. “You’ve—changed.”
Now, what on earth possessed him to say that? Why can’t Jimin keep his private thoughts private?
Taehyung, however, doesn’t jump at the opening. “Changed?”
Fuck it. Might as well as run with the program. “Yeah. I’ll probably take this back, so don’t hold me to it—you were pretty decent right now.”
Taehyung’s cheeks are dusted a light pink. “That’s—do you like it?”
“What?”
“The change.”
Jimin tilts his head. “Was it for me?”
“No, but I want to know.”
“I’m not sure. No,” Jimin says, but Taehyung looks down smiling to himself—perhaps he can hear the lie Jimin hid so poorly, to begin with. “Alright. I’ve been thinking about the plan before you so rudely interrupted me—”
“Shh, not here,” Taehyung murmurs, watching Jimin with…some kind of fondness. It’s quickly replaced by amusement. “Mafia town, remember?”
Jimin frowns. “But—we’re away from people who can hear us.”
“We’re never away from people who can hear and see things,” Taehyung says softly yet seriously. Jimin believes him. “Let’s enjoy the date, shall we?”
Now it’s Jimin’s turn to flush, and unlike Taehyung he makes it so obvious—his cheeks feel hot, which means they must be bright red. He pats at them, willing it away—all the while feeling Taehyung’s amused stare all the way over. “It’s not—shut up.”
“You’re my mate-to-be, love, I need to spoil you,” Taehyung coos, and it sounds so friendly and nice and—kind, that Jimin doesn’t know what to make of it. “The whole town deserves to know how madly in love we are.”
“Don’t try so hard,” Jimin mutters, still squeezing his fists against his thighs. “I don’t want rumours.”
“Oops, too late for that,” Taehyung says, smiling when their food comes—thanking the waiters again. “Eat up. My omega needs to be cared for.”
Can he stop? Jimin can’t bear this. He stuffs his mouth with the pasta, wanting to avoid responding. Thinking. They didn’t do this back then—this banter. As far as Jimin can remember, it’s always been some form of back and forth—he simply couldn’t shut up around Taehyung. The alpha had always been so infuriating, ticking off a special bone under Jimin’s skin.
They’d bicker, or fight. When they presented, Jimin understood that despite the annoying personality Taehyung was hot, and he couldn’t help himself—they’d fight even when they fucked. It had been a shameful thing for Jimin, to sleep with his proclaimed enemy. Taehyung probably had a gala time sinking into a willing cunt.
They’d avoid each other outside of that. Or rather—Jimin would avoid Taehyung and his attention, because with Taehyung came the package deal of Joonjae’s attention—and Jimin, for all his ambition, never wanted to interact with the Kingpin. Had been too terrified to do so.
For once, they don’t argue or bicker. Both enjoy the meal, and it is good— and a traitorous part of him whispers. He’s such a good alpha. Brought you here, provided you with food. Good food. So good, isn’t he?
Jimin gnashes his teeth together. Maybe Taehyung has changed—but he won’t yield so fast. He can’t lose. He’s never lost to Taehyung.
That’s a fat lie.
Goddess, shut up, he hisses at the internal voice, inhaling the meat like he’ll never get it. He can’t even taste the food after a point—until Taehyung clamps on his hand.
“Slow down,” the alpha murmurs, brows furrowed in concern. “You’ll choke, and not in a sexy way.”
Jimin gulps. “Unlike you, I don’t sexualise every walking thing on this planet,” he says, stabbing a piece moodily. His skin itches for—something. As if Taehyung being calm and cordial isn’t natural. “The food is good. Thank you.”
Mostly he just says that to fuck with Taehyung’s alpha, but he can’t deny the warm flutters along his sternum at Taehyung’s sense of pride—he’s quick to hide it, but ultimately he is an alpha, just as wolf as the rest. Jimin hides his smile behind a fist, pleased to have induced such a reaction.
“So tell me,” Taehyung starts, chewing carefully. “How have you been all these years?”
Actively asking Jimin about his life after the camp? Something must be up. “Why, did you keep tabs on me?”
“No!” Taehyung exclaims, and Jimin raises an eyebrow. That was too fast. Taehyung gulps down some water, shaking his head the whole while. “I swear, I didn’t. I mean—I couldn’t.”
“What do you mean, couldn’t?”
“If I had, father would have killed me,” Taehyung says simply, the mood somber. He looks so casual about it too. “After…well, the last time, he made sure I never came close to you.”
It’s the first reference to their last time, the one Jimin has been walking around yet using as a way to foster the hatred. But it’s not really hatred, is it? The voice asks, and Jimin shakes his head. “Really?”
“Mm. Put the fear of the Goddess in me. Or rather, him. You know how he gets.” Taehyung twirls the fork in the sliver of sunlight making its way across their table. He seems lost in thought. “Only recently, since he’s been, well, indisposed—I decided to venture out a bit.”
“He doesn’t know?” Jimin asks, fear suddenly rooting in his belly. The very thought of walking around the halls while Kim Joonjae is alive and aware terrifies him.
“What?”
“Joonjae, he doesn’t know I’m here?”
“I don’t think so. He’s been missing from our family too,” Taehyung shrugs as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He probably doesn’t because he’s the son, and Jimin’s always been the disposable runt. “Anyway— I haven’t kept track.”
Jimin doesn’t believe him. Or he doesn’t want to, because trusting Taehyung leads to issues. Jimin has plenty of those without adding one more.
Still, he misses the others. After his talk with Namjoon, the memories are fresh, begging for attention; it’s been nearly three weeks and Jimin hasn’t heard a word about them—not that he wants to. He sent Jungkook that text before blocking him, and even that had taken tremendous willpower.
So Jimin decides to take a chance. “I’ve been…okay.” At this, Taehyung raises an eyebrow. Jimin sighs. “I’ve been good. Getting out has been…really good for me.”
“Yeah?” Taehyung asks, eyes soft in the late afternoon sunlight. Don’t trust him, don’t. “You have done pretty well for yourself. I hadn’t been imagining that, frankly.”
“What, you thought I’d suffer because I didn’t have the precious camp to back me up?” Jimin teases, rejoicing inside when Taehyung chuckles.
“Not at all. If anyone had to succeed in the normal world, you definitely would,” Taehyung says like it’s the most obvious fact. “I never had doubts about that.”
That’s…huh. Jimin looks down, the blush rising up his neck. “Shut up.”
“What, compliments from me are not acceptable?” Taehyung asks, voice light.
“They are if you mean them.”
“I do. Every word,” Taehyung says quietly, before eating again. “A lawyer, huh?”
“Figured I’d make bank in taking people apart…verbally,” Jimin muses, and Taehyung throws his head back in laughter. There’s that traitorous warmth in his belly again. “I don’t know why I chose law. Saw it as another alpha-dominated field I had to conquer since murdering wasn’t an option anymore. I was running out of my savings. Just made sense.”
“You had quite a lot left over even after paying your dues, right?”
“Mm. Had to use it sparingly, though.” Jimin wipes his hands. “Let me tell you this, the real world is expensive as fuck.”
“Hail to that,” Taehyung says, raising his glass. “Ever since I entered the business side, I’m learning about that a bit too closely.”
“Inflation sucks, doesn’t it?”
Taehyung laughs, and Jimin…basks in the warmth. Just for a moment, he allows himself this fantasy, where Taehyung is a Boy and he is Normal, and Jimin’s…on a date with him. It was Taehyung’s humane moments, after all, that kept Jimin so hooked in the past.
He can tell Taehyung wants to ask more but doesn’t know how to. Perhaps ask about his friends, but Jimin won’t talk about that, not after the way Taehyung used their lives to bargain with Jimin—and the alpha knows that. So Jimin makes small talk here and there, hoping it’s enough.
“So, yeah. You pay taxes, you vote—you follow rules. It’s nice,” Jimin concludes, feeling a bit stupid. Why would all this matter to someone like Taehyung, who helped run an entire empire and could buy out entire political parties? Snuff out lives without a worry? He’d called Jimin’s life boring. Why is Jimin talking about it now?
Taehyung, however, surprises him. “That sounds fun. Like a routine, and you don’t have to think much.”
Is today supposed to be a sign from the Goddess that Taehyung has changed? “Yeah. I liked how I didn’t have to…worry about survival so much. Death seemed like a faraway concept. It was just bills and keeping my plants alive and having a good time.”
“A different strain of survival. A more bearable one,” Taehyung concludes, nodding to himself. “I hope you get back to it soon.”
What an odd wish. Does he really mean that? What if it’s a trap to lure Jimin back and punish him for leaving, even though he’d left fair and square? You must never betray the Code. No matter what, his Masters would say, and Jimin had, in the end. Couldn’t imagine living under a Code so stifling that he was living Death every day.
“Thanks. What about you?” Jimin asks, not wanting to focus on the what-ifs or the oddness of Taehyung. “How have the ten years been for you?”
Does he care? Not really. But, a part of him is curious. Is Taehyung really all those things Namjoon said he was?
Taehyung calls for the cheque, stretching. “It’s been good, I guess. Trained some more, and went overseas. Came back to a shit show. Father expanded abroad, so he was busy with that mostly.”
So far, so good. As long as Taehyung keeps it impersonal, Jimin can remain detached. “That’s nice. I think?”
“Yeah. Camp got more business oriented. Assassins are not as in demand anymore or trained in different methods. Not like how it used to be for us.”
“What, bordering on medieval?” Jimin snarks. Taehyung snickers. “Guns, is it?”
“Poison. Can you believe it? None of the oomph factor.”
“Oh yeah, my bad. Let’s romanticize killing people with oomph.”
“Ugh, the real world’s filled that pretty head with ethics,” Taehyung groans, but Jimin can tell he’s not that bummed about it. “I guess that’s it.”
That’s too little for ten years. “What about Joonjae’s sickness?”
Taehyung shrugs, clearing the cheque and leaving a handsome tip. “What about it?”
“Do you know anything about what it is? Namjoon wouldn’t tell.”
Taehyung’s lips briefly curl before he shudders. “He wouldn’t know. None of us do—it’s been there for a year. The healers haven’t told us a thing. Father simply informed us and then kept himself away.”
“Hence all the relaxations?”
“That wasn’t planned. I guess when the fist loosens, the scramble for power is natural,” Taehyung says, holding the door open and letting Jimin out first. The afternoon sun streams across, and the quaintness of the town is refined. “Want to go for a stroll? I know a good sundae place.”
“Your treat, right?”
“I own this town, so yes,” Taehyung says, puffing his chest ridiculously. Jimin knows he shouldn’t get lulled into that false sense of security, but a part of him desperately wants to hold on to this moment right here. “Mind if we hold hands?”
Jimin looks at his outstretched hand. Those pretty fingers. “Why?”
“You’re my mate-to-be. And people are watching,” Taehyung says like it’s obvious why he’s asking—but his voice is too soft. It’s unnatural, and Jimin’s not sure how long this fantasy will last. “I’m giving you the whole royal treatment as an apology.”
“Holding hands is royal?”
“It is when there’s a Prince such as yourself,” Taehyung winks, and curse his blood, Jimin blushes furiously. No! Don’t give in! He always did this back then, too! “Too much?”
“Get lost,” Jimin mutters, walking ahead—and doesn’t protest when Taehyung slips his hand in. It’s just for the role, to drive a promising image. The townspeople would pass it on to someone—and make its way back to the mansion. Seokjin had kept watchers, so it makes sense. Or you just want your hand held.
Jimin is going to deny that one.
Taehyung’s hand is warm and comfortable in his, and for once Jimin’s internal monologue is quiet. This entire lunch has got to be one of the quietest moments of his life so far, especially after weeks of stress.
He needs to get back to obtaining more information. For assassin research purposes, of course. “So. Joonjae’s sickness?”
“Yeah, so. He’s around but doesn’t butt his head in so much. Goes out a lot. There was this unsaid expectation that he’s not going to announce an heir but rather have us fight for the position.”
Jimin looks around. “So by k-wording him…”
Taehyung snorts. “It’s simple anarchy. I remove him, I get to take power while there is chaos. If it was some fight, most likely between Jin-hyung and me—the chances are equal. And I really want to be the heir.”
It makes sense. Yet, a part of Jimin isn’t convinced by it. “Seokjin wants it, too?”
“Desperately. It’s kind of pathetic, if understandable,” Taehyung says, shrugging. His voice carries none of the irritation he usually holds for the older omega. “Between you and me, I think he’d make a great heir.”
“So, what? Just because he’s an omega?”
“No, I don’t really care about that,” Taehyung says, waving at the owner of the ice cream shop and asking for the usual. He lets Jimin choose his flavour before resuming. “Omegas can be great leaders. I’m too selfish to give up my claim, though. And father favours hyung, so…”
“Goddess, you’re such a spoilt brat,” Jimin says, and Taehyung winks again. He carries over their orders, digging into his sundae like there’s no tomorrow. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”
“What?”
“All this—chaos,” Jimin says, biting into his waffle stick—the chocolate drips from it. “You’re in your element.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about, Jiminie,” Taehyung says, though his eyes stray to Jimin’s lips. “You got—uh.”
“What?”
“Chocolate. Lower left.”
Jimin pokes out a tongue, giving a curious lick. He watches the way Taehyung’s pupils dilate at the small action—and decides to be an even bigger brat. “Did I get it?”
He knows where it is, and Taehyung knows he knows—but he reacts anyway. “Not yet—just. Wait.” He uses his thumb, pressing it to the corner of Jimin’s lips, and scrapes slightly at the syrup—and Jimin shivers, quite accidentally. Taehyung’s hand stiffens, and Jimin keeps staring. Daring him to do what he wants to do.
Taehyung answers. He presses more incessantly, intentionally, and Jimin pokes out a tongue to where Taehyung pokes. Doesn’t recoil when it touches Taehyung’s thumb, and—this is in public, but Taehyung slips it in the corner of his mouth. His pupils are so wide, and his breath is shallow.
Jimin stops playing around. In a haze, he tastes the chocolate left on Taehyung’s skin, shallowing sucking at it—he’s not debauched enough to take it all the way in but goddess, does it make the warmth rise with a fury in his belly, his core tightening and that thrill of heat down his slit. He can’t be this easy—but something in Jimin roars.
Taehyung, however, falls back. He pulls his thumb out, wiping it at his shirt, movements too harried. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
The apology shakes Jimin out. He slaps a hand on his mouth, horrified. Did he just do that? In public? Sucked Taehyung’s thumb like it was a cock? Maybe imagined it the whole time, and that’s why his slit throbs? “Goddess, I—sorry. Hormones.”
Taehyung inhales sharply at that before nodding. The hormone excuse is just that—an excuse. Because Jimin had been in his senses the whole time. He’ll never admit that, though, and it’s going to be yet another elephant in the room they talk around.
They finish their sundaes silently, in shame and confused guilt—Jimin gulps his down, as does Taehyung—before they walk back to the car—this time, a couple of feet away. Jimin’s hand aches to be held though. It’s a phantom wish, one he can’t fulfill.
The drive back is just as silent—yet heavy with a stilted tension. Jimin can’t name the tension, and if he can’t name it he can’t act on it. Scratch that, he shouldn’t want to act on it. Right? He has morals and values. A stupid little date won’t change that.
Just as they near the familiar walls of the camp and the dread starts building—Taehyung speaks. “I wanted to formally apologise.”
Jimin turns. “What for? The lunch was enough.”
“No, but I never said it, did I?” Taehyung muses, huffing to himself. His eyes are on the road—the one time he actually listened to Jimin. “I think…no, I am wrong in what I did. I shouldn’t have kissed you without asking you, and blaming it on our plan is cheap.”
The words are sincere—Jimin’s heart races. “It took me by surprise.”
“I know. The truth is—you smelled good. And I couldn’t help myself,” Taehyung plods on, voice raw with—some emotion. Jimin can’t name that either. Or maybe he’s reading into things. “It was an impulse. And then getting mad at you for hanging out with Namjoon-hyung—that wasn’t right either. Or calling you what I did.”
“Stop, you’re scaring me,” Jimin tries to joke, but Taehyung turns his eyes towards him—and they’re just as sincere as his words. His attempts clog up his throat. “Who are you and what have you done with Kim Taehyung?”
“Ten years is a long time, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung says, and in his sincere voice, the endearment sounds too personal. “I developed a sense of right and wrong. Happens sometimes.”
“Well, don’t make a habit of it. I can’t cope with it,” Jimin says half-heartedly when inside his heart clamours against its cage. “Thank you. I’m fine. Not mad anymore.”
“With your petty streak? Please,” Taehyung snorts, driving inward and parking the car along with the other vehicles. “Duty calls, and so does our plan—so I just wanted you to know this, I guess.”
“That’s fine. Thanks again,” Jimin says, rather awkwardly. “Back to the regular life, huh?”
Taehyung smiles weakly, unlocking the cars. He gets out first, and Jimin takes a moment to inhale—the fantasy is over. They’re back in this stupid place that brings out the worst in him—and dare he say it, in Taehyung as well— where he has to be on his guard again. Just for a couple of hours, he’d felt like he was free—and on a cute date with a pretty boy. Yeah. Taehyung had been pretty, the kind Jimin used to be so partial towards. Now it’s back to dingy halls and that hot, stifling tension he can’t itch at. It’s back to battling his inner hoe.
Not like that stopped you from sucking his thumb like one, his wolf admonishes, which, what the hell. Why is it never on Jimin’s side?
Jimin shakes his head and collects himself. He gets out, where Taehyung had been patiently waiting for him—and when they enter, a guard intercepts them.
“Yes, Jaesu?” Taehyung asks, and the stark difference between who he’d been right until the car and now is alarming. They’re two different people. “Any message?”
“Daebonim wants you and Jimin-ssi in the chambers,” Jaesu replies robotically. Jimin doesn’t understand, but the way Taehyung’s face pales is a sign enough. “Right now. Got the message a while back.”
The guard walks away, but Taehyung stumbles where he stands, rubbing his eyes. His scent spikes with anxiety—it’s acrid and sharp enough to burn in Jimin’s nostrils. “What’s going on, Taehyung?”
Taehyung shakes his head, before inhaling a few times. Then he nods. “Looks like Abbeoji wants to meet us.”
Well, fuck.
🖤⚔🖤
In his dream, Jungkook is in a forest.
It’s a densely packed one, green and flourishing. In the distance are snow-capped mountains, and the sun peaks through the leaves in golden intervals. Jungkook’s running, chasing something—he feels different, feels lithe and sprightly. He doesn’t know what he’s chasing.
He keeps running—until he halts. The air, so far smelling of incoming winter, smells like…wet earth. Jungkook follows, sniffing. The monsoon has passed…so where is the scent coming from?
Closer still, the wet earth becomes richer—finally joined by the alluring scent of patchouli oil. He stumbles, captivated. It’s all around him, begging him to chase. To run until he finds the source and consumes it all, and the hunger is so strong, Jungkook whines in distress.
When he wakes up—the scent vanishes, replaced by the dull neutral scent of inn pillows and bedsheets. The ceiling fan spins lazily above, squeaking at every fourth turn, and the air is stiflingly hot despite it being the end of October.
His mating gland throbs, hot to touch when Jungkook pokes at it. In the measly hand mirror the town inn provided, the skin looks pink and irritated—though he’s sure it’s not a rash. Jungkook covers it up with his hoodie, stretching.
It’s late morning; Jungkook slept through the evening and the night—his stomach rumbles, and he follows the same routine again—brushes his teeth, washes his face, rolls out the tiredness from the tracking. He’s sure this is the place Yugyeom had referred to. He’d stumbled upon it by accident—there had been nothing as he drove, and then there was a town—just bang in the middle of nowhere. When he checked the maps—there was no indication of it.
A phantom village. He’d read about it at university and his training, but never had he thought he’d come across one in real-time. Jungkook stacks up breakfast from the buffet, guzzling it all down.
According to his tracking, and the information provided by Yugyeom, Jimin is somewhere here. Once he finishes, he goes to the ahjumma in charge of the inn.
“Hello, good morning,” Jungkook greets, bowing—she returns it with a head nod. He takes out his phone, the image of Jimin already brightened. “I wanted some information on a friend of mine who has gone missing. Can I show you the photo?”
She nods again, and Jungkook raises the phone. She squints her eyes—and freezes, clutching it closer to her face. Then she returns it back to him, her eyes…suspicious. “No. I haven’t seen him.”
A lie. She doesn’t even try to look innocent, her mouth also pressed into a thin line. Jungkook has met enough witnesses and suspects to recognise the look; she won’t speak. “Please. He’s very close to me.”
“I don’t know him. I’m sorry.” She gives a brief look of pity—but remains resolute.
Well then.
It’s the same story after. As Jungkook walks through the town, most people have a similar response. Some seem genuine, but most keep their mouths shut—and he wonders again, what secret binds the town together. Perhaps lends to its phantom status.
Sometime in the afternoon, he comes across a café—and freezes. Just past the blue door is a faint trace of…oranges. Marred by scent blockers, but its oranges and his heart soars—
Jungkook enters the establishment. It’s cute, and glorious in its silence. He takes a look around, trying to keep up with the oranges—but it vanishes just as fast. He knows, however, without a doubt that Jimin had been here. His gut screams the truth at him.
He shows the picture to a waiter whose name tag reads Haesu. And predictably, like everyone else—he keeps his mouth shut. “No. I’ve never seen him.”
“Haesu-ssi,” Jungkook says finally, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Irritation licks its way through his body. “I’m a detective. I am working, and your non-compliance with the case is an obstruction of justice. I request you to tell me the truth.”
“As I said before,” Haesu says slowly, his posture relaxed, “I’ve not seen this man. That is the truth.”
Jungkook clucks his tongue. “C’mon. Let’s not do this.”
“If you have any queries, please talk with the owner,” Haesu replies smoothly, unfazed—and walks away. What is it with this town? “I’ve told you what I can.”
What I can. Jungkook whirls around, but Haesu is already out of sight, disappearing into the back entrance. Without an official warrant, Jungkook can’t go exploring—he’d be written up so fast, his career would end before it even began. He curses under his breath, sitting at one of the tables. Might as well order something to eat.
Clearly, the townspeople knew something, and they were united in keeping that under wraps—for the nth time, he wonders what exactly Jimin had gotten himself wrapped up in. Was he looking for his friend—or a criminal? What would Jungkook do once he did find him?
He’s a killer. No, but he’s also my friend, my closest one. Still, he’s killed three people, possibly more. You need to do your duty.
He squeezes his eyes with his fists. Someone taps against his table. It’s the owner.
“Yes?” Jungkook asks, frowning. He looks like a regular middle-aged guy running a restaurant.
“You’re new here,” the man says, his nametag spelling out Cheongsan. “My waiter told me you had some questions.”
“I did. I already know the answer,” Jungkook grumbles, thumbing through the menu. “You’d probably give me the same one.”
The man gives him a look of pity. “I understand your friend is missing. You think he was here?”
Jungkook tilts his head. “Yeah. But you already knew that, didn’t you, Ahjussi?”
“You must understand, detective,” Cheongsan says, spreading his hands. “People of this town don’t speak. If your friend was here—he’s long gone now. And we intend to keep ourselves blind to it.”
There is a sense of authority in his voice. Jungkook licks his lips, leaning forward. “Even at the cost of his life?”
“Even then.” Cheongsan wipes his hand. “Don’t hold a grudge against the townspeople. We just want to lead peaceful lives and…ah, avoid getting into trouble.”
What kind of trouble? Jungkook bites back the question though, knowing that the trouble must be what keeps the town so tightknit. He won’t find help here, yet in his gut, he knows Jimin is close by. “So no one will say a word, huh?”
“Yes. I would suggest saving time by searching elsewhere.” And then Cheongsan leaves, nodding once in understanding.
Jungkook pokes at his pasta, snorting inside. As if. A classic, leave us alone and go somewhere else tactic to save the suspect right under Jungkook’s nose. Of fucking course.
Is he really a suspect? Do you really want to arrest him? He’s been there for you through thick and thin, you know.
Yeah, and what of the lies Jimin had told? All the advances he rejected, the way he scent-dazed Jungkook sometimes, and he never knew? Yet, Jungkook’s not sure he’s angry enough about it. Yeah, he’s mad Jimin left without a word. That he’s hidden something so terrible, and none of them knew. He’s mad that this is the way he has to find out, painfully and slowly, and not hear the truth from Jimin himself. To find himself not even worthy of it, in the end. Seven years of friendship, and for what?
He decides to pause—he’s not leaving this town, not until he’s uncovered everything about its picture-perfect quaintness—Cheongsan asked him not to hold a grudge, but Jungkook does. He does because they know but they won’t tell him, so Jungkook has to do all of it on his own again. No Yugyeom to help him either.
He’s never felt so lonely before. It stabs at him, this bittersweet ache in his ribs he can’t displace fast enough, and it throbs. It reminds him of how alone he is—when he first came to Seoul before he found Jimin and Hoseok. When he was at Police University and graduated faster. Now, when all he wants is to find Jimin—and ask him why.
That’s it. One word, and that’s it. He’ll rest.
He walks through the town, exploring the nooks and crannies. The whole time, he can sense several pairs of eyes on him, though when he turns to see, everyone is seemingly lost in their own tasks. You’re new here. Clearly, they’ve marked him as an outsider. They probably know he’s a cop; small towns, whether popular or unknown, have rituals in place. They speak in hushed manners, and word spreads. They’d know he’s looking for someone, and that’s why they already had a system in place.
Jungkook walks into a bar and hopes to provide his loneliness with some company today.
Like most bars, it’s well-stocked—in small towns or big cities, alcohol would always flourish. He orders himself a whiskey sour and guzzles that down—and then asks for a bottle of wine. He can finish the rest back at the inn.
When he’s two glasses down, someone joins him at his table. “Hi, this table is—um.”
The first thing he notes is that the person in front of him is…gorgeous. Dressed in all black, and effortless. Faint notes of camellias float from him, and Jungkook marks him as an omega.
The omega smiles. “I was about to ask if the seat is taken, but you cut right to the chase, huh?”
It’s a great smile, reaching all the way to his eyes. Jungkook doesn’t get taken easily by most people—Jimin used to tease him about that. You’re so picky. How else will you settle down? He’d ruffle his hair, and Jungkook would blush, never having the strength to say, it’s you I want to pick. And settle down with. He couldn’t, not because of the courage—but because Jimin had made it abundantly clear he was not available.
He’s still not open to things, but tonight he’s sad and there is a pretty omega. “No, please. You can have it.”
The omega beams. “Mind if I just sit here?”
“You’re by yourself?”
“Mm, my friends bailed,” he says, placing a bright pink cocktail in front of him. “Cha Eunwoo. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Already?” Jungkook asks, and the omega giggles. The camellias are very faint, though pleasant. “You don’t even know me.”
“But you’re about to,” Eunwoo says smoothly, winking—and Jungkook blushes. “I wasn’t going to come over, honestly, but you looked, uh. Really sad?”
“That bad, huh?” Jungkook sips at the wine. It burns away the discomfort. “Not having the best day, so…”
“Want to share?”
He sounds genuine. Jungkook frowns, however, despite the haze of alcohol. “And you’re volunteering to be my therapist because…?”
“I’m a giver, what can I say,” Eunwoo says, spreading his hands. Despite his obvious good looks, Jungkook finds the initial interest vanishing steadily. Was he cursed to pine after Jimin for the rest of his life? “Okay, no. I’ve been hearing about you all day.”
“Ah, a local, then?”
“Small towns,” Eunwoo shrugs, not in the least bit ashamed of being caught in his intentions. “I recently moved, though. Needed a break from the city. This town was perfect.”
“It doesn’t even have a name.”
“Exactly why it’s perfect, no?” Eunwoo stirs his cocktail. “No one can look for you if they don’t know what they’re looking for.”
It would pass as a cryptic statement if not for the context. Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “So you know I’m looking for someone.”
“Whole town does. I happen to…not share their rigid views if I can put it that way.”
“Yeah, what is up with this place anyway?” Jungkook grumbles, gulping some more. He shouldn’t drink so fast or so much; he’s still in a strange town with strange people. He can’t drop his guard. And yet… “It’s like everyone’s in on some shared secret."
Eunwoo only winks, and the way he stares at Jungkook puts him on the spot. Despite his all-black ensemble, he looks…friendly. Some tattoos sneak out of his turtleneck, but Jungkook doesn’t ask. “Who are you looking for?”
“You’d tell me?”
“I might give some hints.”
Jungkook will take it. He takes out his phone and shows the photo. Eunwoo holds the device gently, eyes contemplative. None of that shifty shit. “This is him. Jimin.”
It’s a lot, saying Jimin’s name in front of a stranger. He’s sure anyone can tell about Jungkook’s feelings for him just by the way he holds the name on his tongue—like a baby bird. Eunwoo smiles. “He’s pretty.”
“He seems like it.”
“Your omega?”
“A…suspect,” Jungkook says, the description tasting acrid. Jimin is so much more. “He’s missing.”
“Oh.” Eunwoo tilts the screen. “Yeah. I’ve seen him.”
Jungkook chokes on his wine. “You have?”
“Yep. How did he vanish?”
“He just left.” Jungkook’s not sure if he canS talk about the alpha that took Jimin. “Something or someone came up from his past. It was a tense situation, and I know Jimin didn’t leave willingly. Some incriminating evidence has popped up. So.”
“You became a one-man party, huh?” Eunwoo asks, handing Jungkook his phone back. “I saw him a couple of times in town. Didn’t stay long. But I can ask around.”
“I tried that. No one said a word.”
“That’s because you’re an outsider. An hour with me, and they’ll be spilling.” Eunwoo grins, his teeth suddenly sharp. The look vanishes and Jungkook blames it on the wine. “Why don’t you finish your wine, and I’ll contact you soon? By tomorrow, same time?”
It’s the most news he’s ever gotten about Jimin, a direct connection. Jungkook nods, the wine catching up. “Sure. Thanks, Eunwoo-ssi.”
Eunwoo waves it off, talking about something else altogether—and Jungkook listens. Eventually, it is closing time, so Eunwoo bids him goodbye with a promise to meet him tomorrow with more leads, and Jungkook happily goes back to his inn, the walk sleepy but calm. The town is silent, and he revels in the solitude.
In his room, he places the empty wine bottle outside, locking the door for the night. He washes up, and just as Jungkook switches the lights off— when someone grabs him from behind.
He barely has time to yell when the pressure point on his throat is dug into, and Jungkook begins stumbling even more—with the wine, it’s difficult to even try. He falls back, and grabs widely for whoever is behind him—but the assailant has him in a chokehold, applying steady pressure to his throat.
There is a rush of pain at the back of his head—and he falls helplessly into the dark.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
wasn't it just cuuuuuttteeee <3
ok no cuz i was grinning so hard writing their "date" can y'all smell the angst? the past? i loved it sm especially cuz shit is about to go down there's gonna be ~scheming~ so i served some fluff before hand, hope the feast was good. and jungkook omg :D baby is trying so hard and life keeps shitting bricks on him hehe i have planned many delicious things for him.
also i hope if i write ch 12 fast enough i can have ch 11 up by Oct 13 as a jimin bday treat? it'll be perfect since oct 15 is the busan expo (i am NOT prepared for how the boys will hoe out this time. in all ways except visual i am a virgin).
pray for me, i have goals to meet! lemme know how the ch was and i love you sm for leaving all those comments i'm sorry i'm so horrid with replying but trust me i cherish EACH one and read them several times a day. until next time!!!!
Chapter 11: Meet and Greet
Notes:
just in time for a month-end feast! thank you for waiting <3
big thank you as always to those who left comments/leave comments on older chapters- I simply haven't had the time or mind space to respond to each comment but PLEASE know i am grateful for each one, revisit them several times a day and read them with a dopey smile on my face. I love them. Thank you.this chapter tho...phew. The plot progression starts now. Things are gonna get really plotty, and I'm so excited!!! hoping i can write down the world i've created in my head and do it sufficient justice. Enjoy!!
(also i'mso sleepy so i'm sure there will be silly mistakes just ignore and move on <3)
warnings: strong language, jimin's talked down to. also vivid description of almost anxiety-attack equivalents, so pls take care if it gets too intense!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The thing about being part of an assassin camp was that eventually, one became invisible—and was only a killer with no name to it.
Jimin had been so young when he’d joined that being an assassin was all he ever knew. Even then, he craved to leave— to find a place and identity of his own. He was too afraid, however. It was a strange conundrum—to be a rising star amongst his peers, noticed by the Masters and the Elites alike—and to want to vanish without a trace.
Above all, Jimin wanted to avoid the attention of one person no matter what.
He kept his head down as Kim Joonjae announced the presentation status of his son, Kim Namjoon, followed by the presentation statuses of the other assassins in the same year. It was the one time the barrier between the Elites and the rest was considered null— really, the briefest moment when they stood on the same level and faced no shame. Jimin shuddered to think about when it would be his turn. Presentation could happen any moment—at thirteen, he could taste the slight shifts, though only actual presentation would tell him of his status.
It seemed like he wasn’t the only one waiting for the news.
Jimin kept his head down, but he could sense the gaze of the Kingpin. Why he attracted the attention, he didn’t know— yes, he was one of the best assassins the camp had seen. Yet, at the end of the day, he was a runt and a no-name orphan—attention never meant a good thing at camp. Too visible, and the punishment would be more than the reward.
The ceremony ended with many congratulating Namjoon—Jimin went last, wanting to savour the moment and to keep it as pure as possible. He was harbouring a crush on the older- male—alpha now—and he wanted the wishes to be special.
Joonjae was hovering nearby, however, and Jimin couldn’t put himself directly in his path. So he skipped on the greetings.
A poor decision, it turned out.
At the library post-dinner time, Jimin stood in front of Joonjae’s table, the fear caught in his throat. The alpha’s scent was pungent— dominating, the kind that would make anyone submit. As it was, Jimin was still unpresented, and that was a small blessing.
“You weren’t there today at my son’s celebration dinner, Jimin,” Joonjae said slowly, flipping through a book. Jimin stood with his hands crossed, looking down at the grey floor. How he wished that it would open up and swallow him down. “Any particular reason?”
“N-none, Daebonim,” Jimin said, biting his lips. He didn’t want to attract Joonjae’s attention—and it ended up happening anyway. “I thought Namjoon-hyung was busy and felt it was better to wish him later.”
“You felt it was better?” Joonjae asked, and Jimin closed his eyes. Fuck. “Answer me this—do you think your feelings matter?”
“No, Daebonim.”
“And yet you thought to make a decision by yourself.” Joonjae shut the book and kept it aside. “Look at me when I speak, boy.”
Jimin looked up—and was pinned down by the sheer power in those eyes. They flickered gold, unstable—but menacing. Jimin’s legs shook, and he prayed he wouldn’t do something embarrassing like pee his pants. It hadn’t happened since he was five, but there was a first time for everything. “I apologise.”
“Namjoon-ah was so upset when his favourite friend didn’t stop by,” Joonjae crooned, smiling cruelly as he took out a blade to clean under his fingernails. “What do I do with a boy who made my son upset? Hmm?”
Jimin knew what was coming next. It was always the case here—mess up and be punished. The reasons could be many. “I didn’t mean to.”
“And yet you did.” Joonjae stood up, tightening his belt. “What punishment do you want?”
“I—I get to choose?”
“Of course. Since you’re his favourite,” Joonjae said, tilting his head. In the dim light of the library lights, his eyes looked strange for a moment. “Can’t have Namjoon more upset, can I?”
It was so confusing. Talking with Joonjae, however sparse, was painful. Jimin took a deep breath. “I’ll clean his room. All of it.”
“And?”
“Serve him however long he wishes,” Jimin said, the words burning. At least it wasn’t Taehyung. That would have been insufferable. “I will pay a fair price.”
“Hmm. Fair enough. Leave.”
Jimin didn’t wait for a moment before he was out of the stifling room, heaving into the dead night.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin walks towards the Kingpin’s wing with his heart in his throat.
It’s being thirteen all over again. The sheer terror of having to face the ultimate boss—at twenty-seven, it’s not any different. Throughout his life, Jimin had met Joonjae sparsely—once at thirteen, and again when he’d bargained for his departure—both times had been chock full of fear. After, when he’d left—he’d been haunted by Joonjae for months, terrified somehow of the Kingpin turning up or setting a trap, going back on his word and killing Jimin for betraying the Code.
All Jimin wants to do the closer they get is run away, far enough that Joonjae can never catch hold of him. He can’t however, as he walks beside Taehyung, who looks equally terrified.
At least he’s not alone in this. “You told me we wouldn’t have to meet him.”
“I thought so too,” Taehyung fires back, walking upright with his face carefully set into one of nonchalance and disregard. It’s a dangerous look on him, the one Jimin can’t read usually—but he can taste it now in Taehyung’s scent. Why isn’t he wearing scent blockers? “Life is a surprise, I guess.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do, Taehyung?” Jimin whispers as the doors loom ahead. Already, he can smell that rotten scent, his omega struggling against its pull. “How do we—he’s going to kill us, oh goddess—”
“Let me do the talking,” Taehyung mutters, nostrils flaring as they edge closer. They stop in front, and Jimin gasps when more of the scent pours out—he winds his hands through Taehyung’s, squeezing. Taehyung looks down. “Jimin?”
“Please don’t ask,” Jimin mutters, the hot flush of embarrassment joining the panic locked in his chest. His wolf is haywire, refusing to settle. His head is empty and full at the same time. “I don’t—my wolf isn’t settling down—”
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Taehyung murmurs, and for once Jimin listens without rebelling. Needs someone to ground him, and for all his abrasive qualities, Taehyung comes the closest to familiarity. The alpha searches his face, before a light golden ring forms around his pupils—his wolf surfacing, and Jimin nearly cries in relief. “You’ll be fine. I’ll keep you safe, okay? Just focus on my wolf, can you do that?”
It’s the most gentle Taehyung has been, and Jimin clutches at it, refusing to doubt it now. Not when the scent is swarming around his head, asking Jimin to lay down his guard and let it take charge. Jimin focuses on the golden ring, sure that his eyes glow blue in response, and an understanding settles deep inside—his wolf talking with Taehyung’s, and both coming to a conclusion.
For this to work, Jimin needs to trust Taehyung.
The doors swing open then, and Taehyung’s hold on his hand tightens as they turn towards it. He leads the way, and Jimin is the picture-perfect meek omega—that’s what Joonjae would prefer, despite training Jimin himself. All omegas should be submissive and obedient, especially now that Jimin is dating his son.
Moon Goddess above, he really hadn’t anticipated this.
The scent is oppressive—the smell of decay mixed with wood bark, giving the impression of bodies buried in wet earth. Jimin gags into his wrist—the same wrist attached to Taehyung’s, and releases a flourish of lavender instinctively. He inhales it greedily, though the rotten stench is strong enough to override the effects.
The room is the grandest place Jimin has ever seen in his life—and he has been to the best places money can buy.
It’s nearly thrice the size of Taehyung’s. Shades of dark green mixed with cold silver, as opposed to the warm reds of Taehyung—Jimin shivers, tucking himself close to the alpha. It’s designed as an office of sorts—there is little personal touch as if Joonjae had no time for anything other than work. Blackout curtains are drawn across, and in a manner immolating period dramas—there are candles and yellow lamps dotting the landscape.
They make the shadows in the room all the more menacing.
“Ah, the family pup finally visits,” a voice rasps out of nowhere, and Jimin jumps. He looks around, and—there. Close to the door of the inner chamber, a tall figure lost in the dark. “And bringing a present too. What a dutiful son.”
Jimin risks a look to his side—Taehyung is still, chest barely moving as he stares straight ahead, mouth set in a firm line. His eyes are still ringed faint gold, but they flicker, perhaps recognising the dominance of an older, more powerful alpha. If Taehyung is afraid, then what is Jimin to do?
He digs his nails into Taehyung’s palm—and the alpha squeezes back. “I didn’t wish to disturb you while you recovered.”
“How kind,” the figure—Joonjae, who else—says, stepping forward. Each step is loud, echoing through the room. “Namjoon and Seokjin didn’t seem to share that concern.”
“I wasn’t aware,” Taehyung says quietly, and it’s one more side of Taehyung that Jimin’s never seen—only ever as a rival, a fuckbuddy, and a constant pain in the ass. This, right now—this demure alpha—Jimin doesn’t know what to make of. “Are you better, then?”
Joonjae doesn’t respond, walking forward slowly, measuring each step—and their reaction to it. When he does come into the light—Jimin barely holds back a gasp.
The Kingpin is…remarkably, well, ugly.
Ugly is too juvenile. No, Joonjae’s face can best be described as—distorted. As Jimin appraises him, holding the sound in his throat—the dim light does nothing to highlight any good parts. Jimin remembers, however. It’s only been ten years, but Jimin knew Joonjae to be exceptionally handsome. After all, that’s where Taehyung gets his looks from—and so do the rest of the siblings. Out of all three, Taehyung resembled him the most.
Now—Joonjae’s face is peppered with scars and spots—the skin hangs loose in pockets and weathered with age. A scar runs from the top left of his face down to the right and is stark white in the pale light. More than that, however—it’s the appearance of his eyes.
They seem…fractured.
“Define better,” Joonjae says, extending his arms and smirking. His gaze is fixed on Jimin’s, putting his wolf on high alert. “My, my, Park Jimin. How you’ve grown.”
Sickness joins the chaos in his belly as the words slide under his skin. With Joonjae, words were never really just words; they always meant something—and Jimin had never figured out what. It’s why the bargain had felt like a joke. How he couldn’t rest even months after leaving. Jimin could never trust Joonjae—and he isn’t about to start now. “Daebonim. Hello.”
He bows fully, slowly, until all he can see are the tip of Joonjae’s sandals. Sandals. In this cold? Jimin waits, watching—the toes are out and misshapen, some of the nails cracked and crooked yellow—but that’s to be expected, with the way assassins put their bodies through hell. Still, it’s strange that Joonjae isn’t protecting them.
“Still agile, isn’t he?” Joonjae snickers and Jimin shuts his eyes and breathes to keep his wolf calm. It’s okay. He’s a sexist dick. Just survive this and get the fuck away, and then chew Taehyung out. Yes, focus on that. “You can rise, boy.”
Jimin does, back twinging from the forced posture—beside him, Taehyung is stiff, face unreadable. He indicates nothing, and Jimin feels alone. He keeps his head down, just like the Masters had trained him. Never meet eyes with the Head.
As Joonjae walks closer, the scent grows stronger—it’s all the way to the back of Jimin’s throat, his nostrils burning and his wolf struggling to withstand. All he can think of is Taehyung and his gold eyes. He has to trust him. He has to. I’ll keep you safe, okay? Focus on my wolf.
Jimin can’t see his eyes, but he imagines Taehyung’s wolf coming out to calm his wolf down—and somehow imagines actual wolves. Damn the book Namjoon had been carrying. It’s not that bad though, if strange. He imagines Taehyung’s wolf form to be this big puppy-like thing, all brown fur streaked with white—like that wolf in the gross Twilight movies. The imagination with that had been horrid, but at least it serves a purpose.
It helps his wolf calm down, and that’s not something he ever associated with Taehyung of all people.
“How has my darling son been?” Joonjae inquires, walking in a circle around them, hands clasped behind his back. “And you, Jimin? What brings you back here?”
So he doesn’t know? Jimin had expected Seokjin or any of the million guards here to keep Joonjae informed…unless this is another one of his games. Taehyung seems to think so because he squares, his shoulders back and looks straight at the wall in front. “I’ve been good, Abbeoji.”
“Just good?”
“Yes.”
“Handling the business well?”
“As you had asked,” Taehyung answers robotically, though Jimin gets a flare of lavender—angry, bitter—before it recedes. It looks like Joonjae didn’t smell that. “There is profit in all the sectors.”
“Hmm. Good. I hope you managed to tame down that nonsense about omega workplace rights,” Joonjae says breezily, and Jimin holds back a million curse works. He has a rough idea of what sectors Joonjae is referring to. Drugs, prostitution, and weapons. “You didn’t answer me, Jimin.”
Jimin stands straight. “I—I have been good, Daebonim. Life has been good.”
“Not what I asked,” Joonjae sings, standing in front of him. Jimin stares down—and then a finger is lifting him by the chin. He can feel the way Taehyung jolts and can read the way Joonjae sees it too. “What’s this? Don’t like me touching him, son?”
Taehyung keeps quiet, though the way he’s squeezing Jimin’s hand, the circulation might just cut off. He can smell the way Joonjae’s scent and Taehyung’s clash in the middle—though neither seems to be calling attention to it. The struggle is so stifling, Jimin's wolf wants to direct it away. “H-how is your health, Daebonim?”
Joonjae stares a moment longer, his gaze dipping to their clasped hands before turning his attention back to Jimin—the one he’d run away from all the time.
“Sprightly. Standing upright.” He tilts his head, studying Jimin up and down—and for a moment, Jimin swears the Kingpin’s eyes flicker red. He blinks, and it’s back to black. A trick of the weak light, then. “Do I need to drag the answer out, Jimin? Are you still rebellious?”
He says rebellious as if it’s a slur, and in Joonjae’s case, it might as well have been. Omegas who were too independent, too talented and dominant were the scum of the Earth in his eyes. Jimin had learnt to tame himself in his presence. “N-no, Daebonim. Just wanted to ask after you before anything else.”
“He’s certainly become well-behaved now, hasn’t he?” Joonjae quips, directing the question at Taehyung, who nods stiffly. “So why is he here?”
Jimin doesn’t know how to form the words, all jumbled in his head and mouth. He looks towards Taehyung, sure his eyes are pleading. Taehyung doesn’t look his way—but gentle streams of lavender waft his way, and stay. “I’m courting him.”
The world halts for a moment—pin-drop silence, the dust motes in the room frozen. The candles stop flickering and Joonjae—it’s the only time Jimin has ever seen the Head lost for words. The shock vanishes quickly—never let your enemies know they’ve caught you—and a cool mask of amusement slips in. His pupils expand. “Courting.”
Taehyung stands tall and straight, chin out but gait respectful—how he does it, Jimin will never know, but in that moment his admiration skyrockets. “Yes.”
Joonjae looks at their hands again, his lip curling. “For how long?”
“Three weeks,” Jimin chirps in, and Taehyung digs his thumb in. Right. Let him do the talking. He tries to rectify the mistake. “I-I mean—it’s only been three weeks.”
“Hmm,” Joonjae says, pinning both of them to the ground. He smiles, and his grin can only be described as wolfish. Like they are prey and he has hunted them at last. “Do you intend to mate?”
The question is directed at Jimin, but Taehyung cuts in. “I’m not sure. As he said—it’s only been three weeks. Who knows?”
“You can’t have room for vagueness now,” Joonjae comments, walking back to the work desk—it’s neat. He opens one of the drawers and takes out a case, in which there is a capsule. “You have to be certain about these things when you handle a business.”
“Yes, Abbeoji.”
“Not play around and fuck omegas like a pup,” Joonjae says. Jimin’s ears burn. “Is that what you’re here for, Jimin? My son’s warm cunt to sink into?”
“Abbeoji,” Taehyung says softly, though his hands speak murder. “He may not be my mate but he’s still my consort. And a former assassin of our house. Surely he deserves to be spoken to with respect.”
“A former assassin wouldn’t make the blunder of coming back here,” Joonjae snorts, breaking the capsule in half and mixing the powder in a glass of water; it swirls reddish brown. “Or the blunder of courting you of all people.”
The room is frigid and hell at the same time; Jimin shivers even as sweat builds in the pocket of his lower back. He can taste more of the sheer disdain in Joonjae’s tone, the arrow of mockery making a mark straight in Taehyung’s heart. The latter shows no reaction, but somehow his wolf feels the pain anyway. And shockingly, wants to—comfort him.
Jimin opens his mouth—but Taehyung squeezes his hand so tightly, he accidentally gasps. The alpha still looks unbothered. “Not really a blunder if he’s behaving like the good omega should, no, Abbeoji?”
What the hell? He can’t just bitch about Jimin in front of him, but—trust him. He asked you to trust him. Joonjae raises an eyebrow. “Courted you by choice?”
“He’s docile now,” Taehyung says smoothly, pulling Jimin in by the waist. “Hardly any fight. Brain-dead omegas in the cities, it’s all the more delicious.”
Oh, Taehyung’s in for it once they’re out of this situation.
“He looks the same to me,” Joonjae says, gulping down the liquid after. His face crumples in distaste. “Omegas who don’t know their place. Tell me—have you been tamed, at last, Jimin?”
Jimin's mouth isn’t working. Taehyung squeezes his hand again, silent pressure of reassurance—and he clears his throat. “He took good care of me. I trust him, Daebonim.”
“Trust him,” Joonjae repeats, before laughing out loud. It turns into a hacking cough that he barely controls, his face contorted red. “When he couldn’t even take care of himself. Isn’t that why you betrayed the Code, Jimin?”
“Betrayed— Daebonim, we bargained!” Jimin exclaims before he can stop himself—he knew Joonjae would pull some shit. And now Jimin’s back where it all started, alone and without support—and Joonjae will punish him at last. Yet, Jimin can’t stop the hot bubble of anger boiling under his tongue. “Age has done you no favours if that is hard to recall.”
Joonjae raises an eyebrow, and the silence reeks of terror. Taehyung doesn’t bother squeezing his hand in warning this time— only inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. The fear hits Jimin once he realises it. Shit, why can’t he ever control his mouth when he needs to the most?
“Still an unruly bitch. You haven’t tamed him enough.”
“Abbeoji—”
“You bring him to my home, my territory,” Joonjae says quietly, though with a low growl that raises the hair at the back of Jimin’s neck. “You do so behind my back—”
“He didn’t mean it, Abbeoji—”
“—and court an omega who is really just a slut?”
“Abbeoji!” Taehyung roars, the shout so sudden Jimin’s wolf shakes. Lavender burns bitter, overpowering Joonjae’s scent. “Enough!”
Jimin is frozen, his wolf quaking as the strength of the Alpha Command works its way through his bones. It hadn’t been meant for him—but he feels the effects anyway.
So does Joonjae. “What did you say, pup?”
Taehyung exhales, shutting his eyes. When he opens them—they are ringed a firm gold, unshaken in their resolve. “Stop talking about Jimin that way.”
“You will tell me,” Joonjae begins, hands on the desk as he leans forward, gaze menacing-, “you will tell me what I should and shouldn’t say?”
“Someone has to,” Taehyung spits, taking a step forward, and pushing Jimin behind him. His form is shaking in fear—but the alpha puts up a brave façade. “He is my consort. You can’t.”
“Or what?” Joonjae asks, rounding around the table. “What’s a pup like you going to do?”
Taehyung keeps quiet, and if their hands weren’t joined Jimin wouldn’t have been able to tell how much anger he is holding back. “You’re sick, Abbeoji. Let’s not push ourselves.”
What is Taehyung doing? He’d promised to keep them safe; why is he challenging Joonjae of all people? Jimin clutches at the back of his jacket—but to no avail.
“Challenging me in my own home,” Joonjae says, at last, lip curling and eyes glinting in the dark. He walks towards them, stumbling on his feet. A vein throbs in his forehead, and his skin burns red. “You have some nerve, pup.”
“At least I have the nerve to face the things that scare me,” Taehyung goads, an equally reckless glee in his eyes—Jimin starts pulling him back, but the alpha stays stuck. Fuck, they’re going to die here, aren’t they? All because he let Taehyung do the talking, shit. “Not hide in my room with my tail between my legs.”
“Son.”
“Sitting in the dark cursing at everyone and barking orders because you think you’re still relevant,” Taehyung says, a lazy smirk on his lips. Terror winds its way down Jimin’s throat, holding his heart and squeezing it. “Thinking you can get away with calling my consort names. And I’m supposed to keep respecting the senile old man rotting away in his cave.”
It happens much too fast—one-moment Taehyung standing tall and triumphant, a better alpha challenging his father, and the next— Joonjae snarls, hands out—and they look like claws. Since when did people grow out their nails that long?
Joonjae swipes at Taehyung— the alpha defends himself with his forearm, stumbling back and pushing Jimin behind with the other. Joonjae is faster, some sort of madness unleashed in his moves—his limbs are a blur, and Taehyung barely keeps up, burdened with making sure Jimin is safe.
It’s a heavy one, in the end, because one of the strikes lands—and Joonjae rips through Taehyung’s shoulder, the jacket coming off with claw-like tatters, and Taehyung’s shirt blooming red. The alpha curses, kicking with his leg out defensively—but Joonjae grips it, a manic look in his red eyes.
Wait. Red eyes?
He pulls Taehyung forward and grabs him by the throat. “Not so senile now, am I, pup?”
The stench in the room is horrendous and overpowering, with no sign of Taehyung’s more comforting one. As Joonjae tightens his hold on Taehyung’s neck and the alpha’s face strains red—a sudden call to protect hits Jimin.
Or rather—his wolf comes to the surface.
It’s rare for Jimin’s wolf to come out. Years of being trained as an assassin and asked to suppress his most natural instinct had led to an almost nil relationship with his wolf, which he’d barely recovered in the ten years since. It’s better now—it’s a lot more present, but some days it’s still a struggle to give in.
Yet, at that moment—Jimin does.
His fears forgotten, something makes his limbs move as he pushes Joonjae back. The Kingpin is startled enough that he drops his hold on Taehyung—and Jimin places himself in between. Joonjae ignores him and steps towards Taehyung, some sort of maniacal determination in his flickering red eyes.
Jimin snarls at him—everything in his vision is tinged with blue. He doesn’t think about it— it doesn’t matter, because Joonjae is a threat. Alpha is in danger. Protect him.
So Jimin does—perhaps at the cost of his life.
“What’s this?” Joonjae exclaims, momentarily stunned as he backs away—his hands are normal hands, so Jimin must have been hallucinating—and though his face remains contorted, it’s not whatever terror his brain conjured up. “You dare challenge me, omega?”
That hadn’t been his intention—but Joonjae’s alpha voice is enough. It happens rapidly—one moment Jimin’s snarling, keeping Taehyung back—the next, Joonjae tilts his neck, pressing his scent gland—and the rotten earth is punched straight into his nose.
He can’t breathe; every breath feels like tasting the furnace in his mouth, this horrid sensation of being buried underground alive and gasping for air. A keening sound rings in his ears and the base of his skull throbs, yearning to bend to Joonjae’s commands—be the docile omega, kneel down and behave—
Jimin vanishes.
He can’t see anything, can’t smell or taste or feel. There’s a void and he’s trapped, and all around are these sensations crawling all over him. Asking him to yield, Jimin can’t help but fall—
Someone pinches his neck, and Jimin wakes up.
“Can you hear me? Jimin-ah?” Taehyung yells frantically, and there are growls resounding in his ears as Jimin blinks, the room coming back to focus. Where had he gone? “Shit, fuck— GUARDS!”
He feels absolutely weightless like he doesn’t exist on this planet. His neck is limp, and it flops uselessly to his side—where he sees Joonjae holding his head in his hands, trembling and growling so loud it vibrates all the way down his spine. The scent is atrocious, enticing yet repulsive, and Jimin wants to run away from it and inhale more of it. Horrifyingly enough—he feels something like slick in his pants.
Jimin sobs at the realisation, knowing it’s just a hormonal reaction to the influx of scents—but he cries anyway, hating the sensation and the helplessness, the destiny of omegas. It’s the horrid sort of crying—he can’t help it, he can’t help anyone and now he’s useless, couldn’t even protect alpha—
Taehyung drags him out of the room, even as guards rush in, ignoring them and moving towards Joonjae. Jimin can only clutch at the lapels of Taehyung’s jacket as he stumbles out, the growls increasing—Taehyung covers his ears with his hands, and then—Jimin is out.
It doesn’t feel like it though, the scent still trapped in his chest. Jimin beats at the centre of it, wanting it gone—it’s like slime, sticky and incoherent. His omega is frantic, screaming at him to do something, but Jimin doesn’t know what—he’s trapped here and he’s never getting out. He’s done it, his life is over and—
“Hey, Jimin, hey. I’m here. You’re out. You’re safe,” Taehyung murmurs, but Jimin can’t comprehend him. He’s in front of him, but Jimin can’t see him. “Omega, you’re safe. I promise.”
Omega. Alpha is calling out to us. Jimin sees first the ring of gold before the image clears ever so slowly until it’s Taehyung in front of him. With his fluffy black hair, now matted with sweat, eyes wide, brown and golden. Jimin can see each freckle, the concern plastered across his face as those eyes roam over him, searching.
Jimin returns, even as his head blooms with pain, chest still heaving and the bitter scent clinging to his tongue, skin burning so hot he wants to cleave it apart. But those golden eyes centre him and for once, Jimin doesn’t question it.
He breaks, albeit slowly and softly—and not a moment later, finds himself pressed into the hollow of Taehyung’s throat, as the alpha noses down his scent gland gently, his hands rubbing his back softly. There is a flourish of lavender, and Jimin gulps it greedily. Needs that peculiar sweetness, needs that horrid decay out of his mouth and life—and he’ll do anything for it, even let himself be scented by his enemy if it means that.
If it means tightening his arms around Taehyung and pulling him close—so be it.
Neither says a word as they breathe each other in and for once—nothing wild happens. They don’t react to the scents like they always do; instead, Jimin finds his heart slowing down, his breaths measured the more he takes Taehyung’s scent in. He can taste all the emotions the alpha is feeling—he hadn’t known scents could do that. Taehyung is concerned, but mostly he’s afraid. Whether from his father or because Jimin broke down so completely—
Not now. Worry about your image later. Just let it be.
He tucks his chin into Taehyung’s shoulder and closes his eyes, safe in the lavender.
A little later, Taehyung peels himself away—his eyes are hazy, a result of so much of Jimin’s scent—and Jimin’s sure he’s no better. The gold has receded, and they’re normal brown again.
“You okay?” Taehyung asks, once he’s done a check—Jimin feels coddled, and he’ll take it. He’s not ready to process what the hell just happened or why—but this he will accept. “Good to walk?”
“Yes and yes,” Jimin says, his voice hoarse—his throat hurts, but he can’t recall why. Had he screamed? Or was this just from the crying? “Room, please.”
Taehyung wordlessly guides him, a hand at the small of his back but barely touching—he doesn’t wind his hand through Jimin’s, and the lack of it chases him. Post-fight cuddles, but had that really been a fight? Taehyung’s father was willing to kill his son like it was a normal Tuesday. Of course, it was a fight.
Jimin looks to his side, under his eyes—and the alpha shows nothing on his face, eyes far away from the present and lost. He smells like the pleasant mix of oranges and lavender, and for once, Jimin is grateful for their combined scents.
He has no doubt that underneath it all, Taehyung’s scent would be bitter enough to make him choke.
None of the guards or goddess forbid, Joonjae himself, follow them as they walk, exiting the Kingpin’s suite and somehow managing to stumble to their shared room. Taehyung opens the door, ushering Jimin in before locking it shut—and then promptly walks over to the bathroom.
Jimin stands frozen, still shaken from the confrontation, and also hazy from the scent. He’s uncomfortably aware of the dried slick in his pants, the mark of his shame and terror—perhaps Taehyung had to get his shit together away from him. Yet, as Jimin walks to the bathroom and makes it inside—Taehyung is standing under the shower, clothes on.
His nails grip painfully onto the tiles, and his entire body shudders—with barely restrained rage.
It looks too vulnerable to witness, but Jimin can’t turn away—he’s frozen to the ground, compelled to keep watching the alpha in such a state. After all, Jimin had always been into Taehyung’s more humane moments—and this came the closest to it. The reason for it, however, rubs uncomfortably in his chest.
“Taehyung?” Jimin asks, at last, maintaining a careful distance—instinct tells him that approaching Taehyung now, pissing him off in such a taste would fare poorly for him.
He gets no response. Instead, Taehyung stands straight, letting the water fall over him as he pushes his hair back. His clothes are ruined, clinging to him and leaving little to the imagination. His right shoulder blooms red, rust brown dripping down his elbow. When he meets Jimin’s eyes—all he sees is determined rage. A sense of purpose.
“You said you needed a map, didn’t you?” Taehyung asks, his voice laced with disdain and anger. None of the soft shit he’d been spewing to calm Jimin’s wolf down.
“Y-yeah.”
Taehyung nods, shutting off the water. The silence is resounding, the steady drip of his wet hair and clothes too loud. “Let’s get you one, then. I’ll draw that fucking thing if I have to.”
“But you said earlier—”
“I know what I said. It was fucking stupid,” Taehyung mutters darkly, shaking his hair like a wet dog. Drops of water fall on Jimin, but he’s too confused to complain. “He can’t stay in power. Not like this. Something needs to be done.”
“He knows about us now, Taehyung,” Jimin says, and maybe some of his latent fear shows because Taehyung’s gaze turns momentarily soft. He pokes Jimin’s cheek once, before pushing his hair back again.
“Al the more reason to get him out before he catches us, then,” Taehyung says, shrugging before he winces. “Fuck this. Asshole’s more unhinged than I realised.”
Jimin would like an explanation. “Yeah, what the fuck had that been?”
Taehyung, however, will never make it easy for him. “All in due time, darling. For now, I’ll get you your map—and when you get him, Jimin, make that fucker pay before you take his life.”
🖤⚔🖤
His head throbs.
That’s the first thing Jungkook notices when he comes to consciousness. A dull, persistent throbbing from the base of his skull all the way around his temples. The kind he can feel ticking in his jaw, his teeth grinding as it builds with each waking moment.
What the hell happened?
His eyes are still shut, head tilted down as he makes an assessment with his other senses. He’s cold—toes numb, as are his fingers. His hands are tied behind his back, and his feet are naked on the cold, hard ground. Worst of all—he can’t smell anything. There is a cold press on his nostrils—his alpha is quiet, subdued—almost as if it is caught in a haze and too trapped to get out of it.
Jungkook blinks his eyes open slowly, wincing under his breath at the sudden influx of light. The room is empty—even without the scents, it’s devoid of the presence of people. He still maintains a passed-out posture though, trying to work the knots in the rope holding him back—but to no avail.
As he wakes up, so does the awareness. It’s not just his head, but his entire body that hurts—the back of his neck. Around his throat, and as he swallows he gulps down the pain. Right, some stranger had him in a chokehold strong enough to render him unconscious. Like his hands, his legs are tied to the chair he’s been dumped on—and all alone in the room, Jungkook has no answers.
His wolf begins pacing inside, anxious.
“H-hello?” No response. Maybe it’s stupid to let his captives know that he’s awake, but it’s not like Jungkook will remain passed out forever. Whoever captured him would know of the limits of the human body and eventually wake him up in worse ways.
He tries to recall what happened. He’d been at the inn as usual—the strange town with people looking at him, avoiding him and sticking tightly to their secrets. The furtive looks sent his way, how lost he’d felt yet sure that Jimin had been here. And then—
Right. That omega he’d had dinner with. Cha Eunwoo. Gorgeous face, easygoing personality—the only one who’d agreed to scope out leads for Jimin. But as Jungkook traces his memories—the idea comes unbidden to his mind. Had Eunwoo meant what he’d said—or had he set Jungkook up as bait?
Bait for what? His wolf asks, which is a good question because so far, Jungkook’s kept to himself. Kept quiet, respected the locals and did whatever he could. The search for Jimin had been proving fruitless and he had considered leaving it but then…
A door bangs open in the distance, startling him. Jungkook hastily pretends to be unconscious again—deep breaths, hoping his scent doesn’t betray his status—and keeping absolutely still. Voices echo down some hallway—he couldn’t see much in the dimly lit room, but there had been some sort of dark exit out of it—perhaps a passageway.
Though the voices gradually get louder, no scents accompany them—instead, a bitter, strange neutral cold presses all around, so much so that he can’t tell who it belongs to. Scent blockers. So many of them, all at once—this place had to be seriously in the deep underworld if they could traffic so much of it, highly regulated as it was by the government.
“Alpha pup’s still sleeping,” someone says, tapping against Jungkook’s calf; it takes everything in him not to flinch. “Sure you didn’t kill him, Eunwoo?”
Jungkook freezes. He bites into his cheek to make sure he doesn’t react. Eunwoo—wherever he is, Jungkook can’t smell the camellias anymore— snorts, and Jungkook feels fingers curling at the side of his jugular. “You can feel his pulse here. He’s one tough fucker.”
“Like you know him.”
“Nah, but I tracked him well enough,” Eunwoo says lightly, walking away. The whole time, Jungkook keeps himself as controlled as possible. He can’t smell them, but he can tell apart their footsteps—about four or five of them, scattered throughout the room with one standing right in front. “Should wake up soon. Unless he’s pretending.”
The other person laughs, neither checking if they’re right. Maybe they don’t have to, since Jungkook is caught anyway. Who are these people, and how was Jimin tied to them? People who knew how to apply just the right pressure to his windpipe, who tied the ropes secure enough that they wouldn’t cut into his skin but not loosen up either, no matter how much Jungkook struggled.
Trained people, then. Killers maybe, like Jimin? Jungkook doesn’t want to believe that, even though his wolf screams at him to open his eyes. Not until Jungkook faces Jimin himself and asks point blank: are you a killer?
Only then will Jungkook rest.
There’s a flick of a lighter before the stench of cigarettes fills the room. Jungkook nearly gags, having always hated the smell—his nose is far too sensitive. He keeps one eye open—and he catches the silver-edged toe of a boot in his vision. Someone pokes his cheek, and the hollow of his throat—he keeps mum throughout. A slap on his cheek. Jungkook grits through the pain.
Then there is a flurry of activity and a sudden influx of noise. Eunwoo curses, someone crushes the cigarette under their shoe—and the guards seem to stand to attention.
Someone important is coming.
Jungkook’s mating gland announces it before his mind can register it.
He can’t pretend anymore as he raises his head—the scent of patchouli oil and wet earth is so strong, his nose burns from the proximity of it. All around him, a heady call to bare his neck for a scent that he is sure he’d only smelt in his dream. Those dreams hadn’t made sense at all—but now that it’s here, his wolf yelps inside. It’s them! It’s them!
A man enters the room—dressed to the nine in the sharpest suit money can buy. Jungkook raises his head slowly, unable to pretend anymore—and his heart is caught in his throat at the sight of him. More than that, in a room full of sharp, clinical scents—this man smells like heaven itself. And Jungkook can barely hold back a whine.
What the hell?
“Ah, so he’s awake at last,” the man comments smoothly, walking with measured steps and hands in his pockets. Everything about him screams class and danger. He’s so put together, Jungkook feels scrummy just from looking at him—and he’s a prisoner. Still, some sort of shame licks at his bound heels. “Took him quite a while, didn’t it?”
“Sure did boss. Seems like a weak one,” Eunwoo snorts, holding out a hand that carries—rings. “Blabbered the moment I mentioned the target.”
“Or he was pretending,” the man comments, eyes fixed on Jungkook. He tilts his neck, and Jungkook's eyes stray helplessly to the smooth expanse of his unmarked, golden neck. Why the fuck does he care, though? “Look at his mating gland. It’s all inflamed.”
Eunwoo frowns. “Shouldn’t happen. All of us are wearing scent blockers.” No way. The man is wearing scent blockers? Why then is Jungkook smelling that heady scent, and feeling all its punches down to his gut? “What next, boss?”
The man says nothing, his gaze powerful enough that Jungkook feels pinned to the chair regardless of the ropes. The more he stares, the more he realises that the man—exuding so much alpha-like energy—has blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
The man is an omega.
Jungkook can’t help but inhale shakily as the realisation hits him again. An omega with such intense energy? Jungkook can taste it at the back of his throat, not just the scent but the dominant presence of the man’s wolf all over the room. An omega leader with omega guards? Had Jungkook stumbled into some form of omega cult?
The only omega Jungkook had met with a powerful presence had been Jimin, and he’d cultivated it through the years—this sure-fire challenge in his eyes, daring anyone to question his competence. Jungkook had admired it, especially because his own omegan parents were typical omegas, though strong in their own ways. But this man—Jungkook could feel a heavy paw of his wolf pressing down on his alpha—and asking him to stay down.
“I always like this part,” the man suddenly remarks, looking away from Jungkook with a slight smile. He clicks his fingers, and one of the guards brings out a chair. The man sits with authority and command. Right in the centre of the dim light, his face glows ethereally. “The moment they realise I’m an omega.”
“It’s the eyes, isn’t it?” Eunwoo chuckles, hiding it in his fist. The man smiles, eyes still on Jungkook. “They always assume you’re an alpha.”
“Bears a heavy cost,” the man says, cracking his neck side to side. “What’d you say his name was?”
“Jeon Jungkook,” Eunwoo replies, taking out Jungkook’s wallet from his coat and flipping through his IDs. Fuck. “He’s a cop with the SMPA. Twenty-five. Alpha.”
“Young,” the man says, leaning back. “What’s a cop doing all the way out here?”
No one says a thing—that is until one of the guards whacks the back of his head. “He means you. Answer him.”
Jungkook gulps. “I’m working on a case. Who are you people? Why have you—where am I?”
“A case in a ghost town?” The man asks, raising an eyebrow. “C’mon, cops don’t think we’re so stupid, do they?”
“I swear, I—” Jungkook takes a couple of deep breaths. “Release me. My superiors have my tracking information. They’ll catch up.”
“You mean this?” The man asks, holding out a hand—and it had Jungkook’s phone in it. How long had he been out? “It’s been dead for twelve hours. No one’s looking for you.” The man hands over the phone to Eunwoo. “Now, let’s not play games. You answer my questions, Jungkook-ssi, and we’ll get this mess over with, hmm?”
“Who are you?” Jungkook asks, straining against the knots—his attempts win him a couple of laughs. “What do you want with me?”
“I’m so glad you asked!” The man claps his hands. “As for who I am—what will you do with my name?”
“Nice to know my captives,” Jungkook seethes, unsure where the bravery is coming from. “Maybe report it to the authorities.”
The man stares at him before he throws his head back and laughs. It’s a strange laugh—restrained, controlled. Moulded, like this person, wants to be something he’s not. Wait, why is Jungkook psychoanalysing some stranger?
“Oh, he’s cute,” the man says once he’s done, pretending to wipe away tears. They’re still ringed blue—a man whose wolf is close to the surface. Jungkook would do well not to fuck with him too much. “You’re not going to make it out of here alive, alpha pup.”
“I’m not a pup.”
“By my standards you are,” the man says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s humour you. My name is Seokjin.”
No information beyond that. “Thanks, I guess.”
“So now that the niceties are out of the way,” Seokjin says, looking under his fingernails. All of him is so well put together. His scent wafts out gently, though Jungkook keeps quiet on that. Something tells me it won’t be received well if he comments on Seokjin’s inability to wear scent blockers properly. “You want to tell me—again— why a cop is all the way out here?”
“I told you. I’m on a case.”
Seokjin stares. Then he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Eunwoo, you sure you booked the right guy or do I have to suffer through yet another alpha dickhead?”
“Absolutely sure he mentioned the target. Even showed me the picture,” Eunwoo says, stepping forward with a blown-out picture of Jimin’s that Jungkook visibly reacts to. Fuck. They were looking for Jimin too. “Some sort of ex.”
Hah, Jungkook wishes. Though now, he has to pretend Jimin is a criminal he’s looking for. Fuck, he shouldn’t have mooned about Jimin to an absolute stranger, what is wrong with you? Seokjin snorts. “Jimin certainly has a taste for alpha pups, doesn’t he?”
What does that mean? Seokjin looks over, gaze not as humorous anymore. “How do you know Jimin, Jungkook-ssi?”
Jungkook inhales. “I don’t.”
“C’mon, let’s not do this,” Seokjin sighs, tilting his neck—and Jungkook’s gaze is distracted again. Can he stop acting like a typical alpha? “We know you know Jimin. You know we have information on you. It’ll be a lot easier for you if you come clean.”
“And I am. I don’t know him,” Jungkook says, hoping against hope his face doesn’t betray him. He’s an open book, can’t hide what he feels. Right now, though, he needs to get it right. “He’s a criminal that we’ve been looking for. That’s why I’m here.”
Might as well as run with the lie he told Yugyeom. No one needs to know how Jungkook has been crushing on Jimin for the better part of seven years, on again and off, and how hopeless it is. How there is a Jimin-shaped hole in his heart that he knows he can’t fill, but that he won’t stop trying to chase. It’s better to lie instead. Jungkook hopes he can so that Jimin is safe—wherever he is.
Instead of getting deterred, Seokjin looks even more interested. “Criminal? How come?”
“What’s it to you?” Jungkook snaps, and it’s a mistake because one of the guards punches him across—his cheek blooms in pain, and there are stars in his vision. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t speak to the boss like that,” the guy says gruffly, but backs away when Seokjin waves it off.
“They’re a little protective when it comes to me,” Seokjin says, leaning back with a smirk. Like a man who has all the power in the world. Jungkook tastes blood on his lip. “So—no lies and no talking back. Bad news for you.”
“I fucking told you, Jimin’s a criminal I’m looking for and need to arrest,” Jungkook spits. He strains against the ropes again. “God, what the fuck is in these?”
“Talent you cops can’t handle,” Eunwoo mutters. Seokjin snorts. They seem dangerous, but they’re not…doing anything. Not that they should. “Boss, he won’t speak like this.”
“What do you mean? He already is,” Seokjin says, leaning back with his arms crossed. He seems so relaxed. “Arrest Jimin for what?”
“He committed a crime. Duh.”
“What crime?”
“What’s Jimin to you?” Jungkook asks, and Seokjin tuts. “I’m revealing classified information.”
Seokjin groans. “Goddess above, why are you lawful fuckers so pretentious?” He cracks his knuckles. “I don’t give a shit about your laws. Right now, I need information on Park Jimin, or so help me god I will make you regret it.”
“That’s all the information there is,” Jungkook says, meeting Seokjin eye to eye. Even then, something under his skin burns. He probably shouldn’t say more—when an idea hits him. What if he misleads Seokjin by telling him of the alpha that took Jimin away? Set him on the wrong track while he figured a way out to escape and report this entire thing to his superiors, consequences be damned. “He murdered someone and vanished. I’m just following a lead.”
“The sob story you were telling me didn’t sound like a lead, cop,” Eunwoo says, raising an eyebrow. Jungkook curls his lips. “Do you usually mope over soju about a missing criminal?”
“Do you believe things at first sight or are you just dumb?” Jungkook snaps right back, grinning when Eunwoo punches him with a snarl—the blood is thicker, and sweeter in his mouth. “Reacted like a stupid little shit.”
Eunwoo raises his hands into a claw-like grip—when Seokjin tuts and the omega holds himself back. The silence returns once more, pressing enough that Jungkook looks back at the head omega again. Seokjin’s meeting his gaze coolly—if a little too intense. “Murdered?”
“Yeah, gunpoint too,” Jungkook says. Is he wrong for outing Jimin like this? But why should you be loyal to someone who lied to you for years? “Him and that alpha who took him away—they’re in on it together.”
There. Bait set. He can barely stop himself from holding a triumphant grin back.
Except—Seokjin smiles. Smiles, like that’s what he’d wanted to hear. He leans forward, a glint in his eyes. “Alpha, you say?”
Jungkook frowns. Maybe more information on the alpha would propel the omega to another direction. “Seemed like it. Came with a bunch of guards during dinner, and threatened to fuck shit up. Jimin killed a guard in the process. Then the alpha left.”
“Hmm. And you think they’re together?”
This sounds like an interrogation going wrong. Jungkook keeps quiet, his instinct telling him to tread carefully, that Jimin would be in danger if he blabbed too much. “Must be. Both seemed like criminals.”
“Which they are,” Seokjin croons, eyes lighting up. He stands up, rolling his shoulders. “Jungkook-ssi, I must say—I appreciate the honesty.”
“Look, man, that’s all I know—”
“I particularly like how you say Jimin is just a criminal,” Seokjin continues smoothly, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket, “but you’re familiar enough to have dinner with him.”
Jungkook freezes. Fuck. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Don’t bother your pretty head about it,” Seokjin coos, leaning in and petting Jungkook’s hair mockingly. “Not appropriate for cops to fraternise with criminals. But don’t worry—I won’t tell your superiors about it.”
“I wasn’t in anything with Jimin—”
“And the familiar way you speak about him,” Seokjin says, pity lining his eyes. This close, the patchouli oil burns into his nose in the most delicious way. His entire neck feels swollen with how much his mating gland throbs under his sweatshirt. “See, if you keep up this streak of honesty—I won’t tell you superiors, and add in your life as a bonus! What do you say? We have a deal?”
Jungkook’s breathing heavily by the end, anger and guilt sour on his mind. Fuck, he is an idiot. Clearly, whoever Seokjin is—he’s no ordinary person. And if he’s looking for Jimin, then they belong to something else entirely—Jungkook shouldn’t have been so confident.
Fuck, if Jimin is in danger because of him…
So he does what any sane person does in captivity. He inhales—and spits in Seokjin’s face. “Fuck. You.”
Seokjin blinks, before sighing—he casually removes a handkerchief from his inner pocket, wiping away the spit. He levels Jungkook with an unimpressed glance. “Aish, cops. You lot are the worst.”
The last thing Jungkook sees is a silver-adorned fist—before he passes out.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
*inhales* SCREAMINGGGGGGGG
FINALLY gosh I was trembling as I wrote this and posted it cuz JINKOOK finally met (like I didn't make it obvious enough lmao) oh my lord i've planned such great things for those cuties i can't WAIT to explore their dynamics/story.
And joonjae is mad sus...it was so slimy writing his character like he's just horrible & i'm already disgusted thinking of writing those scenes with him. it'll all make sense soon. but there were lots of clues in between so if y'all are able to guess what's up with him or what's up with any of them...:D Hint: scents.
In case any Indian-Hindus are reading this- HAPPY DIWALI!! I'm genuinely so happy and geeked with the festival this year so I'm spreading the love and this very intense very tense-ridden fic is my contribution to the festival of lights LMAO <3 until next time lovelies!
Chapter 12: Two Can Keep a Secret If-
Notes:
good lord I am BACK
no explanations, it was wedding season and a lot of festivities + chapter 13 was such a long bitch to write (boy that's gonna make this fic cross 100k help) so I was procrastinating...but anyway. I am here now. I also spent too much time editing the tags again idk instead of proofreading this chapter. Oh well. ENJOY!recap: last ch vmin meet joonjae, and have an altercation, daddy is a creep, which leads to some comfort-seeking. on the jinkook end, jk is captured + questioned, is introduced to jin, at last, has strange feelings for this stranger ooh lala.
reminder: each ch of this fic starts with a past snippet/flashback (depends on character, currently it's only jimin) & they're written in past tense. idk why I'm reminding everyone but since I don't specify it in the ch, thought i'd clarify. these snippet lengths can differ.
warnings: scenes of torture in vivid description so take care
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Presentations happened throughout the year, but some weeks or months were fuller than others—and training during those moments was difficult to adapt to.
Jimin knew in his bones—he could not explain how given that his wolf was not present yet—what he was destined to be. Maybe it was because of his height or his figure. Either way, he wasn’t surprised when a week after his fourteenth birthday—the one date he’d remembered from his childhood— he presented as an omega.
It had been right in the middle of a sparring session. Symptoms for presentation happened on and off from a year prior, the body in a constant state of flux as the hormones were produced and then rebalanced. He’d had hot flushes in some moments, and intense rage during others. Pre-presentation was equally sensitive, especially if one had the kind of emotional management issues Jimin did.
He was sparring, getting angrier and angrier the longer the opponent hung on. It rarely ever happened that Jimin met someone equally as good as him; Taehyung was an exception—and the only one Jimin was willing to let slide as competition. Anyone else?
He would be out for blood.
In hindsight, it made sense why he was so angry. Why he nearly killed the unpresented pup, breaking the spear in half and jabbing the jagged end in what would have been a fatal shot— had it not been for his belly suddenly cramping.
The reaction was instant. Gasps across the court, the presented wolves alert while the unpresented ones were confused—Jimin crumpled, and he was carried out.
His skin felt warm, and he couldn’t see anything, his vision rolling. Nothing made sense—there was too much happening for him to focus on anything at all. He took a sharp breath, his chest burning-- and for a moment he could smell everything.
The bitterness of scent blockers in full fold, the sweat of the students and the hundreds of scents—
Amongst them, a peculiar scent of faint lavender before he gave in to the burning fire building inside him with each moment.
When he woke up next, Jimin was in the troughs of presentation heat— with a hollow in the centre of his chest, missing something— or someone.
🖤⚔🖤
Growing up in Busan, Jungkook had been accustomed to water his whole life.
It comes with the territory of living next to the coast. In Jungkook’s case, outcast as his parents were for their forbidden love—he’d grown up a shy, recluse of a boy in a sleepy, coastal village run mostly by widowed omegas and far too few children. The villagers were outcasts themselves, and so accepted the two runaway omegas with open arms.
It meant that though Jungkook had grown up safe, protected and loved— he’d mostly kept to himself, and had few friends his own age. As such, he found ways to entertain himself in solitude.
Swimming had been one such pursuit, one Jungkook loved immensely. Diving in the shallow ponds, searching for fish and helping the fishermen catch their daily load— Jungkook was familiar with the adrenaline of being one with the seas.
It doesn’t mean he loves the burning sensation of drowning in water, trashing and screaming into the tub even as a hand forces him down—and picks him up as easily as a ragdoll.
Jungkook heaves, chest burning and the front of his shirt dripping, hair plastered to his face. His eyes water and his nose drips steadily—his head throbs as the air pressure settles around him. The hand on his hair grips painfully, holding him upright even as he sags down.
“You think you’re ready to speak, or you need one more refreshment?” Seokjin asks, sitting on the chair and cleaning under his nails. Jungkook blinks blearily, registering a bored expression on the omega’s face—as if threatening to drown people is a regular practice. “Your skin already looks so much better.”
“Fuck…off…” Jungkook wheezes, the words burning in his throat, mucus collecting to soothe its ravaged state. He wants air, for more than a few seconds. Will he shut up in order to receive that? Of course not. “I already…told you…”
“Lies,” Seokjin sighs, putting away the dagger into his breast pocket and leaning back. He carries such an expression of disappointment, Jungkook’s alpha whines. Don’t make him upset. It irritates Jungkook beyond belief, but he doesn’t have the energy to chastise himself. Merely breathe. “I’ve given you chances upon chances. I’ve been so benevolent. And all you do is lie.”
“Because I’m telling the truth, asshole,” Jungkook mutters, closing his eyes—only to have one of the omega guards, as he has identified in his time here— slap him awake. His skin is as sensitive as a baby’s butt. “I’m looking for Park Jimin because he’s a wanted criminal. I don’t know who that alpha was—but he was reported to have killed a waiter as well. They vanished, and I’m presuming—on the run.”
“Yes, thank you for that marvellous detail,” Seokjin simpers, smiling to himself—Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to even regret repeating this story. If he’s gotten Jimin into trouble, then so be it. As it is—he can’t seem to think beyond how good the omega smells in this otherwise scentless room. “Except the tiny fact you missed about going to dinner with him—”
“Goddess, it was a slip of a tongue—wait, please, no!” Jungkook shrieks as he’s dragged to the tub again, face pressed right above the water. “I swear, I’m telling the truth!”
“Only liars proclaim that,” Seokjin says, before nodding his head—and Jungkook barely gets a moment to inhale enough air before he’s thrust back into the water—and kept down.
He tries this time, he really does. He’s Jeon Jungkook from Busan. Winner of the Regional Swimming Championships, the one who pushed through and came out of his sleepy village and made it in Seoul. He’s survived much, much worse than a couple of inches of water down his nose and throat.
However, even if one is used to the water—it doesn’t mean it cannot become an enemy at the right time.
Jungkook gasps—and water floods his tongue, down his throat. His belly hurts and hurls at the same time, and like before, he can only thrash, desperate. A carnal fear rises, survival dripping out of him like blood until he becomes one with the seas—
He throws up when he’s hauled up, coughing out a lungful of water soiled with acidic bile. He can’t speak; every inhale slashes one more cut into his skin. Where the hell has he ended up, and why him?
More like what the hell Jimin has done that you have to keep suffering because of him, a voice suggests at the back of his head, crooning all around. It doesn’t help that the patchouli oil joins the symphony, asking him to break—and give in. Why are you holding on for a man you will never have?
“Ready to give a different answer, Jungkook-ssi?” Seokjin asks, leaning in again. This close, his nose burns from both the water and the scent, and like a mad dog, he craves more of it. “Most people sing a new song after what you’ve just been through.”
“Because they are lying, and I’m not.”
Seokjin wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know whether to be endeared by his attempts or insulted by how cops think they’re good at their jobs.”
“Both might be a good idea, boss.”
“I’ll cut your tongue out if you suggest something so sacrilegious again,” Seokjin says easily, getting up and beckoning over one of the guards. “Is the phone in working condition, then?”
Jungkook freezes.
Why hadn’t he thought of that? All throughout, he’d left his actual phone behind, but that night in the inn he’d been desperate enough to carry it, in case it got more leads, oh fuck—
He’s lost the battle. There’s no point in denying or carving a new story, knowing it would only drive him deeper into the hole he’s dug himself into. All that suffering, and for what? Once again, Jimin has made a fool out of you. It’s all he ever does.
Stop it, please, he begs the voices in his head, too weak to physically stop them like he wishes to. His alpha is stubbornly silent, and Jungkook is alone. As he’s always been.
He blanks out, somewhere in between all that chaos. He’s a captive when really, he’s back in his hometown. His mother has prepared hotteok while his other mother has gone to bargain for fish preserves, and Jungkook is safe. Somehow, Jimin flickers into the vision— he’d visited once, and he’d been an instant favourite. His mother had even taken him aside, nudging him playfully. Wouldn’t he make for a lovely mate?
Jungkook had smiled bashfully, heart sinking at the hope in her eyes. Back then, he’d already known Jimin would never settle with anyone, much less with him— yet, he’d hoped anyway.
To think the person he’d pinned his hopes onto is nothing more than a petty criminal involved in something far more dangerous than Jungkook had ever realised—
Someone nudges a boot against his cheek. “Up you go, cop. The show’s not over yet,” Eunwoo chuckles, face hazy as Jungkook’s vision refocuses on the scene in front. Right. He isn’t in Busan, or with his parents. Jimin isn’t someone he trusts, though he’s not so sure about the love yet—and he’s a captive in an underground bunker of sorts. He’d barely survived waterboarding.
Nothing like a reality check to get his priorities straight.
Somehow, he claws his way up into a sitting position, swaying as he grounds himself. They hadn’t taught him this back at the Police Academy. “What now?”
“Your phone didn’t die,” Eunwoo croons in his ears, and the cold of scent blockers is oppressive. Why do they not work on Seokjin, then? Why would Seokjin paint himself as a future target? “And we’re about to find out.”
Death doesn’t seem as scary, for some reason.
He knows the evidence his phone carries. He’s not an avid user, and doesn’t like social media—but both Jimin and Hoseok had a thing for making memories, and their group would often be bombarded with all sorts of photo links. Jungkook had downloaded a few—and now, they were going to be his demise.
“Fraternising with a criminal, tch, Jungkook-ssi,” Seokjin says, walking over with one hand in his pocket while swiping through his device. “I’ll give you one more chance to cover up. What’s it going to be? Old school friend? An undercover mission gone wrong?”
Jungkook says nothing, blinking up at him. Seokjin frowns, a sinister smile on his face. Was he from Jimin’s past? Did he have some kind of vendetta to fulfil—and had Jungkook made it exponentially worse?
He doesn’t care anymore. “Whatever you want to explain it as. It’s not like you’re going to believe me anyway.”
Seokjin pauses. Then he chuckles. “He’s a feisty one, isn’t he? Waterboarded and still got a loudmouth. Impressive.” He shuts the phone, chucking it to the side. “What’s Jimin to you, Jungkook-ssi?”
“This again?” Jungkook asks, voice hoarse. His mind runs in circles. “I told you.”
“And the pictures tell a different story.”
“You can make up anything,” Jungkook fires back. He simply wants to lie down. “If I tell you he is a friend, will you believe me?”
Seokjin smiles. “I would, Jungkook-ssi. Because you see, you being Jimin’s friend is valuable information for me. And I intend to use it well.”
Jungkook shuts his eyes in defeat as Seokjin walks away once again.
🖤⚔🖤
A demon has been unleashed in Taehyung overnight.
When they were children and teenagers, Jimin had been used to the particular brand of bloodthirst the alpha depicted. Subtle, under the surface—but strong enough to imprint and impose. Jimin had barely matched it eye-for-eye, and that had only been because he had been competitive enough to make up for it.
In the past three weeks, Jimin has been surprised by the changes Taehyung has made—but after yesterday, it seems the surface had to be scratched away entirely for the horror to breathe.
Taehyung’s not in bed when Jimin wakes up—he’s at the table, outlining something furiously on a paper. From his vantage point, Taehyung looks—cute. Furrowed eyebrows, lips curled into a pout even as a tongue pokes out, playing distractedly with his lip ring. Under the covers, Jimin’s body warms.
Then the horror of yesterday dawns upon him—and he freezes once again. It’s a swift change, and one Taehyung notices apparently. “You’re staring.”
No point denying it. “Good morning.”
“It is indeed,” Taehyung says, leaning back and tapping the pencil against the table in a rapid pattern. “Slept well?”
“Somehow.” Jimin stretches, cracking the knuckles, shoulders and back—he does a near split in bed, and he’s not unaware of Taehyung’s pointed gaze at him. He’s still needy after what happened, though he will never ask. “Did we really meet Joonjae yesterday?”
“We did.”
“And you challenged him?”
“Rightfully so.”
“And I got in the way?” Jimin asks, the question sour in his mouth. He’s barely been able to process anything at all.
“Almost as if you were worried,” Taehyung purrs, stretching lazily. He’s already dressed, and alert. “Be careful, Jiminie. Might start thinking you care again.”
“Only for my life,” Jimin says sweetly, getting out of bed at last—he shivers, sweater falling down his shoulders. “You’re my ticket out of this place.”
“And you’re my ticket to the throne,” Taehyung says just as seriously, his eyes lingering on Jimin’s exposed neck and shoulders. Hunger bleeds into them, and Jimin makes no move to cover himself. “Get dressed. We have breakfast to attend.”
“Get out of my room while Joonjae lurks around? No thanks,” Jimin mutters, fully intent on hiding his tail between his legs and avoiding the Kingpin for the rest of his existence. “Ask for something reasonable.”
“Well, you could—”
“If you ask me for sex, I will cut your knot off and feed it to you,” Jimin fires away without looking back, refusing to acknowledge the throaty chuckle Taehyung sends his way before he shuts the bathroom door. Once he’s safe and away from being perceived— he holds onto the sink counter, slapping at his red cheeks. Can you stop having foot-in-the-mouth disease for once?
Maybe not, because his reflection blinks back innocently at him. Instead, he runs the hot water, showering away the sleep and preparing for a new day.
Breakfast. Something tells him it’s not going to be a normal one, and now that Joonjae knows Taehyung is courting Jimin—they’ll have to up the metre. If Seokjin was suspicious, Joonjae was ten times worse—paranoid to the core, impossible to fool. Yes, he is capable of being a victim of his hubris—that’s the fallacy of many criminals. Jimin’s struggled with it himself. It still means that Joonjae is one of the best assassins Jimin’s been trained under.
Fake stories and fumbles won’t work. For this to be convincing, Jimin has to make sure he believes he’s in love with Taehyung—no matter how oppressive the idea feels.
Is it really that bad, though? His wolf asks, and Jimin closes his eyes. His cock is at half-mast, his slit carrying the remnants of night slick— he can still feel the way Taehyung had been looking at him, the way he always does—like Jimin is his last meal on earth and he could feast on him forever. More than that, though— it’s those soft golden eyes that have refused to leave Jimin’s mind. I’ll keep you safe, okay, Jimin?
Fuck, he would have given anything to hear those words ten years ago.
He doesn’t get off, however— lets it die on its own, and cleans himself up. He’s too disturbed after yesterday to immediately engage in that manner, body still disgusted with the way he reacted to Joonjae’s atrocious scent. What had that been? It was almost like Joonjae had released some sort of pheromone to immobilise Jimin…but that isn’t possible anymore. Scents, heats and ruts are all they carry from their evolution as wolves. Pheromones are a mythical thing of the past, just like shifting had been.
It doesn’t matter. All Jimin wants is to get rid of him, and never, ever be in such a vulnerable position ever again.
Taehyung whistles when he gets out. “Dressed to impress, love?”
It seems like the insufferable version of the alpha is back again. Somehow, Jimin doesn’t mind it as much. He fluffs up his hair instead. “Of course. I always am.”
“There’s the attitude I was looking for,” Taehyung drawls, puckering his lips in a silly pout that Jimin wrinkles his nose at. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Jimin whines. “Do we have to?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Taehyung rolls up the sheet, carefully placing it in a safe and locking it with an electronic keypad. “We are to have an expected guest.”
Predictably, Jimin’s heart races, and perhaps his scent sours because Taehyung freezes. He turns, gold bleeding into his eyes even as Jimin shakes. Since when has he been so afraid?
“Hey, it’s going to be fine,” Taehyung says softly, walking towards him slowly with his hands raised. Has Jimin’s omega surfaced? Is that why he’s being so careful? “I promise, nothing will happen. I won’t let it.”
“But yesterday—”
“Is yesterday. I had to do things in order to make sure he didn’t question us too long,” Taehyung says, and Jimin blinks. No way had Taehyung planned that all along. “We were in his suite. He had more control, and I wasn’t strong enough.”
Right. The reactions had been instinctual—and yet. “You deliberately put me in danger.”
“You would have been trapped if the show had carried on,” Taehyung says seriously. “The breakfast will be different. Namjoon-hyung and Seokjin-hyung will be there.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“A lot, trust me,” Taehyung snorts, scent bitter. There it is again, the burning resentment at a lifetime of sibling rivalry. “Abbeoji likes to maintain an image—especially in front of the family. Especially if his youngest son thought to challenge him. He can’t bear it.”
Jimin doesn’t know if he can trust that. Then again, he doesn’t know about the Kim family dynamics at all. He doesn’t trust Taehyung—but out of everyone in this goddess-forsaken place, perhaps he comes the closest. And he is Jimin’s ticket out of this place, no matter what. “Okay. Let’s do it then.”
“Great.” Taehyung makes to walk away—but Jimin hauls him by his jacket, sudden enough that the alpha instinctively tries to shake it off before relaxing. “What?”
Jimin looks him straight in the eye. “Scent me.”
It would be hilarious, how shocked Taehyung is by Jimin initiating if he himself isn’t feeling all sorts of nerves at the simple request. Nothing’s simple when it comes to them, however. “What?”
“You’re courting me, and you were serious enough about it yesterday to challenge your father. Make it count,” Jimin says, baring his neck, a sick bead of thrill travelling down his spine at how Taehyung’s nose flares instantly. He’ll apply the scent blockers later, once there is a pleasant enough infusion of orange and lavender on their person. “C’mon. Don’t be shy.”
Maybe it’s wrong to goad a willing alpha like this—but Jimin’s never been a fair player. And Taehyung has never denied him his tactics.
It’s not the mad dash, or the reluctant assignment, that it had been for some time. It isn’t even the softness of yesterday. It’s something else altogether, an amalgamation of the different types of scenting they’ve accomplished already—and Jimin barely holds back a whine as Taehyung noses down his neck, lips brushing against the skin of his nape with the promise of a kiss—or a bite. He clenches his thighs shut, refusing to slick up like this. He’s not a slut. He’s not that easy.
Taehyung’s hands envelop his waist slightly, maddeningly close but never pressing in as Jimin wants. His chest rumbles with pleased growls, as he pulls back and bares his neck, and Jimin returns the favour.
It’s maddening, is what it is—and Jimin can barely control himself as he steps back. Taehyung scent has the faint musk of arousal, and Jimin’s sure his is no better—he explains it away with biology. That’s all there ever is and ever will be to this trade-off.
It can’t be anything else.
Resolutely looking away—Jimin winds his hands through Taehyung’s—and walks out a taken man.
The air in the dining hall is taut with anticipation.
It’s enough to make Jimin want to choke, but he keeps steady. Any moment now, Kim Joonjae could enter—and he’d finally know if they truly got away with their challenge—or if more is yet to come.
Taehyung digs into breakfast without a care in the world, but Jimin knows him enough—at least, he hopes so— to see the careful edge of alertness woven into his limbs. The way he holds the soup spoon, fingers steady on the chopsticks— even his legs are still, unlike Jimin’s shaking ones.
He only realises when Taehyung’s hand presses firmly on his exposed knee, holding them down.
In front of them sit Namjoon and Seokjin. The alpha looks marginally better, though traces of the sickness and its subsequent weakness linger in the hollow blue under his eyes. Seokjin, however, is staring at Jimin— and smiling to himself, shaking his head.
Jimin knows he’s not imagining it when even Taehyung tuts in annoyance. “Jin-hyung, stop it.”
“What?”
“Stop ogling Jimin, it’s getting old,” Taehyung says, frowning. He seems troubled, but mostly annoyed. Jimin has half a mind to thank him, because unlike before—Seokjin’s staring is…less hostile. “We’re already under enough stress to add your paranoia to it.”
“I wonder why that is,” Seokjin says primly, twirling the butter knife in his hands. Then he smiles, all pretty teeth—it has a blinding effect. “You’re right, though. I’m being unnecessarily invasive.”
Jimin blinks at that. Before he can ask Seokjin what made him yield— the doors of the hall open and in walks the man of the hour himself.
His stench reaches them first.
Maybe calling it a stench is too rude, but after yesterday’s ordeal, Jimin wants nothing to do with it. Even now, as it makes its way through, the secondary horrors rise up, and fear locks up in his throat again. His eyes water, and oh, he’s going to be sick—
Taehyung’s hand weaves through his, rubbing soothing circles across the back of it. Surprisingly—it grounds him.
“Abbeoji!” Seokjin exclaims, pushing back his chair hurriedly and bowing low. Namjoon follows soon after, calm and robotic about it. Taehyung, however—remains sitting. Jimin’s legs itch. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
Jimin raises an eyebrow, turning sharply towards Taehyung—who keeps chewing, steadily looking away. His features are schooled into perfect nonchalance, and he doesn’t seem to give a shit that his father, the Kingpin, is right in front of them.
If Joonjae didn’t hate them before, he surely will now.
“I felt marginally better, and felt I could make the trip down,” Joonjae says—and betrays none of the arrogance and hostility he’d bared last night. It sounds cordial and professional—Jimin can’t believe it. “It’s been a while since I met my sons, hasn’t it?”
“It’s an absolute pleasure, Abbeoji,” Seokjin practically swoons, ushering him into the open chair at the head of the table while signalling to the guards to be on high alert. That’s an even bigger anomaly for Jimin—the way Seokjin changes. “If I had known, I would have arranged something better!"
“Ah, Seokjin-ah, my dove,” Joonjae chuckles, caressing his knuckles across the omega’s cheekbones, eyes fond. Seokjin blushes. “You worry too much. I’m fine. I merely wanted to have a family breakfast, that’s all.”
“I’ll ask the chefs to prepare your favourite,” Seokjin says resolutely, nodding at the guards—who rush out as if it’s their next mission. Joonjae seems pleased, the smug bastard. “How are you doing now, Abbeoji?”
Watching the exchange as a guest and an outsider is…fascinating. Having never been part of a family—it strikes Jimin sometimes, how even the worst families all have a bond in the end. Seokjin is preening, hanging on to Joonjae’s every word, while Namjoon sits spine straight to his side, pale and grip forceful on his chopsticks. He looks sicker than before, and Joonjae hasn’t even addressed him or Taehyung yet.
Speaking of, the alpha next to him carries on, uncaring towards the world. Jimin can tell, however—the nonchalance is careful. The tension tastes thick and bitter, and he can catch the way Joonjae is attuned towards them even as he entertains Seokjin’s reports.
All three siblings—and all different ways of facing the common father.
It seems like the other two aren’t aware of the events of yesterday—if he goes by the surprise on Seokjin’s face when Joonjae addresses him directly. “Jimin. How are you?”
Jimin chokes on the piece of meat he’d been chewing, gulping down the remains with water. It’s okay. Taehyung’s next to him, he said he’ll keep Jimin safe. “Ah, Daebonim. I’m doing well. Thank you.”
“No sense in calling me Daebonim now, is there, Jimin?” Joonjae chuckles and Jimin dares to make contact with him—and looks away quickly. A test of sorts—a continuation of the sick game the Kingpin had started yesterday. “We parted on good terms, after all.”
Asshole. First, accuse Jimin of betraying the code, then call him a slut—and proceed to do some sort of pheromone attack that had left him paralysed. Jimin, however, smiles—if Taehyung had been right about Joonjae caring about his image, it wouldn’t help if he challenges him in front of all his sons and guards. “I’m not sure what else to call you, Daebonim. Habits die hard.”
“Abbeonim works,” Joonjae says casually, and Taehyung chokes next to him, hiding it quickly behind his elbow. “Since you’re courting my youngest. You will soon be a part of the family, hmm?”
It’s sickly sweet—and exactly what Jimin needs to be wary of. This was how Joonjae used to get to them all—sweet words, fake charisma—before he had a vice-like grip on them, and nowhere to run. Jimin nods, keeping up the bashful image. He can do this. He’d handled worse men and survived.
“If all goes well, yes,” Jimin says, relaxed and bright. His hands under the table are another story—Taehyung will cut off his circulation, he’s sure of it. “Are you doing okay?”
It’s a convoluted social scheme—niceties and drama when everyone and their mother knows how forced this interaction is. He catches Seokjin seething quietly in the corner of his eyes, Namjoon observing quietly—Jimin has to tread very, very carefully.
“I’m doing much better. Healthier, hopefully,” Joonjae says just as amiably, cutting into his breakfast. His hands are weathered with age spots and leather skin. “How was the city?”
“A delight.”
“Hmm, thought so. Seoul’s always been welcoming,” Joonjae comments. His steak is rare, the flesh pink and juicy. “I trust my son is treating you well?”
Taehyung stiffens next to him, though his eyes don’t stray from his plate. It’s pathetically empty, but still, he pretends. Jimin takes pity on him. It’s clear who the runt is out of all the three—at least in Joonjae’s eyes. “He’s doing a marvellous job. I am pleased.”
“Not as pleased as our Namjoon is, hmm?” Joonjae slips in—and the room freezes a moment before moving, but the pace is sluggish. There. That’s Joonjae’s bait for chaos. Pinning the siblings against each other and revelling in the aftermath. “How thrilled he must be to have you here, so close, at last.”
This is bad. Taehyung’s nails dig into his knee, and Jimin lets him—he’ll have his revenge later. Namjoon looks pale, eyes shaking. Nervous sweat has broken out across his forehead, and his hand trembles around his spoon. “It’s—it’s fine, Abbeoji. Nothing special.”
“Ah, don’t be so rude in front of our guest, Namjoon-ah,” Joonjae tuts, and Namjoon bows down, frame shaking. “He’s come all the way from Seoul for Taehyung. Let’s make sure he’s treated specially.”
What a vile, vile man. Rotten to the core, just like his scent. Jimin smiles tightly, taking it in. Seokjin, surprisingly—turns out to be their saving grace. “I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just Jimin.”
Ultimately, it’s Seokjin’s inability to let anyone else have the spotlight that saves them from a rather awkward confrontation—while the omega pouts, Jimin rips Taehyung’s hand away from his knee, holding it away. One more mark from the man he does not want to be associated with, great.
Joonjae laughs. “Seokjin-ah, I was merely making sure our guest is taken care of.”
“And he is. Do you not believe me a capable omega, father?” Seokjin asks, blinking his eyes—and Jimin swears he sees Joonjae melt. Way to brandish blaring daddy issues to the rest of the world. “I have made sure Jimin-ssi is comfortable. Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters.”
“Alright, alright, I won’t,” Joonjae says, smiling good-naturedly—like this, he can see more of Taehyung’s features bleed out. “Now comes the bigger question—how is the business?”
He asks the room when clearly it’s Taehyung’s forte—not that the man will acknowledge that. Taehyung barely reacts, and his scent is the same—numb like he feels nothing. Maybe the scent blockers are finally working…but something in Jimin’s wolf believes otherwise.
It’s the scent of a man with nothing left to fight for.
Alpha isn’t feeling good, his wolf whispers, worried and for once, Jimin shares its opinion. He can’t explain how he knows— but it’s there in the line of his broad shoulders, the thin stretch of his lips as he chews robotically. Jimin looks away, focused on his own food. He can sense Joonjae’s attention even as he converses with the other two.
“The business is doing splendid, Abbeoji,” Seokjin trills, pleasantly flushed out of pride. Jimin barely holds back a grimace, disgusted by the simpering. Maybe he’s never had a father figure so he doesn’t get it, but it’s beginning to get a little pathetic. “I also have some wonderful news to share regarding our progress.”
“Do tell.”
“It’s my absolute pleasure to announce this,” Seokjin says, clearing his throat. Instinctively, Jimin’s hold on his napkin tightens. He’s not the biggest fan of instincts, but right now—they spell bad news. “We have won the bid, Abbeoji.”
Silence. Next to him, Taehyung jolts in his seat, eyes wide. Namjoon sighs and Joonjae—
It’s not every day that Jimin gets to see such a formidable man awestruck. “You lie.”
Seokjin leans back, every bit triumphant. “Not at all. We’ve won the bid to host the auction. As you had envisioned all those years ago.”
Auction…oh no. Not that event, moon heaven’s sake—
“My son!” Joonjae crows, rising out of his chair and swaying a moment before holding his arms out. His mouth is stretched wide open, eyes lighting with joyous greed. “Ah, you have done me proud!”
Seokjin stands to hug him, chaste and uptight—it’s the first sign of affection Jimin’s seen, though he doesn’t have it in him now to analyse family dynamics when he’s coming to terms with what it means to win a bid.
In short: it’s an auction to display the best assassins for sale, or any other goods that will fetch a good price. Weapons, drugs, omegas, and even children—Jimin has never attended one, having never been accepted as a member of the Elites despite being on par with them when it came to skill—but he’d hated it the moment he’d heard of it. To be in its vicinity again—
To hold the rights of hosting such an event is considered a big deal—and how it comes around to be is what sickens Jimin.
High profits. The highest number of kills.
It seems like his former workplace has been quite busy indeed.
Joonjae sits back down, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. His eyes light up in maniacal glee, casting a sly glance towards them. “Wonderful news, isn’t it, Jimin?”
Yet another one of his games. Jimin’s going to be sick, especially as Joonjae’s scent subtly increases its dominance. He bows down, submissive. “A victory indeed, Daebonim.”
“I’ll never get you to say anything else, will I?” Joonjae purrs, and next to him, Taehyung stiffens, his eyes on the floor. “Oh, well. This is going to be a grand time to announce your courtship as well.”
Oh, goddess no. Jimin can’t have the rest of the underworld aware that he’s back into the business or that he’s tied to Taehyung in a permanent way. He’ll never be able to vanish again, and that’s an unbearable thought. Acting, however, means going with the flow. “Nothing would please me more, Daebonim.”
“Our trades are already increasing since the news was announced,” Seokjin jumps in, lip curling in Jimin’s direction. “It’s going to be so much fun. There are plans in place.”
He then smiles at Jimin, a wicked glint in his eyes, like he knows more than he’s letting on. Jimin looks away, hoping he can pass it off as nonchalance. The words are just that—words. Unlike Joonjae, the eldest Kim didn’t carry the infuriating quality of twisting words unnecessarily. Jimin is safe.
Just then, Taehyung pushes away from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. His face doesn’t betray a single emotion, and Jimin stands with him. “It’s been a lovely breakfast, but I’m afraid business calls. Abbeoji, glad to hear you’re doing well. Congratulations on the bid, Seokjin-hyung.”
He doesn’t wait for dismissal before he walks away—and Jimin scampers after him, bowing hastily in Joonjae’s direction.
By the time he’s out of the hall, Taehyung’s far ahead—it’s all Jimin can do not to run helplessly, a little confused and a lot annoyed by how sudden everything is at the Kim household. He makes the distance, a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder to stop him and—
Taehyung turns around, crowding him against the wall. Jimin freezes, looking towards his side—the hallway is empty, with no one to watch them. They don’t have to do this, and yet…
The alpha is breathing harshly, arms caging Jimin but not touching him. He’s shaking, barely holding on—and Jimin can taste the anger in his scent. Seriously, what kind of scent blockers were the Kim family investing in? How can he still smell Taehyung? Or has the alpha foregone using them altogether? “Taehyung?”
“Shh,” the alpha says, a finger on his lips as he takes a lungful of air. “Give me a moment, just—”
The next thing Jimin knows— Taehyung punches the wall next to him, and Jimin jumps. “What the hell?”
“Goddess, he makes me so—” Taehyung grits his teeth, his eyes mere slits when he opens them. No, Taehyung can’t have a meltdown so close to the hall. He even turns towards where they exited from, face set in determination. “I have half a mind to just go in there and—”
Jimin doesn’t think. He reaches out first, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him closer, away from the hall. Taehyung stumbles, and suddenly, he’s much, much closer than Jimin had estimated. Well. He’s committed now. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”
Taehyung stares at him—eyes searching, lingering on Jimin’s lips. The gaze burns fire hot, but somehow, Jimin’s mind is only focused on calming him down. It’s just because he’s my ticket out of here. Can’t have him dying or indisposed, because then I’ll be screwed. Yeah, that’s all there is to this.
“You heard what he said—”
“That’s what he does best. It’s how he gets under your skin,” Jimin says softly, leaning back—somehow, Taehyung presses in even closer, and Jimin doesn’t mind. “We have a bigger goal here. Let’s not get distracted.”
Taehyung’s still shaking, though the tremors have reduced. His scent is still sharp on Jimin’s tongue and it’s too overwhelming, too strong. He wants to be rid of it or override it with something—
Huh. Could work.
“I just—every time I think he can’t get any worse he just somehow— what are you doing?”
Jimin’s leaning back and baring his neck a little, and it is hilarious how quickly Taehyung loses track. He pumps out more of his scent, unsure if this will work with scent blockers but then… “Go on. Have at it.”
Is he willing to be scented just so he can prevent a premature murder from happening? Hell yeah. Taehyung, however, is flabgastered. “What?”
“Don’t make a fuss. Have you never scented before?”
“I—shut up. But why now—?”
“Because you look two seconds away from exploding and I can’t have that,” Jimin says simply, crossing his arms. Why must he always be the sacrifice? It’s not fair, he’s too hot for this. “You’re my exit strategy, Kim Taehyung.”
It’s what Jimin says, but he’s not sure if it’s what he truly believes.
Taehyung blinks before smirking lazily as he leans in, one hand against the wall and the other at his waist. The position is so familiar Jimin’s dragged straight to the past, back when Taehyung would corner him and tease, say words that had heat slithering under his skin. He prays that won’t happen here or at the very least, he’s not as affected. He’s got to have grown up, right? The Moon Goddess is a fair deity.
“Scent-dazing me? Getting a little desperate, aren’t we, Jimin-ah?” Taehyung croons, and this is why Jimin has to think twice before everything. Especially with pig-headed alphas like Taehyung. “You sure it’s about the exit strategy?”
“100%.”
“Nothing else?”
“Goddess above, Taehyung,” Jimin snarls, and pulls him in—the alpha stumbles into his neck, pressing Jimin to the wall with his weight. Jimin grunts, arms full of an alpha—his neck falls to the side instantly, mating gland recognising a potential alpha nearby— and stays. “We’re both fucked from that conversation. Let me have this.”
It’s perhaps too vulnerable a confession, but the convenient thing about scenting is it scrambles the brain—and everything that comes with it.
One thing’s for sure, Jimin’s getting a little too addicted to scenting and in particular, Taehyung’s scent. That’s all.
The alpha is skilled—he leans back slowly, nose attached to his neck even as a hand holds Jimin gently by the waist. He has a peculiar habit, Jimin’s noticed—he rubs little circles over Jimin’s hips, that he feels even through the layers of his clothes. It’s maddening, and when he mouths at his skin? All of Jimin throbs with need.
He surges forward, dragging Taehyung’s neck down—curse him for being so tall and broad, but it’s a snug fit in broad daylight. He’s always liked Taehyung’s frame—hulking and lanky, comforting in a way. He hates how well he fits, but that’s for all those fantasies of Boy Taehyung that he buries deep inside. No one but him will know, that’s for sure.
Taehyung groans against his gland, and it travels down his spine right to his core, his slit leaking slightly—unlike before, Jimin’s legs spread slightly, and the alpha presses in closer, instinctively reacting to the sudden influx of his rawest scent. The part of his mind that stores all his masturbation material can’t help but notice how Taehyung fits like this, too. His scrambled brain whimpers in delight. How small and protected you are by alpha. How strong.
Yes, quite strong. Jimin can feel the strength coursing, and goddess, he loves it.
Taehyung shoves a leg between him, his hands on Jimin’s waist pulling him closer and—grinding him on it, and Jimin forgets for a moment where he is. It’s just him and Taehyung, and they’re meeting after another heated debate in class and fucking it out in an empty classroom—
Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell?
Jimin pushes him away, heaving. Taehyung growls—before he stops, horrified at their position. “Oh my goddess.”
“I’m sorry, shit,” Taehyung says, pushing himself away. Jimin comes back to his senses, as the light from the hallway windows cuts in. Moon above, in broad daylight right in public. Joonjae could have walked out and seen them and— “Shit, Jimin, I didn’t mean to—my alpha, fuck—”
Jimin gets it, somehow. Taehyung’s alpha had been angry and running the show. When Jimin distracted him, his wolf latched onto an available omega to take out—something. At least, that’s what he hopes it was because goddess forbid if it was mutual— “It’s fine. Happens.”
No, it doesn’t, but both of them keep quiet. Taehyung’s turned away, hands rolled into fists by his side as he paces. At least he looks a lot calmer, though the same can’t be said of the chub in his pants—shit, Jimin had felt how hard it was. He’s wet, so it’s an embarrassing situation alright.
“Let’s just—let’s just go to the room,” Taehyung mutters after a while, and Jimin nods. His head is heavy with lavender, and his vision blurs from time to time. “You, uh. You okay to walk?”
That gets Jimin back on track. He frowns. “Yes. Your scent won’t render me immobile.”
Taehyung smiles. “Pity. Yours does.” Then he walks away, whistling.
He walks away. Like that. Jimin can only stare at him, mouth open in shock. What?
It’s embarrassing that he has to run again to catch up with Taehyung’s long strides but—yeah, he’s not going to clarify this. His mental health is fragile as it is. “What now?”
Taehyung keeps whistling, hands in his pocket with no care in the world. A façade, one that Jimin has always been able to see through. Beneath it is an alpha hurt by his father’s disregard, or at least angered by it—enough for him to want to assassinate him. Jimin can’t imagine the sort of wound that could push a person to that extent.
The alpha walks on, with steely determination in his steps. “I have a plan. You’re probably going to like it.”
🖤⚔🖤
The scent of patchouli oil and wet earth mixes just right with the scent of blood.
For the most part, Jungkook has always been an outgoing kid—the one with scrappy knees, and bandages adorning his skin like a new jacket. He’d been reckless, and despite the maturity of growing up—there is a wild soul running the show when it comes to his life.
However.
None of it accounts for the way blood tastes, and at twenty-five, Jungkook can confirm that blood mostly tastes salty.
He doesn’t know how many days it’s been since he had been captured, or since this version of hell had started—Jungkook’s given up keeping track. He’d tried, of course—they fed him, allowed him to take a piss or a shit when required—and he’d keep alert. With each passing day, however, he grew more and more tired—and now, he doesn’t care.
Blood tastes salty, and it’s thick, unlike water. His split lip throbs, his inner cheek a ravaged mess. His left eye seems permanently sealed—that had been a particularly nasty punch from Eunwoo after Jungkook had run his mouth too much. He’s sure he doesn’t smell particularly appealing— days’ old hoodie and jeans aside, his scent is definitely covered by the sweat, blood and the sheer repressed terror of captivity he can’t shake from his bones.
The scent, however. Patchouli oil is something he’d only seen wrapped in a bottle, a strong scent that one wouldn’t particularly label omegan—tapering off with a note sweet enough that it falls under the category anyway. Add to that the secondary scent of wet earth—and it’s enough to fool most people.
The problem is—he shouldn’t be able to smell the wet earth at all.
Secondary scents are just that—scents which appear much later, usually around parents, or mates. Jungkook has heard the lore—his parents were avid readers, though he never carried the quality— and he refuses to believe it. Isn’t sure if he wants to.
Jungkook knows Seokjin’s back from the second scent, the patchouli quick to follow in his footsteps. As it is—he doesn’t look up.
“What a lovely surprise,” Seokjin croons, stopping in front of him. His shoes are polished enough that the reflection of the room shines in them—and Jungkook looks grimy as hell. “The alpha pup is awake for once.”
“Kept quiet after the last punch,” Eunwoo drawls, and Jungkook holds back a scoff. His throat is too dry to put in that much effort anyway. “Any update, boss?”
“A fantastic one,” Seokjin says, pulling up a chair and sitting directly across. A knuckle caresses Jungkook’s head upward—and he comes face to face with his captor at last. For the nth time, his alpha whines inside—Seokjin is gorgeous, his beauty shining in the dull grey of the room. His eyes never shed their blue ring—yet the man is so measured, Jungkook’s in awe of the control on his wolf. To have it right on the surface and never yield to it… “We have won the bid, boys.”
Instantly, there is a cheer in the air—though Jungkook frowns. Even that hurts, his skin stretched tautly. He blinks blearily in front of him—Seokjin is smiling, still caressing Jungkook’s cheek, cooing over the cuts left behind by careless brass knuckles. Disgustingly enough—he finds himself wanting to lean into that warmth instead of away from it.
“Oh, this is going to be a blast,” another guard says—Mingyu, was it? — dancing in a circle with Eunwoo. These omegas are so strange. “Planned anything, boss?”
“A feast,” Seokjin murmurs. His eyes burn into Jungkook’s, and somehow—his wolf calms down. It’s infuriating. “Are you ready to play an important role, Jungkook-ssi?”
Huh? “What?”
“What’s he got to do with the auction?” Eunwoo asks, frowning. He flicks a finger against Jungkook’s forehead, smiling cruelly when Jungkook winces. “Unless we’re selling him?”
Seokjin hums, actually pondering over this. “That would fetch a good price, won’t it? A cop in captivity. Imagine the state secrets ready to spill out.”
The omegas around them get excited, but Seokjin cracks his neck side to side. Jungkook shuts his eyes, too tired to give a shit. All he hopes is that this isn’t the place Jimin’s trapped in, because then they’re all fucked and Jungkook will never get to ask him all the questions he wants.
“Our Jungkook-ssi here is instrumental to my plan,” Seokjin continues, staring off into the distance. “It’s gonna be a lovely surprise for Ji—”
“Why do you care so much about Jimin?” Jungkook croaks out, head hanging low. His throat burns with each syllable, but he has to know. Anything he can get on Jimin—it’s only right. “What has he ever done to you? He’s a normal omega who is a lawyer, for fuck’s sake. Aren’t you a little too obsessed?”
A question that could get him killed, but at this point, Jungkook’s too tired to care. At least, he hopes it is, because if survival mode kicks in at the last minute—
Seokjin laughs—booming and deep. It captivates Jungkook and seems to shake the ground his feet are on. It’s not comforting—it’s mocking, but he is entranced.
“Oh, you cops are too good,” Seokjin says, at last, wiping tears out of his eyes. Around them, the rest of the omega guards hide their smiles behind fists. Jungkook’s belly turns sour. “Jungkook-ssi—do you even know who Jimin is?”
“I told you—”
“Or should I say, what he is?” Seokjin continues, sitting back down and leaning, elbows on his knees. His shirt dips with the movement, presenting a mere glimpse of a smooth chest. Jungkook struggles to look into his eyes. “I’ll give you three guesses. Go on.”
Jungkook doesn’t have time for this. It’s not like you can go anywhere, though… Great, even his wolf is a backstabbing little shit. “I don’t care.”
Seokjin pouts. “Of course, you do. You’re dying to know what your best friend is. Lawyer, you say? That’s such a Jimin choice to make. If not with knives, then words will do.”
Predictably, Jungkook’s ears perk up. Shit, is he that readable? “You don’t know him enough to make that judgement.”
“I don’t, you’re right,” Seokjin says, raising his hands and leaning back. His eyes are lined with pity—and mirth. He’s enjoying this. “I don’t know Jimin at all. I didn’t know him when he was barely eighteen, paying off his dues. I didn’t know him at fourteen when he presented as an omega and got tangled up with my brother. I definitely didn’t know him at five years old when he entered an assassin camp and stayed for the next thirteen years. How presumptuous of me.”
Bait laid— Seokjin waits.
And Jungkook—he breaks.
It’s not like he hadn’t flirted with the idea that Jimin, his best friend, his crush and the source of his infatuation for years—was anything less than innocent. Jungkook had seen the evidence, after all. A few odd incidents he could rationalise. Jimin slitting a man’s throat in cold blood— even he’s not delusional enough.
No matter how much he wants to be. “No.”
“Looks like he’s close enough to the answer, lads,” Seokjin crows, eyes delighted at Jungkook’s building misery. “What is it? Do you still need those guesses?”
“Fuck off,” Jungkook growls—but it carries none of the venom he wishes it could carry. Jimin, an assassin? A person hired to kill people for money? That’s who his best friend had been all along? “You’re—you’re lying.”
“The denial is strong in this one,” Eunwoo mutters, earning a couple of laughs. They say something else, but Jungkook’s ears stop functioning. He can’t breathe, his chest hurting as he gasps—his entire body trembles with the information. The betrayal. “Better leave him to it, boss. It’s gonna take a while.”
Seokjin looks at him with pity. “Shouldn’t be hard. People do anything for money these days.”
“Shut up,” Jungkook gasps, looking up. He’s not going to let this man win, he’s not. “That’s not who Jimin is. He’s a good person. He helps people and looks out for us and—and he donates to fucking charity. He would never do that.”
“Is that right?”
“You must be some asshole he pissed off while—while fighting your case and you’ve just hired a bunch of pathetic actors to screw with me. That, or you have underworld connections.”
“My, my. So close yet so far.” Seokjin grins. “You need proof, Jungkook-ssi?”
“I don’t need shit, because I know him, and Jimin would never,” Jungkook says, gritting his teeth. He can’t see straight. Everything hurts. “He saved me. Saved all of us when that alpha showed up threatening to kill us. You think an assassin would do that?”
There’s no response, and Jungkook sighs, satisfied. Hah, he knew it. Assassins don’t do good things like this. He’d caught them in a lie and now—
“Threatened them, you say?” Seokjin asks quietly. Jungkook looks up and frowns. Why does he not look defeated?
“Yes. It was Jimin’s birthday. The dude showed up out of nowhere. My Jimin saved us, so you can take your load of bullshit and shove it right up your ass.”
Seokjin, however, doesn’t seem to care. He edges closer, his scent overwhelming. Jungkook’s delirious with pain, betrayal and scent-craving. “This alpha and Jimin…would you say they were dating?”
“What?” Jungkook asks. What kind of question is that?” “No? I literally just said he threatened to kill us, you dolt—”
“Oh, how the plot thickens,” Seokjin says, leaning back with a smile. “Thank you, Jungkook-ssi. If I had known this was the way to get you to spill, I would have tried emotionally devastating you a long time ago.”
Jungkook is so confused. Seokjin looks triumphant, eyes dreamy with victory. Nausea churns in Jungkook’s gut.
He’s messed up. He doesn’t know how, but he’s done some irreparable damage.
And Jimin’s going to pay for it.
🖤⚔🖤
Back in their room, they join heads over the chart paper Taehyung laid out on the table.
On it is drawn a network of hallways and chambers, some still half-finished. It’s roughly scribbled, but Jimin’s worked with enough blueprints in his life to get a fair idea of the estate groundwork.
Taehyung’s biting into his lips as he shades a particular section, playing with his lip ring absent-mindedly in a way that has heat coursing through Jimin. Not now. You’ve already made a fool of yourself.
They’re not going to talk about what happened earlier; Jimin’s sure of it. Mostly because he won’t talk about it either—how wantonly he reacted to Taehyung’s alpha staking claim, how he spread his legs and almost humped Taehyung’s thigh like a bitch in heat—
Anyway.
The map serves as a nice distraction to his otherwise wild thoughts and his still (poorly) stabilising scent. Taehyung pretends not to notice it, but Jimin can tell. They’re both too aware of each other. “This is it, I guess.”
“Not bad,” Jimin says hastily, wanting to fill the silence as much as possible. He can still taste the lavender, the oranges simmering in the air with it. “Although—how does this tie up to the auction?”
“This is a backup plan, mostly,” Taehyung states. They’re both murmuring so Jimin has to stand close, and the distance is not helping. “In case we have to resort to the old-fashioned way. But—the auction will be an excellent strategy, and probably our best chance at getting away unscathed.”
“Why is that?” Jimin asks, leaning in. The old-fashioned way is better—fewer mistakes, more certainty. More time. Not that Jimin wants to stay here longer than necessary. “Actually—what the hell is this auction, anyway?”
“You know, the one,” Taehyung says, snapping his fingers distractedly. “The one the Elites were invited to but you weren’t? It was held in Daegu, though.”
Jimin wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t like remembering his robust career as an assassin, or how bratty he used to be before all this self-awareness hit him like a truck. “Wait, the one I threw a tantrum for?”
“Yeah, and tried to sneak into—the Masters punished you for it.”
“Right. And you’d tried to get out of it too,” Jimin says, making a show of reminiscing. Truth be told, he’d hated the insult. To be at a level far above the Elites and be held back because he didn’t match a social class. “My valiant knight in shining armour.”
“If I remember right, I fucked you good enough to tire you out,” Taehyung says, sending a glare—can he stop that? Why the hell do they get back to sex after nearly crossing their lines? Was that all they had in their relationship? “You were sleeping like the good boy you are by the time we got back.”
To be fair, the enmity had begun to recede by the time they’d presented—still infuriating, still competitive—but it had become a rivalry, a mutually beneficial one. The kind Jimin frequently dropped to his knees for, so maybe he can’t complain about Taehyung’s coping mechanisms with awkwardness. “Whatever. So the auction?”
Taehyung smirks, tapping against his lips before stretching. “So—with the auction being held here— you know what that means.”
Jimin thinks about it—and he can see it. An auction sounds like a big deal. With trades happening, it would mean… “There would be a lot of people, won’t there?”
“Bingo!” Taehyung crows, ruffling Jimin’s hair—he snarls softly in response. “With the number of criminals around, everyone would be a suspect if anything happens to him. It’s the perfect cover.”
“Which means it’s our only chance,” Jimin says, leaning on his waist. The pressure builds, a headache blooming between his temples. “Our chance with the least amount of fatalities or being discovered.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re putting this on me.”
“Aw, sweetheart, that’s cute of you to take the pressure,” Taehyung drawls, his eyes lighting with mischief. Self-aggrandising pig. “It’s why I got you here, Jimin. You of all people have nothing to lose with taking him down.”
Which is…true, unfortunately. With no relation and ties cut for the past ten years, no one would suspect him at first—and by the time they do, Jimin would be well on his way. Hunted for the rest of his life if there are still loyalists, but that’s the perk of having Taehyung as the heir; he’d pardon Jimin. It’s as foolproof a plan as they come. “I hate that you make sense.”
“I love when you say I’m right,” Taehyung says, poking Jimin’s cheek, which he slaps away. “So yeah, Jimin. It’s our only chance. Better get this right.”
He doesn’t add the or else—and maybe he doesn’t plan to. Something about the way he emphasises it, and the burning desire in Taehyung’s eyes—
Jimin can’t help but wonder if it’s really just about overthrowing Joonjae— or if there’s something else at play here.
He’s not sure if he wants to stay long enough to find out.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
I was going over my chapters and GOD the amount of scenting scenes alone...I made it a whole separate tag because scents + this repeated scenting has a purpose :D y'all might pay attention to how the reaction to the process is different each time...hmm...*rubs hand like a fly on fruit*
I really like the jinkook scenes in this chapter. It felt so natural to write them, to show the dynamic + feelings. It's going to be so much fun when I get deeper into them oof
Also the Kim family dynamics- are all intentional. Joonjae is a fkn creepy bastard & I look forward to exploring how each character reacts to him hope it makes sense soon also joonie will have a larger role later on? again, I hope.
Chapter 13: Simple Plan
Notes:
I have no excuses for this almost 14k mammoth it just ran away from me and I spoil my stories too much so they never listen to me tee-hee. Just past seokjin's bday but...I'm not gonna think about it and the upcoming Big Day. So I distracted myself with this fic.
Unrelated but Indigo was...I don't even have words. I've had Wildflower on repeat and rn I've taken a break because I want to take my time injecting it into my veins, analysing it and then projecting my problems on it anyway stream it y'all make daddy namjoon proud :")
I want to thank all of you for your interest in the story and the theories y'all are coming up with; some of you are spot on :D Thank you for indulging in this angsty/bloodthirsty/horny tale (taken from a reader's comment omg OG description). However, I did notice a comment that seemed really affected by seokjin's actions in torturing jk so as a repeat warning : this is an assassin fic. I've said it before in the author notes, dark things will happen, sometimes bad, to favourite characters and while everyone is free to hate/like/dislike whoever they want, pls don't get attached to the au? and if it's really bothering you, take breaks from reading/stop. nothing's worth your mental health.
okay, that's done- proceed! you are in for a LONG read. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Believing the present to be the worst was perhaps a death sentence in itself, and Jimin learnt it the hard way.
He thought he’d understood the lesson when he came to terms with being an assassin. A person trained and paid to kill whoever they were ordered to without remorse—surely it couldn’t get worse than that.
Then he presented as an omega.
For starters, there was the presentation heat— a week-long ordeal in bearing pain. Particularly for male omegas as their bodies produced the necessary hormones and the reproductive organs awakened. The sudden unfamiliarity between his legs, the constant outpour of slick and budding heat melting his skin— the trial was hell itself.
What came after it, however— was the real curse.
An overwhelming awareness of himself and others around him, and an increased sensitivity to people’s scents. How his classmates, the ones who scorned him or avoided him now looked at him with interest, some more lustful than others. Slicking up at that interest in his scent, which had to establish out in the open until scent blockers could be used.
The insults and the backhanded compliments. The subtle rules that divided alphas and omegas into different categories— and now he was a victim.
It was a fight he had not anticipated in the nearly nine years he’d been in camp.
The first lesson two weeks after his presentation was on “taming” his omega. Omegan wolves in particular were flimsy, and couldn’t be trusted—too sensitive to scents and Alpha Commands. They could be useful in missions with seduction, however, and so Jimin learnt to hone his skills—without getting to know his wolf.
It was for the better, though. He didn’t want some silly, instinctual wolf interfering with his missions and messing up everything he had learnt. He would not let biology get in his way. It was better to shut it down than have it become yet another vulnerability.
And Park Jimin was nothing if not thorough in his training.
That being said—suppressing one’s wolf didn’t mean it vanished entirely. Jimin didn’t care to listen to it, quashing it each moment until the wolf in his head had none at all— until his mind was his own.
Shutting down his wolf didn’t mean that he wasn’t aware of Kim Taehyung and—his newly presented status.
Alpha. He’d expected it, of course. Nothing was final until the actual presentation, but most showed characteristics throughout the year. Taehyung was an alpha through and through, but what Jimin found more interesting as he attended the presentation announcement—as one on the stage instead of off it— was how Taehyung had presented shortly after him.
Rumours were rife throughout the camp. Apparently the night Jimin was taken into a heat room, Taehyung had to be taken to the rut room, somehow having begun presentation in his sleep. It had taken five of the older members to hold him down and then drag him out—the Kingpin’s son had been mad with aggression, they said, clawing his way towards the heat rooms. He’d had to be forcefully submitted—before he was locked in a rut room.
And now Jimin was aware— in two weeks, Taehyung had grown taller, a ripple of muscles corded around his broad shoulders. Some of the child-like features remained— round cheeks and huge eyes with a nose he hadn’t quite grown into yet—but more mature-looking than he had been. He carried himself like an alpha, too— back straight and shoulders pushed back, his eyes meeting the room head-on.
Worst of all— Jimin could smell his scent, and it was maddening. Lavender. Jimin didn’t know how, having never had the pleasure or luxury to know the scent, but it was an instinct— Taehyung smelled like flowers in full bloom, and that was an unusual scent for an alpha. It was neither sugary nor floral, but strong without the usual burn of alpha scents.
Somehow, it made Jimin’s mouth water, and it was a struggle to make sure his newly developed slit didn’t drip from each inhale. The reaction was certainly disturbing, because ew, Kim Taehyung, really?
He couldn't smell his own scent, though several of his dorm mates had remarked about the citrus notes of it. Once the month was over and his scent stabilised somewhat— he’d have to go on scent blockers periodically to get his body used to it, and then frequently— with a few weeks kept off for heats. Goddess, heats. From what he’d read, they were to happen every three months— Jimin would be indisposed four times a year. The heat cycles would have to stabilise for at least one more year— before he was allowed to take heat suppressants.
In short, a lesson learnt: presentation was not the worst thing to happen to him. And neither was being an assassin.
🖤⚔🖤
Movies and TV shows often show assassins as people who only kill. Sauvé and in control of themselves, always a weapon at their disposal— and lucky enough that their plan goes smoothly.
In reality— the first, even second and third step of any attempted assassination is planning. That’s all there is sometimes.
It’s messy. Bloody too, with too many pitfalls and circumstances that no amount of planning can account for, and in his career of thirteen years, Jimin had faced a lot of situations that had taught him too well.
He is a planner by nature. Whether it was his kills, or his escape from the camp, getting out into the real world and figuring out how to settle in—Jimin has always had backup plans of backup plans. Hoseok used to call him an organised mess, and he is—there is a certain chaos Jimin thrives on, that he needs so all goes well.
Right now, however, as he faces the rough list he’s created—despair sits with him. Its name is Kim Taehyung, and it seems to be poor company what with all the poking and prodding.
“Stabbing him? Really?” Taehyung asks through a mouth full of honey butter chips, crunching so loudly it puts Jimin on edge. “That’s lame.”
“It’s just an option.”
“How would you go about it? Just whip out your favourite dagger and go to town?”
Jimin grits his teeth and scribbles furiously. “Obviously not. I’m not going to write it here in full detail.”
“So far you haven’t written much,” Taehyung says, sucking the chip dust off his fingers— Jimin looks away hastily, the image horrifically arousing and too distracting. “I don’t blame you. You’d be facing an assassin in a room full of assassins.”
“Gee, thanks for the morale support,” Jimin deadpans, crossing out the item. He twists the rings on his fingers. “If you’re so smart—why don’t you have a go at it?”
“Finally! He asks for help,” Taehyung says with a fist pump, pulling the sheet across and running meticulously over each item. “Annoying you always gets the results, doesn’t it?”
“Should have stabbed you when I had the chance,” Jimin mutters, ignoring Taehyung when he pouts in his direction. They never teach about pouts with lip rings, and how dangerous they are for the heart. “What can I improve upon?”
“My, my, today is full of surprises.” Taehyung comments, circling something and scratching others. “The Park Jimin I knew—”
“No longer exists,” Jimin says firmly, now lying on his stomach with his head in between his hands. He doesn’t miss Taehyung’s gaze flitting towards his ass—and holds back a smile. Easy as always. “Some of us grow up and learn things.”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything, staring at Jimin before looking back down at the sheet. He scribbles for a long time—and then presents it to Jimin. “Here you go.”
All it says is one word— poison.
“Seriously?” Jimin exclaims, raising his eyebrows and looking between the sheet and Taehyung. “Am I reading this right?”
“Yep.”
“After the way you were complaining about it the other day?”
Taehyung shrugs. “What can I say? Some of us grow up and learn things.”
Then he smiles, and Jimin chucks a pillow at him. Taehyung breaks out into a series of chuckles, and Jimin’s insides warm at the sound. No. They’re not endearing. Stop it. Instead, he focuses on the sheet, mulling over it. Poison could work—in fact, all things considered, it might be the only way to get away unnoticed.
Back in the day, he’d managed a couple of kills using the method. He’d never liked it— like Taehyung, he too felt it to be too underhanded a method of assassination. Too convenient with not enough thrill, none of that juicy satisfaction he thrived on.
After the humiliating encounter he had with Joonjae, the thought of poison seems derisive to him. He wants Joonjae to suffer—but plans formed out of revenge almost always have a way of falling apart. Jimin has to be careful, to ensure he leaves camp unharmed and alive— long enough to beg his friends for their forgiveness.
“Okay, then. Poison it is,” Jimin whispers, tearing the sheet to shreds. He holds a hand out, and Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “I need to burn the traces away.”
Realisation strikes Taehyung, who works a lighter out of his pockets. “Thorough. I like that,” he says, throwing it to Jimin who catches it deftly in one hand. He walks to the table, where he arranges it in the ashtray and lights it up. He might have to put a couple of burnt cigarettes to get rid of any lingering smells or the suspicion of the act. Taehyung seems to come to the same insight, for he already has a couple out. Jimin raises an eyebrow now. “What? I smoke sometimes.”
“Didn’t take you for a smoker.”
“I’m not…usually,” Taehyung admits, opening the window and sitting on the ledge. It makes for an attractive picture, the way he spreads his legs and lights the cigarette between his lips, the expert way he blows the smoke out. Jimin drives his nails into his palms. “Business is stressful sometimes.”
It must be, and Jimin doesn’t refute that. As assassins, they’ve all been exposed to the world of drugs and other unseemly habits far too young. Sometimes, Jimin wonders if he even had a childhood at all, with the things he’s seen, heard and done. Even then, he’d carved a careful line between his personal problems and his professional expectations. He’d assumed the same for Taehyung. “Guess it helps us here.”
Taehyung blows the smoke out, making pretty smoke rings in the air. “No judgement?”
“It’s none of my business,” Jimin shrugs, sitting down. The scent is acrid, but nothing he isn’t used to. He’d been part of the frequent smoke breaks his colleagues had taken, though he’d always politely refused. “I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“About what Joonjae said at the breakfast,” Jimin starts, noting the way Taehyung stiffens immediately. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to pry.”
Taehyung barely relaxes. “But?”
Jimin picks at the hole in his jeans. “What did he mean—announce me as your future mate?”
The question is a surprise, for Taehyung coughs on the next inhale—hacking it up, eyes streaming with tears. Instinctively, Jimin rushes to offer him some water—he whips his hand back when they brush against Taehyung’s. Somehow, the act is too tender. Once the alpha is back to normal, he levels him with an incredulous look. Lined with guilt, but barely. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Why you’d be at the auction at all,” Taehyung says, crushing the cigarette in the tray carelessly. He lights another one—the amount of ash has to match the cigarette remains, and Jimin admires the commitment briefly. “You’re a former assassin. People are going to ask.”
“A former assassin that they don’t know had quit,” Jimin argues back, discomfort brewing at the thought of anyone—assuming. It had been fine for Taehyung’s family and even Joonjae to be told the story, but strangers on the other hand… “I’m not comfortable with them thinking that way about— us.”
It’s the truth he’s buried, a vulnerable confession if he ever saw one. Jimin convinces himself it’s about safety—if a large number of people know, they’ll hunt Jimin down. Maybe even use him as collateral to get back at Taehyung, and he’d never have his old life back again. Such a logical reason.
One that, try as he might, he can’t really believe.
Taehyung is silent for a few moments, inhaling and exhaling. The cigarette burns red, ash falling carelessly on the carpet. When he faces Jimin again—something sad lingers in his eyes. “Is it really that bad?”
Jimin frowns. “What is?”
“To be my mate,” Taehyung says softly, equally vulnerable as Jimin’s honesty. The discomfort grows into a lump in his throat. “Surely I can’t be that appalling to you?”
What is he even implying? Why does Taehyung care all of a sudden? They’d always been some semblance of rivals, two people who couldn’t stand each other— or at least, that’s what Jimin had always believed to be true. The one certainty he could bank on in his confusing life, and he’d run away the moment that had shaken. It had strengthened once he’d left, and again when he came back…but it beckons an unwelcome question in his mind.
Is Taehyung not on the same page as him anymore?
“Didn’t take you to be so insecure, Kim Taehyung,” Jimin says instead, snorting weakly and occupying himself with the ashtray. It’s the wrong thing to say; he can taste it immediately— but Jimin can’t be vulnerable with him. “It’s not practical. Only serves to paint a bigger target on my back after this is all over.”
Jimin looks up, catching the tail end of Taehyung’s honesty locking itself up as the cool mask drops in, the lazy smirk and the indifference. It’s a relief, and yet somehow— Jimin mourns the loss of Taehyung as a Boy. He shouldn’t, for it was that very thing that had him losing ten years ago. And he can’t have history repeat itself.
“I see,” Taehyung says, burning through a third cigarette at an alarming rate—he crushes that one as well, then surveys the scene with a calculated gaze. “I think three should deliver, no?”
He’s not going to talk about it, and neither is Jimin—but it lingers, just like the nicotine stench. His wolf paws at his chest, whining at him for upsetting the alpha—and Jimin swallows it all down. “I think so, yeah.”
“Eh, I’ll smoke a couple more before the next cleaning,” Taehyung adds, stretching and leaning against the wall. “About what Abbeoji said—he’s doing it to get under both of our nerves. And unfortunately, I do think keeping up with that might allow us to get closer.”
He’s cool and calm now, with not a hint of emotion or mischief in his voice. It’s a Taehyung that’s far, far away— one Jimin’s familiar with. He never could take rejection well. Jimin’s not going to cajole him either. “So our ‘courtship’ will be public."
“Yep.”
“And you’re okay with it.”
“What can I say, Jiminie, I’m not insecure about my safety,” Taehyung bites— and Jimin shuts his eyes. He knew it. Taehyung’s going to be a bitch about it now. “I can take care of myself regardless.”
“You’re such a child,” Jimin mutters, getting up and going through his closet. Does he even have clothes for such a high-end event? Time for some much-deserved spoiling. “Give me your credit card.”
“Why the fuck?”
“I need to shop,” Jimin shrugs, turning around and crossing his arms. “Surely you can provide your future mate with what he wants, right, alpha?”
Jimin might have accused him of being a child— and he is, there’s no doubt about it— but he’s not far behind, unfortunately. Something about his presence makes Jimin want to be petty in the meanest of ways. Two can play at the game, after all.
A thrill runs down his spine at the way Taehyung’s nose flares, hands clenching into fists at the call of an omega. Alphas are too easy, and Jimin’s always liked using his status to get his way. Especially with Taehyung.
It’s what made their dynamic so exhilarating, even addictive—not that Jimin wants to admit it. The push and pull, the games and the steadily building tension— it used to be so easy, and it always resulted in a release so delicious Jimin’s omega was satisfied for days.
He doesn’t intend for history to repeat itself— but he can still have fun at Taehyung’s expense. He just hopes it doesn't result in tragedy this time.
“Sure,” Taehyung says, getting off the ledge and walking towards Jimin. He towers over him in his heeled boots, so close that Jimin can smell the combined scent of lavender, sage and leftover smoke. It’s intoxicating instead of abrasive. “Whatever my omega wants, no?”
The slight possession in Taehyung’s tone punches through his gut. Jimin’s never wanted to be claimed by anyone and yet… “I’m not yours.”
“So you say, love,” Taehyung murmurs, caging him against the closet door— he doesn’t touch but his body is tantalisingly close. He can sense the intent— but knows Taehyung wouldn’t give in that easily. No, it’s always been Jimin with the self-control issues. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Dress you up.” He leans down next to Jimin’s ear, his lips brushing against the lobe. “Show off how pretty my omega is.”
It’s embarrassing how quickly the heat in his gut results in slick. Jimin squeezes his thighs shut, leaning away from Taehyung no matter how much his wolf begs for a taste. “Don’t think you could afford me.”
“Now that’s just denial,” Taehyung snorts, leaning with one hand against the door and a hand in his pocket—it’s going to be Jimin’s undoing. The next shower is going to be torture as he stores away the image in his mind. “Give me your measurements. I’ll select some things.”
“You don’t get to—”
“I’d know what would go best for the auction better, don’t you think so?” Taehyung teases, his gaze hungry. Jimin looks down first. How does he always lose this game? “Better take care of the slick. Can’t have my omega walking around like that, hmm?”
Then the asshole backs away, winking as he leaves.
Jimin, as always, is left cursing his name even as his slit gushes the moment he relaxes again.
🖤⚔🖤
He can’t stop thinking about the way Taehyung uttered those words— Show off how pretty my omega is— as he looks through the catalogues Taehyung has sent him. One thing is for sure— the camp is thriving and so is the business, because Goddess above, Taehyung is earning bank.
“Are you shitting me right now,” Jimin says as his eyes hover on the prettiest Gucci shirt he’s seen—but more so on the number of zeros attached to the item. “You can’t be serious. This is insane.”
“Ooh, you’d look pretty in it,” Taehyung says without a care in the world—he takes the phone from Jimin and adds the item to the already bursting cart. “You should buy the whole set, actually. It’s going to set you apart.”
“I thought the idea was to mingle,” Jimin says, gulping at the number of items already. Some Taehyung had already ordered on his own whim. If this had been the olden times where an omega was wooed by how much an alpha provided— Jimin would have already been on his knees for Taehyung. With the eggs ready, pun fully intended. It disgusts him how much his omega is clamouring for attention and clouding his judgement. “It is hot, though.”
“Thank you,” Taehyung says, annoyingly smug. “You don’t have to wear it. Buy it anyway. You can keep it.”
“Why would you buy me things?”
“Payment for your services?”
“I thought that was my friends’ lives,” Jimin reminds him, just to rub it in that Taehyung’s a manipulative dick. “Have the terms of the agreement changed since I came?”
“If you had come at all it might have,” Taehyung mutters, and Jimin heats up. Disgusting pervert. “No. That remains the same. Consider this a bonus.”
“I didn’t ask for it,” Jimin deadpans, and Taehyung sighs. “Seriously, this is too much.”
“It’s not even a dent, don’t think so much,” Taehyung grumbles, going through his closet— and it’s massive. Even when Jimin had come into wealth and developed a taste for the finer things in life he hadn’t been so frivolous. “Don’t make me force you to buy this through…other means.”
Jimin opens his mouth and then freezes. Taehyung sounds reluctant as if he doesn’t want to threaten or coerce Jimin at all. As if…genuinely wants to provide his omega, maybe even instinctively.
His suspicion is confirmed when Taehyung adds some jewellery as well, refusing to make eye contact the whole while. Jimin hides a smile behind his hand, disgustingly endeared by the display of Taehyung’s wolf. It had been so subtle he’d nearly missed it.
“Now that this is out of the way,” Jimin says once the order is placed and Taehyung is distracted enough by his own reflection. “What’s the story?”
“Hmm?”
“For the auction.”
“We ran over it, didn’t we?” Taehyung says, holding a tie to a shirt. He frowns, chucking it away. “We’re courting. You’re my future mate, and as part of the initiation into the family— a guest at this important event.”
“You’re a little too into this,” Jimin remarks, and Taehyung grins at him through the reflection. “Wouldn’t that bring more attention towards me? How am I supposed to, you know?”
“It’s intentional,” Taehyung explains, tilting his head as he places a shirt against himself. “The idea is for you to be visible.”
“How does that help?”
“A respectable assassin would never be bold before an assassination,” Taehyung winks, and Jimin gets it. “When suspicion hits, you’d be removed almost immediately.”
It’s smart. “One issue though. I’ve always worked in a dramatic manner.”
“You and I know that,” Taehyung counters and the confidence is something else. “Most of the others don’t. And I know it only because I’ve worked with you before.”
“I’m sure there will be others.”
“What, you made a habit of working in teams, Jimin?”
Jimin’s caught, and Taehyung knows that— he presents one of those infuriating grins again. Jimin had always preferred working alone— that way, control would remain his. Working with Taehyung in the past had been a mistake— one he never repeated, not because of the rivalry but because of how much he’d spent the mission fucking him. “Fine, your idea makes sense.”
“I love it when you admit I’m right,” Taehyung crows. Jimin rolls his eyes. “Say, what do you think goes— an all-black outfit or something with a pop of colour?”
“Who cares,” Jimin says, plopping himself on the bed. A flourish of lavender and orange meets his nose. “It’s a stupid party. You’re hot either way.”
Taehyung gasps. “Did you just—”
“Call you hot? Yes. Get over it,” Jimin says, too tired by all the stress and mental exercise to hold up pretences anymore. It’s not like admitting how good-looking Taehyung is would make Jimin lose his self-respect. “Maybe the patterned shirt.”
“I knew you cared,” Taehyung coos, keeping the item aside. He keeps quiet for a few moments before he pauses. “You think we can do this, Jiminie?”
There he goes again with the vulnerable shit. Can he stop? Jimin has a heart of stone to tend to. “Cold feet?”
“Healthy doubts,” Taehyung says coolly, arranging the closet. “You’re the one who has to do the deed successfully anyway.”
Right. Great reminder. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“You’re welcome,” Taehyung says, though he still sounds nervous. “It’s just— it’s our one chance.”
“Wasn’t the first lesson we ever learnt about backup plans?” Jimin asks, twirling his rings around his fingers. Alpha is nervous, his wolf whispers, and Jimin tamps down on it. “We can only try our best. So don’t be a downer with that shit.”
It’s perhaps too harsh, but Jimin’s not good with the pep talk, or at least—not with Taehyung. He doesn’t want to comfort him—because they’re not like that.
“Right,” Taehyung says, looking down at the carpet. “You’re right. Can’t predict shit. Just not get caught, I guess.”
“And I’m good at that,” Jimin sings, leaning on his elbow. The bed is comfortable enough that he wants to sink into it. Maybe avoid the task altogether, but Park Jimin is not a quitter. “You’ll have the item ready, then?”
“I’ll contact the dealer by morning,” Taehyung affirms, packing his items. “Catch up on your rest. It’s going to be a long week ahead.”
“And the plan?”
“All in due time, darling,” Taehyung murmurs, seemingly tired. Something is off about him, and Jimin can’t put a finger on it. “I’ll have it all ready soon.”
“Ever the reliable one,” Jimin snorts, closing his eyes. He wouldn’t have, a month ago. Yet, after the encounter with Joonjae— Jimin’s wolf trusts Taehyung. Somewhat. It would be stupid to let his guard down, but… “Wake me when dinner is ready.”
Taehyung doesn’t respond— but later, when Jimin’s trapped between wakefulness and a hazy dream— he feels someone cover him with a blanket—and the gentle press of a palm caressing his head before he vanishes into unconsciousness.
🖤⚔🖤
It’s a hellish week, one that flashes by so fast Jimin doesn’t realise— until the day of the auction slinks upon them without a warning.
Taehyung, as promised, had arranged for the item— he’d kept quiet about it, only keeping it on a need-to-know basis, and Jimin had been fine with it. With Seokjin keeping tabs on him and Joonjae being as unpredictable as ever— the less he knew, the better.
Throughout, the two of them had kept up their roles. Taehyung was mostly away on business or managing the transactions taking place before the auction, and Jimin used that time to practice all his skills and sharpen them. They might not be required— but Jimin’s always had backup plans.
He’d fling a dagger through Joonjae’s heart if it meant getting back his freedom.
On the day of the action, over lunch they share in the room, Taehyung roughly goes over the plan—and the tragedy is, it doesn’t sound like a plan at all.
“So I’m just supposed to wing it?” Jimin asks incredulously, while Taehyung maintains nonchalance and looks at him through those stupidly wide, innocent eyes. “It’s up to me?”
“Well, duh,” Taehyung says, occupying his mouth with a wrap. “That’s why I have, ah, employed you. For your generous services.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jimin mutters, stabbing at his salad. “Let me guess— if I get caught, you’ll let me suffer for it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Taehyung huffs, though the mischief in his eyes indicates otherwise. “Of course, I’ll break you out…after some time.”
Jimin doesn’t even bother proclaiming his hatred. It would be wasted breath at this point.
“Now tell me,” Taehyung begins after a while, pointing a fork rather rudely at Jimin— “Have you decided what you’ll be wearing?”
“Yes.”
“…is any of it from the clothes I bought you?”
“Why don’t you wait and watch like the rest of them?” Jimin says sweetly, chewing quickly through the meat. “Alpha deserves a surprise from his pretty omega, no?”
It’s petty and below the belt, but after the rough couple of weeks Jimin has had—he deserves some wins, damn it. And it’s worth it, the way Taehyung’s neck and cheeks flare pink as a rash, the growing imprint of lavender pressing upon him. Which reminds him—
“I have an important question to ask,” Jimin says, carefully making another wrap. It’s nice, eating food away from pretences and games. “About our scents.”
Taehyung slows down. “Yeah?”
Jimin takes a deep breath. “Why the fuck don’t yours ever work?”
It’s a question he’s been wanting to ask forever but somehow never gets around to it— but now, for this mission to work perfectly, all areas need to be covered. Including Jimin’s unfortunate weakness for Taehyung’s scent.
Taehyung, however, freezes. His eyes widen, and Jimin could swear that for a moment, something like guilt floods them before the cool mask drops again. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Your scent blockers don’t work,” Jimin insists, clutching the chopsticks in a fist. “I can smell you all the time. That shit isn’t funny, Taehyung.”
“What’s up your ass now?” Taehyung mutters, but he plays with the food on his plate. “I apply them well enough.”
“Clearly you don’t.”
“Others can’t smell me, so I’m not sure what the problem is,” Taehyung shrugs, but he’s not meeting Jimin’s eyes. He clears his throat, and when he does look up, it’s that indifference again, a slight smirk growing. “Unless…you can’t help yourself?”
Jimin backs down. “Fuck off. That’s not the issue and you know it.”
“I really don’t,” Taehyung teases, eyes lighting up with mirth. Heat builds under Jimin’s skin— frustration or attraction, he’s not sure. “Is it getting a lot for you, Jiminie? Is that why you’re, ah, slicking up more than usual?”
“I will stab you with these,” Jimin mutters but finds that his words have no heat— only lingering humiliation. “Maybe my nose is more sensitive than others.”
Taehyung plays with his lip ring. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“Goddess, I can’t do this right now,” Jimin says, standing up and packing the rest of the food. He refuses to make eye contact with Taehyung, though he can feel the burning press of his gaze all throughout. “I just thought it was a bigger problem. If it isn’t, I’ll just—I’ll manage it better.”
It’s silent after, and Jimin’s grateful for it. Somewhat. There is humiliation still—the age-old conditioning all omegas have to go through. Brain-dead sluts spreading their legs for alphas. The kind he has to unlearn every day because yes, sometimes— Jimin can’t help but agree with them.
He hates every moment of it.
“I’ll collar up tighter if it helps,” Taehyung offers softly, enough that Jimin turns to face him and sees something like genuine empathy in his eyes. “I really am wearing blockers. I’m sorry it’s affecting you anyway.”
Jimin appreciates that. Whether he’s lying or not— he’s doing the bare minimum, so Jimin will take it. “No, that’s fine. It’s not that bad—I thought if I could smell it, so can others.”
“So far no one’s complained, so I think I’m safe,” Taehyung says, stretching and placing his arms behind his head. “The only time people get a hint at all is when we scent each other.”
“Yeah, how does that work?” Jimin asks, mind brewing with questions. He should have paid better attention to biology lessons. “If both of us are wearing blockers?”
“Scenting is a strong enough process,” Taehyung says lightly, though once again there seems to be some information purposefully hidden. “We can smell a good amount of the scents, but others will get only the combination. Marks us as a couple, that’s all.”
Huh. So that’s why Taehyung had insisted on the scenting…but it still doesn’t explain how Jimin can’t smell an inch of the blockers on Taehyung. It’s a scent he’s overly familiar with— that blank, cold nothingness, the kind that’s haunted his nightmares numerous times over the years. “Got it.”
“Any more questions?”
“None whatsoever,” Jimin states, grabbing his shower essentials and turning around, staring pointedly at Taehyung. “If you would be obliged to leave.”
“Aw, I don’t get to shower with you?”
“Taehyung.”
“Jeez, fine, do your omega shit,” Taehyung grumbles, seemingly genuinely upset by the prospect. It gives Jimin a whiplash, how Taehyung behaves with him and around him. “We’ll be arriving late. So take your time.”
“Are we meeting here or…?”
“At the entrance to the hall. Also,” Taehyung starts, then presses his fingers to his chin. “Nevermind. I’ll tell you at the event itself.”
Jimin doesn’t even try. “Whatever. The package?”
“I’ve kept it in the inner closet. Sealed pouch. Be careful with it.”
Jimin nods, giving a thumbs up before shutting the bathroom door. Once he’s in, however—he sinks down to the floor, all the nerves catching up to him. He’d put up a brave front for Taehyung but inside, his omega is trashing in fear. He might have boasted about backup plans, but the truth is—Jimin wants this to be the only plan.
He doesn’t think he can stand returning back fully to his assassin roots ever again.
It’s been a while since Jimin dressed up for an occasion.
As a part of his law firm, he’s used to all sorts of events— the rich never ran out of excuses to show off their wealth and victories. And as a successful lawyer working in the finance sector, Jimin knew how to put up a good show.
That being said— dressing up for an assassination is a habit he’d fallen away from long ago.
He retouches the hair roots, applying the bleach liberally and bringing back the blonde. It’s by far his favourite shade— adaptable to others should he want to play around with colours. Black would have been a better choice— but that hits too close to home.
Jimin had decided on a lovely silver-toned suit amongst the entire store Taehyung seemed to have ordered. The colour brightened the rest of his features and more importantly— it had enough hidden nooks to hide his weapons.
He might be using poison, but Jimin’s not going to go into that auction unarmed.
Preparing for an assassination is a meticulous process, one he disassociates from so that the nerves don’t catch hold of him. Nor do the memories, the hundreds of times he’s done this in the past— it lingers at the edges of his mind, beckoning him to pay attention. It would be his undoing if he does.
For this mission to work, for him to go back to Seoul and his old life— Jimin needs to be absolutely focused with zero distractions.
Once he’s done dressing up— he procures the sealed envelope Taehyung had left behind— and studies it in the waning sunlight.
It’s a tiny vial consisting of a pale, silvery-white liquid. Thallium. How Taehyung procured it, Jimin doesn’t want to know, but it’s the perfect poison for his mission—it will turn colourless the longer it stays at room temperature—so Jimin has plenty of time.
Slipping it into Joonjae’s drink would be the ideal way— but brief contact with his skin should also work, though far more detectable. Jimin’s role here is to ensure Joonjae dies— without suspicion falling on him. He pockets the vial inside, making sure it doesn’t end up leaking into his skin. That would be too poetic a death that Jimin isn’t yet ready for.
He does a once over at the floor-length mirror in the corner of Taehyung’s room—he looks delectable if he can be so bold. The suit hugs his frame, accentuating the curve of his ass and waist yet the sharp lines of his torso and legs. It’s light enough that Jimin feels weightless, and the pockets are so snug nothing is out of place.
It’s the perfect suit for an assassin.
Jimin turns away from the mirror before the thought spirals further.
Just before he exits the room— he lingers at the edge. If all goes well today, Jimin will come back a free man, and be on his way once the chaos and suspicion die down. If it doesn’t, well—
He walks out before he allows that spiral. Tonight is a night where mistakes cannot happen, and Jimin has to remain alive.
Numbness buries his anxieties before he lets them get away from him.
At the entrance, Jimin faces the guards uncomfortably awkward.
Taehyung is late. Jimin had already been late, but to be kept waiting by his supposed mate—
He tamps down on the irritation. Taehyung isn’t his mate in real life and his wolf being annoyed by his tardiness doesn’t even make sense.
Mostly, he’s nervous about what Taehyung meant by telling him information before they entered the event.
It’s ongoing with full gusto inside—Jimin and Taehyung would be just shy of late, and he has no doubts it’s because Taehyung wants to rebel against Joonjae and make a statement. The problematic youngest son always seeking attention in the worst ways possible.
The idea terrifies him, but Jimin buries it down.
After the clock strikes thirty minutes and Jimin is about to enter by himself is when Taehyung makes it— and Jimin turns around, ready to let him have it.
All the words he has dry up the moment Jimin sees him.
Growing up, Jimin had always known and struggled with accepting that Taehyung was a sight for sore eyes. Even as a boy— Taehyung had been pretty. A pleasure to look at, and post-presentation that had become even more difficult to ignore—resulting in a helpless attraction and a series of mistakes that Jimin is still recovering from.
And perhaps once again in danger of falling back into.
Jimin can’t take his eyes away as Taehyung walks up to him, hands in his pocket and the other curling through his hair, falling in gentle black waves. He’s foregone the traditional shirt and tie for a floral-patterned shirt and mustard-yellow pants, wrapping around his body like silk. The outfit can be described as eccentric at best, and Jimin’s sure he’s gaping like a dying fish.
Taehyung smirks as he gets closer, well aware of his impact. “Might want to stop staring, darling.”
His voice— why is it so deep? Why is it burrowing all the way through his skin and into his gut, and how can Jimin walk away from this with his self-respect intact?
“You’re late,” Jimin mutters, turning away and breathing through his mouth. The suit feels too tight all of a sudden, and he pulls at his collar. “I’ve never waited for someone before.”
“A first for everything, love,” Taehyung says, standing next to him. His presence is comforting— only a few moments and his wolf is already calm, what the hell. “You look stunning, Jimin.”
It’s the sincerity that catches him off guard. Jimin looks to his side—and finds Taehyung looking at him with…fondness? Admiration? Whatever it is, it’s too honest for Jimin to bear. He’d been expecting the innuendos, so this is a first.
“Don’t flatter me. It won’t work,” Jimin says weakly, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. A flush is creeping under his collar but he’s going to keep it away from his face. “Shall we enter, then?”
Taehyung doesn’t respond, instead tugging at Jimin’s jacket and turning him to the side. Jimin raises an eyebrow— but Taehyung fiddles with Jimin’s earrings, tucking his hair behind. It does nothing to keep the flush at bay.
“Before we go in,” Taehyung murmurs, standing too close— lavender rolls off of him in gentle waves. “There’s that thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Here?” Jimin asks, looking around. Already they must be suspicious, waiting outside for such a long time— the guards stand attentive, but Jimin won’t take any chances. “Is it important?”
“A bit,” Taehyung says, eyes roaming over Jimin’s face— the gaze is a little too intense. “I was thinking about the entrance.”
“What of it?”
“Abbeoji has most likely gone ahead with announcing us as future mates,” Taehyung says, eyes boring into Jimin’s. The implication makes his nerves jump. “People will be looking when we enter.”
Jimin has a feeling about what Taehyung wants. “Do we…is it more than scenting?”
Taehyung’s silence is response enough, and Jimin prepares himself. Tonight, Taehyung will stick closer than usual. Tonight will be a show not just for family but for the world, and it means crossing all the lines Jimin has drawn oh so carefully. It’s not a surprise— as a part of his missions, he had often played numerous roles to get what he wanted. Fake boyfriends, fake escorts, and a close confidante— he’s used to acting his way through his goals. It’s not new…and yet, the idea of doing the same with Taehyung—
“Promise me there won’t be any drama,” Jimin says, squaring his shoulders back. It’s unlikely, considering he will be entering a room of assassins— perhaps the most dramatic lot of them all— but he wants the assurance anyway. “Promise me I won’t regret it.”
“You won’t,” Taehyung says much too easily, but his eyes are earnest. “For what it’s worth— I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
Jimin frowns, but before he can clarify—Taehyung turns away, signalling at the guards to announce their entrance. He has no choice but to keep his mouth shut and stick close to the alpha, burning at the proximity—Taehyung is warm, lavender melting off his skin. Jimin tries and fails as his omega craves release.
The massive doors of the hall open as Taehyung tucks him in— a broad hand at his waist— and Jimin schools his expression into one of nonchalance as the guard stands to attention.
“Presenting the youngest son of Kim Joonjae— Kim Taehyung! And his consort —Park Jimin!”
Jimin faces the room forward as the lights blink in his eyes.
🖤⚔🖤
The problem with having been a good— nay, an excellent— assassin was becoming well-known in the underground circles.
When Jimin had been active in the business and desperate to leave, he’d made it his goal to gather as many kills as possible. Meaning— discreetly with a high success rate. Over time, his services had been sought after— but more than that, it meant that Park Jimin was a well-known name.
Jimin is faced with overwhelming knowledge as he mingles amongst the gathered crowd, hanging off of Taehyung’s arms but facing an interest he hadn’t been anticipating.
A part of him doesn’t understand how or why he’s still remembered; he’s been inactive for ten years without a name or trace. His bargain with Joonjae had ensured that no one would come looking for him and that it was the camp’s responsibility to inform people of that. Jimin had cut all ties with his former life—but it seems, people still hadn’t.
“I was so pleased when Joonjae informed me of your return earlier, Jimin-ssi,” an alpha says, wrapping a large hand around Jimin’s smaller one. His scent is bitter clover, too sharp to bear—it’s Lee Donghyun, a business mogul in the field of pharmaceuticals. Particularly omega hormones and scent blockers— Jimin had killed his ex-mate for him. “You were one of the best he’d ever trained. I was deeply saddened to hear you retired.”
“I still am,” Jimin simpers, shy and the image of a perfect omega. His hand is in Taehyung’s coat pocket, intertwined. He barely notices it. “I’m here primarily for Taehyung.”
“Ah, young love,” Donghyun says, eyes gleaming with interest. They linger over Jimin’s body— but that is something he’s long used to. “I take that you’re still not, ah, taking assignments?”
“Not anymore,” Jimin smiles, breathing through his mouth. The scents are overwhelming— it seems most of the guests aren’t concerned with being identified. “Taehyung and I are here for a short while before we leave.”
That’s the practised story they’ve both agreed on. Taehyung has to take care of business before they leave for a vacation and eventually mate in the future. So far, no one’s asked them to explain further. It doesn’t deter Donghyun, whose eyes remain hungry for more.
“Well, if you ever change your mind, beautiful,” he purrs, slipping his hand into Jimin’s; there is a business card pressed into his skin. He even goes as far as to raise it to his cracked lips, kissing Jimin’s knuckles. “I’m always requiring services. Both killings and otherwise.”
The double meaning is heavy, and Jimin smiles painfully. Goddess, what he would do just to whip his daggers out and slash them across the man’s face. It’s the worst part of being an omega in an alpha-dominated world— the casual sexism that he has to be okay with on a daily.
However, it becomes increasingly clear that Taehyung is not okay with it— one moment Jimin has his hand wrapped in Donghyun’s; the next— Jimin’s pulled away by the waist and Taehyung’s posturing in front of him. Lavender takes a bitter turn— but to Jimin, it will only ever be delicious.
How he’s to get out of this intact, he’s not sure.
“He won’t be offering any services, Donghyun-ssi, so let’s be mindful here,” Taehyung says clearly, chest puffed out and eyes glowering. Pretty as he was, Taehyung could be the typical alpha whenever he chose. “My mate isn’t up for sale here.”
The tone has just enough of the Alpha Command that even Donghyun, old as he is, backs down, realising the threat for what it is. He lowers his eyes, though his lips curl— Jimin prays to the Moon Goddess there isn’t a brawl. He can’t be distracted right before his mission begins. Donghyun, however, raises his hands and backs away— but not before winking at Jimin and licking his lips.
His stomach turns— but Jimin doesn’t get enough time before Taehyung crowds his space. His nose flares at the remnants of Donghyun’s scent— and his eyes turn into slits. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Jimin breathes, unsure of where to look. Taehyung looms all around him, and it feels like it’s just them in the crowded room. “I’m—I’m fine. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Taehyung growls, the vibrations burrowing under Jimin’s skin. “Can I—I need to—”
Jimin understands. And for once in his life, he doesn’t mind asking for it. “Be discreet please,” he requests before tilting his neck slightly.
The way Taehyung pounces on his exposed skin should not make his stomach flip the way it does.
Scenting in public is largely frowned upon, even amongst lawless communities like assassin gatherings. The process is too personal, the expulsion of scents too strong for strangers. It’s mostly parents who’re allowed to do so with their pups— but Jimin finds, as Taehyung nuzzles him, that he likes being claimed like this. Even if it’s a farce.
He squeezes his thighs close to ensure he doesn’t leak slick even by mistake.
It’s a task to remain standing once Taehyung pulls away, his skin stinging with the nips the alpha left behind— when a waiter comes by, Jimin makes for the champagne flutes, gulping down two before his skin returns back to normal again. All along, Taehyung’s staring at him imploringly— and with that constant hunger he seems unaware of.
“Careful,” he murmurs, when Jimin grabs a third one, hand gentle around his. “You okay?”
It’s his way of asking if Jimin’s steady enough to carry out his task, and Jimin nods. He’s done more in worse stares of inebriation, but then again—he is out of practice. He can’t take risks like this; Joonjae is too smart and too paranoid not to sniff it out if Jimin makes even the slightest mistake.
“I’m fine. The moment was a lot.”
“Donghyun, or me?”
Jimin turns to look at him, a slight smirk edging around his lips. He rolls his eyes. “How about both?”
“I’d like it if it was just me,” Taehyung says, unashamed. “I should be the only alpha you care about.”
The words sound light-hearted…but for a moment, Jimin can’t help but wonder if it’s the truth. If Taehyung really believes that and is saying it under the pretence of their act. He decides to pretend it is. “Now, now. Don’t be so possessive, silly.”
“How can I not? It’s the only way I can show you off as mine,” Taehyung growls, and the heat tumbles in his belly. This is going to be a long night indeed. “You have no idea how stunning you look, babe.”
Jimin does, but he can act abashed for once. “Really?”
“The prettiest,” Taehyung breathes out, close again. His hand wraps around his lower back; around him, Jimin’s world narrows down to just them. “I’m so lucky to be yours, you know?”
Who is he putting up this act for? Jimin strains away slightly, but Taehyung’s hold is strong, and his eyes are just as earnest. Jimin can’t handle it, and he can’t escape it but if he doesn’t, he’s going to lose his mind—
There is a sudden blare of sounds before all the guards in the room stand to attention; the hall doors open slowly— revealing Joonjae at the centre flanked by Seokjin on the side.
“Presenting the Kingpin and Master of Assassins— Kim Joonjae! And his eldest son and Master of Spies— Kim Seokjin!”
There is an immediate cheer in response as the crowd claps, bursting into whispers tainted with awe and envy. Joonjae smiles, his teeth sharp— and dressed to the nines, in a fitting suit of emerald edged with silver. Next to him, Seokjin is dressed just as immaculately— in an all-black suit cinched at the waist, his hair pushed back to reveal his majestic forehead. No one could tell just by looking at him that he’s an omega— but his eyes are ringed a dull blue. How he manages to have his wolf on the surface, Jimin will never understand.
Envy licks down his bones at his beauty, though. Try as he might, Jimin doesn’t think he’ll ever reach that level of effortlessness in his life.
“What a pretentious dick,” Taehyung murmurs next to him, and Jimin snorts quietly. His arm is still wrapped around his waist, but Jimin doesn’t mind it as much. It’s comforting even. “He just had to make the grand entry.”
“He’s the oldest, give him a break,” Jimin says, but Taehyung pouts. “Did you want to enter with Joonjae?”
“Hell no. It just bugs me how much hyung chases after him when Abbeoji is never going to recognise him,” Taehyung replies, and Jimin frowns. It’s the first time Taehyung has willingly given information about the Kim family dynamic. “Maybe because hyung organised all of this.”
“Don’t be a poor sport; it’s allowed us a great…mingling opportunity,” Jimin says, careful of any eavesdropping ears. Assassins honed all their five senses. Then he notes one person missing. “Where is Namjoon hyung?”
“Probably in his room, away from this madness,” Taehyung says absently, still looking sullen. Then he jolts to attention, turning to Jimin with narrowed eyes. “Why do you ask?”
Goddess, give him the strength to deal with bullshit alpha possessiveness. “Because he’s also Joonjae’s son and as part of the family, would logically participate in this event?”
Taehyung backs down at that, the apples of his cheeks pink with shame. “Right. Sorry.”
“You need to handle yourself,” Jimin tuts, not allowing himself to face the knowledge of what that possession means. “Why would he stay away?”
Taehyung is silent, ruminating over his answer all the while watching Joonjae make his way through the crowd that parts before him. A modern-day Moses, if he had been a criminal. “Namjoon hyung doesn’t…do well in such events.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you remember, he wasn’t okay with most of our activities even if he was good at them,” Taehyung says, and Jimin nods. It’s true; back then, Namjoon would be reluctant at most, choosing to bury himself in books and maps rather than killing. “He finds it overwhelming too. Abbeoji’s never forced him either.”
“That’s a first,” Jimin says, muscles tightening as Joonjae gets closer. Soon, they’ll be in his way— and facing his full attention. “Thought Daddy dearest loved making everyone miserable.”
“Careful, people can listen,” Taehyung hisses, though he hides a smile behind his hand. “I told you, Abbeoji caters to a certain image in public. We were the safest when people were around.”
Something about the statement makes Jimin incredibly sad. He doesn’t ask Taehyung to elaborate, straightening as Joonjae finally makes his way to them.
Like all the times before— his scent reaches Jimin first, and he physically has to stop himself from recoiling, carefully setting his face into neutrality. It’s as atrocious as ever, maybe even worse— rotten earth and mildew, strong enough to itch at his nose. No one else seems to be reacting the same way— or, if they are, they’re masking it carefully. If anything— Jimin would kill him just for his scent alone.
“Ah, my son,” Joonjae exclaims, holding his arms out—Taehyung leans in for a brief hug, his frame tight— and pulls back just as fast. “You look…interesting.”
“It’s a new fashion style,” Taehyung says easily, unbothered by the way Joonjae’s lips curl. Leave it to the youngest to always set himself apart. “You look distinguished yourself, Abbeoji.”
“Seokjin’s choice,” Joonjae says, and the omega next to him preens at the indirect praise— really, it’s pathetic to see Seokjin melt like this. Joonjae’s eyes turn to Jimin, eyes lighting with salacious hunger. “My, my, Park Jimin. You do clean up nicely.”
Kudos to him for not saying something disgusting. Jimin smiles, bowing in respect. “Ah, for such an event, how could I not, Daebonim?”
“Please, Abbeonim will do,” Joonjae says, reaching in and pulling Jimin out of Taehyung’s embrace; the alpha reacts physically— but holds himself in place. Joonjae smiles in delight. Clearly, it had been intentional. “You look every bit the omega I wished for.”
It’s a pointed statement, one Jimin nearly winces at as he catches Seokjin’s face falling before it’s quickly masked away with disinterest. Goddess above, the kind of games Joonjae played with his own flesh and blood. Yet, Jimin can’t say much, not without risking his ass. He laughs, pulling away from the man and his horrible scent. “I wouldn’t say that, not with Seokjin-ssi right beside you.”
“Ah, it’s his duty to look perfect,” Joonjae says, not giving a glance towards his son. “I wouldn’t expect anything less than that from him. Would I, Seokjin?”
“Not at all, Abbeoji,” Seokjin says rather robotically, face twisting with pain even as he levels Jimin with a glare. “We should move on and meet the Lees. The festivities will start soon.”
Joonjae sends one more grin Jimin’s way before he turns— and Jimin stumbles into Taehyung’s body behind, steadied by his arms. He clings to him— turning his nose unabashedly towards the alpha’s neck. Taehyung doesn’t question, instead pulling his collar down and letting Jimin have at it. The display of trust in a room full of killers— Jimin can’t—
Maybe it’s the fear coating his nerves, but he doesn’t react as strongly to the scent as he usually does— and neither does Taehyung. Instead, it’s calming, grounding him as the lavender washes away the earth and realigns Jimin’s senses again.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into Taehyung’s skin, a little afraid of looking into his eyes. He can smell the barely restrained anger in his scent, the tight grip on Jimin’s waist. “I’m okay.”
Taehyung doesn’t respond, nodding swiftly when Jimin pulls away, his eyes everywhere but his. He’s thankful for that, too.
He’d never imagined seeking comfort so publicly from someone he’d considered a rival and a lifelong enemy.
The festivities begin soon enough as the crowd mingles and let loose. Flutes of champagne flow liberally, and it shows in the loose tongues and release of scents. They all press on Jimin’s head, the headache building— he needs to be alert if he has to catch Joonjae unaware enough to slip him the poison. Right now is not the time.
The hall is large enough for the crowd to move around and for some displays to be put up; the main event will start in a while once everyone is drunk and sated. That’s how auctions work anyway. He can smell the wealth on the guests collected, the pockets heavy with chequebooks ready to be filled. Around, he can see the organisers lining up the objects for sale— including a slew of young omegas, alphas and betas.
Sickness roils in Jimin’s belly as he assesses them, the barely crossed age of maturity or how they’re dressed in a slinky manner, the older adults checking them out.
Perhaps he’s staring too hard, because Taehyung turns him around— and guides him further inward, away from reality. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Those kids—”
“I’ll do a background check on them and their— owners,” Taehyung says, his scent seeking to appease Jimin’s distressed one. “I’m sorry once again.”
Jimin doesn’t respond, closing his eyes briefly and getting his mind back on track. If he kills Joonjae, this madness will stop. Taehyung will grab the power and ensure some changes. He hopes he will, at least. Or Jimin might make an exception and kill him too.
“Whatever, let’s get this over with,” Jimin says once he gets his heart and rage under control. “I don’t want to think anymore.”
It’s a poor attempt to conceal his actual feelings, but Taehyung is saint enough for once to let it go. He pulls Jimin in again— even as the lights dim down low and someone announces the official beginning of the festivities. There are cheers, as the alcohol flows even more freely, and the music gets louder.
Jimin takes one more glass, clinking it with Taehyung’s before downing it in one go. Taehyung whistles— it seems he’s aware of Jimin’s capacity to handle his alcohol. As it is, the drinks serve to numb his mind and emotions, enough to shut his wolf down— he keeps an eye on where Joonjae is but doesn’t make it obvious. He can’t have a third-party person point it out to gain favour from the Kingpin himself.
The music increases in tempo— it’s nice, not too abrasive or techno to make his ears bleed— and Taehyung keeps his flute aside, stepping away and holding his arm out. Jimin raises his eyebrows.
“Can I have a dance?” Taehyung asks, and Jimin’s heart stutters. He’s unsure of why Taehyung’s doing this— they’ve already established to the people asking that they’re together, so why— “I’ve heard you were a phenomenal dancer. I’d love to see.”
Well, when he puts it across that way. Jimin’s praise kink pleasantly stoked, he keeps his glass on a table and takes Taehyung’s hand. “Think you can keep up?”
“With you, always,” Taehyung says easily, smile lazy and bright. He twirls Jimin right in, chest hitting his back. His lips brush against Jimin’s ear; Jimin shudders in anticipation. “Try to keep your head right, omega.”
Jimin’s belly swoops with sudden want.
It’s unpredictable— and perhaps why Jimin can’t get enough of it. Taehyung isn’t bad himself— tall, steady and rhythmic in his own way. He’s not trained like Jimin was— but there is a certain grace in his movement, and his expressions— Jimin could swear each look pierces him to the floor.
Around them, other couples begin dancing too—but Jimin can only focus on them. The way Taehyung pulls him in just close enough to touch but never allows Jimin to have it. The near grazes over his suit, and across the back of his neck. The heat in his eyes, in his hands and his body, when he presses close but doesn’t touch.
The wolf he’d numbed inside for the mission awakens, rising to the surface and meeting Taehyung midway.
When he pulls Jimin in next, he presses his chest tightly to his back— his hand pressed into his belly, broad enough to cover it whole. Something primal roars inside Jimin— he barely holds a whimper in. Taehyung understands anyway, chuckling in his ear. He tucks himself closer, chin propped on Jimin’s shoulder. Sheer will stops him from baring his neck like a bitch in heat.
“How are we doing?” Taehyung murmurs, swaying side to side, embracing tight enough that Jimin can’t escape even if he wants to. “Think you’re ready yet?”
“You can’t be serious,” Jimin says, voice hoarse— the mission had slipped to the back of his mind, head too full of Taehyung and his scent and that disgusting want. “How is this supposed to help?”
“Mm, I don’t know, love,” Taehyung says, though his tone betrays him; he sounds too smug. “Let you loose. Should be a breeze afterwards.”
“I am relaxed,” Jimin insists, though it tastes like a lie. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because—because—” Jimin struggles to find a reason. “I don’t know. It’s unnecessary.”
“I don’t think so,” Taehyung says, pushing in even further and nipping at his skin in quick pecks. “Look at the way they’re looking at you.”
Jimin does, shifting his focus from them to the room. Most seem occupied, but he catches a few interested stares and can taste the heat in their scents. Pleasure throbs through him at the idea of being unreachable to them, not when he’s already claimed…wait. That’s not him. That’s his damn wolf. And yet. “No one’s looking.”
“Always in denial, Jiminie,” Taehyung breathes. He steps back and twirls Jimin again, fast enough that the room spins and suddenly, Jimin’s facing him— too close, his eyes meeting Taehyung’s Cupid bow. They’re bitten pink as if Taehyung has been holding himself back. Jimin can’t look away. “They’re looking at us and they wish they could have what is mine.”
Jimin can’t do this. He needs to focus. “I think you’re giving yourself too much credit.”
“And I think you’re not giving yourself enough,” Taehyung fires back, grin teasing but eyes on fire. His hands roam from Jimin’s neck all the way down his back, hovering over his ass but not— not squeezing it. “You’re driving me mad tonight.”
Is it still a role? Or is this real? Jimin can’t say it— or hope for it. He’s aware that their wolves have always been attracted to each other, so denying that would be illogical. But does he consciously want Taehyung when he’d cut all those ties from him ten years ago?
“Just tonight?” Jimin finds himself asking, brazen and stupid. Taehyung’s eyes turn darker, and a shiver runs down his spine.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to, Jimin.”
“Or what?” Jimin challenges, licking his lips and enjoying the way Taehyung’s eyes fall upon them. He looks so hungry that Jimin wants to present himself as a meal. “Chicken to admit it, Taehyung?”
“Let’s not do this here.”
“Can’t admit how much you want me?” Jimin goads, his wolf on the surface and thirsting for more. He presses in, standing on his toes so he can reach Taehyung’s ear. “You look like you can barely hold yourself back.”
“Jimin.”
“Maybe you’d like to fuck me in front of everyone,” Jimin whispers, slick leaking when Taehyung’s hands clamp over his ass. Goddess, he smells glorious. He can feel his cock through his pants, and a part of him feels pity because it’s a rather unfortunate colour for hiding boners in public. “Really claim me so no one lays a hand on me, right?”
Taehyung’s hands massage his ass, grinding him forward; they must look so obscene. Jimin gasps, squeezing his legs shut.
“Just take me right here,” Jimin whispers, blowing hot air in the alpha’s ears, trying not to imagine it himself. “No one would ever touch me like you, hmm, alpha?”
“Fucking hell, Jimin,” Taehyung groans lowly, and it takes every inch of his willpower not to do something ridiculous, like tearing off that patterned shirt. “What the fuck are you doing—?”
“Don’t start games you can’t win,” Jimin says, pushing him back and stepping away. His own cock is hard, and his slit is wet— but he can overcome that. Taehyung, however, looks like he’s at Death’s door. “Now— is it time?”
Their dance and the underlying game has been well underway for some time, long enough that the crowd is loose-tongued and swaying to the rhythm. Still, it is a gathering of trained assassins and other criminals. Jimin has to be alert.
A multitude of emotions run across Taehyung’s face— disbelief, lust, anger and regret all at once— before he closes his eyes and rubs his face. When he opens them next, he’s back to normal— he steps behind a table, waiting out his boner. Jimin barely holds his laugh back. Instead, he waits for the signal.
Taehyung nods subtly, and Jimin makes to leave— before thinking better of it, and leaning in swiftly to peck him on his cheek. It’s sudden enough that Taehyung recoils in surprise. “What—?”
“For good luck,” Jimin says hastily, unsure of how to explain the impulse. Maybe it could be explained as a young couple exchanging brief goodbyes. “I’ll see you soon.”
He walks away before Taehyung can react.
Weaving his way through the crowds isn’t an issue at all. Jimin is in control of his limbs and mind— he smiles and bows, playing the role of his life. Kim Taehyung’s mate-to-be, he hears some of them say as he walks by, and his heart skips a beat. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a role. It’s never going to happen.
His wolf trashes in response, but Jimin is an expert in ignoring it by now.
Locating Joonjae isn’t difficult either— as the Kingpin and the host of the auction, he garners all the attention in the room, groups of admirers hungering for his favour. Jimin halts at one of the tables, taking yet another flute and a couple of snacks on a paper plate.
Someone like Joonjae would refuse to take pre-prepared drinks or food. He’d be a fool to do that. Jimin observes the way he conducts himself in public. Effortlessly charming and handsome, an air of dominance so strong it creates a barrier around him.
Joonjae’s always had a thing for pretty omegas, though. And from what Jimin has gleaned so far— he definitely has a thing for creating chaos amongst his children and isn’t above playing dirty games for mindless entertainment.
Jimin rubs his wrists together, chewing on an olive before chucking the toothpick away. Then he walks, determined.
Something blocks his way.
“Where are you off to, little omega?” Seokjin croons, handling his own drink delicately. It’s the oddest contrast; how Seokjin seems strong enough to take down the alphas but dainty enough to give omegas a run for their money. Jimin keeps his insults in, stepping back. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Plenty,” Jimin says, a hand in his pocket while he keeps Joonjae in his sight. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“What business do you have with Abbeoji?” Seokjin asks point blank, but his tone is conversational, even curious— there is none of that hostility he usually directs towards Jimin. “You seem in a hurry.”
Jimin pauses, tasting the answer on his tongue. He’s not sure if this is yet another convoluted game or some sort of petty comeback because Joonjae pit them against each other. He’s really not in the mood. “Seokjin-ssi, come on—”
“What? It was just a question.”
“Nothing is ever ‘just’ a question with you,” Jimin drawls, leaning on his right foot. He crosses his arms, appraising the omega. Something is different about him. He seems…happier? Cheerful? Jimin can’t place it, but it unnerves him. “Is it a crime to meet your father?”
“Of course, not. Considering you’re going to be my brother-in-law soon enough,” Seokjin trills, but his eyes gleam with...they ring a brighter blue, like an omega on a hunt. “I was just curious.”
He isn’t— Jimin can taste the fakeness. He can’t challenge the omega in public anyway, so he nods. “I wish to seek his blessings regarding the union.”
“Right now?”
“No time like the present,” Jimin shrugs, checking his nails. “He’s in good company, there’s alcohol, and he seems in a good mood. No?”
“A better omega wouldn’t go about this in such an underhanded manner,” Seokjin says in a clipped tone, his cheerful tone dipping. Hah. “My father can’t be fooled.”
“Fortunately for me, I am very underhanded,” Jimin purrs, brushing off invisible lint from Seokjin’s jacket. “Someday you’ll learn the wonders of leading a life without a stick up your ass. Not today, but someday. I’ll keep you in my prayers for the Goddess.”
Seokjin’s smile drops then, his lips curling even as he steps close, the ring of blue burning brightly. “You little shit—”
“I’ll be on my way, excuse me,” Jimin says politely, pushing past him without a care. The more reflective, kinder part of him admonishes him for the petty act, but Jimin keeps it aside. “Lovely talking with you.”
Jimin walks a couple of steps before Seokjin clears his throat loudly. “Jimin-ssi.”
“Hmm?”
“Keep a lookout for the main entertainment tonight,” Seokjin says, face set in cold neutrality. “I have a feeling you’d enjoy it.”
“What do you—?” Seokjin’s not there when he turns. Jimin can’t see a lick of him—but a bad feeling bubbles in his gut. The tone was conversational, but it implied all sorts of danger that Jimin’s not prepared for—
He shakes his head. He can’t afford to be distracted right now.
Joonjae is still at the table when Jimin makes his way over, surrounded by alphas and their simpering omega wives who smile and keep quiet. Jimin is the anomaly, and it’s noticed immediately. Joonjae’s eyes light up. “Ah, Jimin!”
“Daebonim,” Jimin says sweetly, tilting his head respectfully. He bows at the rest of the group, ignoring the hungry and envious glances. “It is delightful to see you enjoying yourself.”
“My health has permitted me at last,” Joonjae says just as smoothly. “I trust you are comfortable?”
“Pleasantly. You have raised good sons,” Jimin says with a smile, and Joonjae’s eyes dim briefly. “I hope I haven’t disturbed the conversation?”
“Not at all. We were just wrapping up,” Joonjae lies through his teeth, sending a dismissive glance at the rest; they bow hastily, dispersing within seconds. Jimin blinks at the display of casual power. “What is it?”
“I, uh,” Jimin starts, before stopping. He has to play the role carefully. “I wished to talk about something with you.”
Joonjae raises an eyebrow. “Right now?”
“It won’t take much time.”
“Alright, go on then.”
Jimin steadies his breath. “I just…I wanted to know what you really feel about my union with Taehyung…Abbeonim.”
It’s sickening, how quickly Joonjae’s eyes burn with cruel mirth. Jimin’s not sure what the grudge is against Taehyung— and he doesn’t want to uncover it either. It’s none of his business, but it’s still revolting. “Ah, so it’s that kind of a conversation.”
“Yes, well, it’s been on my mind lately,” Jimin says casually, pausing a waiter and grabbing two flutes. “Care for a glass?”
“From someone as beautiful as you, why not,” Joonjae purrs, and Jimin smiles tightly, though his stomach lurches. Already, Joonjae’s scent is making this conversation difficult. “Pity you’re so young, Jimin-ssi, or else.”
The meaning is not lost on him, but Jimin laughs anyway, throwing his head back and tracking the way Joonjae stares at him. He watches more the way Joonjae holds on to his glass loosely, not drinking from it yet. “Pity, indeed.”
“Where is this question coming from?” Joonjae continues, pinning him down with his gaze. It’s so different from Taehyung’s, too predatory. “Having second thoughts about Taehyung?”
“Not at all, Abbeonim.”
It seems like Joonjae doesn’t like the response if Jimin goes by the way his lips curl. “Hmm. Why does my opinion matter?”
“Well, you are his father,” Jimin says, keeping his head low and eyes lower, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “I’m hoping my acclimatisation into the family is welcome. I respect your role.”
“How thoughtful,” Joonjae drawls, still not drinking from the flute. He keeps it aside even and doesn’t take anything from the snack bowl either. “That didn’t stop you ten years ago, however, did it?”
Jimin jolts, stuck to his spot as Joonjae smiles, eyes dancing. “Whatever do you mean, Daebonim?”
“Ah, come now, don’t be afraid. We’d just reach the Abbeonim stage,” Joonjae says, leaning in close, his atrocious scent making Jimin’s head spin. “I meant you didn’t bother with my permission when you were busy spreading your legs for him back then.”
It must be a recorded feat, how Jimin doesn’t flinch right there and then. Instead, he grips his glass tightly, maintaining a smile. “We were young, Daebu—Abbeonim.”
“So you were,” Joonjae says, leaning back and licking his lips. “I suppose it’s a mark of improvement that you’re going about this the proper way, hmm?”
“Y-yes, that is my intention.”
“A quality all omegas must have,” Joonjae says, tapping his chin with two fingers. They’re misshapen and gnarled. “You want to know if you are right for Taehyung.”
“Yes.”
“The correct question would be— is Taehyung right for you?” Joonjae ponders, thinking out loud. He chuckles, shaking his head— when he meets Jimin’s eyes, he sees a flash of red again. Jimin seizes up again, because—no, it’s just the trick of the light. It’s not possible. “And the answer is no.”
Jimin blinks. “What?”
“Taehyung is not worthy of you,” Joonjae says, rubbing his index finger on the edge of his glass in hypnotic circles. Yet, nothing happens. “In fact, Taehyung is not worthy of anything.”
What the hell? “Sorry?”
“Ah, how should I put this across without offending your omegan sensibilities,” Joonjae says, tone condescending. “Your decision is regretful. Taehyung is hardly capable of handling an omega such as you, let alone anyone else. Pathetic, really, how he maligns the Kim bloodline.”
No way. Joonjae couldn’t be that horrible. Even if Jimin is pretending to be Taehyung’s mate, he’s horrified by the casual cruelty. “Daebonim—”
“But I suppose he’s not to blame. That’s what happens when you don’t train trash well,” Joonjae remarks coolly, and Jimin sees— red. He looks down, at the shiny tops of his dress shoes rather than focus on the sudden rage flooding his veins. “Something to keep in mind when you inevitably have regrettable pups with him, Jimin-ssi.”
Okay, that’s it. Jimin’s going to poison his ass; how dare he comment on his unborn pups? “Abbeonim—”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll do something before that ever happens,” Joonjae continues, sending a sharp, wolfish grin Jimin’s way. “Are you planning on eating that olive? It’s wasting away.”
Jimin looks down at his empty glass and the sad olive in it. He hands it over absently, keeping his face neutral as Joonjae sniffs at it. This is it. It had taken some work, but Jimin’s so close—
Suddenly the music dips, and a spotlight appears on the stage. A mic keens in the distance before Seokjin climbs up— presenting the audience with a beatific smile.
“Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Grand Annual Auction,” Seokjin says, charming and effortless. “Thank you for gracing us with your company, and continuing to show faith in my father’s organisation. After almost crossing the danger point regarding his health, Abbeoji is slowly getting back to his feet!”
There are cheers and hoots, some guests nearby bowing at Joonjae. Seokjin waits for them to die down before clearing his throat.
“As it is, we’ve all gathered here for a specific purpose. I’m grateful our family is hosting the gathering this year, and we hope to be regular with it!” More cheers, and polite claps. The sounds grate on Jimin’s ears. “That being said— we do need to begin the auction. I’m pleased to present the opening act to you, specially procured from Seoul!”
Seokjin signals something at whoever is controlling the lights, and steps aside to reveal deep maroon stage curtains. Jimin instinctively leans forward, curious. He’s never participated in these events, so it’s a first.
The curtains move aside— to reveal a huge wheel. As it rotates, it reveals a young man strapped to it, his head covered by a shimmery black cloth. His clothes can only be called scraps, hinting at a well-developed body. Jimin whistles under his breath, though he’s unsure of the man’s status. That doesn’t deter the omegas around, even some of the alphas. A body is a body, after all.
“Earlier this week as we were reinforcing the borders of our estate, we came across some elements that threatened to disturb our peace,” Seokjin starts, walking around the wheel. The man on it seems unconscious, the spotlight highlighting bruises along his ribs, and rope burns around his wrists and ankles. “I wasn’t sure what to do with him. And then it hit me— what better way to pay back trespassers than to let them know the consequences of trespassing?”
Some people chuckle, though Jimin doesn’t get the joke. He understands it, but a part of him sympathises with the man.
“And so, tonight— our opening act will showcase the skills of our assassins, both present and former,” Seokjin says slowly, looking at everyone before his eyes settle on Jimin. “It would be my absolute pleasure to invite Park Jimin for the same.”
What.
Jimin raises a hand as the spotlight shines on him all of a sudden, and the people closest to him break into whispers. Next to him, Joonjae whistles lowly— but Jimin ignores all of that, dropping his hand and adjusting to the onslaught of light. Seokjin is smiling at him, beckoning him forward— and Jimin doesn’t know what to do.
“For those who aren’t aware, Park Jimin was one of our organisation’s best assassins,” Seokjin continues, smiling gracefully. Jimin’s blood boils, unsure yet angry. Something is afoot. “His speciality has always been knives and daggers. Unfortunately, Jimin-ssi decided to terminate his relationship with the camp before his time— a loss we have felt deeply. He’s done well for himself— and he’s now going to be my brother, Taehyung’s, future mate shortly.”
There are excited gasps and some enthusiastic claps. Jimin smiles tightly at them, bowing while making his way through the crowd that parts before him. His stomach is packed tight with nerves, his back rod straight. It’s all he can do to keep his wolf subdued; he doesn’t want to threaten anyone by letting it come to the surface.
“Ah, you compliment me too much, Seokjin-ssi,” Jimin says, once he’s close enough. Only he can see the way Seokjin’s nose flares slightly. “I am honoured to be back at my homestead. It is my pleasure to be amongst all of you tonight.”
Take that, Seokjin and his petty ass. Jimin’s pettier, and no one can dethrone him from that. Seokjin’s lips curl, though he’s quick to hide it. “Pleased to hear that, Jimin-ssi. Would you be obliged to go ahead?”
Jimin looks to where Seokjin is pointing— a tray with an assortment of thin, silver-edged daggers, Jimin’s favourite kind. He can taste the quality of these, and a dormant part of him rumbles in hunger. Goddess, he loves pretty knives. Even when he’d quit, he’d invested in good cooking knives, the whole set. But the ones for killing, well— they had their own charm, Jimin couldn’t deny it.
“What am I supposed to do?” Jimin asks, removing his rings one by one and pocketing them.
“The man will be put up for auction at the end of the night. He’s special,” Seokjin says, smiling. “You see those marks drawn around his major contact points? Hit dead centre. Not a single cut on him, or the price won’t be right.”
It’s repulsive how Jimin is being lulled into participating in human trafficking but then…he has a role to play. And an assassin camp is the last place to practice his morals.
Humour him. Get him off your back, then get back to Joonjae. Finish him off, get Taehyung into place, and make sure he changes things around. That’s the least you can ensure for getting back into this mess.
If his wolf is on board, then Jimin can indulge this madness a little while longer.
“I’m out of practice,” is all Jimin says, before he takes position and grabs one of the knives.
He could moan from how good they feel in his hands— so weightless he can’t even tell, the edge sharp enough to cut his sight. He twirls it around, twisting his wrist and getting used to the mobility.
A moment later, it’s dug right in the crook of the man’s spread arms, dead centre.
“Oh, wow,” Seokjin says, blinking— it looks like genuine surprise, and Jimin hides a smile behind his hand, grabbing the second one. “That’s— wow.”
“Proven myself yet, Seokjin-ssi?” Jimin simpers, preparing himself again, and Seokjin loses the wonder, instead rolling his eyes. “You’d have to announce in public what you think of my skills.”
He lands another dagger, this time right in the crook of the man’s shoulder and neck. Impossible, with the way his head is hanging—but Jimin’s been knife throwing for years. He lands all the subsequent daggers with ease— the last one being right between the man’s legs, and the whole audience lets out a collective breath of relief. Jimin twirls around and bows, before facing Seokjin.
“Well?”
Seokjin barely hides his glower fast enough. Maybe he’d been hoping to embarrass Jimin, and it’s rather unfortunate for him. First, his own father dismisses his presence. Then, his plan fails.
Jimin’s glad he’s not as much of a loser.
“Well, what?”
“Have I proven myself as Taehyung’s mate?” Jimin blinks from under his eyes, putting on a show. If Seokjin believes Jimin and why he’s here, it’ll give him that much longer to make sure Joonjae is killed— and stays dead. “All these attempts to demoralise me are getting embarrassing, hyung.”
Seokjin steps back, appraising Jimin before his lips curl into a smile. His eyes are bright and cheerful again— and in that single moment, Jimin’s belly begins curdling again. “Is it?”
It’s not the face or even tone of a man who has lost. As Seokjin leaves Jimin without an answer and climbs the stage again, Jimin’s wolf begins clawing at his chest— but he doesn’t understand why.
“That was quite the show, Park Jimin-ssi!” Seokjin says, ever the cheerful host. “I think we were all worried there at the end, but he sailed through, my!” Seokjin clears his throat, appraising the man on the wheel. “As promised, this individual will be sold to the highest bidder. He’s special— not because he’s just a trespasser.”
Seokjin waits. Jimin waits with him.
“He’s a cop from Seoul.”
The man’s mask is removed.
Glass shatters on the ground below—and Jimin’s in the dead centre of it, facing Jeon Jungkook on the wheel.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
I think you must have seen the jungkook reveal happening but mwahahaha....evil people doing evil things :D also how HOT was that dance scene pls you guys when they do the do (and it'll happen... soon...) it's gonna be hot. I promise. this fic has challenged me in so many delightful ways I'm so excited :]
Joonjae is as horrible as ever I genuinely feel disgusted whenever I write his scenes & it's only gonna get worse so phew I need to console myself fast. Like the whole seokjin-Jimin comparison, ew. Yes, there is more to the family dynamics and it'll all come out but my heart bleeds for the Kims :(
I think a lot was revealed in the chapter, tiny hints but no stress. I was worried initially if it was too slow but I think the pacing is good and I'm satisfied with it. Look forward to more! Leave your thoughts/comments/theories as always! See y'all soon.
Chapter 14: Love/Hate
Notes:
Woohooo right in time for Christmas- MERRY CHRISTMAS to those who celebrate! And those who like festivals in general :D Here's a gift from me to enjoy. Although considering the content of this chapter...anyways. It's here. I'm so excited about this but also nervous. Onward!
Yes, there is smut in this. Finally. A reader said 'I want to smash their heads together' so yes, dear reader, I have done just that. Lots of smashing. I'm quite proud of this :") I hope you guys have as much fun reading this as much as I did writing it. More in the end notes. ENJOY!!
content warning: 1) description of a mini anxiety attack at the start. 2) regular a/b/o smut except it miiiiiight feel dubious? sort of? it's 100% consensual but explicit consent wasn't asked for, so this is for anyone who wants that extra reassurance. they both wanted this ok? yes. 3) mild degradation which is again consensual. 4) this is an assassin fic our regular morals may not matter here so pls keep that in mind thank you <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Once he came to terms with his status, Jimin quickly realised being an omega was a curse.
Omegas were weaker. They were more susceptible to Alpha Commands, controlled by their hormones with their wolves untamed, and spread their legs more easily than their alpha counterparts. It was an unsaid understanding in camp— if the trainees presented as omegas, they had to undergo a different training than their alpha peers.
The first thing included severing the connection with his wolf. Jimin was glad to do so, even if the process was painful. Varying degrees of torture followed by building his resistance towards Alpha Commands—Jimin eventually learned to conquer that as well.
It had been nearly eight months after he presented. Jimin had already had two heats, and both had been the literal definition of torture that was worse than any training he had undergone. Three days of being a sex-crazed omega begging for an alpha knot— he never wanted to be that humiliated again. Though, when it came to matters of one’s wolf, Jimin was as helpless as the rest of the world. A part of him would always seek out capable alphas, and there was nothing he could do about it. So Jimin worked harder to improve everywhere else.
He would never be held back for something as silly as his wolf presentation. For Jimin to be successful and an absolute killing machine, to become the very best the camp had ever seen— he needed to cut down all possible distractions.
Except, it seemed, Kim Taehyung.
“The Silver Dagger,” someone whistled, and Jimin jumped. Surprise quickly turned to disgust when he realised who it was. “I’m impressed.”
“Piss off,” Jimin muttered, tugging his belt on, and getting ready for his next class. In front of him was a target board, seven daggers struck dead centre. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”
“But you’re my favourite omega, Jimin,” Taehyung sang, stepping close and studying the board. Jimin bit his tongue, as the floral scent of lavenders wafted subtly. “I always like knowing what you’re up to.”
“For what? Competition?”
Taehyung snorted. “Sure.” He ripped one of the daggers out, studying it carefully. In the six months since the presentation, everything had changed— including some of Jimin’s opinions about Taehyung. “You think Silver Dagger is a nice name?”
“I didn’t choose it, so I don’t care,” Jimin said, snapping his bag shut and walking away. “Goodbye.”
“Wait!”
Jimin was at the door, and Taehyung closed the distance in three steps— his legs had only grown longer, a sight that haunted Jimin’s nightmares. Still, he kept a neutral face. “What?”
Taehyung looked nervous. He hadn’t grown into his features yet, but Jimin could envision what a handsome alpha he’d be. Now— he looked like a boy. “I have a proposal.”
Jimin raised an eyebrow. Things had changed since the presentation—one of them being the way they treated each other. There was rivalry, sure—there always would be, they’d invested too much in it to let it go—but Jimin could appreciate Taehyung as an equal opponent, somewhat. Maybe now that neither of them were children.
He waited until Taehyung had enough balls to spit it out. “Well? Are you going to take all afternoon?”
“No, just thinking.”
“You can do that?”
“Fuck off,” Taehyung muttered, rubbing his face. “Um, I saw on the roster that you’re—you’re having your heat in two weeks.”
Blood rushed up Jimin’s cheeks, heart clenching in humiliation. “What the—why are you checking the omega roster?”
“It’s public. Any of us can.”
“Yes, but why?” Jimin spat, clutching his bag tightly. “That’s perverted.”
“Chill. We all have sparring partners to look out for.”
Jimin huffed, turning away. It was going to be his third heat and he was not looking forward to it. “Whatever. Why do you care?”
Taehyung bit his lip some more before shoving his hands in his pockets. His cheeks were turning red. “I can help you out.”
The words took their time sinking in—but once they did, Jimin jolted into place spine-straight. “Excuse me?!”
“Let me be your heat partner,” Taehyung said, and the sentence was so ridiculous Jimin punched Taehyung in the chest, making him stumble a few steps back. He knew the alpha was serious when he didn’t retaliate. “Hear me out.”
“Absolutely not!” Jimin said, walking out of the classroom. The hallways were empty, with most of the students having returned to their dorm rooms. Only people like Jimin stayed back, practising over and over again. “Get the fuck out before I stab you.”
“Will you listen?”
“I’m not interested.”
“Jimin, for moon’s sake,” Taehyung snarled, grabbing Jimin by the elbow—Jimin immediately whipped a knife out, holding it under Taehyung’s chin. It didn’t deter him, his eyes unimpressed. “Done?”
It was just the two of them. Jimin dropped the knife, shaking Taehyung’s hand off. “What do you want?”
“I already told you.”
“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms. “You want to spend heat with me.”
“I’m aware,” Taehyung said patiently, crossing his arms. It brought his slight muscles to focus, and Jimin’s waning wolf could appreciate the display for what it was. “I know you’re in pre-heat.”
Could this day get any more humiliating? “And?”
Taehyung wet his lips. “Well, I’m in pre-rut.”
Huh, so that’s why Jimin could smell him. Then again, they still couldn’t get onto scent blockers for another six months. “What do I do about that?”
“We help each other out. Mutual benefits.”
“Why—”
“You’re pretty, and my wolf agrees,” Taehyung cut in, lips in a pout. “It’s just three days. Less painful that way.”
Jimin didn’t focus on the vague compliment, his ears picking up on the latter. “Less painful?”
“Yeah, didn’t you pay attention in the biology lessons?” Taehyung asked, tilting his head curiously. His scent jumped out, the mark of a young alpha unable to control his scent yet. “If you share cycles, it, um, gets easier.”
Jimin hadn’t, too obsessed with perfecting his skill to learn about more ridiculous biology crap. “And I’m the only one available?”
“So it seems.”
Jimin bit his lips. On one hand, the thought of spending a heat with Taehyung…someone he disliked, was atrocious. He’d be having sex. With Taehyung. He was pretty, no doubt that, but did Jimin want to experience this…?
On the other hand, spending heat alone was agony and Jimin would rather be done with it without suffering as well. And here was a willing alpha who wasn’t half that bad to look at. Not to mention, Taehyung’s scent was definitely better than the other alpha pups’.
“Just heat?” Jimin asked, and Taehyung nodded. “You tell no one, or I’ll break into the alpha dorms and gut you.”
“Sounds like a win to me,” Taehyung said, smirking while saluting. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you a secret.”
Taehyung walked away—but somehow, Jimin’s waning wolf let out one last victorious whoop before he tamped down it once again.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin has a pet peeve.
Okay, he has many pet peeves. He is an easy-to-irritate person, so patience isn’t his strong suit—but something that really, really bugs him are those slow-motion scenes in movies.
Maybe applying logic to movies isn’t the wisest, but it’s plain ridiculous that at a key moment, especially during an action scene—the hero has a realisation that lasts some six minutes of precious fight time. It just isn’t reasonable.
Jimin regrets that judgement now as he faces the man on the wheel.
It’s not possible. Right? Jimin’s vision isn’t clear because he drank too much, and he’s stressed about the potential outcome of his mission. Maybe Joonjae’s scent does cause hallucinations because whatever Jimin’s seeing right now is not true.
The not-Jungkook on the wheel is highlighted by the spotlight, Jimin’s knives showing off his frame prettily. There are welts around his ribs, some yellow with age, others bruised purple-red. Poor thing, how he must have suffered. He only looks similar to Jungkook, that’s all. Nothing else.
He catches Seokjin’s eyes smiling in triumph. That’s the way he always is, though, so Jimin isn’t concerned. Shouldn’t be. But his eyes keep straying to the boy on the wheel, his head dangling and a familiar scar on his left cheek—
Someone coughs behind— Jimin looks back, finding Joonjae with his eyes bulging and his skin a growing purple-blue. The guards have already made their way through but the Kingpin waves them off, asking one of them for water. It’s in a special bottle. He takes a few gulps—and then, somehow, he’s okay.
He shouldn’t have been. Thallium is a fatal poison.
Jimin looks down, feet swimming in his vision as alarm prickles the back of his neck. If even thallium isn’t working then…what the hell is up with Joonjae, and what about—
The mission flies out of his mind as his eyes go back to the wheel. Seokjin and the auctioneer go through the sheets in front, their voices sounding far away. Sales for this man will happen towards the end. Please, be seated. As they take away the wheel, the man stirs, head swaying—and blinks at the bright lights. He pulls his lips back. Just before the stage curtains shut around him— two large front teeth poke through.
Jimin turns around, and pushes past the gathering crowds of people to the back, away from— everything.
Taehyung comes into his vision then, lanky legs and an alarmed expression on his face. “Jimin, where are you—?”
He doesn’t wait to answer. Simply glides past, the sounds muddling in his head as his chest tightens, some sort of terror nipping at his heels for attention—
Jimin’s out, and before he knows it— he’s in their room.
It doesn’t give him the comfort he is seeking. As he faces the magnanimity of the space and the familiar traces of lavender and orange— the red ochre of the walls closes up on him, his breath shallow in his chest. His wolf clamours against his ribs, but Jimin can’t— he can’t—
The room spins the longer he stands, and Jimin collapses, his breath coming out in short gasps. He puts his head between his knees, squeezing his temples till the pressure builds, regulating his breathing as much as he can. He needs to get his shit together soon. He needs to focus. Only then will he be able to comprehend what he had seen.
It couldn’t have been Jungkook. There is no way; Jimin had erased all his traces before he left Seoul for good. Sure, he’d looked at the cameras sometimes— but that had been wild hope. Certainly not enough for anyone to trace him…Jungkook is still a rookie cop. He wouldn’t have access to the technology for that. Heck, no technology could do that…unless Jungkook somehow tracked him?
Impossible. Not everyone knows how to track. Yes, Jimin’s mistaken. It’s someone who only looks like Jungkook, and nothing else. But the scar on the cheek. His teeth. The build. That happens! Jungkook isn’t the most unique person anyway. Jimin drank too much and it’s all catching up to him, that’s all. Goddess, he hopes the mission went okay. Joonjae ate the poisoned olive, but he seemed— fine. That’s what Jimin should focus on.
Look for tonight’s entertainment, Seokjin had said. The triumph in his eyes, the glee as he announced the news. It’s a cop from Seoul! Jimin gets up, room swaying but otherwise— he’s okay. He needs to do something, anything, before the doubt consumes him.
He was caught trespassing. Jimin stumbles to the bathroom, loosening his tie, struggling to get it out and chucking it carelessly to the side. He still can’t breathe, damn it. His collar is tight; he should have loosened it a while back. Maybe that’s why he hallucinated Jungkook. Right? It happens. Lack of oxygen to the brain does that. Jimin has choked enough people to agree with the theory.
The mirror shows a horrified face. Why, though? He’s fine. He’s more than fine. All he did was drink way too much champagne, and while Jimin can handle his alcohol, the added anxiety of the mission and the overall social gathering must have been a lot. Jimin slaps at his cheeks, but his eyes remain wide and his mouth open. Had he really flung all those knives at Jungkook? Had he almost killed him?
No, no, no, stop that, stop doing that, a voice says, but Jimin’s face is horrified and his mouth is dry no matter how much he swallows, there isn’t enough air and he’s going to lose it right about now—
The door crashes open, revealing a fuming Taehyung in the reflection.
Jimin looks down at the marble counter. One of his nails is bitten close to his skin. There’s a nick from one of the daggers on his palm. It’s so fine, Jimin barely feels the sting of it, not until he presses the middle and watches the blood trickle out slowly—
“There you are,” Taehyung says, shutting the door with the heel and leaning against it. He’s still wearing his mustard-yellow pants with the patterned shirt, though the suit jacket hangs over his shoulder. “Hiding away.”
Jimin watches the bright scarlet line, the way it creeps to the surface drop by drop. Some of it is already clotting. “I never realised how pretty blood is.”
What is he saying? He doesn’t know. But he deserves the cut, doesn’t he? He flung knives at Jungkook. He showed off his skills while his best friend was a captive in the worst place Jimin knew. He’d carried on with his life without keeping tabs on him and now he’s here, and Jimin’s not helping him. He’s leaving him high and dry like he always has, he’s the worst hyung—
“Answer me,” Taehyung growls, sounding closer than Jimin anticipated. “What’s going on?”
It sounds pissed. No, he is pissed— Jimin can see the curl of his lips, the menacing prowl in his stride. He looks back at the blood on his hands. Literally, but also metaphorically. He nearly killed his best friend. Showed off his dagger skills on him.
“What, like you missed me?”
“How could I not, after the way you left?” Taehyung purrs, though none of it sounds playful. “After dropping midway through?”
His wolf claws at him, anger simmering beneath the surface. “I had my reasons.”
“Abbeoji is still alive,” Taehyung hisses, so close Jimin can taste the anger in his scent. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I should be asking you that,” Jimin says slowly, turning around and leaning against the sink. He crosses his arms. “What are you up to, Taehyung-ssi?”
Taehyung recoils at the formal honorific. “What do you—?”
“You and that brother of yours,” Jimin remarks, all of it settling in. It makes sense. Jimin had been the fool all along, hadn’t he? Maybe all of them were in cahoots, and this was a scheme to make Jimin pay for leaving camp alive. “You wanna explain?”
“What the fuck are you talking about,” Taehyung snaps, and Jimin’s wolf thrashes in rage. “We agreed on using tonight as a diversion—“
Jimin’s had enough. “You lied to me,” he starts, taking a step close and standing nearly nose to nose. “Told me you’d leave my friends alone if I did what you asked.”
“I have!” Taehyung exclaims, eyes widening briefly. “They’re back in Seoul. Untouched. Just like we agreed.”
“No, they’re not!” Jimin snaps now, slapping his hands on Taehyung’s chest, shoving the alpha back a couple of steps; he stumbles, mouth dropping in surprise. “You and your brother went behind my back and got him involved, and all you care about is your deadbeat dad dying?”
Taehyung’s eyes narrow. “Careful.”
“Or what?” Jimin asks, shoving at him again. His vision bleeds indigo as if his omega can’t decide between the blue of protection and the red of his anger. Taehyung is the perfect target. “You’ll kill me? You’ll torture me? You’ll go after my friends again?”
“Jimin—”
“But you already have, haven’t you?” Jimin laughs, taking out one of his daggers; his head is fuzzy and his mouth is dry. “You went back on your word.”
“I didn’t! What are you rambling about—?”
“Tell me why was Jungkook on the wheel?” Jimin asks, keeping his blade ready. He doesn’t want to slash it just yet, though every nerve of his is on edge. He needs to gauge his figurative claws into something. “All I’ve done to help you. All that goddamn humiliation of being your mate. And for nothing.”
Taehyung blinks. His eyes follow the swaying blade and his body is lined with vigilance, but his eyes flicker with hurt and shock.
“The baby alpha?” Taehyung exclaims, hands lowered and his defensive position relaxing. “That was him?”
Jimin snorts; the nerve of him. “Oh, don’t pretend like you didn’t know—”
“That’s who you failed this simple task for?”
Jimin stops short.
Failed.
That’s right. Jimin failed. He failed himself, couldn’t leave fast enough until it was too late— and now he’s failed his friends. All he wanted for them was to be happy and safe.
It is Taehyung’s fault that they’re not.
“I failed?!” Jimin asks quietly, before he explodes into action, slashing across in a violet haze, onto Taehyung in a matter of seconds. “You goddess-damned asshole!”
It takes Taehyung by surprise, and leaves a sliver of a cut on his cheekbones; Taehyung stumbles back, hand slapping to his cheek and coming away red. “What the fuck?”
Jimin doesn’t entertain him any longer.
“It’s all you care about,” he prowls, slashing again but Taehyung intercepts it on instinct, blocking the attack. “I was a fool. To think you would ever look out for me.”
“I am looking out for you!”
“No, you’re looking out for yourself and your cursed family,” Jimin spits, looking for an opening. “It was a trap, wasn’t it? Get me back into the scene, put me in Joonjae’s spotlight. Get me deep enough so I can’t escape alive. Just like before.”
“Will you listen—?”
“Why should I?” Jimin huffs, going for an upward cut, but Taehyung is annoyingly good at defence. “The family runt who can’t do things by himself and needs help like a pup.”
Taehyung’s eyes shutter, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t.”
“It’s true,” Jimin sings, twirling the knife and backing away. Maybe if he lay low before stabbing him. The one person who deserved to be stabbed. “You know what your father said to me? You’re not worthy of me. You’re not an alpha I should tie myself up with.”
“Jimin.”
“And I agree,” Jimin hisses, wanting to hurt the alpha for— everything. The present. Their past. The future that Jimin, no matter how much he fantasises about, will never get back again, not the normal way. All of it is gone because Taehyung stole it from him. “Your own family doesn’t like you. Why should I?”
Hurt flashes in Taehyung’s eyes before his mask slips back on. “Keep that knife down. Let’s talk.”
“He didn’t even ask you about the business,” Jimin says, not sure of anything. He’s blind with rage, his wolf nowhere to be found. “He looks over you because you’re not worth looking at even. I’m not sure what I saw back then either, because you were nothing.”
Taehyung’s jaw ticks. His gaze turns mean. “Still opened your legs for me.”
Jimin’s blood boils. “Don’t start—”
“You were a smart, independent omega, weren’t you Jiminie?” Taehyung drawls, stepping close. “The best the camp had. On your way to success. Hmm?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“But I’m not,” Taehyung sings, hands in his pocket. Jimin can taste the heightened senses, however. “You’re the one who couldn’t wait. Just like back then. Don’t blame me for your bad decisions, baby.”
Taehyung is close enough that they stand toe to toe. Jimin leans back, away from the growing scent— but the cold marble of the sink presses into his back. “Back off.”
“Or what? You’ll slash your pretty little claws at me?” Taehyung murmurs, tracing his face with a finger. Jimin slaps it away, but to no avail—they come back instantly. “You can’t even do a mission right. I chose you thinking you’d get shit done, and here we are. Both of us failures.”
“You brought Jungkook into this,” Jimin hisses, slashing the dagger in the middle— but Taehyung, it seems, was ready for it. His hand blocks the strike, wrapping around Jimin’s wrist and pushing it back hard enough that Jimin has no option but to drop the dagger right there. It falls with a clang, but nothing changes— Jimin’s trapped, weaponless. He doesn’t know what to think, let alone do. He leans away, but Taehyung presses closer, his chest brushing against Jimin’s. His scent burns with anger, irritation and— arousal. No fucking way. “Get the fuck away.”
“I didn’t have shit to do with your baby alpha being here,” Taehyung says, caging Jimin between his arms; the scent is sharp and painfully mouth-watering. Annoyingly enough, Jimin’s slit begins to throb. “I didn’t even know it was him. So stop blaming me for everything wrong in your life.”
“Because it is your fault!” Jimin shrieks, but Taehyung places a palm over his mouth; it’s an overwhelming surge of lavender that doesn’t make it easy. Jimin’s wolf starts coming back to the surface, interest building. Taehyung eyes their surroundings meaningfully and for a moment, Jimin wants to scream even more. Scream about his plan and watch him go down in ruins.
The only issue with that is Jimin will end up going down with him.
“It is your fault,” Jimin repeats, punching a finger on Taehyung’s firm chest. “You messed it up. You lost your head back then. You asked me to be your heat partner and ruined everything.”
They’re not talking about the present anymore. Guilt leaks into Taehyung’s eyes before he shrugs. “And you agreed. It was all consensual.”
Jimin sees red. “Because you never left me alone!”
“Oh, stop that,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Quit acting like you didn’t have a choice. I never pressured you. I never threatened you. You chose to be with me. You chose to fuck me right back. Don’t be holier than thou just because your omega can’t handle its emotions.”
“Blaming my status, really?”
“All this because you can’t handle seeing baby alpha on a wheel,” Taehyung muses, tilting his head. Lavender wafts out in steady streams, and Jimin’s wolf howls inside. Taehyung smirks. “Or is it because you flung all those daggers on him, Jiminie?”
It hits him right in the gut. The guilt follows shortly after. “They— you made me hurt him.”
“But he’s not hurt, love,” Taehyung croons, nosing along Jimin’s forehead, barely touching his lips to his skin. Indescribable heat builds under his skin, and it’s all too confusing. Jimin is a ravaged mess. “You were so good. Still the Silver Dagger, aren’t you? After all these years.”
His slit leaks at the praise, and Jimin squeezes his legs shut. What’s happening? He had control just now. He is angry. Why is he reacting— “Don’t.”
“The way you did it too. Goddess, Seokjin’s face after you passed,” Taehyung murmurs, scenting Jimin slightly in the process of taking him in. “Got my cock all hard again.”
Jimin jolts in his place, hand tight around his dagger. His knees are weak. But this isn’t…no…he can’t; what about Jungkook? “He’s going to be sold, do you understand—”
“Jin-hyung’s toying with you,” Taehyung says, pressed impossibly close. His nose is right under Jimin’s ear, and it’s maddening. “I promise, baby, I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
Jimin doesn’t want to believe him— but Taehyung’s tone is sincere. He’d be a fool to trust him…but the fact remains— Jimin doesn’t know why Jungkook is here. If it even is Jungkook. He’s had zero contact with him since he left except for those string of text messages he’d left a while back. He’d blocked the contact straight away, so he doesn’t know. “I don’t believe you.”
Taehyung chuckles. His breath is warm against Jimin’s neck. “That’s okay. I don’t expect you to.”
And somehow, that cements the trust further. Jimin finds himself leaning into the alpha’s touch, and the conflict is heavy. He wants him but it’s not…it won’t be right. “Are you planning on stepping back?”
“Hmm, depends.”
“On?”
“What Abbeoji told you,” Taehyung purrs, and Jimin freezes. Right. He’d said some nasty things that he didn’t even mean. “Go on. Be a good little omega.”
Slick leaks and Jimin keeps squeezing. “Nothing else.”
“Really? Because it looked like you had a lot to say,” Taehyung says, searching Jimin’s face. Like this, he looks like a prowling panther, playful and dangerous. “I’m the family runt after all. I don’t get to hear what they think of me.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Now isn’t that just dangerous? Spreading lies like this,” Taehyung murmurs, his palm rubbing over Jimin’s sleeve, hot and heavy. Why isn’t Jimin stopping this? Do you want to? A voice asks, and Jimin briefly closes his eyes. “When you could be spreading something better.”
Quit acting like you didn’t have a choice, Taehyung had said, and Jimin wants to refute it— but he knows how much of a hypocrite he’d be. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re turned on.”
Oh, wow, just like that. Jimin snorts. “It’s biology. Happens to the best of us.”
Taehyung tuts. “This again?” He squeezes Jimin’s arms before trailing upward, toward his neck. Presses into his scent gland, and Jimin jolts again, the sudden pleasure throbbing straight to his slit. Taehyung doesn’t stop there, however, continuing to trace Jimin’s throat. Cupping under his jaw, and swiping his thumb across Jimin’s lower lip, slow enough that it bounces when he releases it. “What did you ask him?”
Jimin meets his eyes. Everything is a little heavy, his head fuzzy. He can and can’t think straight. “What he thought of my union with you.”
Taehyung smiles. It’s distractingly slow and self-satisfied. His thump brushes Jimin’s cheek in numbing circles. “Nothing grand, I’m sure.”
“He hates you.”
“Mm.”
“And you’re okay with that.”
“Clearly not, if I’m getting you to kill him, isn’t it?” Taehyung says, the words syrupy and honey-sweet. “What did you think of his response?”
Why is he dragging this on? “Does it matter?”
“Well,” Taehyung starts, tucking Jimin’s hair behind his ear. He should push him away. Right? Jimin shouldn’t be encouraging this. He’s mad at Taehyung. He’s angry at a lot of people. Mostly, he’s angry at himself. “You said it so casually. Hurt quite a bit, baby.”
Taehyung pouts, and Jimin’s mind is distracted again. He struggles— but against what? “Bullshit. You don’t get hurt.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t,” Jimin insists, more for his sanity and guilt than anything else. More so he can hold on to the idea that Taehyung is still that selfish, ruthless, emotionless jerk. More so he doesn’t have to face how steadily that image has broken over the past month and a half. “Let me go.”
“Do you really want to?” Taehyung asks, echoing Jimin’s wolf and pressing even closer, his scent so heavy with want that Jimin’s head spins. “You haven’t moved at all.”
“You haven’t let me.”
“Could have disarmed me a hundred times already, sweetheart,” Taehyung says, nosing along Jimin’s jaw, pressing soft kisses along his jawline. “Don’t do yourself such a disservice by pretending you’re helpless around me.”
“I’m—I—” Jimin closes his eyes, skin so hot it could peel by itself. His wolf is calm— like he’s in the right place at last. But no. This— this isn’t, he pleads with no one. It sounds like a lie even to him. “I don’t—”
“Unless you are?” Taehyung pulls back. Jimin isn’t breathing nearly enough. “Shall we check?”
Taehyung’s hand moves from the counter to Jimin’s waist, squeezing it briefly. Jimin doesn’t move even when it glides across his shirt and down his belly. To his pant buttons, Taehyung unclasping them deftly. “Still got time, love,” he sings, but all of Jimin throbs the closer Taehyung’s hand edges. Somehow, despite all his screaming accusations and his doubt, his wolf trusts Taehyung. It’s the calmest it’s ever been.
He finds himself relaxing when Taehyung’s hand dips inside, spreading his legs that he’d been squeezing shut. It’s an automatic reaction, mouth and throat flooded with warm lavender. He shudders when Taehyung’s cold fingers brush past his erect cock, squeezing it slightly in a loose circle, and rubbing the head of it with his palm.
“Look what we have here,” Taehyung croons, sliding his fist down. Jimin’s head falls back. “So hard already.”
It should be embarrassing how easy he is in the end, for all his rebellion. But his mind simply short circuits around Taehyung— whether it was in the past or now. His scent blockers have worn off, for the lavenders are in full bloom. Jimin’s mouth waters even as he wants to choke the ever-living shit out of Taehyung.
“You think you can say whatever you want just because I let you?” Taehyung asks, squeezing his cock in brief spurts. It's stiflingly hot, his dress shirt scratching against his sensitive skin. “Just because you learn some things about me? Got some nerve, darling.”
“You don’t own me,” Jimin gasps out, trying to push himself further and willing himself away from Taehyung’s scent gland. Shit, it’s so close. How did it get so close? Why is it so pink? “I can do whatever I want.”
“Sure, but does your wolf agree?” Taehyung smirks like he knows Jimin’s slicking up again. Jimin leaks some more, just to prove his point. Goddess, he hates his wolf so much. Taehyung doesn’t ask, but Jimin doesn't try to stop him either as Taehyung dives straight past and right into the wet, warm folds of his slit. Jimin keens as Taehyung spreads it, thumb stroking the underside of his cock. “So wet, Jimin-ah.”
Jimin spreads his legs some more, almost as if his body is on a different tangent, and whines as Taehyung creates an upward stroke. Shit, this is so humiliating...and exactly what he wants. Or his wolf wants. Thank goddess he's not naked or he’d be dripping on the floor like a whore. “S-shit.”
“Perfect like this,” Taehyung murmurs, voice a low growl as he wraps a hand around his cock again, using the slick to spread it all over. “Smell so good too. Could eat you right up.”
He's helpless in the face of this. Taehyung had been lying; Jimin can't move. Doesn't want to move, not when it feels so good. He doesn't want it to be a choice...but he wouldn't choose to be anywhere else either. What the hell?
Taehyung keeps stroking idly and mindlessly as if he doesn't care, as if it's just another task that he has to do. He looks so bored, and Jimin wants to change that. Alpha doesn't look happy, his wolf whines and Jimin squeezes his legs. But no words come, just wild whines like he's nothing more than a wolf from ancient times. Taehyung smirks at that.
His other hand that had been caging him slides up, touching but not until he holds Jimin by the back of his neck, supporting it— and then leans in to kiss him.
It's barely a press at first, so brief that Jimin doesn't register it. It's a detached thought. Kim Taehyung is kissing me. It shouldn't be such a surprise— they've made out plenty before. It used to be one of his favourite things, though it always led to sex. Or maybe a post-sex come down. Jimin remains there, taking it— and Taehyung takes it as a sign to go deeper, his hand still in Jimin's pants. He tips Jimin's head back and kisses, nipping at it until Jimin's lips open, and Taehyung's tongue swoops in.
It hits him then, his head coming back to the ground. Kim Taehyung is kissing me.
He pushes him away, though it barely creates a gap. "What the hell?"
Taehyung opens his eyes slowly, blinking at reality. His pupils are blown wide, and hungry. "Hmm?"
"I..." Jimin doesn't know what to say. He looks down, at where Taehyung's hand is still inside his pants, and he both craves it and wants it gone. He doesn't understand himself. "What—"
"Ah, I should have asked," Taehyung says, but he doesn't sound apologetic. It's playful yet respectful. "Must be too much for you, omega."
He takes out his hand agonisingly slow, brushing his knuckles past the wet folds and his still hard cock, up his shirt and exposed sliver of skin. Jimin breathes shallowly as Taehyung studies his hand. It's glistening wet with Jimin's slick, carrying a sharp scent of sweet orange. Jimin watches with wonder as if it's not his own.
Taehyung sucks them in, right down to the knuckle, staring at Jimin the whole while. His belly swoops, his wolf in a dizzy. He's taking our mark. He's ours.
"As expected," Taehyung whispers, tongue rolling around his middle finger, smacking his lips after. His eyes glitter with mirth. "You taste just like before, darling."
Jimin is helpless, and he’s lost the battle.
He doesn't think as he pulls Taehyung in by the collar, crashing their lips together. Doesn't think as he opens his mouth this time, tastes his slick on Taehyung's tongue and moans in response. Orange and something like…vanilla? Whatever it is, he comes up for air soon enough, and Taehyung fists his head, pulling it back as he pulls away, licking down Jimin's neck. He nips around his mating gland— and Jimin's wolf goes nuts.
"Not— not there," he gasps, some kind of pleasure and terror mixing in his head. He can't think clearly enough, lavender and sage thick in his throat. Taehyung moves away, sucking into the hollow of his throat, nosing along his scent gland so skilfully he pumps out lavender constantly. "Ah— please—"
"Be a good omega," Taehyung murmurs, lips brushing against his heated skin. Jimin can feel the texture of it. "You can take it, baby. You always have. Let alpha treat you right."
Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, heart so tight he's sure it can't be beating. There isn't any space for it to. Taehyung maps his skin, kissing down to his clavicle until he kneels, looking up at Jimin through his thick eyelashes. Jimin looks down, breath frozen as Taehyung pulls his pants down ever so slowly without breaking eye contact, lips curving into a slow smile. No way. No fucking way.
"Are— are you—" Jimin can't complete his sentence. This is too much. It's too soon. So you wanted to sleep with him all along? No, he didn't. Right? Jimin has his senses right. It's just that right now, he needs to let loose just for a bit.
"Shh," Taehyung says, pulling his underwear down; it sticks to the folds of his slit, wet through and through. "C'mon, open up. You can even ride my face if you do well."
A thick glob of slick leaks out at that, and Taehyung is quick to catch it with his tongue, swallowing it down with relish. Jimin is going to faint, and it’s going to be a pretty embarrassing position to faint in. Taehyung winks at him before diving in again— and Jimin has to fist his mouth to hold back the surprised scream.
Shit, he can't handle this. But he's at Taehyung's mercy as he eats him out relentlessly. Like it's the best meal, the only meal he'll ever get— and he'd die happily after. When he comes back up, Jimin’s just about ready to worship a new god. Taehyung’s mouth is slick-ridden— and he taps against Jimin's hip. "C'mon, sweetheart. You can do better than that, can't you?"
His voice is already hoarse, and the words go straight to Jimin's leaking cock, making it twitch. Taehyung's eyes land on it, and he smirks before taking it all the way in, hollowing his cheeks out while looking at Jimin with innocent eyes. Jimin can't help it.
He moves his hips in circles, holding onto the sink counter with both hands even as he flings a leg over Taehyung's shoulder, and driving himself even closer. He wants to be consumed by Taehyung, become one with him if needed — anything for that delicious high.
Once when they were sixteen, Taehyung had given him free rein during a heat. He could do anything to Taehyung, short of killing him. Though, Taehyung had been in a rut too. As it was, it had been fantastic. Sex as teenagers was just that— rough, hasty, and mostly about getting off as fast as possible. Getting a knot during a cycle and being on the way. As adults, however, it’s a lot different— Jimin now knows what he wants. He’s willing to wait for a good time. And if that means riding the fuck out of Kim Taehyung’s face—then so be it.
He goes for it, losing himself and his collected anger — or maybe the anger fuels him as it used to all his moments with Taehyung. Moans as Taehyung’s hands cup him from behind and his nails bite into his ass, pushing him forward, deeper. He alternates between his cock and his slit, slick dripping between the two. It’s disgusting.
It’s exactly what he needs.
It hits him in the middle somewhere, how no one's ever eaten him out with such relish. In camp, Jimin hardly ever allowed anyone else to do anything beyond fucking him; once he got out, he kept to himself, too paranoid to explore without a thorough background check. Even then, alphas weren't enthusiastic about his pleasure, and he'd come to expect that as an omega in the 'real world'.
Taehyung has never treated him less for being an omega and doesn’t even now.
In the ten years since, the alpha has only improved — where he practised it, Jimin doesn't want to think about it. His wolf briefly bristles, something like jealousy crowding its vision — but he ignores it in favour of the pleasure all over him.
It's been a long time since Jimin gave into the full pleasure of sex, without paranoia clouding him, and so he comes too soon—and too suddenly. Taehyung doesn't mind, however, taking it in like a champ. He goes on, sucking on Jimin’s cock till he’s too sensitive, stopping only when Jimin whines in pain.
Ridiculously so, he’s still turned on.
Taehyung is a mess when he finally comes up for air, springing to his feet— his mouth and parts of his neck wet with Jimin's slick, his shirt ruined at the collar, and his hair tangled from Jimin’s fists. He smells like oranges, and Jimin wants to be ruined by him still.
Taehyung seems to have the same idea.
“Turn around,” he commands, voice hoarse with want and use. In any other circumstance, Jimin would have bristled in offence, but right now he’s compliant. Loose in his mind, legs and power. Some bizarre sense of alpha said it taking over him “Need to reward you. Tasted so good baby. The very best.”
“Thank you, alpha,” Jimin says in a daze, the praise getting to his head. His brain is like cotton, slowly vanishing into that strange omega headspace he gets to when the pleasure is too good and his wolf is so close to the surface. No doubt his eyes must be ringed blue by now, and when he turns around— he can't believe his reflection. He looks downright debauched, face flushed and hair askew. He’s still wearing the dress shirt, naked at the bottom with his pants around his ankles. Slick drips steadily down the side of his thighs.
It’s both humiliating and thrilling at once.
The bathroom is dark, neither of them having switched on the lights — the only lights come from the windows high above, and it casts an eeriness that Jimin associates with scandalous affairs. Briefly, as Taehyung gets a condom out, Jimin thinks of how different this would have been if he were in a lighted room.
If he could see everything.
The alpha unzips his pants, and Jimin can’t see it but he can sense it, and taste the size of it already. Shit, he’s going to be fucked by Taehyung after ten years. There’s the familiar crinkle of the condom, the rough slide of it— and then Taehyung’s pressed against his back. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, and they're ringed dull gold.
“Look how needy you are already,” Taehyung whispers, tonguing at his lobe. Jimin pushes back, squirming so he can feel the hard length. “Talking all big until you get a cock in you. Then you’re just a brainless little slut, no?”
He is, he so is, especially when it came to Taehyung. He’d never admit it, not out loud. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me, alpha. Need it.”
“You’re so polite,” Taehyung says, nosing at Jimin’s neck. Licking at his swollen mating gland, but avoiding it, keeping in mind Jimin's plea. No teeth. “Not like on the dance floor, hmm? That was so rude.”
“I—I’m sorry, please—
“Since baby’s being so nice,” Taehyung hums, looking at them the whole while, “but I got a condition, love.”
“Anything.”
“Careful, Jimin, you know better,” Taehyung tuts, and Jimin’s wolf whines. Taehyung pecks his forehead again in a strange display of tenderness. He’s pressing in again, and Jimin is going to lose his mind. “You better look in the mirror. You look away and I leave. Got it?”
“Yes, yes, anything— oh," Jimin gasps, as Taehyung parts his legs and breaches his slit in one go. It’s incredible how full he feels. Jimin stares at himself in an almost detached manner, watching the way his mouth falls open, his cock jumping as Taehyung pushes in. It’s obscene but he can’t look away. Shouldn’t look away, because Taehyung said so.
“What a fuckable dream,” Taehyung whispers, simply staying, not yet moving. He hitches Jimin up, reaches out front and lifts the bottom of his shirt, spreading the folds of his slit snug around Taehyung's cock. Moon above, he looks so out of it already. “Look how it fits your tight little hole. And to think it’s been so disloyal.”
“No, alpha—”
“Who else did you fuck, Jimin?” Taehyung asks, pulling back out before thrusting in. The slide is obscene, his slit snapping right back into place before it stretches wide again. The image punches him straight to his gut more than the cock does, and Jimin whimpers. “How many alphas did you open yourself up for?”
“N-no one, kept to myself—”
“Omegas then? Betas?” Taehyung barely sounds winded, fucking in and out steadily while Jimin holds onto the counter for dear life. He wants to close his eyes and throw his head back, but he refuses to look away from his reflection. Taehyung can't leave now. “Sluts like you are up for anything, no?”
“No, alpha, please—”
“So fucking wet. Dripping all over the place. Creating a mess,” Taehyung hums. He’s not wrong; Jimin is leaking despite the cock in the way. He’s always been messy. “Good I’m not fucking you raw. Imagine the mess if I came in you.”
The image appears unbidden as if it's happening right now. Taehyung going in raw, Jimin able to feel every inch of his cock viscerally. The rough slide, skin to raw skin until Taehyung comes inside. Fucking it back into him, refusing to let it out, and his slit dripping with slick and come both. Goddess, he’s not even in his heat but he needs it. "Don't stop. Please don't —ah—stop."
"As long as you are a good omega," Taehyung says, bending Jimin over the counter while fisting a hand in his hair, pulling him up to watch. He is, he's such a good omega. The very best, loose and pliant and perfect. The right fit for his alpha. He's taking care of us, his wolf nudges, and Jimin agrees. Sweat runs down his hairline, his shirt dotted with it. "You are, aren't you?” Jimin’s mouth remains slack open, and Taehyung slaps his ass. “Answer me.”
"Y-yes," Jimin gasps, eyes rolling briefly as the cock reaches deep within. Taehyung pulls him back up, chest hitting his back just like at the dance, his other hand spreading across and pressing into his belly. He squeezes before reaching down, getting hold of Jimin's cock and stroking it. "Oh, Moon above, p-please—"
Taehyung turns his face to the mirror, holding it in place—and watches Jimin getting fucked. The way he strokes, the way Jimin is at his mercy — the sounds they make, skin slapping and clothes rustling—is too much. He twists his hand a little — and Jimin comes first, staining the basin sink and the mirror. God, he’s such a mess.
He keeps pliant while Taehyung uses him to chase his own release, burying his face into Jimin's scent gland and groaning out loud, pressed impossibly tight until— he comes as well. If it had been a rut or a heat, there would have been a knot. They would have been locked while Jimin’s slit milked the hell out of it.
All at once, they both relax, though Taehyung's softening cock throbs inside of him, and his slit still leaks, creating a puddle on the floor. His suit is ruined for certain, but it's okay — Jimin didn't pay for it. Taehyung breathes out in short huffs, his chest rising and falling with his hands still wrapped around Jimin. He pulls out in one go, and Jimin is empty so suddenly his wolf cries. He tamps down on it — he's not in heat. Still, his slit flutters, searching for more. It'll take some time to return back to normal.
Taehyung looks up at their reflection again — and turns Jimin around, pressing him back against the sink counter—before kissing him.
If anything else, the kiss is even filthier. Messy, and he can taste himself on Taehyung. Like overly sweet oranges, just tart at the end. Jimin sucks on Taehyung’s tongue while the alpha shoves his fingers into his slit again, pushing him to the point of sensitivity— and Jimin loves it. It’s disgusting how much he loves it. He comes again, though barely any slick dribbles out the third time. He's been well and truly fucked. Just as you deserve.
Once done, Taehyung comes close again, pecking him twice. It’s sweet, for whatever just happened. Jimin’s heart races in tandem with their chests.
He realises vaguely what he’s just done—that is, open himself up like a slut and enjoy it.
Jimin hasn’t changed at all, has he?
It seems Taehyung is coming to terms as well because his eyes widen — he's a right mess, hair askew, smelling like leftover slick and sex, lips bitten pink and swollen — his eyes return to brown as his wolf recedes, and something like guilt floods them instead. Jimin can feel a familiar realisation chasing him, and leans away, bending down to pick up his pants and fastening them again even though they're ruined.
“I should clean up,” he murmurs, looking away. “It’s a bit— um. Messy.”
That's what he chooses to say first? After the brilliant fucking that he should have not enjoyed?
Taehyung blinks. Looks down and then— flushes. Looks away like he hadn’t just been uttering the filthiest things in Jimin’s mouth, ears and slit. “Right. You should— I mean, I should go.”
“Right.”
It’s awkward. This is why Jimin doesn’t like the whole casual sex thing, even when he’d been away. It’s so fucking awkward after. And it’s weirder now because it’s Taehyung and Jimin’s fucked him before, but he hasn’t in ten years and—
And he still blows Jimin’s mind.
Taehyung backs away, tucking himself in, and walks out, closing the bathroom door. Jimin stares— and then, he turns around, screaming silently into his shirt.
He showers in a daze, his mind an incoherent mess. His wolf is the quietest it’s been—there is contentment and satisfaction whenever Jimin checks in. He quickly backs away whenever he faces it.
Contentment should not be what he feels after fucking Taehyung.
But hasn’t that always been the case? The Voice asks, and Jimin shakes his head, letting the water cascade over him as a waterfall. Their past conquests used to be rushed and dizzy. Not safe. Yet you only ever chose him as your heat partner. Except for that one time. And looked how that turned out for you, remember?
Shut up, shut up, Jimin pleads, holding onto the tiles for support. He doesn’t want to take a trip down memory lane, can’t afford to do so. It’s been ten years, he needs to move on.
He cleans himself out thoroughly until his slit is raw, his thighs, hips and lower back twinging with each moment. Goddess, what had he done? All those promises, all that determination—only for him to get fucked anyway, and enjoy it. All Jimin wanted was to get done with this mission so he can get back to his life…but can he really? When his life inevitably had come back here?
It’s useless thinking so much; he washes up, switching his mind off as he goes about the task on autopilot. He dresses in his softest pair of pyjamas, and when he exits the bathroom—the room is silent.
Taehyung is nowhere to be found.
Which is well. Right? Jimin doesn’t want to see him, not so soon after—everything. Even if his wolf wakes up in his chest at the lack of an alpha, it’s not Jimin’s alpha so he shouldn’t care.
He feels alone and small in the too-big bed without him anyway.
The sheets smell like them, and it’s comforting. Over the past month, it’s been entrenched gradually and now, Jimin finds himself inching closer to Taehyung’s pillow. To think they’d been sleeping together literally, but tonight is when they both let loose. Taehyung hadn’t even asked him…but Jimin hadn’t denied him either. They both wanted this.
Jimin takes his first lungful of lavender when the door opens—and he jumps back, burrowing himself under the blankets.
Taehyung walks in quietly, flushed from a fresh shower. His damp hair hangs over his face, and Jimin watches with bated breath as the alpha walks over. But instead of coming to bed—Taehyung walks to the storage closet, taking out an extra set of pillows and blankets. He holds them under his arms before walking back out—and Jimin doesn’t think before sitting up, wolf sitting on his chest. “Where are you going?”
Shit. He could have kept quiet and let it go, but no, he had to open his mouth. Serves him right.
Taehyung stops, turning around in surprise. In the afterglow of the moonlight streaming through the bedroom windows, he looks innocent and— safe. Angelic even, so close to the version of Boy Taehyung Jimin’s kept close to his heart all these years. The version he’d liked the most.
“Ah, I’m sleeping in another room,” Taehyung says, holding up the blankets. “Don’t want to, uh—put you in an awkward space.”
It’s…thoughtful, and Jimin is surprised once again. There’s a warm sphere of approval glowing inside his chest, and Jimin buries himself further. “What about—what about the others, won’t they think it’s weird?”
“We had a fight, so you wanted to be left alone,” Taehyung answers smoothly as if he’s thought this through. Every moment, of his life, was a living, breathing narrative. Jimin wonders if he ever knew the real Taehyung. “I’m sure no one will look into it too deeply.”
They might not, but Jimin is suddenly afraid. Jungkook has been brought into the picture, which means Seokjin is playing some sort of game— Jimin needs to be on his toes. He’s not sure what it means for the two of them or Taehyung’s scheme, but something is wrong. They have to hold a stronger front now more than ever.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” he says, pulling back the sheets on Taehyung’s side. Being so close to him after what happened is maybe not the wisest decision—but Jimin doesn’t want to be alone. Whether fighting or sex— Jimin’s always liked post-combat cuddles. Not that he is seeking them from Taehyung explicitly. “We can’t afford to fight now.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow but walks slowly toward the bed. He assesses Jimin head to toe, as if checking for the truth— and nods. “Why can’t we?”
“Because something’s up with Seokjin,” Jimin says, tucking the blankets under his chin. “I think we need to be alert.”
“Is it because of—?”
“Yes.”
Taehyung doesn’t ask for clarification, spreading the blankets and getting in. The lavender is all around them, and Jimin subtly inhales, wanting more. Something else tickles him—sage. Taehyung’s secondary scent…but it’s stronger now than before. And unlike before, it doesn’t turn him on as much as it soothes him. Contentment.
The alpha is sweet enough, adding a wall of pillows anyway even though it’s proved futile before. Maybe now their subconscious will be more aware and keep them in line. Jimin settles in, feeling whole and sated. It’s different from the satisfaction of being fucked out.
Neither of them sleep, though— Jimin can sense how awake Taehyung is, how fast his heart beats the longer they stay. Yet one more thing that they will bury and never talk about, but which will inevitably intrude. A futile attempt to pretend, because now the lines have been crossed.
They can still try though. Right?
Except, it seems Taehyung has other ideas.
“Was it good?” Taehyung asks suddenly, just as Jimin’s turned out the lights and burrowed in— but he can’t sleep. The air is too thick with tension.
“Hmm?”
“Fucking me,” Taehyung continues, probably ripping the band-aid right off. That’s new. Taehyung never used to ask before. They both kept coming back to each other, so it was understood. “Was it good for you?”
“Why do you care?” Jimin asks, then winces because— there’s no need to be mean about it. It’s just a question. “It’s just sex.”
He knows it’s a lie the moment he says it. Frankly, he doesn’t know what it is, but it’s definitely more than sex. He knows it. Taehyung definitely knows it. Both will avoid reality though.
“Sure,” Taehyung says after a while, and Jimin can tell it’s not what he wanted to say. Probably changed track because of Jimin’s response. “It should still be good for you.”
It’s so different now. Why does Taehyung care? It’s not like they’re lovers or people— with emotional feelings to care about. And yet…
“Yeah. It was good,” Jimin says, flushing at the admission. It feels a lot like submitting, like letting Taehyung win. He expects Taehyung to gloat, and tease him for finally saying it. Waits for it.
“I’m glad,” is what Taehyung says instead, and Jimin stiffens. “It was good for me too. Good night, Jiminie.”
Then he turns away—but Jimin is left ruminating the rest of the night.
🖤⚔🖤
He wakes up the next morning to an empty bed.
Taehyung’s side of the bed is, for once, neatly made—and something about the difference puts off Jimin’s mood instantly. Mostly because—well. It brings to reality what transpired last night.
The mad dash of hormones and anger that led them to cross every line they’d made. Or well, Jimin had made, in his mind at least.
With that, all the other, more pressing events start coming as well—the auction. The socialising, and the dancing with Taehyung. His conversation with Joonjae, and his failed assassination attempt. The Kingpin overcoming even thallium, and that still raises goosebumps on Jimin’s exposed skin. How exactly was Joonjae built that he could resist the Perfect Poison?
The images spin in a spiral, and despite sleeping mostly okay—Jimin’s temples bloom with a headache. The challenge issued by Seokjin. And—the boy on the wheel.
Jungkook.
Before he knows it, Jimin rushes out of bed and hurls into the toilet, unable to bear the reality. Now that he’s sober and not scent-crazed or itching to let loose—he can somewhat…accept the possibility. Jungkook, his Jungkook, had somehow come into camp—how or more importantly, why, is something Jimin can’t answer.
Had Seokjin researched Jimin’s background and decided to play offence? No, that doesn’t make sense, since he’d said that Jungkook had trespassed. Which means…Jungkook had somehow tracked Jimin all the way here, and somehow got caught. That was the only explanation.
Jimin spends a lot of time showering, hoping to avoid all of it.
Once he’s done, his wolf makes the choice for him. It won’t do well to leave the pack behind, it reminds him, and Jimin accepts with quiet defeat. Pack, yes. Unofficial, but something Jimin had felt strongly about—it’s that very phantom bond that makes Jimin dress up and leave the safety of his room.
The moment he does, an attendant appears out of nowhere. Jimin reaches instinctively for his dagger—but the attendant bows. “Park Jimin-ssi. You have been summoned.”
Summoned? What, like it’s some kind of court? Jimin raises an eyebrow. “By whom?”
The attendant rises up, face impassive. “Master Seokjin-nim. He’s waiting in the estate gardens, the Dahlia Wing.” With that, he leaves—and Jimin is left with one more decision to make.
He walks towards the gardens without any hesitation. His wolf is on alert, and he knows why Seokjin is engaging in this contrived spectacle of power. At last, he has a win— striking Jimin where it hurts the most.
Seems like the Kim brothers have a thing for walking all over Jimin’s heart.
The walk is over in a moment, the gardens a breath of fresh air. In the past, they were Jimin’s favourite place to kill time— when he wasn’t busy training, reading or perfecting himself. Most trainees avoided it, so they used to be blissfully empty—and the same is true even now. At least his mood is calm as he walks towards potentially damning news.
Seokjin is sitting on one of the white garden chairs, dressed in a crisp suit and sipping at something. He looks picture-perfect—immaculate, unlike Jimin’s preference for oversized sweaters and skinny pants. The omega always has a way of making others feel less than others—but Jimin stands his ground, making sure his wolf doesn’t automatically submit. He clears his throat, and Seokjin looks up, breaking into a smile. “Jimin-ssi.”
“Seokjin-ssi,” Jimin replies stiffly, bowing slightly. He continues standing, crossing his arms. “You wanted to see me?”
“Ah, yes. Thank you for responding so quickly,” Seokjin says, his tone honey-sweet. Already, Jimin’s stomach rumbles with nausea. “Just wanted to check-in. How are you?”
Why does everything in this stupid house have to be a spectacle? Jimin bites his tongue as he holds a neutral stance. “I’m good. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you left so suddenly last night,” Seokjin says, eyes innocent. “It was so busy, I didn’t have the time.”
So this is how it’s going to be. Jimin decides then not to acknowledge the man on the wheel unless Seokjin brings it up himself. “How kind of you. Yes, I had a—stomach bug.”
It’s ridiculous, and Seokjin’s eye twitches a moment. “Oh no. Is it better now?”
“Much.”
“You can avail the facilities of the Estate Healer whenever you want,” Seokjin says, sipping. He pours tea into another cup and pats the chair next to his. “Come, sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Stomach bugs make you weak,” Seokjin says, danger laced into his sweet tone for the first time. “I would hate for you to stand.”
Jimin weighs his options and then chooses the wiser one. “What’s in this?”
“Simple jasmine. A personal favourite.”
Jimin wonders if he should ask about poison…but that would bring in hostility, and bad memories. “Same here.”
If Seokjin’s waving a white flag, fake as it is…Jimin can play along. They sip in silence, and the tea is delicious, damn it. Better than the store-bought Jimin’s come to rely on. The benefits of having a personal chef.
“So,” Seokjin starts, and Jimin’s instantly on alert, though he keeps his upper body loose. Not that it can fool someone as highly trained as Seokjin. “How was the auction?”
“Surprisingly well-planned,” Jimin says. “And…enjoyable.”
“Really? I’m glad.” Seokjin sips again, and Jimin can practically see the cogs in his mind turning. “And the entertainment? Was it up to your liking?”
His eyes are carefully trained, a dull ring of blue the only indication of his interest. He’s measuring every inch of Jimin’s expressions, so Jimin is extra careful as he sips. “They were splendid. Really enjoyed the opportunity to show off my knife skills.” He smiles prettily at Seokjin. “You really are such a capable omega, no?”
Instead of preening at the praise, Seokjin’s lips curl briefly, an irate look over his face. Pushing Jimin’s buttons, how cute. Pity praise doesn’t work on Seokjin, since it looks like only daddy dearest has that honour. “Of course. Your skills were, ah, sorely missed after you escaped.”
“Left.”
“My apologies,” Seokjin says, not sounding apologetic at all. It’s a game that began last night, and Jimin’s claws are ready. “Care for a stroll?”
With Seokjin? A recipe for boredom and torture. But…maybe, he can glean some information about Jungkook? A tiny part of Jimin wants to hold on to the delusion that he saw someone else…but Jimin’s never been fond of lying.
“Actually, I don’t mind,” Jimin says, standing up and stretching. “Lead the way.”
For as long as he can, he’s going to avoid giving in to Seokjin. The omega slowly gets up, pushing in the chair excruciatingly slowly as if giving Jimin time to confess something. Unfortunately for Seokjin, Jimin is smarter.
Seokjin begins walking, and Jimin follows a couple of steps behind. It’s painfully boring—the gardens are lovely, but Seokjin isn’t good company. Or maybe it’s because of their history and bad blood—not necessarily hate, but an overwhelming sense of competition constantly, different from the rivalry he had with Taehyung. Becoming the best assassin without being an Elite and catching Joonjae’s favour early on…after last night, Jimin can safely assume the dynamic Seokjin shares with Joonjae.
An unloved child, perhaps made worse by his omega status. Joonjae’s underhanded tactics to create chaos, to breed mistrust and fractures so he could hold individual power over everyone else…Jimin’s once again sick with it. He’d said those mean things to Taehyung, but he regrets it. Even without a family, Jimin understands the hurts they leave behind.
As they walk, Jimin notices them going off route. He keeps alert, on the lookout for any unsavoury elements—maybe other assassins kept around to harm Jimin now that he’s alone. Seokjin, however, casually strolls, checking his phone before halting in place. Jimin runs into his back, stumbling.
“Ah, would you mind a detour?” Seokjin asks, frowning at his phone. “Something important has come up.”
“I can leave you to it if you want,” Jimin says cordially, making to move—but Seokjin holds his shoulder. Seokjin nods and Jimin raises his eyes. “You sure?”
“It’s not private,” Seokjin snorts, but there is a strange, distracted look in his eyes. “Up to you, honestly.”
Ah, so code for you should definitely come, I have another surprise for you. Jimin is tired, but he also needs to find Jungkook soon—and Seokjin is the key to it. So he follows, and they make a whole round the gardens until they come to a backdoor in some sort of tool shed. There’s a guard at the door that salutes and opens the door for them.
Inside is a dark...tunnel of sorts, smelling damp and musky with enough of the winter chill seeping right into Jimin’s bones. “Where are we?”
“One of the playrooms of the estates,” Seokjin says, switching on his phone light and leading the way. “Been here since campgrounds were established.”
“Even before Joon—Daebonim took over?”
“Yes. You’ll see.”
Jimin doesn’t see anything, but that’s beside the point. It’s uncomfortably cramped, the stone walls moist with moss growing in some tile junctions. Apart from the musty smell is the collective scent of scent-blockers—and a faint, acrid note of burnt cedarwood.
His heart skips a beat, but Jimin keeps quiet. Not until he’s seen it with his own eyes.
Seokjin’s broad back takes up nearly all the space in the passageway. They walk until the path begins getting wider, with more room for air to flow in an eerie pattern. The closer they get, the more Jimin’s worst fears begin to take root.
Somewhere in this horrible entrapment, Jungkook is a prisoner.
His guess is confirmed when the passageway opens into a huge room lit up by a harsh, almost chemically white light—and in the middle sits him. Jimin’s best friend, his dearest dongsaeng.
Jeon Jungkook looks worse than when Jimin had left him all those months ago.
He’s sitting unconscious, tied down to the chair with industrial-grade ropes—Jimin now knows the cause of Jungkook’s chafed wrists and ankles. He’s wearing the same outfit from last night— tatters of it anyway, showing his muscled yet weak structure. Up close, his lip is cut and clotted, his one eye swollen shut. His hair is a greasy mess, and there are marks of violence littered all over his body.
It takes every inch of patience and willpower to keep his temper down. Instead, Jimin crosses his arms, nails biting into his skin as he nods at the captive. “Who’s this?”
“Surely you know him,” Seokjin purrs, walking over to behind Jungkook, hands in his pockets. This close and still Jungkook’s scent is faint—most regular people including cops didn’t wear scent blockers. How long had Jungkook remained like this for his scent to weaken so thoroughly? “Said he’s a friend of yours.”
Jimin’s wolf whines inside, guilt threatening to overwhelm him. In the end, nothing good ever came out of associating with him. His parents left him behind. His friends were in danger because of him. Jungkook looks close to death right now. All because they knew Jimin. And yet. “Really? I don’t recognise him.”
Maybe it’s risky of him to play stupid when he’s lost all the odds of winning. The ball is in Seokjin’s court, and Jimin’s teetering a dangerous line. Seokjin’s lips curl, his politeness long gone. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jimin-ssi. Cut it out.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jimin continues, wanting to see what Seokjin does. If he does anything to Jungkook—Jimin’s not above fighting dirty. If he goes down for it, he’ll take the entire camp down with him. “Isn’t he the boy I put all my darling knives around?”
“Goddess above, you’re infuriating,” Seokjin says, whacking the back of Jungkook’s head; the alpha starts stirring awake—and terror swoops in quickly. Oh, Moon above, Jungkook will see him. “I wonder what my brother sees in you to keep dating such a liar.”
Jimin keeps silent.
“But wait…you’re not actually dating, are you, Jimin-ssi?” Seokjin begins, and Jimin tamps down on the panic. Oh no. Jungkook must have told him about the night of the birthday dinner, shit. “Because according to your little friend here…you and Taehyung weren’t dating at all.”
“Seeing as how I don’t know him, I’m not sure who he is talking about,” Jimin says, quietly removing his dagger and cleaning under his nails. Seokjin’s eyes zero upon it. “All these games are getting really boring, Seokjin-ssi. This obsession with Taehyung and I…it’s getting really pathetic.”
Seokjin’s eye twitches even as his face pinks with rage. “Obsession—”
“Like, do you not have anything better to do?” Jimin asks innocently, blinking. “Does the camp not have jobs anymore? It is looking a lot emptier, I must say. Maybe instead of trying to, I don’t know, ambush me by making up fake people, you could do better. Maybe then your father will actually see you as worthy.”
It’s a cheap shot, to use a person’s feelings about their parents against them…but Jimin wants Seokjin to pay a hundred times over for touching a single hair on Jungkook’s precious scalp. He deserves to be put in his place.
He should also know when to run his mouth though, that’s for certain.
Seokjin moves in a blur, a pocket knife out in a second and held against Jungkook’s throat. Even exposing his neck doesn’t allow the scent to permeate, and that’s how Jimin knows it’s bad. Whatever they’ve done to Jungkook…
“Last chance, Jimin-ssi,” Seokjin whispers, eyes a bright, cobalt blue as he presses the blade into Jungkook’s pale, dirty skin. “Confess, and he’ll live.”
“Confess what?” Jimin asks casually, leaning against the wall in curated nonchalance. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You’re not here for any benevolent reasons,” Seokjin says, teeth gritting. “This contrived spectacle you and my brother have concocted ends now.”
“Moon above, I told you, I am courting Taehyung and we intend to mate, why does it not get into your thick skull—”
“I’m counting to three.”
“Oh, I’m so scared,” Jimin taunts, though he is, he’s terrified. “Go ahead, kill him. What does the death of a stranger matter to me?”
Seokjin raises his eyebrows. Jimin meets his eye for an eye. Seokjin presses the blade, and a pool of blood emerges. “Go on. Drop the farce.”
Jimin looks him in the eye, dagger already out behind his back. “Do your worst, you jealous cunt.”
The scent in the room burns like ash, and Seokjin’s eyes glow bright blue before he shrugs, and makes a slice on Jungkook’s skin.
Jimin twirls the dagger ready to throw it when—
Jungkook jerks suddenly, screaming in complete agony. At the same time, a sudden light bursts from his neck, nearly blinding Jimin in the process. He stumbles back, shielding himself—and when it dies down, Jungkook is sagging in the chair and passed out again.
A fresh…Soul Mark glares from under his mating gland.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
*inhale* GAAAAAAAAAH
I cannot BELIEVE I wrote smut. Me. The explicit kind. I don't even care if it's not the best but I really pushed myself/have been pushing myself in the course of writing this fic, especially the conflict I've felt for years regarding being asexual and liking erotica etc etc. so this is a win for me. 6k of it too omg :") I genuinely enjoyed it and it was interesting (if relieving) to finally get these idiots to boink hehe.
andddddd the ending HAHAHA as if I won't leave y'all with ANOTHER cliffhanger tee hee. I'm hoping to have ch 15 out by next week (would love to end the year at a nice multiple of 5). but whoopee we have now begun progressing towards revealing the secrets before the plot thickens. Some of you guessed it, and I'm grateful for your interest. Thank you so much.
My end goal for 2022 is to get ch 15 out. So I'll write any new year sap hopefully in that one. Still, I hope you enjoyed reading this! Scream at me in the comments if you want! I will feast! HAPPY HOLIDAYS MWAH:*
Chapter 15: Finders, Keepers
Notes:
I did it!!! I made it to the end of the year with an update and I'm ending it on a multiple of 5:") please note- this is not my best edit and I still feel like something is missing but this was the best I could get out.
In time for Taehyung's bday (well, not KST time anyway lmao) so that's another reason to celebrate!
warning: scene of an imposition/description of those feelings. take care.
Please read the AN at the end!!Thank you!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Few things were worse than getting injured in training. Getting a heat was one of them.
Though Jimin knew it was coming, the pain was still a shock. An uncomfortable cramping around his lower belly, knees weak as jelly and hot flushes in the middle of the day began striking him three days before his scheduled heat. What was more embarrassing was the abruptness with which his slit leaked.
It was even more humiliating that somehow Kim Taehyung could smell him.
They’d agreed upon sharing their respective cycles— it just had to be Jimin’s luck that this was one more thing he would share with the alpha. But if Taehyung’s guess was true— if sharing a cycle really took care of the pain, then Jimin would gladly get fucked into oblivion.
That part was still a little icky to think about, even if a strange sense of thrill bloomed in between. Sex with Taehyung. It would be a lie to say Jimin hadn’t given in to the curious thought once or twice, but he had kept a distance as much as possible. He’d understood the first day of the presentation— there was something his stupid wolf liked about Taehyung.
Jimin wasn’t about to let that distraction take place.
For all he knew, it could be yet another tactic the alpha came up with to disrupt Jimin’s flow and mess up his internal scores, toppling him off the first place. Jimin refused to lose to anyone, even if that person was passably hot and smelled really, really good.
Despite their agreement, Jimin and Taehyung hardly ever interacted otherwise, the dynamic remaining the same— rivals through and through, and their status was not about to change that. Sure, there was the occasional crude mark Taehyung made to impress his cronies, Jimin’s cheeks flushing at the implications— but he could manage that. Except when the alpha’s nose flared in their shared classes, and Jimin knew it was because of him— somehow, Taehyung could never hide in front of Jimin.
He ignored it in favour of his sanity, but his heat was approaching soon— and he would eventually have to face the reality. He was about to share his heat cycle for the first time with none other than his sworn rival.
In the middle of preparing, Jimin wondered why he said yes.
He could have had anyone. There were plenty of takers, eager little alpha pups wanting to bed a fertile omega who’d only be knot-crazy. Especially if that omega was Jimin, notorious for turning down requests without care.
Maybe that was why. Jimin was too proud to ask for help, and Taehyung simply wanted to shove his knot into a willing omega. He wasn’t bad to look at either, which made the whole ordeal a lot easier to bear.
Jimin tried not to imagine Taehyung during sex.
Still, he had a nagging feeling that like all things, Taehyung would be good at it. And somehow, that irked him even more. Great, one more area for Jimin to compete in and prove himself.
He was nearly immobile on the morning of his heat, groaning in pain even as he held the hot water bottle to his belly. The camp healer had taken pity, and while Jimin hated that— his pain was too great to hold up to his pride.
Hours later, when Taehyung came by, at last, his scent entered with him— and the pain reduced. Just like that.
“You weren’t kidding, holy shit,” Jimin said, somehow summoning the strength to rise up and at least sit in bed. He could feel it growing, the time between flushes reducing as a consistent heat began taking over. He’d done this thrice and was still unused to the sensations. The way his legs fell apart under the blanket, his neck itching at the new scent. Jimin dug his nails into his thighs when Taehyung lifted his bag over his head, exposing a sliver of his skin. “It doesn’t hurt now.”
“Figured it out after I read a couple of books,” Taehyung murmured, rummaging in his bag. He didn’t look as bad as Jimin. In fact, he looked nervous, refusing to look Jimin in the eye. But he could tell; Taehyung’s nose flared with each inhale of Jimin’s scent that must have been overpowering the room. “My rut’s supposed to start a couple of hours after yours.”
“So what— I’m just supposed to sit here while you wait?” Jimin snorted, the idea abrasive to his wolf. “You don’t get to enjoy the free show, y’know.”
He slapped his mouth as soon as he said it, horrified at the casual flirtation. Shit, was this how his omega would show itself, just for some knot? Taehyung blushed, scratching the back of his neck.
“I can— I can help you out, no worries,” Taehyung said, sounding plenty worried. Jimin tilted his head, and Taehyung’s eyes zoomed right on it. It did something, that look, Jimin’s slit throbbing. “Whatever you want.”
“Aren’t you polite all of a sudden,” Jimin mused, pushing himself up the bed. Doubt gnawed at him at Taehyung’s reactions. “Have you done this before?”
“What?”
“Helped an omega in heat?” Taehyung shook his head, and a part of Jimin felt relieved. Then he frowned. Why did he care anyway? “You seem nervous, that’s why.”
“Just— new, I suppose.”
Jimin stared. Taehyung refused to look up, his ears red—and then it hit him.
He began cackling. “Moon above. You’ve never fucked before, have you?”
Taehyung looked up then, scowling. “I know what I have to do.”
“What, shove your itty bitty cock in me and come?” Jimin sniggered, enjoying the dark look in Taehyung’s eyes, the pink flush on his cheeks. “Doesn’t matter. We’re gonna be too dazed to give a shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Still,” Jimin said out loud, delighted at the opportunity. “To think I’ll be your first, Taehyung, wow.”
“Shut up.”
“Consider yourself honoured. I’ve heard grand reviews about myself.”
“Suppose you have, with all that practice,” Taehyung muttered. He shoved his hands in his bag, coming out with a couple of toys. Jimin blushed at the sheer amount of them. Taehyung took one shaped like a curved flat rock, chucking it at Jimin. “Entertain yourself. I’ll watch until it’s time.”
The words shouldn’t have driven up the heat simmering under his skin but regardless, slick began leaking out of Jimin’s hole. He studied the object, reaching to click a button before it gently began vibrating in his palm. He dropped it with a yelp—before looking up to catch Taehyung’s gaze. The alpha’s eyes flickered gold, and something like hunger hung heavy in them.
Jimin wanted to tease him a bit more. But as the heat began taking over, he found that it was much, much easier to cater to such a pretty alpha— until it was time for their union at last.
🖤⚔🖤
For a moment, all Jimin can do is stare.
And then he shrieks.
Seokjin looks up in triumph, blade still held against Jungkook’s throat, but Jimin stares at the Soul Mark pulsating under Jungkook’s mating gland, closer to black but in reality, dark vibrant indigo. The skin around it is flared pink, almost as if the mark is being branded onto his neck.
The triumph barely lasts a moment before the knife falls with a clatter, Seokjin dropping the knife while he yelps like a kicked pup, scratching incessantly at his collar. His collar falls open, revealing his mating gland where…a similar Soul Mark glows, as if someone, no, the Moon Goddess herself, is drawing it on him, her proclamation that…that—
Jimin points at— something, he’s not sure, maybe Jungkook or Seokjin at this point— and Seokjin looks down at Jungkook’s exposed neck just as the alpha collapses, falling down the chair and unconscious once again. His eyes flicker in rapid movement, brief rings of gold lighting underneath.
Seokjin looks up to meet Jimin’s eyes next— and the blue rings around his pupils are the brightest they have ever been, pulsing with a horrific realisation.
Jungkook and Seokjin are True Mates.
Just then, a door crashes open and an omega guard comes rushing in, his face set in panic. “Boss! Daebonim is on his way!”
The moment is broken, whatever conclusion the two of them were coming to put aside as they jump into action. Anxiety swoops into Jimin’s belly, unsure of where to begin— all he knows is something is about to go very, very wrong if he doesn’t do something. Seokjin turns to the guard, body on full alert. “What do you mean, he’s here?”
The omega guard frowns. “Huh? You’d invited him, remember? And asked us to tell you as soon as he did.”
“R-right,” Seokjin says, skin pale and frame shaking. His collar covers his mating gland, but his hands edge towards it unconsciously. Seokjin curls them into tight fists. “Right. He’s coming. Of course.”
His voice shakes, and it’s nowhere close to the Seokjin Jimin knows and has grown up with, and though he has bigger things to worry about such as Jungkook’s bruised and battered body lying on the ground, something about the entire situation feels wrong. Jimin can’t smell Seokjin, but his own wolf claws at his chest. Omega isn’t doing well.
Strange. It’s only ever woken up for Hoseok’s omega, and only once. And that’s when he’d been close to Hoseok; Seokjin means nothing to Jimin.
“Seokjin, what’s going on?” Jimin asks, leaning down and brushing back Jungkook’s hair— immediately, there is a hiss in his vicinity, and Jimin looks up to find Seokjin’s glaring at him, his eyes bright cobalt blue. His own omega responds by asking Jimin to back away— he’s encroaching on something, though he’s not sure what. “Why is Joon— why is Daebonim coming here?”
Seokjin waves the guard away absently, his eyes trained on Jungkook’s neck. The mark is still fresh, though Jimin has never seen one so loud. “I— I called him.”
Jimin frowns. “You called him?” Seokjin nods, beads of sweat forming on his otherwise immaculate forehead. “Why?”
“Because I—I wanted to show him,” Seokjin says almost in a daze. He leans down next to Jungkook, edging close as if he can’t help himself— before recoiling, disgust and confusion flashing across his face. He looks at Jimin with thinly-veiled hostility. “I wanted to show him as the liar you are.”
Jimin blinks as the meaning settles in— before he groans. No fucking way. “Are you serious?”
“I had no choice!” Seokjin snaps, backing away from Jungkook and pacing. It’s strange to see the princely perfect Kim Seokjin cracking right in front of him. “I have to protect the camp— and you are up to something.”
He is, but the fact that Seokjin probably tracked Jungkook and brought him all the way here boils Jimin’s blood. Spoilt, prickly asshole. “You’re fucking unbelievable. I told you multiple times why I’m here; why the fuck would you do this to my friend?”
“So you admit it! You do know him!” Seokjin says, but his eyes shake, none of the earlier triumph merging into them. His shoulders deflate just as fast. “I don’t— I didn’t ever think—”
“I don’t fucking care what you think or believe,” Jimin says, stepping close, hands itching to get his knife out and carve the ever-loving shit out of Seokjin. “But right now you need to do—”
“Oh, Moon above,” Seokjin says suddenly, scratching at his gland and coming to terms with a glaring reality. “Oh, Goddess no. No, this can’t be.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “Now what?”
“We’re— he’s my —we’re mates?” Seokjin says though it sounds like a question. His hand shakes as he covers his mouth with it in mild horror. “Oh, shit.”
“Moon, what?”
“Abbeoji can’t know about this,” Seokjin looks up, his eyes pulsing blue— protective. “Jimin— he’ll kill him.”
Jimin’s blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”
“He will— I can’t mate out of choice,” Seokjin says. Jimin watches him wear a path into the ground. “He’ll never let him live if he knows.”
Meaning Joonjae won’t ever be at peace knowing Seokjin has a mate somewhere. Why, Jimin doesn’t know— but what it means is that right now, Jungkook is in danger. And Jimin can’t have that.
“Okay,” he breathes, looking around and taking stock of the situation. It’s an empty room, some sort of prison chamber with exists built-in— they’re underground, which means above them are the campgrounds. If there are secret tunnels built… “Is there a way out of here?”
Seokjin doesn’t reply, and Jimin looks at him— finds him frozen, trembling as he stares at Jungkook’s fallen body. His skin is white as a ghost’s. Jimin doesn’t have time for this. He snaps his fingers in his face. “Hey!”
It snaps Seokjin out of his stupor. “What?”
“Wake the fuck up,” Jimin snarls, keeping an ear out for footsteps or Joonjae’s horrid scent. The air is still clear. “This is your fault. If anything happens to Jungkook— and I mean anything— you can kiss your sorry life goodbye.” He pokes hard into Seokjin’s chest, beyond caring that he could lose his fingers for the act. “Fix. This.”
Seokjin shakes himself then, taking in a lungful of air, and straightening himself. When he opens his eyes next— they’re measured and careful, the blue rings dimmer than before. “The catacombs are interconnected. They run under the whole camp.”
Jeez, and Jimin had never even known of its existence. “Okay. How does that help?”
“I can— I can take him to my wing,” Seokjin says, looking down. “Hide him. I know the way.”
“What about his scent?” Doesn’t matter how weak it is— but Jimin isn’t about to take chances.
“Scent neutralisers in the corridors,” Seokjin answers automatically. Jimin is impressed. “But you’ll need to hold the ground here until I return.”
Jimin can see how much Seokjin struggles as he says this, but he’ll rub it in later. Right now, they have an understanding— perhaps the only one in their lives. Jimin nods. “Go. I’ll hold the fort.”
Seokjin looks dubious, but then footsteps click in the distance— and he jumps into action, gathering Jungkook effortlessly in his arms. A distant part of Jimin admires the show of strength, but right now all he can hone in on is the way Jungkook looks in Seokjin’s arms, weak and small. Jimin’s heart pinches, his wolf clamouring at him to pay attention to his pack…but Jimin will once again have to choose the difficult part.
The omega slings Jungkook’s arm around his neck, wincing as it pulls at his collar—before nodding at a button on the wall adjacent to Jimin. “The neutraliser buttons. Switch it on.”
Jimin doesn’t wait a moment before he slams the button, turning around to find the room empty. Almost as if Seokjin and Jungkook hadn’t been there in the first place.
The wait is a joyride in anxiety as Joonjae takes his own sweet time to appear. Jimin does a rough excursion, sniffing around for any stray scents; it’s known to happen, despite the miraculous advancements in scent sciences. He’s only met with the bitter neutral of blockers and the bland, almost tasteless presence of neutralisers. Nothing of Jungkook’s cedar remains.
Joonjae enters some ten minutes later, dressed sharply in his modern hanbok-suit ensemble— and seemingly different from last night. And as Taehyung had said— very much alive.
“Ah, Jimin-ssi,” Joonjae says, stopping short. Behind him stand his two guards, stony-faced and resolute. The vast room seems cramped all of a sudden, but Jimin stands still. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”
Right. Secret camp catacombs are the last place an outsider like Jimin should be found. He needs to think of something, fast. “I— Seokjin-ssi invited me.”
Joonjae raises an eyebrow. “Invited you?”
“Yes, I ran into him while on a walk,” Jimin blabbers, keeping his stance casual even though his insides are screaming at him. Joonjae’s scent is already slithering under his skin, and it won’t be long before Jimin can’t breathe. “He had some errands to run, so he asked if I’d like to see.”
Not even close, but real enough that it won’t raise any alarms. Joonjae hums, walking around the room— Jimin hopes he doesn’t see the scuffles on the ground or the blood. Maybe he can chalk it up to torture room aesthetics?
“Didn’t know you and Seokjin were so close,” Joonjae murmurs, sniffing as he walks. Something is strange about him— he seems taller, hair a distinguished mess of salt and pepper curls which are thicker than usual. Even his sideburns stand out, and his hands… “Did you become friendlier after last night?”
Jimin stares at those gnarled fingers. “Hmm?”
“Seokjin and you,” Joonjae repeats, coming to stand in front of Jimin— and carrying that potent, rotten scent. How can a scent be this bad? “Your skills with the daggers must have won him over, I’m assuming.”
Jimin leans back as much as possible while trying to look polite. “Who knows, Daebonim? Winning his respect has always been a challenge.”
“Really? I never noticed,” Joonjae comments, looking around Jimin as if he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. “I’ve always found him surprisingly daft. No?”
What? “I’m not sure what you mean, Daebonim.”
“Just when I’d managed to get Abbeonim out of that lovely mouth of yours,” Joonjae tuts, and Jimin’s omega curls inside. “Seokjin tries too hard. I suppose that’s an applauded quality for some. I find it pathetic.”
So Joonjae was aware of Seokjin’s raging daddy issues? Or had he…had he incited them somehow, but acted as if he hadn’t? Jimin feels a phantom defensiveness for the omega, which is also odd. “In any case, Daebonim, I considered this opportunity a white flag. What a marvellous underground structure.”
“Hmm. My grandfather’s vision,” Joonjae says absentmindedly. He frowns when he comes to the centre of the room. “Do you smell that?”
Oh, goddess, no. “What, Daebonim?”
“Something…bloody. Wood?” He sniffs some more, turning slowly towards the corridor Seokjin went through. Jimin shuffles casually, dragging his feet on the ground. Gritty sand crackles under his heel. Joonjae looks towards him. “You don’t?”
“The neutralisers, that’s about it,” Jimin says, and Joonjae looks up again. Would they be able to fool Joonjae, one of the best Master Assassins himself? “Is everything alright, Daebonim?”
He needs to distract Joonjae fast. He moves away from the corridor, aware of Joonjae’s gaze on him the whole time.
“As well as can be,” Joonjae answers, turning his back to the corridor and walking towards Jimin. Thank goddess. “Where is Seokjin, Jimin?”
“Hmm?”
“Seokjin, I don’t see him even though you said he invited you,” Joonjae says softly as if commenting on the weather. “It’s surprising he left you by yourself. My son isn’t the sort to share his secrets, let alone leave them unguarded.”
Ah, fuck. Jimin smiles at him confusedly, but his heart thumps faster, the bitterness of bile rising in his mouth. He shrugs, hands in his pockets. Damn Seokjin for creating this entire debacle, but now Jimin has to throw him under the bus. “I’m not sure. He mentioned something about…stomach cramps?”
Not that Jimin knows of Seokjin’s heat cycle, but fuck it. It serves its purpose, especially when Joonjae frowns. “Stomach cramps?”
“You know, the kind that accompanies— well, I don’t want to sound so unseemly, discussing such private matters in front of you,” Jimin simpers, waiting for the moment Joonjae gets it. “Rest assure, he hated to leave me like this. But such is omega biology, no?”
Joonjae’s face crumples into disgust instantly, lips curling into his teeth. Good assassin or not, he was certainly a traditionally archaic one— and Jimin isn’t above using that. “Ah. Heats, I assume.”
“I’m not sure. Seemed sudden.”
“Omegas and their issues,” Joonjae mutters, hands behind his back as his chest puffs out. “Always getting disabled at the least helpful moment. Absolutely unreliable.” Then he frowns some more. “Unusual his heat is happening now. It hasn’t been three months yet.”
He goes about, waiting for a moment while Jimin deals with the reality that…Joonjae is keeping track of Seokjin’s heat. Or at the very least, he’s aware of them, and something about that rubs him the wrong way. He keeps quiet though, not wanting to ask questions about a clearly strange dynamic between a father and his son.
Joonjae doesn’t give him an opportunity either, turning towards him and stepping much too close, and at this point, Jimin is sure his nostrils are burnt from the scent. He can’t smell anything else, and he craves something familiar— something like lavenders, and he’s not even ashamed of the thought. He needs to get away, somehow, anyhow.
“Now that we’re alone, Jimin-ssi,” Joonjae purrs, eyes dark— threatening, not alluring, and Jimin’s omega trembles. “Yesterday’s olive was rather good, wasn’t it?”
Jimin freezes, pressing himself as far as he can go— and finds the wall at his back, which, where did it even come from? He was in the middle of the room. As it is, Joonjae’s presence looms over him, and he’s too small in the face of it.
Shit, he needs to play the role of his life. Had Joonjae guessed it already? No, Jimin can’t show a hint of it and tries for a smile. “What— what do you mean, Daebonim?”
“You know what I mean, Jimin,” Joonjae says, almost singing. “You’ve always been so gifted at playing perfect, haven’t you? One of my favourite assassins.”
“That’s— thank you, Daebonim, but I—”
“Had to drag all answers out of you, I remember,” Joonjae continues breezily, one hand in his pocket and checking his other hand— somehow, his skin seems even more gnarled, almost as if it’s shifting. His nails are cracked and brittle. “Could never tell me the truth, could you?
“I was young back then, I didn’t know—”
“But you’re not young now, are you?” Joonjae cuts in, tracing Jimin’s face temple to chin. Goosebumps rise along his spine, and it’s so different from the way Taehyung had done it. Then, Jimin welcomed the touch, almost craved it but now, he wants to shrivel up like a prune. “Such a fine omega you’ve become. Made something of yourself out in the world.”
“I—”
“So successful, carrying forward my training so splendidly. Fought so hard to leave, only to end up back here,” Joonjae croons, and he grins wide, his teeth sharp in the chemical white lights. Red flickers in his eyes— and Jimin’s omega freezes. “Throwing it all away just to shackle yourself to Taehyung.”
Jimin can’t speak. The words are there somewhere, but they’re locked in his throat, in his chest; air doesn’t seem to be flowing properly. All of it is tight, and Jimin can’t move.
“Tell me, why him?” Joonjae mummers, so close that his boots meet Jimin, and his scent surrounds him, pulsating in the air. Jimin can’t breathe. “Such a capable omega, and you chose him?”
“D-daebonim, p-please,” Jimin manages to get out, neck straining as he tries to merge with the wall just to get away. He agreed to distract Joonjae, but not like this. His omega will break down. “Could you—could you please—?”
“What? Back away?” Joonjae asks, voice cruelly amused. “Afraid your alpha will do something, Jimin-ssi?”
Goddess above, Jimin just wants to breathe without telling the man to take a fucking bath. “Daebonim—”
“But Taehyung would never do that. He’s too spineless if you haven’t noticed it yet. Even Seokjin would be better than him, but what can I do? A father must be a father, I suppose,” Joonjae muses, scratching his chin. The sound grates on Jimin’s nerves. “You, on the other hand, have a choice. Why burden yourself with him?”
Jimin doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t want to answer; all he can think of is getting away, anywhere where Joonjae’s scent and presence are far, far away. Jimin tries to look up into his eyes to ask— but sees red.
It shouldn’t be. Wolves can’t have red eyes and yet…
“I wonder what he’s really made of,” Joonjae asks, licking his lips. Jimin’s knees shake, and then— there is another scent, a cloud of it making its way through—before Jimin notices Joonjae’s fingers pressing into his neck. No. Not those— those pheromones, whatever they had been. “Maybe now that he has something to lose, he’ll do something instead of just sitting around like a dumb runt, don’t you think?”
And then Joonjae leans forward, pulling Jimin into the haze of pheromones— his neck hangs limply to the side, his omega dead silent, and his slit gushes with slick as Joonjae’s nose closes in—
The door bursts open with a clang, and Joonjae turns so swiftly it’s almost as if he never had been in front of him Jimin stumbles back, knees refusing the obey him. He holds himself up through sheer will against the wall— and looks up to find Seokjin, somewhat clean if breathing heavily, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
“Abbeoji,” Seokjin says, his gait respectful even as there is a slight tremor in his hands. His collar is buttoned up, and his eyes are bright blue— alert with fear. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Ah, little dove,” Joonjae says, tone brisk and casual. Nothing in it denotes what he was just about to do— scent Jimin against his will. “Not a lot. You’re keeping so busy running the camp, how can I complain?”
Jimin feels like a mere spectator, his brain immobile and his omega silent. His underwear has slick in it, and disgust crawls through his blood even as he is distant from it. All he can do is watch.
“I should have been more mindful of our appointed time. You’ve just gotten well,” Seokjin says, head bowed down. “I hope Jimin-ssi didn’t create any trouble.”
Right, throw him under the bus…but that’s perhaps for the better. He can’t have Joonjae thinking they’re friends and creating another psychological game.
“Not at all. He’s such a darling. Taehyung chose well, no?” Joonjae asks sweetly, and the tone threatens to have the bile rise in Jimin’s belly. “Usually your brother is so…misguided.”
“I—I suppose he is. In any case, I have something to discuss with you,” Seokjin says, slowly getting his bearings back and looking like the confident omega he portrays himself as. “Jimin-ssi, why don’t you take your leave? You don’t seem well.”
Moon above, thank her. Jimin doesn’t question in, bowing swiftly as he tries to walk, legs refusing to obey him. He needs to leave. He needs to cleanse himself of Joonjae’s scent and presence and fucking leave—
“Take care, Jimin. We’ll catch up later,” Joonjae croons as he passes, and he freezes once again— before somehow escaping the hell room as fast as he can.
Leaving doesn’t help.
With each step that Jimin takes, his stomach gets heavier. There’s a strange pull he feels, going against his better judgement and his omega— asking him to go back to the chamber. Go back to Joonjae. It’s unlike the voices he has heard in his head; it’s almost as if it’s been imposed on him—
Imposed.
Jimin stops somewhere on the campus grounds and throws up right there and then.
The bile is thick and sour in his mouth, his throat burning from it and his stomach cramping. He wipes the back of his mouth, but he can't see ahead. He can’t think, though some vague thought floats in the cesspool of his mind. He imposed upon us. It was an Imposition. But how? Joonjae wasn’t his pack alpha, not anymore. Jimin had cut the ties with him; there had been too much of a gap for an Alpha Command to work on him…not that Joonjae had tried. No, he’d just said things and done things and Jimin had—
He walks, legs without strength and slick in his underwear, not sure of where to go. All he knows is that he needs to be far, far away, go somewhere safe for his omega to resurface. Jimin hasn’t felt it go this silent since he first began recovering it after leaving camp.
Somewhere safe turns out to be at the library, because one moment Jimin is stumbling around in the open ground and the next, he’s next to a table where sits Namjoon— and Taehyung.
Almost as if his omega led the way.
Taehyung looks up, a teasing smile on his face— which falls the moment he meets Jimin’s eyes, his nose flaring. Before he can utter a word, however—
Jimin collapses, and his last memory is the sensation of warm arms around his waist.
🖤⚔🖤
He’s in a forest, wet earth under his paws—paws? — And his vision tinged a muddy yellow-blue before colours focus in again, and suddenly— he’s on two feet, naked.
There are trees all around, and Jimin’s alone. He always has been, there’s no doubt about it— but why here, in a forest? Why does he feel so lost?
He can’t smell anything, not even himself. He taps his chest, but his omega is silent. It says nothing as Jimin runs around in circles.
Something cool drops on his head, and Jimin looks. The trees are tall, a growing dark canopy surrounding him— the clouds threaten to burst above.
Jimin is alone— and no one is coming to save him.
🖤⚔🖤
He wakes up to a dim room, the blinds shut halfway— and faces Taehyung leaning over him, pressing a cool cloth on his forehead.
The alpha is frowning to himself, taking off the cloth and placing it back in a bowl next to Jimin, squeezing the water out absent-mindedly while he fidgets with his lip ring— but the image is not arousing for once. Instead, Jimin is— confused. How did he end up here?
Taehyung moves to dab the cloth again— his eyes widen at catching Jimin’s gaze. His hand hangs above his head— before reaching down. Jimin flinches the moment it touches his forehead.
The moment hangs suspended between them. Something happened between Jimin leaving the catacombs, and somehow ending up in their room, being almost—coddled, or taken care of. The thought itches at him even as his omega sits serene and calm inside him. Jimin shuffles up the bed, knees to his chest. Lavender and orange waft gently from the movement. “Why am I— what are you doing?”
Maybe it’s not the best idea to sound accusatory, but Jimin feels threatened even if his omega doesn’t. Hurt flashes in Taehyung’s eyes before the familiar indifference falls into place. The alpha folds the cloth, offering it to Jimin instead.
“I should be asking you that,” Taehyung says slowly, keeping his hands to himself. It strikes him belatedly that Taehyung is sitting on his side of the bed, close enough that Jimin can feel his warmth and the tickle of lavender in his throat. “You came to the library and just— fainted.”
The memories trickle in slowly. The catacombs. Seokjin and— and Jungkook. The Soul Mark, meeting Joonjae and— the Imposition. He doesn’t feel it now, but just the memory threatens to have the sickness rolling back up again. Jimin huddles close to himself. “Right. That was pretty sudden.”
Silence fills the space again waiting for his explanation, but Jimin’s not sure how to begin. Especially after last night, the elephant in the room sitting between them. They had sex. They’re not walking around the incident and yet, Taehyung was missing in the morning. The whole thing with Seokjin happened and now Jimin’s not even sure if it was just yesterday. So much has happened in less than twenty-four hours, and now he’s…
“I was right,” Jimin says after a while, picking at the skin of his thumb. Taehyung sits patiently, and for once his presence feels just right…none of that stifling tension they share. Maybe they fucked it all out and now Jimin can concentrate. “About—about Jungkook. He’s here.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“When I woke up today, I wasn’t sure what to do…but one of Seokjin’s guards found me, and asked me to meet him,” Jimin says. He’s going to skim over how fucking alone he felt. “He took me to some place called the catacombs?”
The reaction is instant; Taehyung freezes. “You went underground?”
“I guess, yeah. A drafty, cold place,” Jimin confirms, shuddering at the memory. “He had Jungkook tied down. Wanted me to confirm if I knew him.”
Taehyung frowns. “But how did Jungkook get there?”
“I guess your brother hunted him down,” Jimin says, anger bubbling at the thought. It’s not Taehyung’s fault like Jimin had accused him of last night. As much as he’d like to, he can see that Taehyung’s innocent. “Said he wanted to expose the two of us.”
Surprisingly, Taehyung takes the news well. It even seems like he’d expected it, which Jimin doesn’t appreciate. “Expose us how?”
“Didn’t get around to asking him that,” Jimin snarks, knowing the truth had to be told. It would be easy to hide the fact about the Soul Mark…but it seems important. Seokjin didn’t say anything about Jungkook or where he’d taken him once he’d returned, but Jimin’s sure more is yet to come. “I think you should know this.”
“What?”
Jimin bites his lips, words playing on his tongue. How does he even say it? Turns out your brother and my best friend are true mates. It sounds impossible because had Jimin not gotten involved in this life again, Jungkook wouldn’t have come here. He could have gone his entire life not knowing he had a true mate out there. It’s a prickly sensation, this confirmation of the Moon Goddess’s touch everywhere. Jimin has denied her influence for so long, seeing it in plain sight is…yeah, not a good feeling.
But he will have to. He’s not sure why, but it’s going to change everything. “So…Jungkook is Seokjin’s True Mate.”
Taehyung chokes on the air itself, falling into a coughing fit that shakes the bed. Jimin reaches out, almost touching him— before retreating. He shouldn’t touch him so soon after— that. Yeah. Taehyung looks up, tears lining his eyes; he looks alarmed. “What?!”
“Yeah,” Jimin says, waiting for the alpha to grasp the situation. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
Taehyung gulps down water, rubbing at his throat. Jimin is distracted by his fingers, before remembering that they were in him last night. Moon above, he needs to stop. “You’re absolutely sure?”
“Saw the mark flare right before my eyes.”
He’s not meeting Jimin’s eyes, hands fluttering around, though he does steal some glances— and each attempt screams guilt. But why? It’s not something that has to do with them…Taehyung clears his throat again, his cheeks pink. “Start at the beginning.”
He keeps aside Taehyung’s reaction and forays into the events. Seokjin questioning him, threatening to harm Jungkook. The Soul Mark flaring suddenly, before Joonjae’s entrance was announced. It’s all fine till then, Jimin narrating it with an almost detachment…until he gets to the part of Joonjae questioning.
Or rather, Joonjae…scenting him.
He’s still not sure if it’s truly what happened, but the closer he gets to it, the tighter his body gets, locked in on itself as if wanting to protect itself from the memory. Taehyung notices, eyes trained on him even as his body edges forward. “Everything alright?”
It’s not. Even now, the idea that Joonjae would go so far as to scent a claimed omega just to test his son…what kind of vile person would do that? Heck, what kind of father would do that to his own son?
Once again, he finds himself wondering about their family dynamics. Something was very wrong, and though he doesn’t want to get into the middle of it, Jimin knows he’s going to be dragged regardless. Either by Taehyung— or his curiosity.
He could hide what happened, hope it goes away if he never speaks about it— but he doesn’t want to. He can’t be alone with knowing that, and he’ll gladly take Taehyung knowing over keeping it a secret.
“Joonjae…he tried to— he tried to,” Jimin starts, but he can’t form the words. It’s so simple and yet, the memory threatens to hold his mind captive. His red eyes, the salacious grin on his face as he leaned in, Jimin trapped against the wall— “He—I think he tried to scent me.”
The moment he says it his body sags down as if it’s no longer his burden to hold. It’s such a relief, that he forgets who he said it to— one moment he’s alone; the next, Taehyung is in his space. Jimin backs away, but Taehyung is growling, his eyes a vivid gold. Lavender bursts out, but unlike Joonjae’s rotten scent, it’s welcome.
“And? Did he?” Taehyung asks, voice quiet but promising death. Jimin shivers.
“I don’t think so? I can’t tell; Seokjin came back in at the moment.” Jimin stares down at his hands, unsure if he can take in Taehyung, not when his scent smells so angry. Jimin’s about to make him angrier, but oh well. “I think there was an Imposition.”
The growls deepen, so rough and guttural Jimin’s omega whimpers, wanting to calm the alpha down. “Jimin.”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t remember much and that’s why I just…I don’t know, my omega led me to the library but I swear I didn’t know—”
“I don’t care. Are you okay?” Taehyung snaps, hands gripping the sheets next to Jimin. His veins pop out. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” Taehyung insists, eyes roaming over his face and neck, trained on Jimin’s scent gland. “What if you don’t remember?”
“I think I’d remember that much,” Jimin says patiently, not wanting to snark at an aggravated alpha. He normally wouldn’t give two shits, but his omega is cautioning him. “Taehyung, I’m fine. Calm down.”
“I can’t believe that fucker,” Taehyung mutters, boring holes into the sheets. His eyes are ringed gold, refusing to shake. “Wanting to test me, hah. I should kill him myself, sick bastard—”
Jimin reaches out, a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder— and squeezes. Taehyung looks up. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t get mad on my behalf,” Jimin says quietly, somehow hating the idea even though inside, his omega preens in glowing warmth. “It’s not— I don’t need a protector.”
Taehyung exhales, silent before he chuckles. It’s a dry sound, almost dead. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“Well—”
“You don’t think it’s wrong that an alpha walks around imposing on an omega, claimed or not?” Taehyung presses. When he faces Jimin again, he’s both angry and— disappointed. “That I care only because it’s you?”
Somehow, that hurts worse. Jimin flinches, hand retreating as he curls back into himself. In a way, he should be glad that Taehyung would feel this way regardless of the person in question…but a part of him also wants that it’s for him, all of it. He hates it, this constant conflict.
“I don’t know. I thought you were,” he mumbles, shame curdling in his belly. “Sorry.”
Taehyung tuts. He reaches out, hand hovering over Jimin’s. “Okay if I touch you?”
He certainly hadn’t been asking last night…but even Jimin can tell there’s something different about this request. Still, he asks. “Why are you asking?”
The look in Taehyung’s eyes should not make his head spin. It’s warm and fond, and— painfully quiet. “You just had an Imposition. It’s not easy.”
Jimin tilts his head. It sounds like he’s speaking from experience…but he doesn’t want to look deeper into it. “Sure, I guess.”
He’s always liked it, even in the past, the way Taehyung’s hand swallowed up Jimin’s. Rough, golden and warm— and so large, so secure. Taehyung stares at it for a long time, rubbing Jimin’s hand absent-mindedly between his. It isn’t his intention or his wish but Jimin finds himself relaxing ever so slowly, his omega sitting down. What had his dream felt like? That he was all alone with no one to help him.
Maybe dreams are wrong sometimes.
“I won’t assume here,” Taehyung says after a while, so soft it caresses Jimin’s ears. “I can smell him on you still.”
Jimin gets what he’s implying or rather, asking for, and he’s more than ready. “Is it bad?”
“Like the time in his room. Off,” Taehyung frowns as if he too doesn’t understand why Joonjae smells the way he does. “Sick. I can just use my wrists.”
It’s entirely too polite and too respectful— it’s strange for them when they’ve already crossed all the lines. For Taehyung to be this soft, it’s off-kilter. It means something else, and Jimin’s not ready for that yet. Too much has happened.
“You can go for the real deal,” he says lightly, even though it’s not supposed to be a light matter and they can’t trust each other, not after last night.
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“I think I—” Jimin licks his lips. Should he say it? Won’t it be weak to admit it? “I think I need it, too. It’s all selfish.”
“I see,” Taehyung says, smiling. He scoots closer. “Just a bit, okay? Just to calm down.”
He probably says that more for himself than Jimin, but he appreciates the sentiment anyway.
Jimin shuffles forward, knees dropping into crossed legs as he tilts his neck. Surprisingly, Taehyung doesn’t dive in—and neither does the expression on his face change. He’s serious, lip poking out as he leans in, nosing gently along Jimin’s skin. His breath paints the surface in short huffs, and somehow— this one feels like home the most.
For someone who could never define it, the clarity is startling.
It’s comforting. Lavender blooms in tiny pockets, and Taehyung keeps his lips to himself. He holds Jimin’s face with his other hand, thumb circling the apple of his cheek in mindless strokes that have Jimin melting further into his embrace.
It’s odd. He’s begun noticing it more, how their scenting has less to do with that unbearable attraction and more to do with calm. Usually scenting had always led to something more, hasty hand-jobs or a messy make-out at the very least, but this is the first time Jimin’s experiencing the healing benefits of scenting. Even that one time outside of Joonjae’s chambers holds nothing to this. Just the two of them locked in, breathing each other in.
“I was worried, you know,” Taehyung says, chin tucked into the crook of Jimin’s neck. They should move away now that they’ve achieved their goal and yet… “When you came by. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
“Felt like one had taken over me,” Jimin whispers back, in a similar position as Taehyung. He doesn’t scent him, afraid it’s too much to ask for. He doesn’t have a logical reason anyway. “Never been imposed on before.”
“Gets common around here. Always horrible,” Taehyung comments, palm warm against Jimin’s cheek. “And when you fainted, I—”
“Let’s not,” Jimin cuts in, only because he doesn’t want to hear the way Taehyung’s voice shakes with restrained emotion. “The important thing is nothing bad happened.”
“Hmm.”
It’s silent. Jimin’s heart is calm, and so is his omega. Everything feels right again, and he would hate that the cause is Kim Taehyung. Would you, really?
His omega sounds too smug to be good.
“Hey, Taehyung?” Jimin asks, content to allow himself just this one moment.
“Hmm?”
“You know what red eyes mean?” Jimin continues, still stuck on that one detail. He’d seen it before, in brief flashes, but in the room… “Like, have you seen them before?”
Taehyung pulls back, and Jimin mourns the loss of his warm touch. He gets touchy after combat, sue him. “Not really. Sounds like bad news though.”
Jimin nods to himself. It could have been a trick of light again but… “Yeah, doesn’t look pretty.”
“Why do you ask?”
He can tell Taehyung— but something tells him to proceed with caution. Whatever it is that Jimin saw, he needs to be absolutely certain. “Just like that.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe Jimin— but shrugs, not pushing him. That’s unusual too unless he’s doing it because Jimin’s recovering from the Imposition. How nice of him.
Jimin doesn’t know how long he can trust that to remain.
Taehyung brings over some hot tea, still fluttering about like an alpha caring for an omega. And though Jimin doesn’t think he deserves it anymore, it’s nice to be cared for. He’ll take this. As he sips the tea, his mind starts running again, and he comes to an idea, something Seokjin let slip in a moment of haste.
“Can I ask something else?”
“You’re full of questions,” Taehyung snorts, but his eyes are fond. “Shoot.”
“The catacombs,” Jimin says, and Taehyung perks up. “What are they?”
“Uh, it’s sort of like a parallel underground structure, I guess? Think my grandfather made the plans for it.”
That’s what Joonjae had said, too. It’s smart architectural planning, in case of any gang war or inspection.
“Seokjin took Jungkook to his wing, he said,” Jimin says. The room he’d been in had been roughly shaped like a hexagon of sorts. “Said that the passages connect to all of the estate. Would that mean…?”
Taehyung turns to him at the same time Jimin looks up. His eyes light up at what Jimin is implying, excitedly clutching Jimin’s hands. “Holy shit, Jimin. That’s fucking amazing.”
“Is it?”
“This is why I got you. Why didn’t I think of it?” Taehyung mutters, getting up and pacing. “We can access Abbeoji’s room via the catacombs.”
His energy is infectious because Jimin begins feeling hopeful as well. “You think that’s possible?”
Taehyung shrugs. “Who knows? But at least now— we can plan.”
🖤⚔🖤
The hallway is devoid of people when Seokjin makes his way to his wing.
It’s on his orders, of course. Despite what most assume about the eldest son, Seokjin has always liked to work within the shadows— and there are plenty of them, as he turns around the corner and faces his door.
Seokjin loosens his tie a bit, just so he can breathe. Meetings with Joonjae always do that— his lungs seem smaller each time, and there is no more room to hold air. That’s a given, though. An important presence like Joonjae— perhaps it’s right to be small and quiet in some areas.
His hand shakes as he twists the doorknob, slipping in without a sound, and locking it shut immediately, leaning against the surface.
From here, the heap on his bed seems much too small to belong to any respectable person, let alone an alpha.
The scent is telling, though, and Seokjin’s head swims in it. It had been weak, almost negligible under the grime and blood. Now that he knows what he does, well— he can’t smell anything else.
Cedarwood. And beneath it, the first blooms of a rose. Just like Eomma. Seokjin shakes his head, walking towards his bed. In his haste, he’d dropped the boy off akin to a sack of potatoes, and it seems like in the past couple of hours that Seokjin has spent pretending— he hasn’t stirred even once.
Up close, Jungkook seems even smaller.
The only indication that he’s alive is the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s flushed pink, sweat dotted across his exposed skin— unusual in the thick of winter. He’s sick, his wolf comments, cool and almost unaffected, as Seokjin had bargained with it to be. Feverish?
Unthinking, Seokjin presses the back of his hand to Jungkook’s forehead— and recoils, both at the touch and how hot it is. He curls his hand into a fist as he surveys the picture before him, as he had been trained to do— assess first, panic later.
Jungkook’s wounds are still fresh— they look like Eunwoo’s handiwork. His guards must have had their fun while Seokjin had been busy, then. Bruises ring around his wrists, the rope-burns are bright red with parts of his skin peeling. That could be adding to the fever, his body fighting any source of infection it can find.
Seokjin’s eyes travel upwards at last— and linger on Jungkook’s neck.
Try as he can to blink it out of existence, the Mark glares at him. A crescent moon, to be exact, though myths say that different bonds can have different marks, mostly in the various phases of the moon. The Moon Goddess’s ultimate sign.
He turns away, unable to bear its sight a moment longer.
Seokjin walks to the dressing table instead, the familiar panic crawling up his insides now that he has assessed the situation. He unfastens the top button, inhaling before he pulls down the side of his shirt.
There isn’t a Mark anymore.
The skin around his mating gland is pink, and the gland itself seems swollen— in recognition of a potential alpha in the vicinity. No, a potential mate. More specifically, your True Mate. His collar snaps back into place, but Seokjin doesn’t stop staring. Looks at his reflections, his eyes ringed a dull blue— even now, his omega keeps quiet, letting him figure it out. But for once— Seokjin is out of his depth.
The stories say that omegas in True Mate pairings don’t get a Mark unless the Bite happens, the final mating. Which is good, in a way. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if Joonjae ever found out about this— he wouldn’t think twice before having Jungkook killed. He would never take chances, not with Seokjin. His father had plans— or so he always said, though Seokjin never understood what he meant by them. Or well— he does, but it’s not something he likes thinking about.
He turns around and looks at Jungkook again. Physically, even emotionally— he doesn’t feel that different. He’s an omega, a trained assassin who can take down several camps single-handedly. And there is an alpha in his bed, currently unconscious— who Seokjin didn’t have an idea about until a mere week or so ago.
And he is Seokjin’s True Mate. What bullshit.
Except, he does feel the growing urge— to take care of him. Do something, and he bristles on the spot. Can it settle in that fast? Even down at the catacombs, saving Jungkook had felt like the rightest thing to do. Seokjin wracks his brains for the stories, the kind he used to indulge in reading for Namjoon’s sake whenever he fell sick. Myths, legends, folklore— they never quite settled onto the common ground for true mates except that it happened, and it was the decree of the Mother Goddess. She chooses the pairings and marks them. These days, it’s rare to find your true mate with how distant the communities are.
Distant is correct. Before today, Seokjin would have carried on happily with his life if Jungkook hadn’t come so close by.
Was that it? Shouldn’t he have felt an instant connection or call the moment they met? He’d felt nothing, the first time he’d seen Jungkook. Bratty, mouthy and so, so angry. So scared. Seokjin had thrived on it, that visceral fear, especially when it came from such a typical-looking alpha. He smelled typical too, a strong cedar— but what throws him off is the unusual secondary scent of rose. He hasn’t heard of wolves having secondary scents before.
It doesn’t matter at the moment, not when there is an injured alpha defiling his bed. Seokjin walks toward him as if controlled by another force, and the urge to care for him grows evermore. Care for the mate that he had hurt. Seokjin breathes deeply as he straightens Jungkook’s legs. For the first time in a while, a new feeling joins all the complicated ones that he often pushes to the backburner.
Guilt.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
ahhhhh....? I think? I'm nervous because ik so many of you have expectations of seokjin's character (not expecting that) so uh...this is the trailer version. he'll show up more, and I'll get more room, words and time to explore the story through his eyes. I'm still feeling the character and how he plays out in fic versus in my head, so pls be patient :D
Also, worldbuilding fact: Imposition is basically when an alpha forces their will/presence on an omega to get them to comply/submit, creating a brief spurt of loyalty/obedience that overrides their wolf. it's horrible & heavily looked down upon, but traditionalist dicks like joonjae get a kick out of it.
Important: another thing I addressed in one of my comments in the previous chapter but putting it on a general author's note: I was quite put off by one of the comments that were raving on about jungkook's suffering & spewing hate towards everyone else in the story. I get we all have opinions, likes and dislikes, but because this is fanfiction there is no room for criticism unless the author asks for it. I'm not getting paid to do this, & even if a character is hateful I put care and thought into their characterisation. it's important to me. this is a fictional assassin au where bad things will happen, period. IRL doesn't matter. this is just to say- if I get similar comments like these which don't add to the reading experience I'm going to remove them. this is a writer's boundary for me.
That's done- DO let me know your thoughts, and theories about the chapter! i love all of them sm. This chapter was a little rushed to write but Ihope it makes up for a great end of 2022. HAPPY NEW YEAR IN ADVANCE! May 2023 be gorgeous, blessed and amazing.
Chapter 16: Hiding in Plain Sight
Notes:
HELLO YES, IT IS I RETURNING FROM INCOGNITO MODE no you're not hallucinating. This story finally has an update.
I do not have any excuses lol, the first 3 months of 2023 were so hectic, my parents visited, I attended a family wedding and then went on a month-long trip- and after that, I have been obsessed with finishing and posting my first Yoonjin work. I couldn't allow myself to visit this story until that wasn't done so. Yeah. But I'm back hehe.Okay, I think it's safe to say this update is Ramadan safe BUT the first past snippet still has references to heat cycles (no description) so if that's not okay, just skip the past snippet and move on. The rest of the chapter should be fine. It's still in the dark, disturbing territory because hell yes assassin fic- so please be careful! And Ramadan Mubarak to any of the readers celebrating :")
I edited this roughly & I am sleepy so forgive any mistakes thank you.
cw, tw: descriptions of drug abuse
ENJOY!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The heat licked at his bones, burning slow and steady as it climbed up, up and up until he couldn’t tell where it began— and where it ended.
Jimin hated this the most about heat— not the heat itself, when he was only thinking about a knot, completely blind to the pain— but this part. The pre-show, when he was all too aware of the hot itch under his skin and couldn’t do anything about it.
Except that wasn’t true— because this time, he had an alpha to help him. An alpha that smelled more and more delicious with each passing second, lavender joining the mayhem inside his body. Lavender— and sage, a curious scent, not so common whenever he was smelling Taehyung. The combination made him hungrier, and Jimin clawed at the cheap sheets of his nest, hastily put together during the last moments of clarity.
“Please,” Jimin gasped, as yet another drop of heat pooled in his belly, his slit pouring slick. It was so much, he could smell himself. “Taehyung— alpha. Please. I can’t.”
“Just a couple of moments, love,” Taehyung murmured, and Jimin keened at the endearment. Love. Taehyung never called him any of that shit, but Jimin inhaled it. “There’s still five minutes left on the patch.”
The patch, the fucking patch. An adhesive birth control that worked against the hormones pumping through Jimin’s blood, and kept him from getting pupped. It was strong enough to alter his chemistry for the four days of his heat, and particularly useful in cases of shared cycles.
An alpha in a rut couldn’t be trusted to put a condom on, after all.
“Who the fuck cares,” Jimin groaned, trashing in the bed and somehow managing to get up. He felt so weak, he couldn’t even see straight. Everything appeared blue. “Just put your fucking cock in, asshole.”
“Oh, believe me, I am dying to,” Taehyung deadpanned, but his voice was rich and low, and restrained. “I just don’t want to fuck kids into you.”
Jimin flinched.
What? Alpha doesn’t want to give us pups? Alpha will leave us?
Against all odds, Jimin’s heart began racing, a crushing ache echoing all over. “You— you don’t want to give me pups.”
Taehyung turned, frowning. “Of course, not. Why the fuck would I—”
“Alpha won’t give me pups?” Jimin asked again, clutching the sheets. His whole world was caving in. “You’ll— you’ll leave me, with no— no p-pups, alpha?”
Jimin burst into tears, too overwhelmed. Too heated. It didn’t matter when he couldn’t even provide when he wasn’t good enough for his alpha to give him pups, and he’d be left all alone with no one to fuck a knot into him—
“Hey, hey, Jimin, no. Oh shit, oh fuck,” Taehyung murmured, and Jimin felt warm hands wiping under his eyes. “I— yes. I’ll give you pups.”
Jimin opened his eyes. “You— you will?”
“Yes, so many of them, baby. Going to keep you all— um, round and— and full?” Taehyung said, but he sounded so unsure that Jimin broke into giggles. Taehyung smiled hesitatingly at that, rubbing at Jimin’s belly— and the pain receded briefly before his omega began clamouring again, and Taehyung winced. “Wow. Someone’s needy, huh?”
Jimin whined, pressing himself close to Taehyung, trying to eat his scent. He just smelled so good. “Need it, alpha. Please, I can’t take it anymore—”
Somewhere, an alarm rang— Taehyung shut it off, chucking the device away before ripping the patch off Jimin’s inner elbow. “There you go. Alpha’s going to join you soon.”
Jimin sighed as Taehyung pulled him in for a kiss, losing himself to the heat.
It was a never-ending spiral of heat, slick, pain and pleasure— and through it all, Jimin stopped thinking.
Stopped thinking about morals, his human side or what this meant for the both of them. All that mattered, as Taehyung eventually entered his rut and fucked Jimin in a heat-rut haze— was that Jimin got a knot, and the heat wasn’t so bad.
It didn’t matter that all Jimin could crave was lavender.
It didn’t matter that every thrust, every knot, felt like the best thing Jimin had been denied for so long.
Jimin took and took and took, and allowed himself to let loose.
It didn’t matter in the end, when Jimin knew he would never be able to have heat without Taehyung again.
🖤⚔🖤
When Seokjin had come of fighting age— Joonjae had driven into him over and over again that under no circumstances was he to ask the healer for help for his wounds.
They cannot know you are weak. They cannot know that you got hurt. Understood?
It meant hiding his injuries and walking back to his room— where he licked them, so to say, tending to them the best way he could.
He cleans out the cut on Jungkook’s forehead, applying the healing paste. In hindsight, perhaps that self-sufficiency is coming in handy now.
A bandage applied, he moves to the other injuries the alpha has collected. Guilt wracks his body, and it moves on autopilot as he goes about the task methodically. It’s his omega guiding him— his wolf that usually sits with him, silent and distant yet present, but now, closer to the surface. You must. He is our mate.
Seokjin gulps down the denial before he can think too much about it. On what has happened ever since he dragged Jungkook’s listless body through the catacombs, hiding him in his room whilst carrying on his duties as expected. No one can know—not the guards, not the servants— word cannot get to Joonjae.
He wants to blame guilt for this decision, but that would be a lie. No, it’s his instincts that are telling him to protect Jungkook at all costs. Even though a couple of days ago, he’d been planning to end his life.
The phantom call, however, gets in the way. Though there isn’t any mark, his gland itches if he leaves Jungkook unattended for too long. Seokjin doesn’t have to care—but his omega does. It’s the most frustrating battle of the wills.
He inhales deeply as he wraps Jungkook’s wrists with clean bandages— and cedarwood floods his lungs. It’s been steadily growing stronger, the undercurrent of rose mouth-watering. Seokjin gnashes his teeth together before that thought can fully form. No. I refuse. I am not weak.
Despite numerous applications of blockers, Seokjin can still smell him— where had that been the night he’d captured Jungkook? When he watched him walk through town, unassuming as he tried to search for Jimin? How could Seokjin have been that blind?
How do true mates even work?
Bandaging finished, Seokjin proceeds to wipe Jungkook’s body with a washcloth, sticking to the task meticulously and avoiding looking at him too much. He can feel the call, his wolf asking him to see— but Seokjin will ignore it. It’s not worth it, getting tangled up in this mess. The first opportunity he gets— he will somehow get Jungkook out of here.
Joonjae would never allow Seokjin to mate out of choice— he hadn’t lied to Jimin in the catacombs. There was a strategy, some plan Joonjae had that Seokjin was to follow, and Jungkook would derail all of it.
He steps back, assessing the scene in front of him. Jungkook, half-naked in his bed covered in bandages, and breathing deeply, still unconscious. He hasn’t woken up since collapsing, and Seokjin briefly envies him. How nice, to be tended to and cared for while Seokjin had to protect him—
There is a knock on his door, and Seokjin hastily covers his bed with the mosquito netting, putting away the materials and making sure his collar is tightly shut. His mating gland has been swollen ever since he took Jungkook into his wing.
He walks towards the door— and opens it an inch, making sure to block the view inside. Even if they can’t see anything from that angle, Seokjin refuses to take chances. His father had too many loyalists waiting to get on his good side.
“Yes?”
“Ah, Boss,” the attendant says, bowing deeply. “You are required.”
“By?”
“Daebonim. He says the batch is ready.”
Seokjin’s gut sinks. “Is it time already?”
“Yes. Namjoon-ssi is subdued for the moment as instructed.” The attendant takes a step back and bows again. “Daebonim has said to be available as soon as possible.”
Sickness broils in his stomach, but Seokjin nods, shutting the door with a snap and leaning against it. Amongst his many roles— this was perhaps one Seokjin would go to hell for.
He buttons up his collar— and proceeds to carry out yet another task like the dutiful son he has to be.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin wakes up to an empty bed once again.
He’d expected it— but the realisation is crushing all the same. It unnerves him— he was fine before they fucked— so why this emptiness now? Jimin doesn’t need Taehyung to function or feel normal. He certainly doesn’t need any alpha to carry on with his day.
His omega begs to differ, but it can go fuck itself.
Agitation crawls under his skin, some sort of offence his wolf has taken to the alpha leaving him behind again. This is why Jimin wanted to avoid fucking Taehyung. History was repeating itself again; he fucked him once before and developed a crippling addiction. He fucked him now and craves him suddenly. It’s excruciating and distracting.
He flounders in bed some more, throwing a tantrum right there and then— before he comes across a note on Taehyung’s side of the bed.
Hey. I’ve gone to check out the catacombs. Didn’t want to wake you up; you can’t be there anyway. I’ll map out the structures and we can go over them later. Might take me a while. Sleep tight, XX.
Jimin feels his cheeks heat up and pats them down hastily, shoving the note under his pillow. How ridiculous. It’s just a note, not a confession. He doesn’t even want one from Kim Taehyung of all people, no matter how much his stupid wolf fawns over the alpha.
He lies back down on the bed, staring listlessly at the high ceiling. It’s been hours since the auction, and even less since Jimin found Jungkook and everything happened. It’s too much to wrap his head around— better as he feels, he’s still restless. The ever-present need to do something crawls back in again, haunting his soul and driving his mind into spirals. Who knows how long it’ll take for Taehyung to find the underground tunnel to Joonjae’s wing, and for them to plan again? He doesn’t know how long he’s to remain here trapped— but the anticipation is driving him mad.
And now Jungkook’s here— Jimin hasn’t heard a lick of it since he last saw Seokjin taking him away. Was he safe? Had the two been found? What if Seokjin had been caught and Jungkook was taken away to some discreet prison?
The images are horrific, and Jimin shakes his head at them. He needs to do something more active than driving himself into a spiral of anxiety. Maybe look for Jungkook while he’s at it.
Jimin gets out of bed and has a quick shower, focused on finding his best friend first.
The estate seems eerily silent and empty— Jimin hardly comes across any of those of insufferable attendants as he makes his way through. He’s not sure where to start— so far, he’s vaguely aware of Joonjae’s wing, and the library. The hall down below, and he’s been restricted to that for the whole time he’s been here.
It smells like nothing, only that bitter neutral of scent-blockers set deep into his bones. He’d expected it, but combined with all his other observations— Jimin feels utterly alone.
Alone, and yet somehow— watched.
He clenches his hands into fists, gritting his teeth as he chooses one of the hallways that leads away from Taehyung’s room. This is just his paranoia speaking, the familiar old friend that has followed Jimin his whole life. A skill necessary for assassins; after all, even if he was trained in ten different ways to kill a person, it doesn’t mean life can’t surprise him anyway. It was all about the right place, the wrong time.
It could be his exchange with Joonjae. Imposition aside, the way he’d questioned Jimin…could he have known he and Taehyung were up to something else?
He shakes his head, walking down the hall. Every few meters the decoration changes, until it starts getting more and more tasteful— pieces of obscure and abstract art, some oil paintings and figurines that don’t fit the aesthetic of an assassin camp. It’s out of place.
It screams Kim Namjoon.
Back then, despite Jimin maintaining a fair distance from almost all the other assassins— he couldn’t afford to get close and then potentially lose them— Namjoon had somehow won his attention. Compared to Taehyung’s hot gazes and insufferable smiles, Namjoon felt like a safe choice. Of course, now— as much as Jimin would have loved to get close to him— his wolf had stubbornly decided on Taehyung.
That being said— out of the three siblings, Jimin considers Namjoon a decent friend still— and decides to check up on him anyway. He’s barely seen him around the estate, and the last time had been when he was busy swooning at the library. Namjoon shouldn’t have a problem if Jimin visits, right?
He takes his time, allowing himself to understand the alpha. Kind, soft-spoken and respectful, always offering a helping hand for Jimin’s theory lessons or greeting him whenever they crossed paths. Never did he treat Jimin differently for being a low-born orphan, or once he presented an omega.
Jimin did have a crush on him— sort of. A helpless, school-boy crush because everything else at camp had been about blood and swords and survival, and so soft things couldn’t exist. In the face of that, liking Namjoon felt like his treasured secret.
Too bad Taehyung somehow could guess even that.
He liked Namjoon— but that was it. He could never access him, never felt brave enough to proposition him or ask after him. Taehyung, in hindsight, had just been…more convenient.
You know it wasn’t just that, his omega nudges at him, once again making its presence known. Jimin keeps a groan to himself. Stop lying to yourself.
I’m not. Taehyung was convenient. That was the truth, and it couldn’t be otherwise. Jimin can’t…he can’t change his feelings about Taehyung. It doesn’t matter how much evidence or hints his omega drops— he can’t go back to how he used to feel. That slight emotion, the budding hope before everything went to shit so thoroughly that Jimin had to leave before his time at camp was up.
He shakes his head at the oncoming images, refusing to remember more— and turns around a corner— where he gets a sharp, acrid scent. It’s revolting, burning the back of Jimin’s throat— but unlike Joonjae’s scent, it smells like…distress.
Pain, anguish. It burns, Jimin’s eyes smarting from the onslaught of it permeating the air of the hallway. On his left is a room— with the door slightly ajar.
The scent pours out of that opening, and it’s almost akin to tyres burning— but Jimin can’t help as he walks closer, blocking his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. Growls and whimpers echo out— followed by soft purrs and quiet pleas.
Jimin stands outside the door and peaks inside, curious.
It changes everything.
For a moment, it feels like he’s standing outside of his body, watching himself observe— but quickly snaps back in as he sees what he sees, which is: Namjoon, pale, sick and panting, held down on the bed with ropes.
He gnashes his teeth and growls at someone standing over him before his face crumples onto itself with pain and he curls into a foetal position, whimpering to himself.
“Shh, Namjoon-ah. It’s just a little bit. It’ll get over soon, let hyung in.”
The voice belongs to Seokjin— standing over him with an injection in his hand. Jimin pushes the door slightly more, and sees the look on the omega’s face— bright blue eyes filled with tears as he coaxes Namjoon, purring ever so often in a way that has even Jimin relaxing.
Somehow he gets through, because Namjoon gives in, splayed on the bed half-naked but sweating buckets. Seokjin gently pulls at Namjoon’s inner elbow—blotched purple-blue, several deep track marks of older needles littered across his skin— and presses into the various spots, locating the vein and rubbing over it.
Jimin’s eyes take in the room, sliding over to the vials on Namjoon’s bedside table— and gasps.
He slaps his hand over his mouth, but it’s too late— both Seokjin and Namjoon look toward him. Jimin remains frozen as the door falls open, and he assesses the scene in front of him in brighter clarity.
Seokjin and Namjoon stare back, terror in Namjoon’s eyes and budding disdain in Seokjin’s. Jimin moves his gaze from them to— the needle now primed near Namjoon’s inner elbow.
The vials are sickeningly familiar. He’d seen a couple in some of his missions, in friends’ dorm during university— vials containing hormones. It was one of the first things people brought when figuring out their transition.
The effects of the drugs had always been devastating, and it should have made sense the moment Jimin had seen Namjoon the first time. Of course. Of course, the alpha— was he even an alpha? — wasn’t quite what he seemed.
“What the fuck?” Jimin asks, but Seokjin’s quick to cover Namjoon— he drops the injection, taking swift steps towards Jimin and towering over him. Bitter scent-blockers assault him this close— but so do the rings of blue in Seokjin’s eyes. “What’s going on—?”
“Get out,” Seokjin spits, covering the doorway. Behind, Namjoon whimpers once again— not like an omega, though. There is no scent, perhaps mild sandalwood as always— which Jimin had chalked up to scent blockers— but no scent or a mild scent also meant— “Why are you snooping?”
“I wasn’t—” Jimin tries to look behind against his own curiosity, and Seokjin snarls, so viciously that his own omega, fierce and independent, cowers. “I really didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t care. What are you doing here?” Seokjin snarls, and his tone has Jimin’s omega clawing its way out, ready to smack him in the face. His face heats up, his vision tinged blue. “Mr. Busy Body couldn’t help it, huh?”
Jimin’s omega snarls deep inside, and he stands tall, chin raised straight. His hands itch to gouge deep into Seokjin’s dainty skin and leave a reminder. He reaches out and shoves Seokjin on his shoulder.
“You’re the one fucking drugging him, you psychopath—”
Someone grabs him by the scruff of his neck, and Jimin instantly grabs hold of their wrist— but he can’t get them over his shoulder, because the attacker pins him against the wall— and pinches his mating gland.
Jimin goes down immediately.
“Calm down,” Taehyung grits out, the lavender too close, too overwhelming. “It’s just me.”
“Take care of your omega,” Seokjin snaps behind, and Taehyung growls— his eyes are ringed gold. A protective alpha. But over Jimin? “Make sure he knows his place.”
“Fuck right off,” Taehyung says, then looks at the needle still held in Seokjin’s hand. “Fuck. How much did he see—?”
“Get out before I make you,” Seokjin says coldly, snapping the needle in half without blinking an eye. Jimin can only watch mutely, the submission still heavy in his head. He’s going to claw Taehyung’s fucking face off the moment it’s lifted.
Taehyung drags Jimin with him, who follows, limp, legs like lead but not heavy, just walking without his permission. It’s a horrible submission command, an unfair advantage that alphas have over omegas. Not like the one Joonjae had on him— but the sensation of no control, after everything that happened yesterday— Jimin can do nothing as he walks. He simply follows, and soon they’re in Taehyung’s room again.
The moment Taehyung puts him at a safe distance, Jimin finally gets out of the headspace— and reaches out, claws first.
Taehyung takes it. “You fucking asshole,” Jimin spits, gets a nice clean swipe in— and Taehyung doesn’t fight that, though when Jimin throws himself at him again, he catches Jimin by the wrist— holding them gently. “How dare you. How fucking dare you—”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, the gold now receding and replaced with the familiar brown. “I didn’t mean to. It happened accidentally. I’m so sorry. You know I would never do it. Not after what happened yesterday.”
Jimin wants to spit in his face— but he stops, because it’s true. No matter how bad it used to get, or how many times Jimin misbehaved during their shared cycles, Taehyung never once used submission. “Why did you?”
“Had to get you out of there,” Taehyung says slowly. “You didn’t realise. Your eyes were blue. Jin-hyung would have done worse if you didn’t leave when you did.”
Jimin could have taken him on, but he’d seen the ring of blue— a deep cobalt, an omega at its most protective. Still, the submission stings. It’s lingering even now, a strange call to submit to Taehyung, to placate their alpha and keep him in good spirits, and it’s the worst because Taehyung isn’t their alpha. Taehyung isn’t anything.
It’s a lie, but one Jimin’s going to swear by until he can face the truth.
“Goddess above. Don’t ever do that again,” Jimin says, squeezing his palms into his eyes. He still can’t get rid of the images. Namjoon, sickly and pale, deep rings of purple under his eyes. The needle in his vein. The drugs on the bed. “Taehyung. What’s going on?”
As expected, the alpha stiffens, keeping himself aloof. But Jimin saw him and his face. The terror, like Jimin wasn’t supposed to know. None of them were. Just the Kim siblings onto something grotesque. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t do that with me,” Jimin says softly. He shouldn’t get into this, and yet— out of all the Kim siblings, he had cared for Namjoon the most. Thought of him as a friend, and sure it hasn’t been that way in ten years but he needs to know. “I saw enough. I’ll keep quiet, whatever it is.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Taehyung snorts, crossing his arms. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket today, and his arms show. “Jin-hyung is paranoid about it. He’s going to be on my ass now.”
“It can’t be the worst,” Jimin says, stepping closer. The lavender is all over the place, so he lets out some of his scent; Taehyung’s eyes go hazy for a moment before they snap back to sharpness. “Namjoon’s taking alpha hormones?”
Taehyung’s eyes widen. “You know about those?”
“Knew a couple of people in university who were transitioning,” Jimin says lightly. Sometimes living in the camp meant disconnecting from the outside world. “It’s not that bad. Or taboo, not anymore, though people are still dicks about it.”
The alpha says nothing before he rubs his face. He looks pained, then locks the door, leading Jimin away from it and towards a quieter part of the room. “He’s taking them…but not for the reason you’re thinking.”
Jimin tilts his head, tracking the automatic way Taehyung’s gaze falls on his mating gland. A brief lick of heat rises up and he squashes it down.
Taehyung sighs. He so doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t trust Jimin an inch with this information— but somehow, is taking the leap anyway. “Namjoon hyung’s a beta.”
Huh. Now that hadn’t been something he’d been anticipating. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Hyung presented as a beta.” Taehyung flops down on the bed; the motion has his shirt riding up— and Jimin looks resolutely away. “No one knew. Abbeoji locked him away before the presentation. This was a year before either of us had presented.”
“But why was he locked away?”
“Dunno. Jin-hyung being an omega probably really disappointed him, and his next bet was Namjoon-hyung since I was never in line,” Taehyung says, sounding so derisive it hurt. “But Namjoon hyung was a beta. And instead of letting it be— Abbeoji put him on those drugs.”
No wonder Namjoon had come so late out of the presentation wing. He’d never looked comfortable— clumsy, unsure in his skin. He looked alpha enough, but he had none of the inclinations towards alpha-like pursuits. It makes so much sense now, in hindsight— the tendency towards peace, strategy and mediation. To plan and stay behind the action. No amount of drugs could change a beta’s natural temperament.
“And he’s still on those?”
“Namjoon hyung has been trying for years to get off— but Abbeoji always knows. And he gets him back on it. It’s only now that Abbeoji has been sick for so long that Jin-hyung’s been trying to weave him off but…” Taehyung bites into his lip, and for a moment his eyes look teary. “It’s been so many years. The healer we saw out of camp says it’s possible Namjoon-hyung is addicted to them now and needs a hit every once in a while. The withdrawal is worse. That’s what you saw Jin hyung doing earlier.”
“Holy shit,” Jimin breathes, sitting down against the wall. Moon above, there was no end to how cruel Joonjae could be. “He should have stopped right? When you presented.”
At this, Taehyung bursts out laughing. “I don’t think it has anything to do with that. Abbeoji just couldn’t handle having a beta son,” Taehyung says, rising up and leaning back on his elbows. “Omega is fine. He can marry Seokjin-hyung off. Beta goes against everything he imbibes as an assassin.”
“It allows for strategy,” Jimin argues, but Taehyung tuts. “It’s true. Betas are excellent at strategic thinking.”
“For peace,” Taehyung emphasises, and Jimin pouts. “Peace is the last thing we want. Bad for the business, Jiminie.”
“It’s horrid, the way you think,” Jimin says, playing with the rings on his fingers. “So that’s why Namjoon-hyung is always sick.”
“So to say.”
“And that’s one of the reasons you want Joonjae out,” Jimin states and Taehyung looks over calm as an ocean. “Isn’t it? You get him out, he no longer has a say in Namjoon hyung’s life. Wean him off the drugs, find a solution for the addiction.”
“Aren’t you a smart little thing,” Taehyung drawls, playing with his lip ring. It glistens with spit. “He’s smart and pretty.”
“It’s obvious, what you’re doing here,” Jimin says. Then he laughs, as yet another piece of the puzzle fits in. “Taking over, my ass.”
“I’d love to take your ass over,” Taehyung says, grinning, and Jimin chucks a pillow his way. Tries not to think of the image or how it sends a throb of heat down his slit. He should have fucked it out of his system by now, what the hell. “But no. I do want to take over. No way in hell am I letting Seokjin-hyung have that.”
“So what? After your dad, it’s him next?”
Taehyung gasps. “What? No. As annoying as he is, he’s still my brother and more decent than my father. But it is a competition, so it’s gotta be fair.”
There it is, the familiar competitive spirit. Jimin’s only ever felt that with him, and it’s nice to see. Even if it’s over grotesque family scheming.
Jimin’s mind swirls with everything— the images, the challenge and Taehyung gazing out the window, wistful and contemplative. He rhythmically rubs his nails over his knees, the act hypnotic enough to entrance Jimin.
Who knew, really? His whole life, Jimin had competed with Taehyung— and had seen the siblings compete with each other. Mostly Seokjin and Taehyung, Namjoon always standing back, miserable when Joonjae dragged him to tournaments and such. It had been such that Jimin was convinced none of the siblings liked each other.
To think that Taehyung cared enough to stage a coup against his father, or that Seokjin had been trying to get Namjoon to stop but to no avail— he remembers the look on Seokjin’s face. The tears and near helplessness as he faced his brother whimpering in pain. The withdrawal symptoms are the worst. Is that why Namjoon looked so sick? Had he been trying to fight the dependence as much as he could—only to be dragged into it all over again?
Did he only trust Seokjin to do the deed, his only hyung in such a hopelessly void place?
Did he know Taehyung’s motivations, and how he was willing to kill their father so Namjoon could have a shot at freedom?
Jimin stays in silence with Taehyung— his omega nudging him to see. And this time, Jimin listens.
🖤⚔🖤
As assassins, one of the first lessons they received as children had been to locate the different veins in the human body. There were so many, but only a few were fatal. One swipe— and the receiver was good as gone.
Seokjin already knew at least three in close vicinity to each other at the elbow itself. His mind is blank as he taps the vein again, trying to locate it through the mess of purple and blue, swollen red in some areas. Namjoon never let them heal— he said it was a reminder for him, every time he craved the hormones. Seokjin could see the crescents of his nails littered close by as if Namjoon dug into his wounds to distract himself from the pain.
He pulls the skin taut as he pushes the needle in, ears fuzzy as Namjoon sobs into the sheets— before he stiffens, and then relaxes, body limp as lettuce. Seokjin cleans out the site quickly, before dropping it— and watches the way Namjoon looks blissed out for a moment, eyes flickering pale gold.
He’ll never be a true alpha— but their father only cares about appearances, however, they may be achieved.
Seokjin disposes of the needle, collecting the bandages and broken vials— they kept several because, by the time of a shot, Namjoon always reached a stage of delirium. He needed to be subdued so he didn’t act out. Once Seokjin’s done cleaning the mess— he turns to his now unconscious brother and works deftly on the ropes binding him, rubbing gently at the burns left behind.
His vision blurs again, the guilt ever-present— and Seokjin breathes it down once more, locking it away.
He hated putting Namjoon through this every time— but he’d let it happen so long, he doesn’t know how to stop. When Taehyung found out, he’d begged Seokjin—gotten on his knees even, asking him to stand up for them, to stop their father. To find a way out before it was too late for Namjoon.
Here’s the truth of the matter— for all his bravery, and his accolades, Seokjin is a coward, and Joonjae is the only person who can drive the fear of the Goddess into him. Sometimes, not even her.
And now— it is too late for Namjoon. He’s addicted, unable to last long without the drugs that have been force-fed into his system since he presented at fourteen. Namjoon being Namjoon, however, has always tried— and Seokjin tried whatever he could to get him off them.
He was seventeen when Joonjae first asked him to take over and administer the drugs so he could help Namjoon. So he could keep this family together, and make sure outsiders didn’t attack them simply because one of their sons was a beta. They couldn’t let people know they were weak.
Seokjin knows that’s not true. Joonjae has them under their thumbs anyway, and he always finds out if Namjoon isn’t taking them— and somehow, the cycle repeats. Over and over again.
He wraps Namjoon’s wrists with bandages, cleaning him with a washcloth and tucking him in, before leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. The changes are already apparent— as a beta, Namjoon had a generally mild scent bordering on neutral. With the drugs, however, the mild scent took on a stronger note—sandalwood, which would have been even more fragrant had he been an actual alpha. His skin is brighter, his muscles don’t seem as weak and the dark circles are already receding while the hormones work inside of him.
Seokjin turns away before he can cry again. Strong omegas never cried.
His heart aches for Namjoon anyway, the guilt crushing as he shuts the door and walks away. He could be the best omega assassin in all of camp— but as a brother, Seokjin fails him every day.
His room is on the other side of the estate— grand and opulent, meant for the only omega son of the Kingpin. Through years of proving himself and gentle negotiations, Seokjin had managed to get Joonjae to post guards only at the wing entrance—and keep the hallways free.
It serves him now, as he enters and smells the faint cedarwood— even though with scent blockers, that should not have been possible.
“Do you smell that?” Seokjin asks one of the guards stationed at the entry.
“What, Boss?”
“The scent?”
“Just scent neutralisers, Boss. As you had instructed earlier.”
Huh. Maybe Seokjin’s nose is extra sensitive or his omega hyper-alert. “Alright. Thank you.”
The guard frowns briefly— but Seokjin walks away before he can analyse further. He checks both ends to make sure no one’s lurking— before opening the door.
Something knocks him hard on his chin, and Seokjin stumbles back against the door. It’s a blur of black and skin before his instincts kick in and he strikes out against the attacker.
It’s laughable, how poorly trained they are. Seokjin takes them easily, and before long— has them pinned to the bed, hands behind his back and knee pressed into his spine, immobilising him and baring his teeth next to the attacker’s scent gland.
Cedarwood floods his tongue, and Seokjin realises.
Jungkook is awake.
He comes back to the present, getting out of the omega fight space as he takes in the scene. Jungkook is pinned to the bed, face pressed to the side as he growls weakly. He’s still bandaged, and smells weak— but he’s angry, his eyes bleeding gold.
The alpha trashes against Seokjin’s hold, and instinctively he tightens, keeping him down like a rabid dog. Eventually, Jungkook drops his hostility— and becomes silent, limp. Seokjin waits for a moment before releasing him, stepping back and keeping a safe distance, eyes alert for any sudden movement.
Jungkook stays, breathing shallowly before he musters the strength to turn over, face pale and sweaty from the exertion.
Awake and clean, Seokjin can take him in at last. Beneath the exhaustion is a young face, front teeth biting into thin lips and doe eyes too large. Jungkook’s hair hangs limp, stuck to his forehead with sweat even as the colour slowly returns to his skin. He leans back heavily on his elbows— but even that seems like a strain for the barely recovered alpha.
This is Seokjin’s True Mate? Seokjin could take him in a fight and still file his nails. The Moon Goddess chose someone this weak?
“What the fuck is going on?” Jungkook breathes out, harsh and tired. His eyes run helter-skelter and it’s clear he’s…afraid. “What the fuck am I doing here?”
Seokjin keeps silent, his words trapped in his throat. He can’t speak, doesn’t quite know what to say. His omega is similarly entranced, and that simply doesn’t happen— Seokjin has trained it over the years to remain unaffected by the world. One True Mate and it’s gone.
“Hello? Are you going to talk?” Jungkook snarls, snapping his fingers. They don’t quite click, too weak to merge. “Fuck, where am I? And why am I with you?”
All his questions sound fuzzy as if Seokjin’s brain has been submerged in the ocean. Notes of rose merge with the cedarwood, and once again, Seokjin is hit with a sudden, visceral memory of his mother. She had a rose scent too, warm and comforting. It no longer exists— except here it is in his room, swirling around him.
“Didn’t take you for a fucking mute,” Jungkook mutters, groaning as he somehow sits up, body trembling from the effort. His bandages are dotted watery-pink, some yellowed from pus. “Can you at least tell me where Jimin is?”
Seokjin comes back out of the water— and somehow, it’s the concern in Jungkook’s voice for Jimin that does it. It nibbles at him, and his omega snarls inside. Why is he asking about another? Seokjin’s nails bite into his palm as his omega briefly takes charge— and floods him with a feeling horrifyingly familiar.
Except this time, it’s not the jealousy he usually feels for his siblings.
No. No. Seokjin can’t just— he can’t feel things so fast, can’t have his omega ruining their carefully set balance simply because their True Mate is in front of them. It doesn’t matter what Jungkook is; Seokjin refuses to bow down and accept his fate.
He acknowledges the bond, but he doesn’t owe Jungkook niceties because of it. He’ll protect him and make sure Joonjae doesn’t find out while he heals— but nothing has to change.
“I can talk,” Seokjin says lowly, crossing his arms. His mating gland feels swollen under the collar, hot and uncomfortable. “If you can listen.”
“Goddess, not a fucking philosophy lesson,” Jungkook mutters, rolling his eyes. Even though he looks on the worse side of sick, Seokjin can acknowledge that Jungkook probably looks…nice, on his better days. “Are you going to have me guess what’s in that thick head of yours again?”
“You should be more careful with what you say,” Seokjin murmurs and Jungkook snorts weakly. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to say.”
“News flash: I’ve never liked what you said in the past either.”
“Shut up,” Seokjin snaps, then breathes deeply. This— this man-child can’t get under Seokjin’s skin that easily. “You’re here because— well. You’re my mate.”
Nothing happens upon his declaration. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and acknowledged that whatever happened is true, and not a hallucination. He can’t pretend that anyway, Jungkook’s mark branded on his neck for all to see.
The alpha himself stares, mouth curling into incredulity before he bursts out laughing.
Seokjin flinches back at the volume for a brief moment, but it doesn’t deter Jungkook. He keeps laughing, curling onto his knees as he holds his sides— any longer and someone will definitely come to probe. Seokjin looks at the door before moving towards Jungkook, keeping a hand over his mouth. “Quiet!”
Jungkook slaps his hand away, eyes fiery even though he curls onto himself. There it is again, that anger. Only this time, Seokjin can smell it too, akin to hot spice of the burning kind. It’s never happened before.
Can the bond allow me to do that?
“Get your fucking hands off me,” Jungkook spits, crawling backwards. “What sort of game is this? I didn’t tell you where Jimin is, so you try this?”
Jimin, always fucking Jimin. Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you could stop being obsessed with your precious Jimin for a moment. And pay attention.”
“I am. I’ve apparently been trapped in some fucking mansion, half-naked,” Jungkook starts, wincing as he gets back to a sitting position. “While you make up shit about mates. Ten for the torture effort, though.”
“I’m not lying,” Seokjin hisses, before reeling himself back in. Why does Jungkook affect him so much? “You don’t believe me, fine. Go look at the mirror and see for yourself.”
Jungkook glares up at him, nose flaring— his eyes flit to Seokjin’s neck, and he wonders briefly if Jungkook can smell him. Seokjin’s been under scent-blockers since even before he can remember, and no one close knows of his real scent.
The alpha waits, mouth set stubbornly before huffing past Seokjin, straight for the dressing table. He’s lost weight— his pants hang loosely on him, and the guilt digs its claws again.
Seokjin doesn’t pay attention to the feeling for long, Jungkook’s gasp getting him back to the present as he tilts his neck left and right, nails digging into the mark. Seokjin crosses his arms as he waits for the inevitable realisation to settle in. Jungkook stares at the mirror transfixed, before turning around to face Seokjin.
His eyes shuddering with gold is the only sign Seokjin gets before he collapses again in a heap— and Seokjin runs to him on instinct, gathering him up before dropping him like a hot potato.
He didn’t even think before doing that, almost as if his omega was running the program now.
Seokjin lays him down but stays on his knees—fingers lingering over his own mating gland as it throbs with a certain, protective heat.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
I had to finish ch 17 before posting this and I just did yesterday and I am SO excited y'all like I'm in love with the way I have plotted this thing. IDC if it's perfect or not but I'm impressed w myself and proud too. Fair to say that from ch 16 onwards a lot of the secrets and mysteries I have been building up to in previous chs will start getting revealed, which is why I wanted to end the year with ch 15.
So...yeah, I did that to Namjoon. I saw some brilliant theories and guesses, and a couple came really close but yep: my boy is a beta & joonjae is a massive dick. He's meant to be. I've been dying to reveal this one. Basically- Joonjae is forcing namjoon to take hormones/drugs meant to alter one's sub-gender, and they're highly addictive. If joon has been taking them since he presented, his entire system is fucked by now. It's a big angst point for the future.
Also, I like this chapter so much because of Kim Siblings! Potentially bonding in the future! I love messed-up family dynamics that just need a lot of love to function. The way jin sees the situation versus jimin, oof. I can't wait, truly.
thank you for being patient. See you soon for the next update, love you all! EEp!
Chapter 17: Got a Secret, Couldn't Keep It
Notes:
I literally do not have any excuse except April was a hellfire month and the Universe was testing me constantly. I also read this fic from start to finish and idk, I felt a bit annoyed by certain things or the way I'd written them, which made me procrastinate even more. I know I said this fic is for fun but ultimately everything I write and pour myself into is precious to me.
That being said- it's here now and I had to pep myself up but it's HERE thank fuck. I'm genuinely so excited about how you guys will find this chapter :D
ENJOY! <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jimin woke up to cheap sheets sticking to him. The sweat was everywhere—on his back and navel and neck. Between his legs, mixing with the slick that had begun leaking, again.
Things they never told about heat: the mind-numbing, gut-wrenching pain between each heat spell, rising to an unbearable wave of agony before falling into the worst kind of hunger.
Moon above, he was tired. So, so tired.
Lavender coated his tongue thick, the sage quick to follow. Jimin turned to his side— half hazy, half desperate— and found Taehyung asleep next to him, body flushed pink in his rut.
His neck was littered with bruises, red scratches along his arm all the way across his back. Jimin’s handiwork, when he’d been holding on for dear life as Taehyung fucked him. Have you ever fucked before, Taehyung?
Jimin had regretted asking that.
Turned out, it didn’t matter whether Taehyung had experience or not because Jimin loved being pinned down by him anyway.
The heat clawed at his belly, and Jimin craved him. It was horrific, but he didn’t even stop to think as he crawled over, unbuckling Taehyung’s pants and pulling them down. Taehyung’s cock sprung out, semi-hard from smelling Jimin’s scent and slick. Jimin’s mouth watered at the thick outline of it, warm when he held it. All his omega wanted was to be fucked by it, over and over again until he was stuffed to the brim with Taehyung’s knot until he couldn’t move. He wanted his cum plugged in and kept safe for Jimin.
Jimin looked up at Taehyung again, eyes flickering gold underneath. They’d discussed, during the moments of clarity, if Jimin could fuck him or vice versa should either of them wake up before the other. Embarrassing as it was, Jimin had learnt the hard way how crucial any form of consent was in an assassin camp.
He stroked along the length, using his slick to make the glide smoother. Taehyung twitched in his sleep— but didn’t wake. That was fine. As long as Jimin could fuck him, he could be dead to the world even.
He tried to be patient, to only swallow it down and get some relief— but it got too much, to have it and not, and Jimin didn’t wait before swinging his legs over him— and groaning as he pushed it in, throwing his head back at finally, finally getting something in him. He’d waited for so long.
Once it was snug and fit— he rose and fell again. And again, until all he could feel was the slick, the cock going in and out, the only thing connecting him to this world.
The movement woke Taehyung up eventually— but he kept quiet, eyes flashing gold as he dug his fingers into Jimin’s hips, holding onto him and guiding him. The way Jimin deserved.
Halfway through Taehyung’s rut kicked in, and he flipped Jimin over, thrusting into him on instinct. He’d made fun of him for not fucking before, but right then Jimin couldn’t tell— it felt so good. It felt full and the pain was non-existent, the heat pleasant instead of unbearable. Jimin opened his mouth for more of the lavender to flood in.
He was in heaven.
Jimin cried when Taehyung’s knot began catching— his slit clenched around it, constricting itself to hold on— there was a slight discomfort, but it burned good. Taehyung clutched the sheets next to him and continued to thrust even as cum began spurting out, hot and wet and thick into Jimin’s slit.
He held on as Taehyung fucked his cum back into his hole until his knot caught for good and expanded— locking it all in.
🖤⚔🖤
Overnight, a lot of things had changed.
For as long as Jimin cared to remember, his relationship with Taehyung in the past had been based on mutual dislike and intense competition. Their decision to share their cycles had complicated that, causing a mess that ultimately had Jimin running away.
With everything that has happened recently— he wishes for the past to return. Competition and hatred with a mutual agreement to fuck but never speak of it—no, wait, that’s not something he wants. Obviously. He doesn’t want to fuck Taehyung.
Whatever happened after the auction was just that— an accident. A build-up of intense feelings, the subsequent anger riling Jimin’s slutty omega of a wolf— and there had been a good enough alpha at the right time. That’s all.
Taehyung shifts next to him, and the boner pressing against Jimin’s thigh is much too obvious to ignore.
Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to think about Taehyung’s dick or the last time it had been heavy in his slit as it went in and out, pinning Jimin down to the world when all he wanted was to float away—
Slick trickles out, and Jimin squeezes his thighs shut. Absolutely not. No matter how it feels and how good it is to have Taehyung pressed so close against him—
“Get off, you big oaf,” Jimin huffs, shoving against him with all his might. Taehyung grunts, his weight like a rock. Jimin shoves again, pulling himself out from under his arm. “Taehyung. Yah. Yah!”
“Moon, what,” Taehyung grumbles, blinking and squinting at Jimin. Curse his heart, it races for a moment at the utterly cute display. He looks like a vulnerable puppy. Jimin shakes his head. “What is it now?”
“Stop hogging all the space,” Jimin replies, pulling at the sheets and turning away. He is all too aware that Taehyung is shirtless, and with his neck tilted like that, a generous amount of lavender is being served. “This is a king’s size bed.”
“Mm, sharp observational skills,” Taehyung mutters, groaning as he stretches, pyjamas slung low on his hips. Jimin looks away, biting hard. He can’t be distracted so easily. The auction-sex thing had been an accident. “Y’know what else is king’s size, baby?”
No. No. “I’m sure you’re eager to tell me.”
“Not really. I’ve already proven it,” Taehyung says, winking, and Jimin’s cheeks heat up. “I’d be happy to sign you up for another trial—”
“I’m leaving,” Jimin says, swinging feet first and kicking Taehyung away to his side of the obnoxiously large bed. Thank Moon they didn’t fuck on the bed that night. Jimin wouldn’t have been able to sleep for days. “When you’re done growing up, let me know.”
He doesn’t wait for Taehyung’s response as he rushes, locking himself in the bathroom— and away from Taehyung’s scent. He’s given up trying to understand the issue with Taehyung’s scent blockers; it’s possible the Moon Goddess just likes to fuck with him. It’s his destiny, to try and try to be above his shitty luck—no matter what, it’s bound to fly right back into his face.
Moving away doesn’t stop the slick from leaking, and Jimin slumps against the door, hitting his head against it before trudging to the shower, undressing along the way. Regret colours his mouth sour, but Jimin’s wolf is attracted to Taehyung and he’s too on edge to deny it.
The water is warm, mixing with the slick as Jimin slides a finger in, rubbing along the slit. His cock begins chubbing up, and he grabs hold of it, stroking it to hardness and dipping his fingers in every now and then, curling them deeper with each attempt.
Why he wants it to last when it’s about getting off, he doesn’t want to answer. Jimin’s given up analysing his life and what his wolf wants; he feels like it, so he does. Within reason, of course, but he doesn’t stop himself from conjuring Taehyung’s face, the way he’d looked the night of the auction. Messy black hair, petal-shaped eyes dark with lust. Cheeks flushed, as had been his neck. The swollen mating gland, and how it had called to Jimin.
Jimin groans as quietly as possible while he holds on to the wall for support, pushing past his walls and massaging them. Slick drips down the side of his thighs, and his calves tremble.
The image changes from Taehyung’s spit-slick lips to Taehyung in the bed just now— clean, sleepy and messy— but domestic. Pyjamas slung low giving a hint of what he packed beneath, the prominent outline of his bulge. The way he’d squinted at Jimin, pouting slightly before he’d smirked, and Goddess, Jimin can’t help it as he thinks of another life far away from this. One where they were simply Taehyung and Jimin, and Taehyung was waking up before proceeding to fuck Jimin’s brains out. Morning sex, slow and sleepy, syrupy and floating, with none of that urgency that always followed them, that angry hunger they couldn’t get rid of. They had all the time in the world, and no one to run away from, least of all themselves.
Even in his lowest moments, Jimin never imagined getting off to domestic life with Taehyung.
Well. Once upon a time, you did dream about it, his wolf murmurs and Jimin snaps his eyes open the moment he starts coming, jerking off in rapid strokes while his slit throbs. His hands and legs shake, and he holds onto the shower head with all his strength, breathing harshly.
He quickly washes off everything. If Taehyung chooses to shower right after, he won’t be able to hide what he did. He isn’t sure if he wants to, even. Let the alpha know how much he doesn’t care, how it’s just sex.
Jimin gets dressed, and when he comes out, Taehyung is still lounging in bed, scrolling through his phone with a hand supporting his head. His biceps shine, and Jimin tracks the thin trail of hair disappearing down his front. He looks away, wearing his watch and earrings.
He gets about the rest of his chores—when he realises how quiet it is. Taehyung, and not opening his mouth? He must have smelled Jimin’s release in the hot shower steam at the very least, but he looks bored. Is it a front?
“So, hey,” Jimin starts, wanting to cut through the silence. It’s not even the tense kind; Taehyung simply isn’t doing anything to get on his nerves. “I’m going to find Seokjin and ask about Jungkook. Just so you know.”
Taehyung looks up, and Jimin’s heart races again. His hair is still messy, and despite the crust lodged in his eyes, he looks so pretty. It’s not fair. “Sure, okay.”
Then he goes back to scrolling.
Okay? Okay?! Jimin bites his tongue, irritation lodging under his skin anyway. He doesn’t understand himself either. Hadn’t he wanted this a couple of weeks ago? For Taehyung to shut up? Now that he has, Jimin somehow can’t stand that as well.
Maybe the Moon Goddess makes it difficult for him because he can’t chill for a second.
Jimin turns away, not wanting to start a petty argument, as much as his omega clamours at him, demanding why the alpha is ignoring them. He’s better than that, better than a petulant child acting out because he didn’t get attention. He’s not pathetic.
He’s at the door when Taehyung clears his throat, and it should be embarrassing, how quickly Jimin turns around in hope.
Taehyung is sitting up now, eyes locked on Jimin. They don’t look hungry or dark; just contemplative. It’s been that way for a while now. Since Jimin collapsed in his arms and Taehyung tended to him. Since he scented Jimin after the Imposition and stayed with him. Since Jimin found out about Namjoon and Taehyung told him the truth.
Jimin doesn’t know what to do with it. “Yes?”
“Before you go,” Taehyung starts, picking up a pillow— Jimin’s, oh no— and squeezing it to his chest. “Could we talk?”
All of Jimin halts. Somehow, he knows. It’s been hours— no, days, really— and he would have been a fool to think it would be brushed under the carpet. As much as he would have loved to, and they used to back then— things have changed.
They fucked— after ten years. Only it hadn’t felt like ten, not with the way they’d melded into each other, slipping into their roles and positions with such blinding ease Jimin is still mortified. They weren’t supposed to; it was never his intention when he begrudgingly joined Taehyung’s plan.
Yet it happened and they should talk if they want everything to proceed smoothly. Feelings can’t come in the way again.
“Sure,” Jimin whispers, swallowing again as he crosses his arms. Snow falls outside their window, and it hits him that it’s been a month. Maybe more since Jimin’s birthday and the night it all changed. “Is this— is this about— that night?”
Better to cut to the chase than wait around. Taehyung’s cheeks go pink. “Y-yeah.”
“Okay,” Jimin says, nails cutting through his sweater into his bicep. His omega is hanging on every word. “What do you want to say?”
Taehyung gazes at him for a moment too long before looking away, scratching the back of his neck and rubbing his hair. He brings the hand over his face as if he doesn’t want to do this. Jimin relates. “I just— fuck, this is tough.”
“Yeah.”
“And awkward.” Taehyung chucks the pillow aside, gets out of bed and strides towards Jimin leisurely, hands in his pockets. Lavender rolls off him, pretty and safe, and it also smells nervous. “I wanted to— to convey that. Um. That night.”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t— ugh. It wasn’t my intention to fuck. Okay?” Taehyung spits out, face scrunched up in awkward pain. Jimin relaxes, relief coursing through his blood. Yes, exactly. It had been merely hormones and anger.
“Oh, yeah. That’s— that’s good to know. It wasn’t my intention either, of course.”
“Yeah, cool, whatever,” Taehyung mutters, gaze contemplative again even as he bites his lips. Tension begins picking up— he has more to say. “While it wasn’t my intention to fuck you that night— I don’t regret it either.”
What.
Jimin drops his arms, but words don’t make their way out.
“I don’t regret it, Jimin,” Taehyung says again, forceful and certain. Jimin can’t claim to mishear them. “I just wish it didn’t happen the way it did. That’s all.”
What does he mean, that’s all? He wanted it to happen some other way? What, like Jimin’s domestic fantasy? Without a fight? Organically?
Jimin shakes his head, confused once again. His omega is yipping away happily somewhere, but Jimin suppresses it, too overwhelmed to think some more. “O—okay. Sure.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push or tease him for once. His eyes carry that unbearable softness, the one that’s been happening more and more, and Jimin looks away. He can’t think about it, or what his statement means.
“Have a nice meeting with Jin-hyung,” Taehyung says, and Jimin nods. He takes a step backwards, but the alpha stops him again. “Oh, and Jimin?”
“Mm?”
“Keep quiet about Namjoon-hyung, okay?” Taehyung asks, his voice barely a murmur. “Just— no one knows at camp. Word gets out, it’ll be a bloodbath.”
“I won’t do that to Namjoon-hyung,” Jimin whispers, fingers curling into the edges of his sweater. “You can trust me.”
“Hyung will blame you. You’re a threat now.” Taehyung’s face falls back into that mask again. “Not that you have to worry— I’ll always be there. Okay?”
Jimin nods, before rushing to get the fuck out.
His heart slams against his ribs as he walks away from the room, the beat so heavy it feels like it would break any second and sink right into his stomach. Too much had happened in the past hour alone and Jimin is—
He squashes it all down as he asks the guard for Seokjin’s whereabouts, and finds the omega at the garden table, chewing distractedly at his breakfast.
Jimin doesn’t ask before plopping himself down and helping himself to the food. Out of the corner of his eye, he observes Seokjin— he seems tired and sleep deprived. There are scratches at the edge of his jaw and down his neck, but they’re healing.
Some moments pass before Jimin looks around— and leans in. “How’s Jungkook?”
Seokjin takes his own sweet time, spreading jam on toast and munching without care. “He’s safe.”
“Is he healthy?”
“He’s being taken care of.”
Jimin’s hands curl around the butter knife. “What does that mean?”
Seokjin’s eyes flash. Right, there’s still the matter of Jimin walking in on Namjoon and the challenge that almost took place between their omegas. “It means he’s safe, and you shouldn’t worry about it.”
Goddess above, the Kim siblings were insufferable. Why couldn’t they just tell things as it is?
Jimin knows he’s not going to get anything out. Seokjin is too paranoid, and their latest clash would be punished. He had no option but to trust that the true mate bond would make sure Seokjin kept Jungkook safe.
They eat the rest of the breakfast silently. Seokjin is clearly distracted, and now that Jimin knows what he knows— he wonders what else the omega is hiding. The other atrocious things Joonjae is making him do.
“How long have you known him?” Seokjin asks suddenly, and Jimin raises an eyebrow. Seokjin flushes in admonition. “What? I just want to know.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“I’ve never had a True Mate before, forgive me,” Seokjin hisses, low enough so that none of the guards come rushing in. “I’m curious. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Right. Realistically speaking, Seokjin and Jungkook simply wouldn’t make sense. Opposites in every way, one a born and bred assassin, the other a rookie cop. True mates or not, it isn’t logical at all.
“I’ve known him since university,” Jimin says softly, cutting into a soft-boiled egg. “About seven years now. He’s two years younger than me.”
Seokjin hums, sipping his tea. If Seokjin had tracked Jungkook and got him here, then he must have found out everything. Probably knew about Jungkook’s budding career as a cop, the university he went to and which district he was stationed at. Where he lived, and for a moment Jimin’s blood boils at that intrusion. Jungkook of all people doesn’t deserve to be involved in this mess.
Whether they maintain a truce or not, Jimin will make Seokjin pay.
“My turn,” Jimin murmurs, wanting to hit back and also satisfy his curiosity from the source himself. “That thing you’re doing to Namjoon. Why?”
Seokjin flinches back before his eyes brighten and he curls his lips. Defensive. Taehyung had warned him— but Jimin has a bad habit of not listening. He’s gunning for a fight— when Seokjin slumps.
His shoulders drop down, and he crosses his arms, face miserable. Guilt shines in his eyes, and he looks away before Jimin can observe him further.
“I don’t have a choice,” he says, words low and gritted out. Angry and helpless. “It’s the best for all those involved.”
“How—”
“If I don’t, Abbeoji might do something worse to him,” Seokjin cuts in softly. “And I can’t lose him, Jimin. I can’t lose Namjoon.” Seokjin looks away in the distance, and Jimin taps his fingers on the table. “We’ve already lost so much, especially with Eomma.”
Jimin halts, fingers frozen on the cold surface. The Kingpin’s mate is dead? A breeze picks up, and the scant clumps of snow roll across the grass, melting. Seokjin looks ethereal— but sad.
The face of a person who had lost a parent. Jimin would know, he sees his reflection every day.
As mysterious as the Kingpin and his sons had been outside of training, his mate had been even more elusive. Jimin, like most trainees, had heard of her and seen a scant picture or two, but never seen the omega herself. She was supposedly from another powerful family in the criminal underworld, but all information had been kept under wraps.
“She’s…dead?” Jimin asks, wincing at how clinical he sounds. They never teach one to be more comfortable with condolences, even if one’s career is in killing people.
Seokjin frowns, coming back to the present. His eyes glimmer with unshed tears, but he blinks them away, putting on a mask. “Yes. Two years ago. It was an accident, of all things.” Seokjin scoffs, as if unable to believe something so mundane had ultimately taken someone’s life. “Taehyung took it the hardest. But it was a loss to all of us nonetheless.”
Jimin gulps. Taehyung hadn’t said a word— but then, why would he? He’d brought Jimin back to execute a plan and get out once done. He didn’t have to get into his losses or his whereabouts of the past ten years for it.
And yet. He empathises. Jimin never quite got over his parents leaving him behind at camp, and though he’d never looked for them, even considered them good as dead— he still mourned.
Somehow, it feels like a truce, as the two omegas contemplate in silence. Jimin can’t trust Seokjin just because he has his own demons to battle about Joonjae—ultimately, he’s still a son who is too attached and too eager for Joonjae’s praise.
It still feels like it’s no longer what it used to be—or has to be.
🖤⚔🖤
Jungkook wakes up on the cold, hard ground.
The sky above is a slate grey, with tall trees surrounding him. Birds screech sporadically, and the leftover silence press on his ears.
Damp soil scratches against his naked skin. His neck feels hot to touch, and when his hand comes away it is ink-black.
Out of instinct, Jungkook sniffs it, flinching as patchouli oil floods his senses. The shock grows into a curios hunger, and Jungkook inhales once again, wanting the scent embedded in his lungs.
The ink leaks down his fingers, enveloping his entire skin— until it travels up his mouth, and covers his vision again.
It’s not the forest, or even the damp ground, when he wakes up again. Jungkook blinks as his eyes adjust to the dim room, vision fuzzy and head throbbing. The scent of patchouli, however, is quite real, clinging to the satin sheets brushing against his back.
He turns, groaning at the simple movement— all of him hurts, muscles sore and his wounds still stinging. Right. He’s not in the forest, or in the dream for that matter.
Kim Seokjin’s bedroom is as lavish as they come.
Jungkook takes a couple of deep breaths before heaving himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the aches making themselves known. His body is weak, his hand quivering as he reaches for the covered glass on the bedside table.
He gulps down the water, half of it splashing down his neck and wetting his shirt— Jungkook doesn’t care, welcoming the relief of the cold against his fevered skin. Once quenched, he leans against the headboard—taking in the view.
It’s a room he’s become familiar with over the past couple of—days? Weeks? — And memorised. Jungkook can’t leave, after all. He can’t open the blinds or move around much. He’s confined to this bed, waiting for Seokjin to visit every once in a while— and cope with the knowledge that his destined mate is an assassin.
It can’t get more ridiculous than that.
He gets out of bed slowly, stopping every couple of moments to breathe through the pain. Whatever those omega fuckers did to him in that room has taken a toll, and it’s taking too long to heal. His wolf is silent—not absent, but not taking charge either. It had woken only once, the first time Jungkook woke up in this strange room and attacked Seokjin—until his whole world had shifted with a couple of words. You and I are True Mates.
It had grown strangely complacent after that as if it didn’t want to risk losing Seokjin. Stupid little shit.
Jungkook doesn’t know the date, time or even month. For all it matters, he could have been a prisoner for a long, long time—and he wouldn’t know, trapped as he is. Whether in a prison or a fancy room—Jungkook is a captive all the same.
He does his best to clean himself with a washcloth, injuries still too tender for a bath. He’d still feel grimy at the end of it—but it will have to do. As a prisoner, he’s getting a lot more than he probably should.
Once done, he walks to the floor-length mirror—and faces his reflection.
The Mark is still there, inky-black and freshly branded. A crescent moon— which means if Seokjin ever got a Bite from him, he’d have a complementary, opposite phase of the moon—a mark by the Moon Goddess herself. Your other half. You complete each other.
For all the love he held for her, Jungkook has found his reasons to dismiss her claims. An assassin as his other half. Give him a break.
Jungkook buttons up his shirt, closing the collar over the mark. He can pretend it’s not there if he doesn’t see it. His wounds are in different stages of healing— some are light pink, a little red in the middle, and some have begun scabbing over. It itches, but he restrains himself. Instead, he paces around the room. He had been given strict instructions to avoid the windows, and while Jungkook had bristled at the command— he knows he was here against Seokjin’s will. Or at least, someone’s will, and Seokjin’s taking a risk in keeping him here.
He paces and halts when notes of patchouli oil get stronger. Against his wishes, his heart races and his alpha curls even more, eagerly yipping for more of their mate’s scent. Jungkook grits his teeth and gets into bed instead.
Seokjin opens the door slightly, swiftly getting in as is fit for an assassin. Jungkook watches as the omega—and his alpha practically howls for it, wanting to be close, to inhale more of that scent—but Jungkook digs his nails into the sheets.
There is the cloying scent of scent-blockers, but Jungkook can smell him even under that. And he smells…sadness, in Seokjin’s scent. Misery, and…guilt? For what? Locking Jungkook up?
He looks tired, removing his watch distractedly and loosening his tie. It releases even more of the patchouli, and Jungkook swallows. He will trash this room if he whimpers like some pathetic alpha.
Seokjin looks towards him—and standstills when he catches Jungkook’s eyes. Jungkook doesn’t look away, holding them. Seokjin gulps, and it’s a whole other look from the prickly, arrogant one he’d shown Jungkook in the basement.
His eyes do a quick assessment, looking at Jungkook’s discarded old clothes—and nods. Looks pained as he gets closer. “How are you feeling?”
Really? All the questions in the world, and he asks that? Jungkook scoffs, looking away. He still can’t wrap his head around it. A contract killer is his mate, great.
“Why do you care?” Jungkook mutters, crossing his arms. “People like you don’t need to pretend so hard.”
Seokjin frowns. “I’m just asking. I need an update so I know what other supplies to get.”
“What a caring mate,” Jungkook snarks, though a part of him feels childish. He doesn’t have to engage in dialogue at all. He can answer Seokjin’s question and keep it to that, but no. “A mate that had to be— what are you again?”
Seokjin’s eyes blaze blue, and an unwarranted thrill lights under Jungkook’s skin. Sick. “An assassin, and a good one.”
“Like that’s something to be proud of?”
“When you’re as skilled as me, yes.”
“Good thing I am not you,” Jungkook says hotly, hating himself for engaging, for giving in.
“A pity, isn’t it? If you’d been half as good, you wouldn’t have gotten caught,” Seokjin says, shrugging—and Jungkook flushes. “I’ll just wait for you to sleep again—and tend to your wounds then. Less noise that way.”
He turns around, intent on leaving Jungkook in the dark to himself. The image of him walking away—the very first one Jungkook had seen when he’d tried tracking Jimin and only seen Seokjin’s broad back— triggers a visceral fear he can’t name yet. “W-wait.”
Seokjin turns, a hand in his pocket. “Yes?”
Jungkook twists his fingers, the words caught on his tongue. Seokjin crosses his arms, but his gait is patient…as if he knows how difficult this is for Jungkook as well.
As if he cares.
“Am I— am I a prisoner?” Jungkook asks, cheeks heating because what a stupid question. Of course, he is. He’s confined to this room that he can describe from memory alone.
Seokjin relaxes. “No. Not in the strictest sense of the word.”
“Then?”
The omega bites his lips, head turning towards the closed door before striding closer. He looks nervous, his scent—afraid. “It’s my father— he can’t find out about you. You’ll be killed if he does.”
His father? Who the hell is that now? Isn’t Seokjin the head of the organisation or something?
His mind swarms with questions, but Jungkook catches on the decision Seokjin has made. “Why do you care?”
“Hmm?”
“Why do you care what happens to me when you’re— when you’re a killer yourself?”
Seokjin flinches back, but the mask slips in immediately. His eyes are still blue, and Jungkook wonders about Seokjin’s omega. How present it is, to be so available all the time.
“I don’t care,” Seokjin says at last, lips pressed into a thin line. It’s honest, and pained at the same time. “Well, I don’t. But my wolf does. It’s made a choice, and I can’t fight it.”
Seokjin doesn’t wait after—walking out the same way he’d come in.
🖤⚔🖤
With nothing better to do, Jimin heads over to the training grounds, smiling as he hears the sounds of a fight and the cheers of the children. It still hurts his heart to know kids are still being bought and sold to the camp— but at least under Taehyung’s tutelage, they seem to be faring off better.
The alpha is away mapping out the catacomb structures, and Jimin is here, hoping to keep his cover intact by stepping in as a teacher. His near-miss altercation with Joonjae had shaken him to the bone, and Jimin wants to avoid Joonjae finding out.
He can’t stop thinking about the Kingpin’s mate.
Taehyung’s mother, his wolf supplies, hinting at the real reason why Jimin can’t let go.
It disturbs him, for some reason. There’s something here that he can’t quite put a finger on— Taehyung took it the hardest— and the changes in Taehyung. Namjoon’s treatment by Joonjae. Taehyung’s insistence that killing Joonjae was only for power.
The Namjoon bit makes sense now. There’s more to the story than meets the eye, and camp seems more dangerous than ever. Jimin’s not sure if the plot he entered for is what he’ll leave with— or if he’ll ever leave at all.
Way to be morbid. He shakes his head, going toward the training equipment and wearing gloves along with a sleeveless guard jacket over his sweater. The winter breeze runs its teeth along his spine and arms, but Jimin grits his teeth through it.
He’s wearing the knee pads when lavender comes his way. Jimin stiffens, looking around— but Taehyung isn’t there. Just a couple of kids watching him with wide eyes, hiding when he smiles. Cute. They giggle when Jimin rubs their hair, before gasping at something behind him— and scuttling away.
“The big bear comes by and they run away,” a familiar voice whispers, and Jimin straightens. As if it was a Pavlovian response, Jimin’s heart pounds again. “Not fair. You’ve been here only a month.”
“I’m approachable,” Jimin says without missing a beat, turning around—and halting, as Taehyung ties a guard jacket to himself and wraps the gloves around. “Shouldn’t you be busy with something else?”
“Shh, Jimin, espionage takes time,” Taehyung whispers, winking— it’s playful, and not that hot, stifling tension. “Catacombs are in use today.”
“In use? For what?”
“Who knows? Maybe it’s another poor sod that pissed off Abbeoji and needs to be taught a lesson,” Taehyung says casually, uncaring. Jimin frowns. “I’ll go when they’re empty.”
Taehyung leaves after that, running in the midst of the crowd with exaggerated growling sounds, and the children giggle, running between his legs before he whistles sharply, and they fall into line. He explains the lessons of today—and it’s clear they adore him. Jimin’s mouth goes dry the longer he looks at the display, his omega cooing. He’d make a good father, no?
Shut up, shut up, Jimin chants internally, squeezing his eyes shut. First, getting off to some wild domestic fantasy. Now his omega is conspiring against him, and Jimin is tired. Frustrated and confused—but goddess, so tired.
He can’t take this fluffy shit anymore.
“Hey, Taehyung,” Jimin pipes in during a break, and Taehyung tells the kids to continue their given task before he turns, curious. “Up for a rematch?”
Jimin throws a set of boxing gloves in his direction, which he catches deftly. Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “Rematch?”
“Mm.”
“That eager to lose, are we?” Taehyung asks, wearing the gloves one by one. He doesn’t stop looking at Jimin. “What do you want?”
“Who says I want anything?”
“Willingly initiating a fight? The good old times have returned at last,” Taehyung chuckles, moving his neck from side to side. “What is it?”
Ah, Kim Taehyung and his ability to read Jimin like a book. “Winner gets an answer to any question they ask.”
“Aw, love, we don’t have to fight for that,” Taehyung croons, before turning towards the kids. “Hey! Class is now self-training. Take an early lunch after.”
The kids scream, throwing their equipment in disarray—Taehyung helps a couple of them, and the fluffy betrayal is back again. Jimin stamps his foot. No. He’s not father material.
“Ready?” Jimin asks, once the training ring is empty, and Taehyung nods, getting into position. “I’m not going to go easy.”
“That’s okay. I like it when you’re hard,” Taehyung teases, and Jimin, damn it, blushes to his roots. “Sorry. Go hard, my bad.”
“Shut up,” Jimin snarls, before landing the first swing. Taehyung blocks easily, before making his own move.
It’s not boxing, not strictly. It’s the dirty sort of fighting—legs, shins, mouth and the occasional sock in the eye—Taehyung tuts when Jimin makes a swing for his crotch, wiggling his finger at him. Jimin rolls his eyes.
He wants to fight so badly. He wants to win, but it’s utterly frustrating, how playful Taehyung is being all of a sudden. The fight is soft even by most standards—almost like they’re puppies in a brawl, and the thought of it makes Jimin hurl. He didn’t give almost twelve years of his life learning how to kill people to fight like a civilian.
A good fight is one that has a degree of patience to it; Jimin has none as he begins fighting dirty—he aims to win, though Taehyung makes it near impossible. He wants to mess this up—whatever it is. Bring that tension back, because all this softness—it changes everything. It upends their reality.
“Sheesh, Jimin, what’s got your panties in a twist,” Taehyung snorts, huffing as Jimin lands a punch at his midriff, that he barely blocks in time. He’s tiring—Jimin can taste the victory, light on his feet as he deflects Taehyung’s attacks. He sidesteps when Taehyung moves in—using his momentum to pull him forward, shoving his leg in between to trip him up. Taehyung falls face-first—but quickly turns around mid-air, landing on his back with a grunt. Jimin crowds his space, hovering his body even though a part of him wants to sit. “Dirty.”
Taehyung breathes hard, sweat running down his face into his chest. Jimin strains to keep his eyes above. The lavender mixes with the dust, tickling the back of his nose. “Were you expecting anything else?”
“Certainly not this,” Taehyung purrs, clasping Jimin’s waist—thank goddess for the gloves. Even with them, Jimin can feel phantom fingers. “Could have just asked, baby.”
“Nothing’s ever that easy with you,” Jimin says, wiping the sweat with the back of his hand. He can sense Taehyung carefully looking only above his neck. None of those shameless looks and the toe-curling glances. Why is Jimin craving them, though? “But if I win it—you have no choice.”
“Assuming I have honour left,” Taehyung says, nudging the back of Jimin’s thighs with his own. Somehow, even that has Jimin’s nerves flaring. He gets up hastily before he can do something embarrassing like slick up at the bare minimum. He holds out a hand instead—and Taehyung gets up too. “Shoot.”
He walks past Jimin towards the equipment table, packing away his gloves— facing away from him, and Jimin lingers on his broad back a moment before clearing his throat. “I met Seokjin earlier today. Breakfast.”
“Okay?”
“He told me he can’t do anything about the Namjoon thing. That there are worse things,” Jimin continues, carefully assessing Taehyung’s body. “He told me about your mom.”
Taehyung stiffens, hands frozen over the bundle of spears. “Did he?”
“Yeah.”
“And? What about it?”
Jimin gulps. Taehyung sounds cold again, the playfulness gone. Somehow, Jimin mourns it already. “How did she die?”
Taehyung turns around, and the look on his face makes Jimin stumble back. It’s frigid, and Jimin instinctively rubs his arms.
“How is that relevant?”
Jimin frowns. “Sorry?”
“How is that relevant to why you’re here?” Taehyung spits out, taking a long stride toward him—cornering Jimin against the table at his back. “Last I checked, you came here for a job.”
“I didn’t mean to—I was just asking,” Jimin fumbles and Taehyung scoffs. His pupils are shaking—not with anger, however. Something more profound. Taehyung took it the hardest. “She’s your mother—”
“And she’s none of your fucking business,” Taehyung says lowly, almost growling, and Jimin’s knees shake. His omega quakes with him. Alpha is angry with us. “So don’t shove your nose where it doesn’t fucking belong.”
Each word punches, so different from a mere five minutes ago—only this time, Jimin isn’t offended. Taehyung’s eyes shake, and his nose flares pink— Jimin would recognise grief anywhere he goes.
He submits. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” He pushes past him and around, bowing slightly—and gets the hell out of his sight. It’s a nervous stumble, but Jimin refuses to look back. The scent of sorrow and pain is still overwhelming, and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t know what to do with it.
What, just because I lost my parents I’d understand his grief? Jimin scoffs at his idiocy. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to know them. All of his memories, whatever is left, have been tainted by their betrayal. No, Jimin won’t understand what it’s like to have a parent—and then lose them.
He walks wherever his omega takes him— this time, away from Taehyung, letting the alpha cool down. What a stupid assumption to make. What, they share a couple of anecdotes, laugh a bit—and Jimin cares? He’s that easy?
Nails bite into his forearm, as he braces himself against the November chill. His eyes blur from the sudden influx of the wind— and Jimin walks blindly before slamming into a solid wall.
Sinewy and hard. Definitely not cement or brick.
Just his luck, he had to walk into a chest built like one.
“Oh, Jimin— you okay?” Hands grip his shoulders carefully like he’s porcelain, and Jimin blinks up to look at— Kim Namjoon. Of fucking course. “Shit, I wasn’t seeing where I was looking— I’m so sorry—”
“N-no, that’s okay,” Jimin splutters, looking down to see the books fallen down. Typical Namjoon, head in the clouds and eyes on the books. “Ah, Namjoon-hyung— reading while walking, really?”
Namjoon blushes, bending down and picking them up hastily. Jimin observes him—he looks fine. Better than fine even, healthy and—huh. Those dark circles are missing. So the drugs worked that fast. Last he’d seen him, the alpha—no, beta, shit that’ll be a tough one to remember— was in such a poor state, Jimin could barely recognise him.
“You know me, too occupied to care for my surroundings,” Namjoon says easily, cheeks highlighted pink. Up close, he doesn’t smell anything strong. Jimin had thought that was due to the scent blockers—but now, he gets the faintest notes of maybe sandalwood. Chemically formulated scents? “What’s up? You look messy.”
Jimi assesses himself— sweater damp with sweat, his undershirt sticking to him uncomfortably. He’s sure his hair has seen better days. “Training. The usual.”
“Taehyung roped you in again?” Namjoon asks, holding the books to his chest—he’s built like an alpha, and it really would fool anyone. Joonjae had gotten away far too easily. “I thought you didn’t want to come back to this life.”
Right. That was the cover story. Jimin laughs. “I don’t. But staff was short, so Taehyung asked me to help him demonstrate. That’s about it.”
He can’t help but keep looking at Namjoon’s elbow. Do they still have those track marks? Jimin looks up again and tries to see if Namjoon’s eyes flicker gold. They remain a normal brown— and they’re locked into him.
Jimin gulps. He’s better than this, he knows how to hold his ground. Yet, it’s Namjoon, someone Jimin used to feel the safest with and to know he’s not who he is…
Namjoon sighs. Rolls his neck, before chuckling to himself. When he looks at Jimin again, his eyes are regretful. “Jimin. Hey. It’s fine. I know.”
“S-sorry?”
“I know you know,” Namjoon says lowly. He shuffles from foot to foot. “Jin-hyung told me what happened.”
Fuck. Now Jimin’s put him in a tough spot, hasn’t he? It isn’t his fault, though. What he’d stumbled upon was a huge thing. “I didn’t—it was an accident.”
“I get it. We let our guards down,” Namjoon murmurs. “Well, if you have something to ask—”
“No, nothing,” Jimin says in a rush, though he has so many questions. Not now, though. Maybe not ever. It's not his place. “Well, not about that, anyway.”
Namjoon raises an eyebrow, before shrugging. He looks relieved that he doesn’t have to hide anymore. “Sure. Want to go for a stroll?”
“In this weather?”
“Precisely why,” Namjoon grins, dimples popping out. “That’s when people stay inside, and we have the world to ourselves.”
Oh. Oh. “Right. Lead the way then, hyung.”
He’s cold and tired, but his mind is brimming with questions. Connections. All of it is in disarray, and he needs the starting point. Namjoon’s always been a welcoming figure for that.
“What did you want to ask?” Namjoon asks after a while. The sandalwood is faint—a bystander would blame it on blockers, or even neutralisers. A con in plain sight. “Assuming it has nothing to do with my…affliction.”
“No, I wasn’t lying about that,” Jimin insists, and Namjoon smiles again. Alpha or beta, he was so good-looking. Too bad Jimin’s tastes now ran along something far more treacherous. “I just. I had a conversation with Seokjin-ssi.”
“Oh? Hyung?”
“Yeah. I know, unheard of,” Jimin rolls his eyes. He can’t say yet why he’d been talking to Seokjin at all. “He told me about your mother.”
Namjoon, to his credit, doesn’t stiffen or react badly. He does look surprised, but he keeps walking. “What about her?”
“She’s dead,” Jimin puts across bluntly, and Namjoon snorts. “Sorry. I’ve had this conversation three times.”
“And no one answered your curiosity enough, did they,” Namjoon coos, ruffling Jimin’s hair like he’s a child. Ugh. Like you’re his brother’s mate-to-be and his future brother-in-law, get it together. “What’s not satisfying about their answer?”
“What?”
“Well, you know she died. Which means you know how she died,” Namjoon concludes, and Jimin is amazed. “It was an accident. Failed brakes, rainy night.”
It just doesn’t sit right with him. “But…how?”
“What do you mean?”
“How can someone like— like her die like that?” Jimin finally gets out, twisting his sweater into knots. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Why? Because she was an assassin’s mate?” Namjoon asks calmly. Jimin turns to look. The beta looks mildly disinterested as if he’s already dealt with this reality. “We’re not above normal occurrences, Jimin-ah.”
Of course, Jimin knows that more than anyone. The sheer amount of near-death experiences he’s had because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, or some other idiot fucked up has been too many. Being an assassin didn’t protect him from that.
“I guess I thought she’d be the safest, being his mate,” Jimin remarks. “I don’t remember her clearly.”
“Hmm. She didn’t come to the workstation much, so it makes sense.”
“It’s not just that…” Jimin bites his lips. Somehow, he’s not able to let this go as just another Taehyung thing as he has in his past. He’s invested, and he can’t get out now. “Taehyung didn’t tell me either. And as his future consort, I—I don’t know. This is probably stupid.”
“No, it makes sense. You’re marrying into his family, even if he leaves the business after,” Namjoon says, hands behind his back. He’s so tall. “Would you like to meet her?”
“Huh?”
“Sorry, I should have clarified,” Namjoon says, looking sheepish. “We’ve kept a memorial in her part of the garden. If you want to know her, even in death.”
It’s a sweet offer, so unlike Taehyung’s outburst and staunch refusal. Then again, Namjoon doesn’t know the truth—he’s doing Jimin a favour as a brother-in-law. Only Taehyung knows what a curious little shit Jimin is.
“I’d love to, if that’s okay with you,” Jimin says, looking at him from under his eyes, and Namjoon nods, leading Jimin down a different path—to a restricted zone. It’s barricaded, so clearly not meant for outsiders. Even in winter, it’s lush with life. “Oh. This is beautiful.”
“Eomma liked gardening a lot, so Abbeoji created this for her,” Namjoon says off-handedly, and Jimin tries not to baulk at that. Joonjae, having an ounce of respect from someone else? “It only felt right to erect her memorial where she loved to stay most.”
They go around a couple of shrubs—it’s built like a mini maze. Jimin keeps an eye out for markers in case he falls into some trouble—but so far, apart from the thick scent of winter roses, it’s harmless.
They arrive at the centre; it consists of a statue of a woman—and beneath it, a coloured photograph along with an inscription.
Lee Sora.
Beloved mate and mother.
1970-2020.
May the Moon Goddess accept her with grace.
Jimin stares at her face— beautiful and breath-taking— but with a sternness in her eyes, along with kindness. Strangely, she looks the most like Namjoon, with some lines of Seokjin— but nothing of Taehyung’s. It makes sense, though, with how much of a spitting image he is of Joonjae. Taehyung took it the hardest. It must bug him, to look nothing like her and everything like the man he’s plotting to kill.
The more he looks at her, faint memories begin trickling in. She didn’t visit the training grounds—but in the few social events Jimin had attended, he can recall her being there at the periphery of his vision. A beautiful omega from an established business family with a foot in the dirty underground of crime. Despite her background, all the rumours about her had only ever been kind.
It doesn’t matter if Jimin’s never met her. The moment he sees her, he feels a phantom ache in his chest— grief for a kind person in a cruel world.
Grief for Taehyung to battle this loss alone.
From what he’s seen of the Kim siblings and the issues Joonjae has created between them— he doesn’t see them mourning this loss properly, or even together.
Jimin places a couple of flowers, lighting an incense stick— and kneels down, head on the floor. He doesn’t believe in the Moon Goddess most days, but he hopes that she took Sora to the skies. Namjoon does the same next to him before they both rise up and stand side by side, each lost in their own thoughts.
The grief threatens to suffocate him—why is he feeling so much? They’re all over the place, more intense than before. He thumps his chest slightly, blinking the tears out of his eyes. This is beyond ridiculous. Jimin needs a distraction.
“Hey, Namjoon-hyung?” Namjoon turns, eyes sad but otherwise stable. Maybe it had been his beta temperament all along. “Do you know anything about True Mates?”
Namjoon frowns. “Huh? All of a sudden?”
Shit, right. He doesn’t know about Jungkook and Seokjin. “Y-yeah. Just curious.”
“Okay,” Namjoon says, though he still looks unconvinced. “Sure, I know the basics. What do you want to know?”
Oh, wow. Jimin doesn’t know why he’s surprised—he’d asked Namjoon precisely because out of all of them, he read the most. “Just…how it happens, I guess.”
Namjoon’s eyes roam all over his face before he shrugs. “It’s nothing grand. It used to be, once upon a time. You know, when we lived as tribes. It’s the Moon Goddess’s blessing for a union.”
“Ah. And they’re rare now, so no one cares.”
“Uh, no, not that simple,” Namjoon snorts. “They’re many true mates still. It’s just rare to find them these days.”
“Really?”
“Yes. People don’t know this, but Soul Marks are the very last sign to show up for bonding,” Namjoon continues, plucking a flower and running his fingers across the petals. “People aren’t close enough anymore for the other signs to show up, and lead them to each other. Soul Marks show up when both—or more than two, that’s also a possibility— acknowledge the bond.”
“Oh. And because we’re distant…”
“We don’t stay close enough to even come across someone showing the signs,” Namjoon sighs, looking disappointed. “Could be anywhere these days. In a whole other country. That’s why people don’t wait for true mates or search for them. It’s a waste of time.”
Right. And as luck would have it, Jungkook and Seokjin had to be the exception. The odds were hilarious. What had the Moon Goddess been thinking?
“You think it’s impossible to find your true mate?” Jimin asks. Jungkook and Seokjin didn’t make sense. Jungkook was kept captive, and tortured—how on earth did any bond fall into place after that?
“I think it’s more about not putting in the effort to try,” Namjoon says thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “It used to be a big deal back then. Find your compatible mate, and pop out a couple of healthy pups. People aren’t about that now. Society’s moved on from that, so any mate will do.”
Goddess above, Jungkook and Seokjin with pups. The idea is laughable at best. As if they’d survive together long enough for that. “What are the signs people ignore?”
Namjoon frowns. “I don’t remember too well but…” He frowns some more, chin jutting out. “Intense attraction. That’s for sure. You see them, they’re all you think about and want since it’s spiritually destined.”
Yeah, he doesn’t see that happening with Jungkook. “Okay. And?”
“Scents. Your destined mate’s scent is stronger to you than others, and you can tell their emotions from the scent alone. Supposed to aid in the compatibility,” Namjoon hums, deep in thought. “I think they can even smell the secondary note to your scent. All of us have it, but it’s only available to the mate in question.”
“That’s so fucking complicated,” Jimin mutters, not seeing the connection. How in the world had the Soul Mark flared so brightly for Seokjin? “That’s it?”
“I think something about cycles syncing? I don’t remember. As a beta, I don’t have to worry about progeny,” Namjoon says, the first admission of his true status. “But I can find out more if you want.”
None of what he knows falls in line with what happened to Seokjin and Jungkook. “No, that’s okay. I was just curious.”
“I suppose with the upcoming mating, it must be on your mind,” Namjoon says off-handedly, and Jimin frowns. Then he remembers. Right, he’s to mate Taehyung. Somehow, the idea warms his belly. Jimin smiles at him, and Namjoon smiles back before his eyes widen—and then he smiles again, bowing and patting Jimin’s shoulder. “I should take my leave. I have some work.”
Right, Jimin had never thought about what Namjoon did at camp. “Oh? What kind?”
“Checking the durability of the holding cells,” Namjoon shrugs, bookmarking one of the books. “There’s a new…inmate, so to say. Need to prepare the appropriate structure.”
“They still do that?” Jimin asks, remembering the days, sometimes weeks that he’d have to look into the trespassers and the defaulters. Taehyung had mentioned a possible new prisoner. “It’s been a while.”
“It has. Holding cells have moved, though,” Namjoon comments, then brushes his collar off some lint. “I really should go. It’s on a priority basis, apparently.” Then he bows again. “Thank you for keeping quiet, Jimin.”
He leaves without a word, hustling off—it shouldn’t be a surprise that peaceful as Namjoon seems, he’s still a verified assassin too. Jimin turns around— before he smells lavender—and then, Taehyung is next to him, facing his mother’s…shrine is a better word.
His eyes are rimmed red.
Alpha cried. Alpha is sad? His omega asks, and Jimin has the same question. Taehyung in this state? It feels wrong. It feels…
Jimin keeps quiet, looking away from him and looking back at Sora’s picture. Tries not to focus on the alpha breaking down silently next to him, or allowing Jimin to bear witness to it.
Then Taehyung places a hand on Jimin’s shoulder and turns him around—and pulls him close, hands on his waist. “What—”
“Shh, they’re watching,” Taehyung murmurs, squeezing his waist, and Jimin’s heart skips at the warmth bleeding through his sweater. “Think father’s on to us.”
Jimin’s heart races. “How do you—?”
“Caught me going towards the catacombs, had to make an excuse,” Taehyung murmurs, tracing his fingers over Jimin’s face and tucking his hair in. He smiles softly, and it feels real. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“The way I reacted earlier,” Taehyung says, pulling Jimin in for a hug and tucking his chin in. Lavender curls under his tongue, and this time, Jimin inhales without shame. It feels like home, stripping him bare. “It wasn’t just an accident, Jimin-ah.”
Jimin frowns, too dazed by the direct hit of his scent. “Huh?”
“Eomma. She didn’t die in an accident,” Taehyung murmurs, so soft Jimin strains to hear. “Abbeoji had her killed.”
It takes a moment for the words to settle—but when they do, Jimin freezes, and tries pulling back—but Taehyung keeps him pressed close, swaying a bit. Almost as if he wants to stay a moment longer, and Jimin is too helpless to deny him.
Taehyung pulls away after a moment, eyes pink but firm, and he nods, straightening Jimin’s collar. He smiles again—behind him, Jimin sees the rustle of men hiding— and he looks back at Taehyung, who shrugs.
“I’ll see you soon, okay, love?” Taehyung says, a little louder, intending it for their audience. “Just need to pay my respects. I won’t take too long.”
Jimin is confused by the sudden segue —but Taehyung doesn’t give him a chance, leaning down and pressing a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He steps back, barely, and gazes at Jimin, eyes shaking. Jimin can’t do anything, and he does nothing when Taehyung leans in again, this time kissing him softly on the lips—and Jimin takes it.
He takes it because somewhere, he wants it. He doesn’t kiss back, doesn’t have time to before Taehyung takes a wider step away, hands in his pocket and the familiar smirk on his face. His mask and Jimin wants to scratch it off for a wild moment.
Who he’d seen just now…
No. Don’t. Don’t get caught up because he became a Boy again. You know how it went last time.
Jimin shakes his head and walks around him, out of the maze and past the barricade as he goes up to his room in a daze. His head pounds and everything is swirling. The kiss. Namjoon’s real sub-gender. Taehyung’s mother. He had her killed. Could this be the real reason why…?
His mind is a battlefield of chaos, but beneath all the questions is the overwhelming wave of grief that’s been growing for a while now. Somehow, he’s sad for Taehyung. Feelings always mess up the professional bond— but they’ve crossed that line a while back, haven’t they? Whatever Jimin had come here for…there’s more to the story than meets the eye.
And Jimin’s curiosity is hungrier than ever.
He stumbles to their room, wanting to dislodge his brain and just— stop thinking. Only for a moment, simply stop, no thoughts, no whiny omega—nothing. He leans against the door, breathing quietly—and the events catch up to him at last.
Maybe he should start by getting rid of the training clothes and showering the sweat away.
He starts with the sweater, wrinkling his nose at the dampness and shivering as the chills catch up to him. Try as he might, he can’t stop. Why had Taehyung been crying? Had Jimin’s question been that triggering? Or had Joonjae said something…but no, Taehyung is like a brick wall in front of the man. He won’t break that easily, or come away unscathed for displaying such weakness.
And what had that been, at the shrine? Jimin wants to dismiss it as an act, a part of the parade they’ve set up here—but it felt different, and he can’t stop thinking about it. The way Taehyung pressed in, the kindness in his eyes. The soft press of his lips and Jimin groans as he struggles with the wet undershirt, wanting to scratch himself for—whatever the fuck his heart has going on. He can’t be that easy. It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?
He’s halfway through removing the shirt when the door slams open—and Jimin shrieks, dropping his shirt and getting the dagger out quickly. He drops it quickly when he sees who it is.
Taehyung stands alarmed, before quickly hiding his eyes. “Shit. Sorry. I thought you were out. No one answered when I knocked.”
“It’s—it’s cool. I wasn’t paying attention,” Jimin whispers, but something itches under his skin. Questions, emotions—and feelings, his omega begging him to see. And he does. Taehyung, out of his training gear but still out of breath. He seems to have run back, and his scent has intensified even more, so alluring Jimin’s head spins. He wants so badly…
Taehyung drops his hand, cheeks still pink and hair astray. His eyes keep straying below Jimin’s neck, and suddenly, Jimin’s aware. His shirt is sticking to him, and his pants hang low on his hips. Like an addict, his lips begin tingling—the phantom sensation of Taehyung’s lips all over, and Jimin parts his lips as he begins stripping right then and there.
He doesn’t break contact as he raises his shirt again, slowly, rolling it up inch by inch, and Taehyung’s eyes grow wide before they darken, want flooding his pupils. There’s a flicker of gold, and Jimin’s omega moans in response, though he keeps quiet as he pulls it off, gasping when it catches on his nipple. Taehyung walks slowly toward him, and Jimin chucks the shirt at him. He catches it—and inhales, pupils blown so wide Jimin’s slit slicks up instantly at the response.
Taehyung’s nose flares at that—and he pulls Jimin in—this time laying a kiss so hungry, Jimin doesn’t have time to inhale.
It’s messy, unlike the shrine. Here, it’s the two of them, and it’s barely been a week since that night but Jimin craves him, moaning as Taehyung licks inside, holding him by his jaw sure to leave imprints along. It’s a mad grasp for power, for stability, as Jimin stumbles while pulling him—toward the shower, because he might be horny but he’s so aware of his body, and really—Jimin’s always been an efficient multitasker.
Taehyung goes along, mouth attached to Jimin’s like its life support, nails curling into Jimin’s shoulders in what should be painful but drives pleasure through him. Before he knows it, Jimin’s pushed against the cold bathroom tiles—and he winces, shivering. Taehyung turns the shower on, and the water is cold for a moment before it turns warm. They pull apart, both heaving and eyes searching.
Then Jimin gets down to his mission.
He kisses Taehyung again, less hungry but still intentional, and turns him around, before dropping to his knees.
“Oh, fuck,” Taehyung rasps, eyes wide and dick hard, and Jimin smiles. “Shit, seriously?”
“I’m in a good mood today,” Jimin whispers, rubbing the front of his pants before squeezing—and Taehyung groans again, a strangled sound. Jimin is too impatient to drag it out, and he unzips the pants, pulling them down swiftly. Taehyung is fully hard, and it should be amusing but it drives Jimin’s omega mad. We did that. “Is this okay, alpha?”
“Shit, Jimin,” Taehyung says as Jimin strokes him through the underwear—not that it matters, with the water rendering them useless, but Jimin enjoys the thrill anyway. Just like back then, teenagers engaging in their dirty little rendezvous. “More than okay.”
“Look at you. Already so pathetic, hmm?” Jimin says, mouthing at the tip of his cock through the cloth, and Taehyung groans, his hands curled into fists. Jimin wants them in his hair. “Hard just from smelling me?”
Taehyung doesn’t respond, and Jimin doesn’t try to goad him further as he pulls down the underwear, mouth watering at the sudden influx of lavender musk and the proud, red curve of Taehyung’s cock. Goddess, it is just as he remembers, perhaps thicker than before. A grown alpha’s cock, and Jimin takes it in, tasting the bitter pre-come and swirling his tongue around. Taehyung’s head falls back, and Jimin is consumed by the need to make him feel good.
He takes it inch by inch, letting his mouth get used to it—Goddess, he missed this. There is shame somewhere for admitting it, but Jimin would be a fool to deny how brilliant sex with Taehyung used to be. There was a reason he kept going back for seconds and thirds, blurring all his lines back then, and doing it again now because he can’t stop.
Once he’s started, he doesn’t want to.
Jimin takes it all the way in, hollowing his cheeks out even as his slit gushes from the incredible power he feels at having Taehyung at his mercy. He loved getting fucked, but giving blow jobs had been infinitely better for this reason alone, even though his throat got all fucked up and he couldn’t speak for days after—but this feeling right here—watching Taehyung close his eyes and restrain himself from going wild—this is what Jimin thrives on.
He drives his nails into Taehyung’s ass and taps against his thigh. Use me. I’m yours.
Taehyung’s eyes darken to near-slits before his hands finally settle into Jimin’s hair, holding him still—and then he drives his hips forward slowly. Jimin takes it like the good little whore he is.
He closes his eyes, widening his mouth as much as he can, revelling in the power in his veins. The thickness of the cock going in and out, rubbing against his tongue and hitting the back of his throat, the tight feeling of suffocation building so strong Jimin can’t breathe. Water is raining down upon him and he can’t see. He gives in to the call, fingers pushing past his walls and curling into his slit, over and over until he comes so hard he freezes. Even then, Taehyung doesn’t stop, his pace brutal and frenzied. Jimin welcomes it all.
Past or present, he likes taking it hard.
Taehyung’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling Jimin back harshly enough that his scalp stings—and then Taehyung freezes too before continuing, jerking sloppily, tapping against Jimin’s cheek silently. Jimin nods, and Taehyung moans again before he comes into his mouth. He swallows it all, lavender burning bitter in his throat, and there’s so much, some of it spills out.
The alpha takes out his limp cock, still spurting out leftover come—he jerks it to Jimin’s face before the water washes it all away. In hindsight, good thing they did this in the shower.
So it’s a good thing, huh?
Taehyung slides down shakily, sitting in front of Jimin, eyes dazed and light gold. They flicker away, but the alpha looks out of this world. Jimin crawls closer to him, pressing in and kissing him, swapping leftover come in that mess. Taehyung groans into his mouth, a man of few words where it counts.
“Was that okay, alpha?” Jimin whispers coyly, pecking his nose, and laughs when Taehyung looks at him furiously. “No need to be so angry, Taehyung.”
“Shut the entire fuck up,” Taehyung rasps, head hitting the tiles. “Moon above, Jimin. What the fuck was that.”
“Your best blow job in ten years,” Jimin says, before wincing. Wow, his throat does not sound good. “Had to make sure I was still at the top.”
“Always have been,” Taehyung mutters, running his hands over Jimin’s face, pulling at his lips. “Thanks for the refresher, though.”
It’s somehow not awkward, unlike the night after the auction. No, Jimin feels light in a way he hadn’t before, and he wants to poke and prod at that, analyse it to hell but maybe later when his knees aren’t so weak. “Clean me up, alpha?”
Taehyung barely wastes a second before he lifts Jimin up, and showers with him. It’s all sorts of domestic and atrocious for his fantasy brain but for now, Jimin will allow himself to have this.
As the alpha cleans him gently, Jimin joins in as well. “So. Explain.”
“Couldn’t wait, huh?” Taehyung smiles softly, cleaning behind Jimin’s ears.
“I let you fuck my mouth. I think I’ve been patient enough,” Jimin huffs, and Taehyung bursts out laughing. It’s a real one, loud and booming, vibrating all the way to Jimin’s bones. He’s mesmerised. “Taehyung, c’mon.”
“Okay, okay,” Taehyung murmurs, turning Jimin around and holding him by his waist. It’s too soft, and yet Jimin loves it. Craves it. It soothes the restless hot itch under his skin. “Well, it is as I said. Abbeoji had Eomma killed.”
Moon, Jimin still can’t believe it. “Are you sure?”
“110%. I don’t have solid proof of it, but I know Abbeoji had a role to play,” Taehyung says, voice stable but sad. Jimin’s heart squeezes in empathetic pain. “Sheesh, you weren’t supposed to know.”
“The blow job must have been really good,” Jimin simpers, and Taehyung chuckles into the back of his neck again. “Is that why?”
“Hmm?”
“The killing?” Jimin asks again, and Taehyung squeezes his waist in response. “Seokjin told me you…took it the worst.”
“Baby of the family, what can I say,” Taehyung says coolly, and Jimin can hear the frown. “I guess it was the last straw. A lot of things along the way, like what he’s doing to Namjoon-hyung…it doesn’t make sense for him to live when better people have died. That’s all.”
“No, it makes sense,” Jimin says, shutting the water and basking in the resounding silence. He turns around. “It’s not an easy decision to make. Even if he’s the worst parent alive.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen before he bows down, lips curling in gratitude. Jimin pats his cheeks, determined. “Thank you.”
“It’s selfish for me,” Jimin adds, winking. There’s a certain clarity over his purpose. He’d been dragged into this against his will—but now, he has better reasons to do away with Joonjae once and for all. The fucked up Imposition being at the tip of the iceberg. “I have my own score to settle.”
Then, against his better judgement perhaps—he rises up and kisses Taehyung at the corner of his lips—before pushing past, too overwhelmed by this new sensation in his chest. He smiles as he hears Taehyung switch the shower on to complete his shower, and gets ready, enjoying the transparency that’s found his way at last.
Taehyung’s phone buzzes on the bedside table, but Jimin ignores it, applying his lotions and wiping his hair dry. It stops—before picking up again, ringing repeatedly.
“Taehyung! Phone!” Jimin yells, fluffing up his hair into careful curls.
“Can you check who it is?” He yells back, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at the closed door. Huh. The trust was fast…Jimin shrugs.
“Sure.” He walks to the table, picking it up and checking the screen. “It’s—”
He stops. Blinks and scrubs his eyes, staring hard.
The bathroom door opens, expelling steam, and Taehyung steps out, scrubbing his hair and the towel wrapped loosely around his waist.
“Who is it, love?”
Two words, and they bring Jimin’s world to a crashing halt.
Yoongi-hyung.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
yep, I did that lol :3
Chapter 18: All The Way Back
Notes:
It is me, hi! Exactly a month after haha but I have excuses this time: I had my birthday in May, I was travelling, + ch 19 was so complicated to write that I kept putting it off. You guys know my rule by now; I don't post until the next chapter is written. Thank you for your patience <3
I left everyone hanging on a massive cliffhanger last time lol so this chapter contains much-needed history/explanation, at least to a certain degree. It's a new POV, so I definitely experimented with Yoongi's voice here. There are several time skips in the chapter itself; I've separated the major ones with italics at the beginning.
There are original characters as well. I can't think of any significant content warnings. Anyhoo- enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
[Two weeks ago]
Myeong-dong, Jung-gu, Seoul.
Yoongi closes his eyes as Hoseok wails again, echoing through the bedroom door all the way through the thin walls of their apartment.
The door is rough against his forehead, and Yoongi barely stops himself from tearing it off its hinges, aching to get to him. Sour freesias burn in the back of his throat, bordering on bitter—and choke the air around.
Still, he doesn’t cross the line and enter Hoseok’s nest without his permission.
“Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi calls out again, and there is a distressed whimper in response. “Hoba-ah, please. Let me in, Hoba. You need to eat, please.”
Only a moan comes, pathetic, needy and angry. Yoongi claws at the door slowly, desperately, mating gland throbbing as his alpha clamours to get through. He can’t, not with Hoseok shutting him out. Until he gives the green signal, Yoongi is stuck on the other side.
He slides down the door. All of him aches; his head is ready to burst and the connection with his alpha—is fraught. In a month, things somehow went from bad to worse—and Yoongi can’t do anything about it.
The moonlight glides left to right, and then—there is a croak.
“Yoongi-hyung. Come in.”
Yoongi scrambles, bursting in—and his heart tears again at the sight greeting his eyes.
Hoseok curled in his nest, waif-like and near-translucent skin. His hair hangs limply, and his lips are cracked. Worst of all—his eyes are dull, the blue flickering in and out, unsteady.
The omega is sick— reeling from what occurred a month ago.
“Hoba. Hey,” Yoongi whispers, crawling towards him slowly. He stays outside the nest, avoiding sudden movements. Hoseok turns slowly toward him, blinking without seeing. “Hey, baby. It’s me.”
“Yoongi-hyung?” Hoseok questions, as if he can’t see. His forehead is pasty, dotted with sweat. “That you?”
“Yes. Got you food.” Yoongi unwraps the bowl. It’s a form of gruel, mushy enough to be swallowed without effort. “Can I enter your nest? Can hyung feed you?”
Hoseok blinks at him, waiting for what feels like an eternity before nodding. He shivers, and Yoongi quickly gathers him up in a blanket, laying Hoseok’s head against his chest. He barely weighs anything now, his skin heated and bleeding through the layers of clothes between them.
It feels like a heat—except Hoseok isn’t craving him. He isn’t craving anyone.
Jimin’s name pops up in Yoongi’s head—but he puts it aside as he focuses on keeping Hoseok alive.
The omega barely manages to swallow a couple of bites, gagging after a while. He sips slowly at the water Yoongi holds against his lips, and even that act has him exhausted.
“Yoongi-hyung?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s happening to me?” Hoseok asks, coughing—his chest sounds rough, full. “Am I going to die?”
Fear grips Yoongi’s heart, but he smiles through it. “No, Hoba-ah. You’re not leaving me so easily—hyung won’t allow it.”
“Okay.” His breaths seem shallow, and a thin layer of sweat covers him. “Where is Jimin, hyung?”
Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. Pain wracks through his chest, but he squeezes his hands into a fist. “Coming home soon, Seok-ah.”
“Will he?” Hoseok asks, voice small and broken. “He just left. How long has it been?”
“Only a little while.” Yoongi begins humming under his breath, swaying a little. “He called earlier. Said you should go to the omega doctor.”
Hoseok looks up at him with hopeful eyes. “He said that?”
“Mm. He wants you—he wants you healthy for when he comes back,” Yoongi manages to get out, throat choking up. “So please, Hoba? We’ll go tomorrow?”
Hoseok frowns. He fidgets, looking anxiously around his nest. “But what if—what if he comes back tomorrow, and I’m not here? What if the nest is empty?”
The same spiel, all over again. Hoseok, possessed by some delusion that Jimin will come back, that he needs to be there to receive him—Yoongi has tried and failed too many times.
Lying always seems to work out in the end.
“Jimin told me not to worry about it. That he will meet you where you are if—if you leave,” Yoongi says, gritting his teeth. Never mind that he hasn’t spoken to him, or Jungkook—in a month now. The pack is missing. “He promised, Hoba.”
Hoseok hums—his eyes blink slowly, staying shut longer—but he nods. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll go. If he comes back, you tell him where I am, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, hyung. Good night. I love you.”
Yoongi opens his mouth to respond—but Hoseok is fast asleep before he even has a chance.
🖤⚔🖤
[10 years ago]
Min Clan Estates, Daegu
Yoongi stares blankly ahead while his father shakes hands with the group from the Kim Clan. His cousin taps his shoulders, winking—and Yoongi smiles blandly before switching himself off once again.
He hates being here. Appearances, however, have to be maintained.
“This is my son, Min Yoongi,” his father introduces, pulling Yoongi forward. “I’m sure he will be the perfect choice for the joint assignment.”
“I’m sure he will,” the liaison grins, teeth yellow and lips tar-black. “Seems on the quiet side, though, doesn’t he?”
Next to him, Geumjae bristles—Yoongi, however, is beyond caring. He’s been called worse, and he’s too old now to pretend to care. His father, however, smiles tightly.
“Might help him keep his head on right,” the liaison continues. Things have been rocky with the Kim Clan, and this assignment is his father’s peace offering. “I’ll bring about the Young Master, and we can get down to business?”
His father nods. “It would be my pleasure.”
The liaison— Yoongi’s already forgotten his name— steps out of the room, clearing his throat. “Young Master! You may come in now.”
Yoongi tucks his hand under his chin, bored out of his mind already. Another day, another mission. His father was always on the quest to unite the families of the underworld, to create more business—but Yoongi is sure he isn’t meant for it. He’s too quiet for it— too stoic.
Presenting as an alpha had been a surprise to him as well.
The ‘Young Master’ in question walks in— bringing with him the strong stench of scent-blockers. Yoongi turns towards the door— and he has to admit, he’s taken aback.
He’s clearly an alpha, based on the structure alone— but his face could have had Yoongi fooled. It’s too pretty— eyes shaped like petals, a button nose with a pert, pink mouth. His eyelashes brush his cheekbones every time he blinks— and he looks young, untested. His body, however, tells a different story— there is a history in the little skin that shows, scars and injuries. The boy is dressed in black from head to toe, and the knife strapped to his thigh glints in the daylight.
The boy looks around, face blank and bored. Yoongi feels a strange kinship instantly.
The liaison bows, though his lips curl in disdain. “Presenting the Young Master—Kim Taehyung.”
For the first time— Yoongi feels a smile blooming on his lips.
🖤⚔🖤
The omega doctor is a nice lady. It makes the journey to the clinic worth it, especially with the way Hoseok curls into Yoongi’s side, frightened and hostile.
The doctor doesn’t seem to mind it, talking solely with Yoongi. “Well. I got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“All of it seems the same right now,” Yoongi grumbles, palming Hoseok’s back. His shirt is damp with sweat, and his skin is fever-hot against Yoongi’s neck. “What is it?”
“Well…Hoseok-ssi’s state is rare—but not unheard of,” she starts. Her nametag reads Jeong Mihee, and Yoongi commits it to memory. “He is going through what we call a dry heat.”
Yoongi blinks. Heat. The temperature makes sense— but nothing about Hoseok’s behaviour indicates heat. Yoongi would know; he’s been with Hoseok for nearly six years now. “Sorry?”
Mihee smiles in sympathy. “I know what you must be thinking. It doesn’t seem like your typical heat,” she starts, flipping through the test results and opening a writing pad. “That’s because it’s not. A dry heat occurs when the omega is in immense distress.”
Hoseok whimpers then, proving her point. His eyes flutter as he sags against Yoongi, his scent weak. Yoongi gulps. “What—what does that mean?”
“I’m not sure what’s going on with Hoseok-ssi,” Mihee starts carefully. “From the test results and my observation, it seems he went through something recently that’s caused his omega severe distress. When handled poorly, the omega induces a dry heat as a sign of self-protection.”
Yoongi looks at Hoseok. “Protection?”
“It’s a faulty belief, of course,” Mihee states. “Heats are when we are the most connected with our wolves that look out for us. If the conscious side can’t cope, we resort to our basal instincts. Except this is a triggered response and not the natural heat cycle, so there is immense stress on the body in terms of resources.”
His head spins. Even this close, he can’t smell Hoseok—almost as if his omega has receded deep, deep inside. “What happens next?”
“Would you happen to be his mate?” Mihee asks, glancing at Yoongi’s neck—Yoongi’s already shaking his head. She bites her lips. “Any of his pack members around, if any?”
Knives. Guns. A room full of men in black, Hoseok’s distress thick in the air. Yoongi inhales sharply, willing his mind to hold back. Jimin, gone. Jungkook, gone. “Not presently, no.”
“Oh. This is going to be tricky then,” Mihee states, sounding regretful. Yoongi’s belly churns. “Having trusted pack members around helps the omega come out of the dry heat and back to its normal state.” She bites her lip again, glancing at Yoongi. “That, or a submission command from their mate.”
Yoongi’s stomach sinks. The familiar feeling of helplessness, the one he’s pushed away and worked around for years comes back to haunt him—and Yoongi’s legs shake. “There’s no other way?”
Mihee shakes her head. “It’s a primal state—as I said, rare usually.” She runs a critical eye over Hoseok. “Do you think he has a soulmate somewhere?”
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “What?”
“Just thinking out loud, Yoongi-ssi,” Mihee says, raising her hands. “Such an intense level of distress is rare because omegas can handle worse. Unless the distress is created at a bond level, which makes sense with Hoseok-ssi’s case.” She checks the results again. “It’s quite bad, Yoongi-ssi. And worsening.”
His chest aches. Yoongi’s nails dig into his thigh. “You can’t—you can’t delay it? Put him under or something?” Mihee is already shaking her head. “Fuck. Okay. Okay. There’s got to be a way.”
“Contact with loved ones apart from you would help, but as a clinic, we don’t have any medical solutions.” Mihee closes the pad. “If it gets worse, Hoseok-ssi’s body will begin shutting down to preserve energy, and we’d have to put him in a coma. That’s the best we can do.”
His breaths are too shallow; his lungs ache. As does his head, but Yoongi holds on—for Hoseok. “I’ll—I’ll begin looking. Can I have some supplements in the meantime? Anything to keep him going.”
Mihee nods, scribbling the prescription down—but Yoongi barely holds back from losing himself, head between his knees even as Hoseok falls lip against him, snoring gently.
🖤⚔🖤
Kim Taehyung proves to be more than what meets the eye.
The smell of smoke is atrocious as Yoongi makes his way through the patio, coming across the alpha pup smoking away in hiding. He scrambles for cover when he notes Yoongi watching him, coughing into his shirt before crushing the cigarette.
What a boy. “Forbidden?”
“Not a habit I’m proud of,” Taehyung croaks, voice rough. Then he frowns. “Is it still a habit if I do it only when I’m stressed?”
Yoongi stands next to him, hands in his pocket. It’s a cold December evening. “Depends. Are you stressed often?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Then I guess it’s a habit,” Yoongi shrugs, opening the top button of his collar. He rubs his neck in relief. “So I’m supposed to be working with you, huh?”
“That’s what Abbeoji said,” Taehyung says, hands jittery and the look of Boy still trapped in his cheeks. It’ll go away soon enough. “The target is in Daejeon. Some sort of arms auction.”
“Should be easy then,” Yoongi mutters, the world's weight on his shoulders again. If only he could run somewhere far away. “I play a businessman, yeah?”
“Mm. You’re the key to the entrance. I follow.” Taehyung holds the railing, his arms flexing. He seems so young, but then again—most were in their world. Start young, end young. “How’d Yoo Jugyeong piss your dad off?”
“By being an arrogant pimp,” Yoongi says simply. That’s how the joint assignment had come through— Yoo Jugyeong had been stealing from his father, and apparently interfering with Kim Joonjae’s trafficking ring. A common enemy allowed them to shake hands again after years of an unstable relationship—it’s funny, what qualifies for a white flag in their world. “Embezzling from the mafia funds.”
“Ah, paedophilic prick,” Taehyung says, eyes flashing. “What’s the plan, hyung? Wait, can I call you, hyung?”
Yoongi turns to him, and assesses him head to toe. The fucker is already his height, but Yoongi doesn’t let that deter him. “Maybe after you’ve proved yourself.”
Taehyung snorts. “Why the fuck do I have to prove anything to you?”
“If you want to call me hyung, then you do,” Yoongi says, taking out his own cigarette. Taehyung’s eyes widen. “You can fuck off if you don’t, and we keep it to the assignment.”
He blows out the smoke in the alpha’s direction.
Taehyung inhales sharply— but when he smiles, it seems exceptionally wolfish.
🖤⚔🖤
Back home, Yoongi paces furtively outside their bedroom, Hoseok now passed out in his nest. He hadn’t been able to keep food down today— Yoongi had barely managed to get a liquid diet into him.
It is worsening. Any longer— and we’ll have to put him in a coma to persevere his energy.
He has to do something, fast. He can’t command Hoseok to stay, to get out of the dry heat, and for a brief moment, he regrets not mating Hoseok sooner. It never struck either of them, both were happy in their worlds.
Well, until their worlds crashed, and Yoongi’s past walked into Hoseok’s blissfully ignorant present.
Any trusted pack members will help him out.
That’s what he’d thought, when he contacted Jungkook— before the younger alpha vanished, cutting Yoongi off to go on a crazed quest to save Jimin. The last person who needed saving, but Jungkook and his reckless ass would never listen.
Yoongi tries not to dwell on what might have happened to him, or the silence. Time is running out—and he needs to do what he can to find them for Hoseok’s sake.
He bites his lips as he turns towards the storage room. An uneasiness creeps along his skin; he’d promised all those years ago not to go back. Not to use his past, because that meant returning— and Yoongi had worked hard to make sure it remained back then.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, however.
Yoongi checks in to make sure Hoseok is breathing and comfortable—before walking to the other room, walking towards the very back of it where he removes the carpet—and unearths the loose floorboard under it.
A small velvet box meets his eyes, and Yoongi stares at it a moment before he bends down, getting it out. He blows the dust collected on the top—it smells musty, unused. As it should have been, old habits die hard—no matter how long it’s been.
He opens the box—and in it are the trinkets he’s collected over the years. Jimin, Jungkook— and Hoseok.
It wasn’t Yoongi’s intention, but it had been driven in his head as a child to keep the possessions of his loved ones. You never know when you’d need it for tracking, kid, his father would say, even as Yoongi blubbered over the task. He hated tracking— and he hates it more as he faces what will come ahead.
He can’t locate the two members of his pack, and it’s been a month. Yoongi doesn’t want to— but it’ll have to do.
The preparations for tracking aren’t grand, not the way most people assume it to be. Yoongi sets the items out, biting his lips as he focuses. The chances of it working out are small, given how old the items are; their connections with the owners frayed by now. He still has to try, though— if there’s even a small chance that locating the others will help Hoseok stay, then Yoongi will do it.
He lies down on the couch, holding Jimin’s totem in hand— and lets himself go the moment he catches a trace of his scent.
🖤⚔🖤
Yoongi had joked about Taehyung earning his respect—and he wishes he hadn’t, because it seems like he’s well on his way to respect Taehyung.
The kid is a phenomenal assassin.
At seventeen—that’s Yoongi’s rough estimate— Taehyung can take down entire groups with ease, a certain manic light in his eyes. He doesn’t lose his calm—Yoongi opens the avenue with his father’s heavy name in the mafia, and Taehyung does the backend work.
Yoo Jugyeong dies a slow, painful death—and Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek to keep the bile in, as Taehyung kills him with relish. Someone so young yet so tainted—
Yoongi stops himself before he gets more attached.
“Are you done?” He asks when the whimpers have died down and the only sound is Taehyung cleaning his dagger. “We need to leave before we’re discovered.”
“We can handle them,” Taehyung says casually, tilting his neck left and right. “What say, hyung? Have I proved myself?”
“Shouldn’t you call me hyung after I give the green signal?” Yoongi fires back, but Taehyung grins, bringing about a boyish charm. Blood drips from his eyebrow. “Come, I’ll take you to a food cart. Hyung’s treat.”
“My, my. Such a big man, and only a food cart?” Taehyung teases, stepping around the blood and wiping down his steel-toed boots. “Thought the mafia paid more than that.”
“Be grateful you’re getting this at all, you brat,” Yoongi grumbles, his heart already betraying the fondness edging around his chest. He’s never had a younger person to look out for. “Our families still hate each other.”
“Hate is too strong,” Taehyung says, as they lock Jugyeong’s door and walk away, and the alpha whistles. “Abbeoji told me your father and he were friends once.”
“And aren’t those the bonds that pinch the most,” Yoongi comments, using his key card to exit. His eyes stray to the camera at the corner. “Make sure to wipe the footage once you come back.”
“Done and done,” Taehyung says, saluting, and Yoongi holds back a smile. “Say, we did well, didn’t we, hyung?”
Yoongi shrugs. He supposes they did, if they accomplished the mission. He doesn’t care much for it, stomach still churning from the violence of it all. The casual display of wealth, power and dishonour in the auction tonight… “I guess so.”
They walk down in silence. The December chills crawl down his shirt and join the mayhem in his belly. Taehyung saunters tall and gangly next to him. Ever so often he rubs at his left rib area, scratching through the sweater.
They reach the food cart, and it’s actually enjoyable. Outside of his assassin role, Taehyung seems like a regular schoolboy, the kind Yoongi had attended briefly before he’d been pulled out. He stuffs his mouth full of food, and his eyes shine brightly.
Strange as it seems, Yoongi will miss him—even though they’d been active on this mission for a mere two weeks. Something about him strikes a chord, and Yoongi’s afraid to dig deeper.
In their world, whether a mafia or an assassin clan—getting attached is a mistake.
“Hyung,” Taehyung says after a while. Yoongi’s managed to smuggle in some soju, passing the owner a wad of cash. “This is probably strange.” Yoongi grunts and Taehyung rolls the bottle cap between long fingers. “But I think we should remain in touch. Even after.”
Yoongi downs a shot. “What?”
“Just because Abbeoji and your father don’t get along doesn’t mean we can’t,” Taehyung continues, determined. “I know it’s only been two weeks— but I’ve felt more guided by you than my entire fucking life.”
“Yah, Kim Taehyung,” Yoongi starts, the ball of warmth growing in his chest. “What is this? You want me to be your mentor or something?”
“You’d make a shit assassin,” Taehyung snorts, picking some kimchi. “But I guess, yeah. As a person.”
“Why?”
“I dunno, just a feeling,” Taehyung shrugs, and when he turns his eyebrow shines from an old scar. “My alpha trusts you. Thought you should know.”
It’s so simple— yet effective. Yoongi knows it’s not the best idea—attachments are bad in their world— but perhaps there is a reason the warmth has been consistent since he first met Taehyung.
“Sure,” Yoongi says, and Taehyung beams. “We can stay in touch. Won’t be a lot—but I’ll show up in whatever way I can. I guess we can have a better relationship once we take over.”
Taehyung smiles wide, taking Yoongi’s phone and punching in his number. He gives a missed call. He saves Yoongi’s contact, turning the phone around to show it. “There, I’ve proved it.”
On the screen, it says—Yoongi-hyung.
🖤⚔🖤
Tracking is exhausting—and even more so when Yoongi’s body is at its limit.
He knew going in it wouldn’t be accurate. So when he gets a vague hit of a barren, empty town with a sprawling estate adjacent to it—Yoongi assumes this is where Jimin went.
Funnily enough, Jungkook’s item shows the same place.
No way. Had Jungkook actually located Jimin? But then where is he? Yoongi’s eyes flash open when he comes upon a hexagon-shaped room that shifts to a large, sprawling bed he doesn’t recognise. His instincts pull at his gut, a call on his tongue. From here on, he’d have to follow the call—and see where it leads him.
Hoseok’s distressed moan breaks through the tension—and Yoongi scrambles to his feet, taking out an overnight bag. Time is of the essence more than ever.
He enters their bedroom. Hoseok has curled into a foetal position again, shallow breaths the only indication that he’s alive. Yoongi enters the nest one knee in—he barely has permission— and brushes Hoseok’s sweaty hair back from his pale forehead. This close, and the freesias are too mild.
“Hey, baby,” Yoongi whispers, lips over Hoseok’s clammy skin. “Baby, we need to go.”
Hoseok blinks, eyes unfocused. His lips are split, and Yoongi makes him drink water. “W-where?”
Yoongi hates doing this—but the thing about growing up as a son of a mafia lord makes one comfortable with crossing lines. “Jimin’s calling us, love.”
The reaction is instant, Hoseok’s eyes widening even as pale blue flickers into his eyes. Is there a soulmate involved? Yoongi shakes his head, too full to question. Hoseok clutches at his jacket. “He is?”
“Mm. Do you wanna meet him?” At that Hoseok’s face crumples a bit, and fatigue enters just as fast. Yoongi rushes to fill the space. “He really misses you.”
Hoseok brightens—and then lies down, too tired perhaps. Yoongi holds his hand, squeezing it. How thin he’s become.
“I don’t care, hyung,” Hoseok says at last, voice hoarse. “Just make me meet him. I’ll go anywhere. Please, hyung.”
He closes his eyes after—and Yoongi sighs into his hand before pressing open-mouthed kisses along the paper-thin skin.
🖤⚔🖤
[7 years ago]
Min Clan Estates, Daegu
His father frowns in deep thought—and Yoongi is afraid.
Next to him stands Geumjae, concerned but patient. Yoongi stands on the opposite end, hands crossed behind his back and head bowed down. His heart thunders in his chest, throat locked.
“So…you’re saying you want to quit, son?” His father says, his voice neutral. Yoongi dares to look up—but Min Yungcheol looks thoughtful.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi mutters, nails biting into his wrist. Shame colours his body hot, but so does the knowledge that he simply doesn’t like who he is anymore. Or this life. “I don’t mean to dishonour you.”
“No, no,” Yungcheol says, standing up. His face is lined with laughter lines, a rarity for mafia overlords. Yungcheol, however, is a businessman first. “I want to understand. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how miserable you’ve looked for a while now.”
“I’m sorry…” Yoongi starts, stopping when Yungcheol stands in front of him. “I can’t do it anymore, Appa. I don’t—I don’t like this life. I don’t like the work I do. I know I do it well, but I don’t—want to. Geumjae hyung does a much better job at leading than I ever will.”
Yungcheol is silent. Yoongi counts the seconds in his head, and waits for the inevitable punishment—his father might have treated him well, but surely everyone has a limit.
“Okay,” he says at last, and Yoongi looks up. “You’re right. I need committed, dedicated men on the job—and Geumjae manages the task well.” Yungcheol snaps his fingers, and Geumjae steps forward, bowing. “The handover assignment—take it from Yoongi’s room and carry it forward.”
“Yes, Abbeonim.”
Yungcheol sighs once Geumjae leaves the office. He grabs Yoongi by the shoulder—and looks him straight in the eye. “If not the family business—what do you wish to do?”
Yoongi has thought about alternatives for a long time. Perhaps since he was young, and realised how he didn’t like the violence of his world—the gun fights, the money collections, and the blood. How he preferred songs and lyrics, harmless things like furniture and architecture. He is twenty-two now, and yet he dreams like a child.
It’s what’s kept him going, however.
“A normal life, Appa,” Yoongi says, his chest tight with how small he feels. “I just—I want a normal life. College, university—staying in the city, doing my thing. Not this, never this.”
“Hmm.” Yungcheol stares into the distance—and then he nods. “Okay. Let’s get you that, then.”
“What?” Yoongi gasps. He hadn’t been expecting it to be so—so easy. His mother had driven into him how cruel Yungcheol could be when it came to business but— “Are you certain?”
“100%.”
“You’re not—you’re not upset?”
“I am disappointed,” Yungcheol admits, and Yoongi’s gut sinks. “But that is my own to deal with. You’re lucky Geumjae exists.” His father laughs at that, and Yoongi smiles. “I’d rather my son is happy than miserable for my happiness. Let me know what you have planned— I’ll see to it that you adjust seamlessly.”
Yoongi bows—and leaves the office with his belly doing a thousand flips. It’s happening—he’s finally, finally got the permission to do what he has wished for years—leave, and start a life away from the mafia madness.
His mother, on the other hand, is a lot more upset.
“What do you mean, quitting?” Son Heeyeon hisses, lips pressed into a red slit and her eyes boring into Yoongi’s. He’s not affected, however, too distant from her by now to care. There is that familial loyalty, sure, but nothing more than that. “You—you can’t. You’re the son.”
“Well, no one asked me if I’m okay with it,” Yoongi says, chewing slowly. He itches to get out, but patience is key. “I don’t want to do this, Eommonim. Never have.”
Heeyeon seems more enraged by this, nails clutching onto the tablecloth. “Ridiculous. We don’t have to ask—you were born into this. We’ve trained you from the beginning, Yungcheol, tell him please—”
“Heeyeon-ah, calm down,” Yungcheol says, a hand over hers. He winks at Yoongi. “It’s fine. We have Geumjae. He’s trained enough and enjoys the work too. Yoongi’s never had an interest. I had hoped it would build—but he’s not getting any younger.”
“It’s not the question of interest here,” Heeyeon spits, chucking the napkin onto the table. “We have a son and he’s the heir—”
“I’m not too worried about that. What matters to me is the organisation is in good hands,” Yungcheol cuts her off, tucking into the salad casually. His mother looks like she’d fling a fork in his face if she could get away with it. “He’s our son before he’s an heir. He doesn’t want this—surely as a mother you understand?”
Yoongi turns to look at her—and Heeyeon bows her head down, but her clenched fists tremble. Hilarious of his father to bring in her motherly qualities—she never quite fell into the role, always handing Yoongi over to the nanny. Yoongi doesn’t care for her understanding—but Yungcheol does, and he can’t openly dissent or disrespect her.
Heeyeon nods, face set blank as she walks out, heels clicking against the marble floor. Yungcheol sighs, and Yoongi takes that as his cue. He bows deeply, wishing him goodnight—and gets the hell out.
🖤⚔🖤
Tracking is the easy part.
Handling a sick Hoseok while he does is the tricky aspect—but Yoongi couldn’t have left him behind like this.
They’re somewhere on the outskirts of Seoul that would flow out into the highway. His alpha cautions him—at one point, Jimin and Jungkook’s scent images merge, from different times—and Yoongi’s not sure what he’ll come across.
Until then, he tends to Hoseok, giving him his supplements and cajoling him to do the most basic things. Take a bath, and have a meal. Yoongi reads more about dry heats, and most of the websites say the same thing—the presence of a true mate, a bonded mate or even a soul mate would bring them out of the state. It’s rare for an omega to go into a dry heat unless the circumstances are severe—so it makes sense why the solutions seem equally dramatic.
Yoongi supposes getting ambushed in a restaurant by thirty alphas and one maniac with a gun counts as distress. Even more when one’s best friend turns out to have been some sort of criminal all along.
He bites his inner cheek again as he pats Hoseok’s forehead with a wet towel. He doesn’t want to think about that night—or the maniac with the gun. The events have been conveniently put on the back burner until Yoongi has enough guts to face the truth.
The truth, and his betrayal.
Hoseok groans in his sleep again—Yoongi shuffles a couple of blankets in the makeshift nest, keeping the materials belonging to Jimin and Jungkook closest to Hoseok’s nose. Their scent must be fading—but anything is better than nothing.
He makes sure Hoseok is well-fed and hydrated, before he lies down on the bed, closes his eyes—and gives into the all-too-familiar pull of tracking once again.
🖤⚔🖤
It takes a couple of months—but by spring, Yoongi is ready to begin his new life.
An old friend somehow catches hold of the news and ambushes him.
“What—” Yoongi yelps before the hand that grabbed him pulls him into an alleyway—he’s quick to respond, twisting away—but the attacker is equally nimble, responding in kind but playfully—and Yoongi stops when he sees the familiar petal-shaped eyes. “Oh. You.”
“That’s it?” Taehyung gasps, pulling down his mask and pouting. At twenty, he’s grown into his features—so different from when Yoongi met him at seventeen. “I expected more joy.”
“You dream too much, kid,” Yoongi says, rolling his eyes before pulling Taehyung in for a quick hug. The kid is tall now—looming over Yoongi, but boyish still in mannerisms. Yoongi’s soft heart starts beating again. “You ate? Hyung will treat you.”
“Precisely why I didn’t eat,” Taehyung crows happily, swinging his arms like a child. Yoongi would think he’s a regular college student, except he sees the bulky dagger glinting and the press of weapons under Taehyung’s sweater. “I feel like dak galbi. Lead the way, hyung.”
“Aish, this kid,” Yoongi mutters, but his heart is light. He’s leaving soon, and he doesn’t know when he’ll see Taehyung next—they kept in touch, but it wasn’t a friendship he was attached to. A mutual understanding at best, and the easy falling into their dynamic whenever they met.
It was unlike any other friendship he’d formed in all his years as a mafia lord’s son. Perhaps it was that in the end—people were too afraid of Yoongi to get close, and maybe that had been Taehyung’s fate too, as the youngest son of a ruthless assassin. Yoongi had heard (and read) all about Kim Joonjae— and he has no doubt Taehyung has his own demons to fight.
Two kindred spirits, an unlikely friendship.
They enter the small food cart owned by the local ahjumma known to Yoongi, and she smiles warmly when she places the familiar bottles of soju, as well as a plate of starters. The smell of meat and oil is heavy, and Yoongi takes it all in.
“So,” Taehyung starts after gulping down a large serving followed by a shot. His cheeks seem red already, the lightweight fool. “What’s this I’m hearing about you quitting the force, hyung?”
Yoongi should have known. Word travels fast, especially in the underworld—everyone is vying for the top seat, and getting competition out of the way is essential. Still, Taehyung? Their families weren’t so connected that he’d know. Hell, nobody knew they were on talking terms post their joint mission.
“How’d you know?” Yoongi asks, making sure his father doesn’t have a mole amongst him.
“Relax, there’s no mole,” Taehyung says, rolling his eyes. “Abbeoji told me.”
Joonjae? Was he still on talking terms with his father? “Huh? Weird.”
“Yeah, he said it in a way to discourage us from doing the same,” Taehyung remarks casually. His eyes always seem distant whenever he talks about his father. “Like I’m so hyped to go to a college.”
“Hey, it can be a rewarding experience,” Yoongi defends lightly. “Discouraged?”
“Understatement. Gently threatened to spike our heads onto walls if we thought of doing the same,” Taehyung says, chewing on the meat carefully. “He seemed upset that you made this decision.”
Yoongi frowns. “Not that it’s any of his business.”
“True. He said something about not doing your—what was it? Duty? And turning your back on family,” Taehyung continues, pouring himself another shot. “I tuned out after a point.”
“Glad you did. Seems like a dick,” Yoongi mutters, lowering his eyes when Taehyung stiffens. “Anyway. You found out and left everything behind for your favourite hyung?”
Taehyung snorts. “Yeah, absolutely. You’re my entire world, hyung-nim.” He swirls the remaining soju into little tornadoes. Sometimes Yoongi forgets how young he is, how young they both are. “Where are you going?”
“Yonsei. Why?”
“You got into a SKY university just like that?” Taehyung scoffs, then shakes his head. “Oh wait, right. You’re a nerd who hates the mafia life, no wonder you had the grades.”
“Some of us have dreams and ambition,” Yoongi shrugs, picking up some kimchi. “And an in with the Dean, of course.”
“Ah, good old nepotism,” Taehyung remarks slyly, and Yoongi holds a thumbs up. “Okay. So. I should be honest.”
Yoongi sighs. “What is it?”
“I didn’t come just to congratulate you,” Taehyung says, pushing aside his bowl and leaning forward. “It’s a favour. You can refuse, of course, but…well. It’ll be a huge help.”
He looks furtive, glancing all around. The boyishness comes out in droves, and Yoongi feels that familiar drive to protect. He never had a younger sibling, but he’s always considered Taehyung to be somewhat similar. At least, his alpha claimed so. “Let’s hear it, then. I’ll decide based on that.”
Taehyung bites his lips, contemplating. His shoulders hunch and Yoongi has to strain to hear him. “I have someone I need you to keep an eye on in Seoul.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Eye on?” Taehyung nods, his eyes shaking. “Who is it?”
“Just—someone,” Taehyung says, picking at his nails now. He scratches at his neck absent-mindedly, and Yoongi’s eyes flash over. He catches a faint outline of a shape—but Taehyung covers it just as fast. “Someone I used to know. He left a while back and well—I want to know, I guess.”
“You guess?” Yoongi scoffs, and Taehyung shrugs. Yoongi crosses his arms, leaning back. “What is he? Friend? An ex?”
Taehyung blushes. “Something like that, yeah,” he says, becoming one with his sweater. “He’s a bit of everything, really. But— something bad happened, and he left. I’m not allowed to visit Seoul.”
Yoongi’s intrigued, more so by the fear and some sort of desperation in Taehyung’s voice than the events themselves. Clearly, this someone meant something to Taehyung enough that he’s seeking out Yoongi for it, and not any of the other lackeys in his father’s organisation. “Why me?”
“’Cause I trust you,” Taehyung says simply. “I’m forbidden from— from reaching out or contacting him. I can’t risk asking anyone who knows…but you, on the other hand.”
“Hmm, no one will connect the dots,” Yoongi remarks, scratching his chin. He meets Taehyung’s eyes. “Including him.”
Taehyung looks down again, guilt shining in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I just—I simply need to know how he’s keeping up, that’s all. You don’t have to stalk him or anything— just let me know how he is. Please, hyung?”
“You care about him?” Yoongi asks, and Taehyung shuts down. “Of course, you do. You wouldn’t be asking me otherwise.”
“My alpha does,” Taehyung mumbles, and he scratches his gland again. “I’ve managed the time well. But now I’m just…”
“The opportunity is there, so you’re taking it. Very assassin of you,” Yoongi mutters, chuckling when Taehyung looks around, alarmed. “I assume I’m not getting a name?”
Taehyung looks apologetic. Instead, he takes out a photograph—a poor cutout of a young boy with a fierce stare. “You’ll probably know eventually. I don’t want to know everything—whatever you want to give me updates on. I’ll be happy.”
Yoongi wants to refuse—mostly because he doesn’t want to start his new life on secrets and background missions—but Taehyung looks sad, and his eyes speak of a…loss, and it’s not the kind people like them numb themselves to. Whoever this boy is…he means a lot more to Taehyung than a messy ex.
And curse his soft heart around youngsters, Yoongi sighs.
“Yeah, okay, it doesn’t seem like a big deal,” Yoongi says, and Taehyung blinks in surprise before beaming hard—it’s a wonderful look on him. “Remember—my priority is setting up my life first. If I find time to look for this guy, I’ll let you know.”
“Yes, yes, yes, thank you, hyungnim!” Taehyung cries, hands clasped together in prayer. “I will owe you forever—you call, and I’ll be there.”
“If things go the way I want them to, I won’t be reachable as much,” Yoongi says, and Taehyung’s face falls. “But I’ll make a small exception for you, dongsaeng.”
Taehyung smiles, going back to his food— but Yoongi wonders about the secrets the boy is hiding.
🖤⚔🖤
He finds himself in the middle of nowhere.
That would be an unfair description, but it’s the best Yoongi can come up with. The town seems—barren. Deserted doesn’t sit right either, the signs of life all about—but it’s too silent for the middle of the day.
He wonders if his tracking went awry—after all, it’s been years since Yoongi’s used his skills. Yet, he’s sure this is the last place Jimin and Jungkook were together at—his alpha claims so, and Yoongi’s not in the best shape to refute.
If their trails were so close, it means Jungkook found Jimin as he had claimed to do—but then, where are they?
Some shutters open barely in some of the shops, and Yoongi can tell he’s not welcome. This must be a shadow town—created by organisations to funnel money and keep things legal on the surface. Yoongi’s tempted to ask the folks about the two—but something tells him they’d shut up as soon as he asks.
He might have been seven years out of the business, but growing up in the mafia changes things at a near-cellular level.
Yoongi’s instincts are never wrong—but reality seeks to clash with them, and it’s showing nothing but a dead end for him now. He turns around, reverses his car—and drives back to the local motel he’d booked for the time being.
If this is a dead end, then he has no choice but to go back to Seoul. Until either of the two reach out, Yoongi doesn’t know how to get in touch.
He doesn’t trust Taehyung anymore, not after the way he re-entered Jimin’s—and Yoongi’s life, by association— and ruined everything in a single night. Reckless little fucker.
His phone rings then, cutting through the haze of thoughts—and Yoongi scrambles for it, the car swerving a moment onto oncoming traffic—before he gets it back on track. He puts in the passcode—and freezes when he sees the name.
Eommonim.
It’s instant, the cold dread building in his gut. Not fucking now, of all times. But the phone buzzes again when Yoongi doesn’t pick up.
What are the odds that she would call when he’s halfway home?
Yoongi pulls over, biting his thumb—and picks up. “Hello?”
“Yoongi-yah!” She screeches, and Yoongi jumps a moment. “Yoongi-yah—I’m sorry, son. I—I have some—oh what will I do…”
She sounds distraught—and Yoongi would like nothing more than to hang up, but something feels wrong. His alpha cautions him to be patient. “Eommonim? What is it?”
“Son…I’m so sorry, my son…it’s your father…”
Yoongi’s blood runs cold. Seven years and his respect and fondness for Yungcheol had only increased in his distance. The last time they’d spoken had been at the start of autumn, exchanging seasonal greetings. Yoongi clutches the phone tightly.
“What happened? Is he fine?”
Heeyeon wails some more—there are sounds of whimpering and sniffles both, a scuffle of clothes—before a deep voice sounds. “Yoongi.”
“Geumjae-hyung,” Yoongi whispers, heart climbing out of his chest and into his throat. Dread wraps a tight fist around it, squeezing it slowly. “Hyung. What is it? Is Abbeoji…?”
His cousin sighs, and it’s familiar. They haven’t spoken in months, but Yoongi’s always trusted him to speak the truth. Even when he sounds so broken.
“Yoongi-yah, I’m so sorry,” Geumjae says, his words strained and lost. “Abbeonim is dead.”
Yoongi drops the phone as the dread finally caves in.
🖤⚔🖤
[6 years ago]
Yonsei University, Seoul
University is every bit what Yoongi had imagined and heard of from peers and associates.
It’s colourful, a world so rich and full of life Yoongi regrets his years as a mafia boss’s son. Everyone is free, carrying on mundane lives with mundane tasks. Yoongi breathes in the scents as he walks to his afternoon class, Americano in his hand as he navigates the throng of students.
So far, life is good. He’s settled in well, even if he’s one of the older students at twenty-two—but most have chalked it up to service for the Royal Army. Yoongi keeps to himself, and studies the subjects he likes—he’s a couple of years late to the drivel of regular human life, but he enjoys it more than anything else he’s ever experienced. It can’t get better than this
He speaks too soon. As Epik High blasts in his ears, Yoongi speed walks, scrolling through his phone—before he crashes into someone.
It’s a flurry of split coffee and trampled books—before the freesias hit him. And Yoongi is frozen, even as the boy— omega? — scrambles around, groaning onto the concrete.
Students walk around them, unconcerned—but for all Yoongi can see, it’s just the two of them.
“I’m so sorry!” The person exclaims, scrambling to pick up the books. When he stands up, his smile blinds Yoongi. His hair is silky black, and his skin is a golden tan. His mouth is shaped like a heart, and Yoongi’s own begins racing. “Oh, fuck—I split all your coffee, I’m so—”
“It’s okay,” Yoongi mutters, taking the books from the stranger’s hands. Freesias begin flowing stronger, and Yoongi struggles from inhaling too deeply. He’s just moved to the city, he can’t be seen as an alpha creep just yet. “Not your fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Neither was I! Aish, that cup probably costs a lot,” the stranger says, half-heartedly picking up the plastic cup and its broken lid. “I’ll buy you another.”
“There’s no need.”
“No, I insist!” The person—omega for certain, the scent is too sweet— says, balancing himself on his heels. “I know the barista at the café. He’ll give me a discount too.”
Yoongi wants to refuse the offer—but the person’s eyes captivate him, and it’s quite embarrassing, how much his alpha is fixated. It’s not a bond—he’d be able to tell that much— but there’s something here, and he’s going to have an anxiety attack if he doesn’t process it soon. “I’m actually on my way to class, so…”
“Oh, that’s okay. Here’s my number,” the person says, cheerful and so full of joy Yoongi’s enamoured. It’s like meeting the rising sun during dusk. It doesn’t make sense. The person hands Yoongi a piece of paper with his number scribbled—and pats it into Yoongi’s front pocket. “There you so.”
“Uh, okay.”
“What’s your name? Didn’t catch it.”
Yoongi hesitates. He’s still not trusting of the world outside of his father’s—but he’s trying. “It’s—I’m Min Yoongi.”
“Ooh, pretty,” the stranger says with that blinding smile again. Yoongi’s struck again. “I’m Jung Hoseok, by the way. Rude of me to give my number without a name, huh?”
Yoongi looks down. This can’t be happening. He’s just started college, what the hell. “Um, I guess, yeah.”
Hoseok rolls back on his heels again, hands in his pocket—before clapping his hands. “Well, I better go! Hit me up when you want to get that coffee, it’s a date!”
Yoongi looks up in alarm—but Hoseok’s already away, waving at him before turning around and disappearing into the crowd—and leaving a trail of freesias behind.
He knows his life will never be the same again.
🖤⚔🖤
Three words and his life will never be the same again.
Yoongi barely manages to reach the motel—there are tears, and his alpha clamours, shaking with grief—but there is also the part of him that needs to get back to Hoseok. He can’t break down now, not when the omega is solely dependent on Yoongi to keep his head sane.
The motel is in a terrible state, but Yoongi had wanted discreet. He pays for the day and walks up to the room he’d left Hoseok in— except this time, the freesias don’t greet him anymore.
He rushes in and finds Hoseok halfway to the floor, skin clammy and spit leaking out of the side of his mouth. His eyes roll, flickering blue— and Yoongi drops to his knees, lifting Hoseok’s head.
“Hoba? Hey, baby, hey,” Yoongi says, checking his forehead; it burns fire hot, but the rest of him feels so cold. His clothes are drenched through, and Hoseok mutters something under his breath. Yoongi leans in, but he can’t make sense of it. “Seok-ah, please. Say something, baby, anything.”
Hoseok tries—but more spittle comes out, and he slumps in Yoongi’s arms, his weight like stone. Yoongi takes his phone out, going through his contacts in a mindless haze—but there’s no one.
The funeral is tomorrow. We will be waiting.
He places Hoseok on the bed, cleaning him up— and when Hoseok seems marginally better but still lost to the world— Yoongi goes through his phone again. Avoids the texts, and the calls by his mother—grief is so far away when the person he loves the most is wasting away.
The nearest hospital is still a far distance away, and to find someone specialising in omega health would be next to impossible. Yoongi is in the middle of nowhere.
And he’s halfway home.
He would wish for you to do what you pleased. Come if you wish.
We will be waiting.
Yoongi closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He turns towards Hoseok again—his thin, pale body, lips cracked and veins blue. He’s sicker than he’s ever been and Yoongi doesn’t know what else to do—
The mafia would know how to locate two vagrant people far more easily than Yoongi ever could.
He stares at Hoseok—and makes his decision then.
Yoongi is going back home.
🖤⚔🖤
The Moon Goddess seems to be shining her luck on him.
It took a while but—he’s here finally at the café, Hoseok next to him. And more gorgeous than the first time.
Even now, he can’t believe it. He knows not to read into it—but his alpha can’t help it. It’s not claimed the omega or anything like it—but there’s an understanding, and fuck it— Yoongi is interested.
Hoseok is—even better, after spending more than a few minutes with him. Yoongi had sent a brazen text, and they’d walked from the university library to the café. The omega is a dance major with a minor in physical therapy, and his laughter warms Yoongi’s bones. The freesias are welcome— and Yoongi adores it already.
When they enter the café, Hoseok is the one who chooses the seat—next to the window, a sunlit spot—and Yoongi tries not to fixate on those words. Hit me up, it’s a date! He keeps his bag, joining Hoseok at the counter—and that’s when it seems his luck runs out.
Or rather, the vessel fills some more.
Hoseok is chatting animatedly with the barista, explaining the whole situation and pointing at Yoongi—his cheeks are bright pink, and the barista lifts his cap, presenting a sly smile.
The barista looks exactly like the picture Taehyung had given before he left.
Yoongi freezes in his tracks as he stares. No way. No fucking way. It can’t be that easy. He’d assumed he’d start searching casually once he’d settled into his student life—what are the odds that he walks right into his target?
“Yoongi-ssi, my friend here has graciously agreed to offer your coffee for free,” Hoseok says, wiggling his eyebrows. “This is Jimin. Be nice to him.”
Jimin turns to Yoongi, his face falling into a neutral state. Yoongi’s alpha immediately jumps—there’s something about Jimin’s eyes that bore into Yoongi’s. Just like Taehyung’s had.
Who is he? A friend? An ex?
A little bit of everything.
Yoongi nods just in time, eyes flitting over Jimin’s knuckles—where faint white scars are littered across, covered with foundation.
Something bad happened, and he left.
Hmm. An ex-assassin— now a barista. Hilarious.
“Hello,” Yoongi greets, curling into himself. Look as defenceless as possible—most people made that mistake since Yoongi didn’t look alpha enough. “I’m so sorry Hoseok-ssi is using you like this.”
Jimin raises an eyebrow. Yoongi can feel the way he assesses him, how he’s trying to analyse his every move. He’s not an assassin—but growing up in the mafia makes for a skittish personality.
An assassin would be worse, won’t they?
Faint trails of orange blossoms come his way—before Jimin smiles. Not the kind he’d given Hoseok, but polite anyway. “No worries about it. Thankfully he doesn’t have a habit of falling into alphas he likes.”
“Jimin!” Hoseok yelps, reaching across the counter to slap at the barista—and Jimin cackles, ringing up their order. Hoseok turns to Yoongi hastily. “Ignore him. He’s just messing around.”
Yoongi licks his lips. “Oh? So this isn’t a date, Hoseok-ssi?”
Hoseok’s eyes widen, and the pink reaches his neck. The freesias bloom sweeter, and Yoongi’s nose tickles in the best way. “I mean—it can be. If you want it to.”
“Goddess above, take your sappy shit and get out of my sight,” Jimin groans, passing over their beverages and a slice of banana walnut. “Help hyung before he turns into an embarrassed puddle right here.”
Yoongi nods, taking their tray and walking towards the table. Hoseok follows, a sheepish grin on his face. They sit—it’s nervous energy, but not awkward. Yoongi’s never been captured by an omega like this before.
“So…falling into alphas you like, huh?” Yoongi asks, and Hoseok covers his face. “Was this all planned, Hoseok-ssi?”
“No! I swear, I didn’t know you before all that happened,” Hoseok insists, and everything about him is so cute. “I might have talked about you to Jimin, though. A bit.”
“I see.”
“Okay, a lot,” Hoseok admits. Yoongi is endeared. “It’s just—don’t take this the creepy way—but my omega felt like it had been hit by a brick, so.”
“Ah, we’re at that stage already,” Yoongi drawls. Where the sudden confidence is coming from, he’s not sure. He’ll take it anyway. “Same here.”
Hoseok blushes again, his heart-shaped mouth twitching. As they sipped the coffee and shared a slice— Yoongi has a feeling they’re in for a long time.
Found him
Brat
What??!!
So soon?
Not even a hello
Aish, this brat
Quite by accident
Don’t worry, I won’t make any effort for you
Brat
The affection is returned
…
So?
He’s healthy
Works as a barista on campus
…
He’s pretty
Brat
Back off.
Don’t even think about it.
Wouldn’t dream of it
Not my type
Brat
Barista?
Campus?
Part-time probably
He’s at Yonsei too.
Studying a combination of subjects
Art, finance, law
Brat
You can do that?
Fuck if I know
Seems shifty
Was he your partner or something?
Brat
Hah. I wish.
Like I said, a bit of everything.
Just wanted to know how he is.
Thanks, hyung.
You’re equally secretive.
Anyway. Seems healthy.
Might meet him soon.
I’ll check in when I find the time.
Brat
Sure, hyung. Thank you.
[2 months later]
It seems like a no-brainer—but the first date turns into a second, then a third, and before Yoongi knows it—he’s dating Hoseok.
And walking heart first into a proper relationship, his first one ever. It’s maddening and terrifying at the same time, but Hoseok is easy. Every time he greets Yoongi or hugs him—reluctantly, not used to the boisterous physical affection Hoseok showers him with—Yoongi feels lighter.
He’s never trusted someone so easily. Of course, he can’t tell Hoseok about his past—then again, he left his life with his dignity intact, and the skeletons remain closed.
Jimin’s seem to follow him, even if it takes a trained eye to understand.
The omega is hostile, reluctant at best when chastised by Hoseok. They’re close friends apparently—their first week of university itself. Praise the Moon Goddess’ luck, Yoongi’s never had it this easy.
He can sense that Jimin doesn’t trust him. Yoongi doesn’t expect him to. He visibly grumbles when Hoseok talks about making Yoongi meet their third friend—someone in their joint dance class. Yoongi does his best to appear nonchalant, matching Jimin eye for eye and pretending otherwise.
Jimin’s eyes are fierce as ever, and Yoongi wonders again about the history between him and Taehyung.
In another week, they meet the junior—Jeon Jungkook, an alpha training to be a cop. The irony is not lost on Yoongi, but the kid is sweet—eyes brighter than the stars, and both Hoseok and Jimin seem to dote on him. The alpha clearly struggles to hold back on his crush on Jimin—but everyone ignores it.
His friends are cool.
One of them has a crush on him
Texts exchanged with Taehyung are sporadic at best. Yoongi tries not to use his other phone a lot because something tells him Jimin is not above running a background check on Yoongi.
Brat
I see.
Does he as well?
What sort of sappy shit
Fine.
No, I don’t think so.
Then again, I can’t read him.
Doesn’t trust me yet.
Brat
Yeah, he won’t.
Never did back at camp either.
Don’t take it to heart.
You speak like fucking Romeo
Motherfucker
Were y’all in love or something?
Brat
With Park Jimin?
At an assassin camp?
Sure.
Hey, you’re the one stalking him
…
Seems to have a normal life.
He dances too. Contemporary.
He’s good.
Brat
Yeah
He’s good at everything
Annoyingly enough
Going on a mission, talk soon.
Yoongi switches off the device—and focuses on Hoseok. That night, he dreams of a normal life.
🖤⚔🖤
The Min Clan Estates haven’t changed in the seven years since he’d left.
The sprawling gardens greet his eyes as he drives through, the guards stationed bowing low. Yoongi hasn’t met any of them—but he supposes they were told in advance.
He leaves the car running as he rushes to the other side, nearly dragging a delirious Hoseok out. “I need a healer! Immediately!”
Only his alpha could give him the courage to command people in a home he hasn’t been to in a long time.
No one seems to protest or question, a couple of guards and a healer laying Hoseok on a stretcher. Yoongi rolls his sleeves, ready to follow them—when a figure at the doorway arrests him at the spot.
Son Heeyeon looks like she hasn’t aged a day since he left.
She watches him, her eyes straying to Hoseok. The healer is waiting for her—and she nods. They set to leave, and Yoongi treads after—but she clears her throat. “Yoongi. Won’t you greet your mother?”
Yoongi freezes, back itching and nails clawed into his palms. Sweat runs down his back, and his alpha snarls. “Eommonim. Hello.”
He bows stiffly, wanting nothing more than to follow Hoseok as he’s taken in. Yet, he’s here by the grace of his family—he can’t rebel just now. Heeyeon walks down the stairs, standing in front of him. She’s a foot shorter, but her appearance makes her seem formidable. She’s wearing a black mourning hanbok, her hair tied neatly into a bun.
Yoongi looks down at her, and Heeyeon matches him eye for an eye until she leans forward, gathering him in a hug. “Welcome back, my son.”
They stay like that for a moment. His mother’s scent of cinnamon wafts gently, but it does nothing to calm Yoongi down. She pulls back eventually, hands on his shoulder as she takes him in. “You’ve grown well.”
“The city has been kind to me,” Yoongi murmurs. His father’s death lingers more than ever in the space between them; with him, Yoongi could still tolerate his mother. Now? A new worry blooms in the void of his heart. “Where is he?”
As much as Yoongi wants to chase after the healers and watch over Hoseok, he has his duties as his father’s only son. Yoongi cannot give up this—and he can play the role a little while longer.
Heeyeon guides him indoors, past the hallways into the gardens, where they come upon the inner sanctum. A small temple stands proudly, and there are mourners and visitors present. The sea parts when Yoongi makes his way through—and collapses to his knees, all energy sucked out the moment he sees Min Yungcheol’s body.
In Death, his father looks the smallest he’s ever been. A husk of his former self, and Yoongi doesn’t know how to face it.
Here he is, unwashed, hungry and desperate for Hoseok, and this is one more strike against his strength. He holds his father’s cold, limp hand—and breaks down, pressing it to his forehead.
He smells like nothing.
Yoongi stays a long time, long after the visitors have left. It is dusk when he finally looks up, eyes unaccustomed to the twilight blue. He stands up, knees shaking—and puts the cloth over his father’s eyes.
Then without a word—he turns around, the last time he’ll ever see his father.
Hours later, Yoongi asks the damning question.
“What happened?” He asks between the mouthfuls of meat. Geumjae sits in front of him, and his mother adjacent to them both at the head of the table. “What was it? An attack? An ambush?”
Geumjae swallows. His eyes are red-lined. “An accident.”
Yoongi cuts into the meat with more force than necessary. “Excuse me?”
“Believe me, I know,” Geumjae rushes in, and Yoongi scoffs. Heeyeon keeps quiet, staring into her wine. “Father’s vision was failing. It came and went. You know him, stubborn to the T.” Geumjae chews for a long time. “He was driving. It came out of nowhere; he couldn’t see where he was driving—and hit a truck head-on at an intersection.”
He delivers this clinically, but Yoongi can imagine it, nearly taste it as he visualises it. Yungcheol had complained a couple of times—his vision had been weakening, and the eye drops he’d been given seemed to be making it worse—the doctor had said it was intentional. His father hated relying on any medication—but eyes were important for people like them.
It’s quiet after that, Yoongi taking the news in. He can’t believe it. Of all things, an accident due to poor health. Not because his father was a business mogul with hundreds of enemies. It’s laughable.
Yoongi chews the high-quality beef, but the taste feels bitter— as if his tongue knows how the events don’t make sense.
🖤⚔🖤
[3 years ago]
Yonsei University
One year turns to two turns to three—and before Yoongi knows it, he’s far away from his past, enough that he barely recalls it.
Except for the sporadic moments when Kim Taehyung texts him, of course. It’s a dilemma Yoongi has been struggling with lately, the further he’s gone from his past life, and the closer he’s become to Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin. In particular, Jimin, who had taken the longest time to thaw out—but was now incredibly important to Yoongi’s circle.
He can taste it in the air between the four of them: a potential pack in the making. There are no bonds, but Yoongi’s alpha feels a kinship like never before. The others defer to him naturally—it’s surprising, given how competitive Jungkook’s alpha is, or how fierce Jimin’s omega. Yet, it all falls into place—Yoongi and Hoseok are closer than ever, Jimin and Hoseok are attached at the hip, and Jungkook tries (and fails) to keep his crush on Jimin in. He’s still an overly eager, happy kid, behaving like a pup—and Yoongi’s so, so fond.
The reminders of his past, however, seek to drag him back.
Brat
Hyung?
It’s been a while since you last talked
Is everything okay?
Yoongi tries to ignore him for as long as he can—before the familiar guilt takes hold of him. He can’t abandon Taehyung simply because he found a better pack of people, can he?
“I’m glad it was you Hoseok-hyung stumbled into,” Jimin says, words slurred as he squishes himself into Yoongi’s side. It had taken so, so long to earn Jimin’s trust; Yoongi knows beyond a doubt that if Jimin ever found out the truth—something worse than death would strike him. “You make him sooo happy. He deserves it so much.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi smiles, taking Jimin’s glass away. He shuffles back as Jimin lays with his head in Yoongi’s lap, eyes swirling around in his sockets. “I’m glad he bumped into me, too. Made me meet the cutest dongsaeng, didn’t he?”
Jimin blushes. He hides his face behind too small hands, and if Yoongi didn’t know the truth of his past—he would have never imagined those small hands had killed endlessly. Were stained red once upon a time, and this time, Yoongi’s heart pinches when he thinks of how young Jimin must have been. Something bad happened, and he had to leave camp.
“Hyung?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you mate him?”
Yoongi stills petting Jimin’s hair. It’s three in the morning, everyone else has fallen asleep. Jimin’s question takes him by surprise. He’d never thought about it—but he’d assumed he would. Three years later, Yoongi is still madly in love with Hoseok like the first day.
“’Cause if you do, hyung, then you need to know,” Jimin slurs, rising up and failing, falling back down. His eyes shake, but his lips are fierce as ever. “I don’t care how much hyung loves you. You hurt him, and I’ll make you pay.”
The thing is—those words sound genuine, and Yoongi’s spine breaks into goosebumps at the surety in them. Yoongi meets his eyes. “I won’t, Jimin-ah. I promise.”
It’s one he intends to keep.
Jimin passes out like that—and Yoongi makes one more decision that takes him further away.
Brat
Hellooo
Earth to hyung
Are you there?
This is weird, you usually respond
Goddess, don’t tell me Jimin found out
Hyung I might actually have to break the rules
Come fetch you
Hyuuuunngg
Yoongi stands on the rooftop, watching the sunset. He’d asked for a private break—downstairs in his apartment, his three pack members are merry-making. Yoongi’s fingers hover over the keyboard as Taehyung’s texts glare at him. A string of it, nearly a month-long, that Yoongi’s been steadily ghosting.
He wishes it didn’t have to come to this. Yet, it’s been three years, and Yoongi knows Jimin now. Knows him as more than a former assassin; knows him for his kindness, his compassion, and his hard work. There are glaringly obvious gaps in his stories, but Jimin has come through, and made the most of this new life—and Yoongi respects that tremendously.
Jimin is blunt, but open to learning. He’s protective, and loyal almost to a fault—perhaps these features were never allowed to bloom in the stifling underworld. Yoongi would know; he spent his whole life trying to find himself while trapped within its walls.
Somewhere, he knows Taehyung has never received that chance or grace.
It’s not Yoongi’s problem, however.
Hey kid
Sorry I’ve been MIA
Brat
[Typing…]
Hyung!
Thank Moon, I thought something bad happened
Are you okay?
Yoongi’s heart squeezes. He hates this—but he can’t keep double tagging anymore.
I’ve been good.
So simple—yet his heart is ravaged. Is it really a bad thing if he chooses Jimin over Taehyung? He doesn’t know their story. Jimin has no reason to spill, Yoongi cannot openly dig. Taehyung has kept his mouth shut even after all these years. The most he can guess is that Jimin and Taehyung were close, or something—and it ended on bad terms, leading to Jimin’s departure from the underworld. There had been enough care—or maybe something more— that had Taehyung checking in on Jimin all these years.
Yoongi’s talked more with Jimin than Taehyung, and it makes sense to favour one person over the other, doesn’t it? It’s only human.
Listen, kid.
I can’t do it anymore.
The message is read instantly, Taehyung’s profile online. It remains that way for a long time—Yoongi bites his lips, looking out for anyone else coming to see him.
His phone buzzes suddenly, and Yoongi nearly drops it before seeing Taehyung’s name flashing on the screen. It’s been years—for the sake of his chosen new life, and to make sure Jimin never caught on—Yoongi had insisted on keeping it to a text medium, and Taehyung had respected it.
Yoongi accepts the call and stays with it for a moment—his hands shake the whole time.
“A text message, really?” Taehyung finally says, and the nostalgia hits Yoongi all at once—Taehyung’s voice is both familiar yet different, deeper. It carries the weight of an adult man. “I’m hurt, hyung. I expected a little more than that.”
The guilt increases its tempo the longer Yoongi stays on the call. He should cancel it, and go right back to texting—but a part of him misses the brat. “Figured it should be clean.”
“Hmm, you’re good at that,” Taehyung says simply. Somewhere in the background, he can hear the clinking of soju bottles. “He got to you, didn’t he?” When Yoongi keeps quiet, Taehyung sighs. “Ah, Park Jimin. That fucker.”
It’s the way Taehyung holds Jimin’s name as if it’s still reverent years later. Disdain, and a bit of anguish. If Yoongi imagines hard enough, he would even swear there is love—but that does not belong to the filthy realm of the underworld.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. I should have seen this coming,” Taehyung continues after a while. A chilling breeze blows across the roof, but Yoongi stays through. He hopes none of them come up to check. “What changed?”
“What do you mean?” Yoongi fires back, though he knows. He doesn’t want to admit out loud that he’s picking sides in a battle that he isn’t a part of. “Jimin has nothing to do with this.”
“Bullshit,” Taehyung snorts, munching on something. “He has a way with people. Charming. People like him eventually.”
“What, like you?”
He can feel the frigidness through the call itself. Taehyung tuts and it sounds nothing like the eager pup he’d been once in front of Yoongi. Strangely—he already misses that camaraderie.
“Careful, hyung. You’re better off not knowing,” Taehyung says carefully as if his tongue is a knife. “Let's try again, hyung—what changed?”
Yoongi grits his teeth. Speaking with Taehyung has always been infuriatingly exciting, and intriguing even. Someone two years his junior had no right being this mysterious. And yet.
“I’m going to be Pack Alpha soon,” Yoongi states calmly, fingers flexing by his side. “It’s my responsibility to look out for my pack.”
There’s a beat of silence. And then, Taehyung laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle. Derisive in a way that sets Yoongi’s spine on edge. “Ah. So you got promoted, huh?”
“Taehyung.”
“Congratulations. Let me guess—I am a ‘danger’ to your pack now, is it?”
“You said it, not me,” Yoongi says, then bites his tongue. He doesn’t hate Taehyung, and choosing sides doesn’t mean he feels poorly. Yet, the guilt is immense, even if Yoongi had simply been doing a favour all these years. “I’m sorry, Taehyung-ah.”
“Save it.” A slam of a soju glass, the smacking of lips. “It’s not like you owed me this. It was a favour, at the end of the day.”
Yet Yoongi can hear his voice tremble—with loss or rage, he’s not sure. Maybe a mix of both. Assassins have little to call their own; what happens when that leaves as well? “So, no hard feelings?”
“On the contrary—plenty of them,” Taehyung says lightly, each word cold. “You were my friend first, hyung. Never forget that.”
Yoongi gulps, teeth biting into the insides of his cheeks. “Taehyung…”
“I wish you a blissfully ignorant normal life, hyungnim,” Taehyung continues, every word clipped. But Yoongi can tell. “Just one more thing.” Another gulp. Liquid courage. “Is he happy?”
All these years and Taehyung has never asked. Yoongi used to tell him of his own accord, thinking that’s what Taehyung wanted to know. It’s the first time the boy has let a hint of his feelings out. He’s a little bit of everything.
It’s the least Yoongi can do when he’s leaving him, perhaps for the last time.
“He is. He cleared the bar; he’s a lawyer now,” Yoongi blabs, clinging onto some sort of blind hope that maybe Taehyung can remain in his life—even if he doesn’t want that. “I don’t know what happened between you two—but whatever it was—he seems to be recovering from it. Is that enough?”
Taehyung doesn’t reply for a long time, their shared breaths in between. When he does—Yoongi knows it’s the last time he’ll ever talk to the young alpha. There is finality in each sentence.
“I always knew he could do it,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi can almost trick himself into thinking Taehyung is fond. A part of him wishes Jimin and Taehyung’s story is one of love and not enmity. Of sadness and not rage, or even revenge. Yoongi would never be able to forgive himself for the role he has played. “I’m glad you kept an eye on him all these years. Thank you, hyung.”
“Taehyung—”
“It hurts, what you have chosen. But If you ever call me—I’ll come. I promise.”
Yoongi feels light. “That’s poetic.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t leave my friends,” Taehyung says simply, and Yoongi winces. “I hope we don’t see each other again, hyung. Take care.”
The line goes dead before Yoongi can get a word in.
It’s a long time before he gathers the courage to go back downstairs to his newly chosen family.
🖤⚔🖤
[One week later]
Min Clan Estates, after the Funeral
One week passes between Yoongi’s arrival at home, and it’s simultaneously the longest yet shortest week he’s experienced so far.
Heeyeon and he are at the dining table, and he could cut through the tension with a knife. Something is afoot—it always had been, when it came to her. Yoongi had assumed she’d never assimilated herself into the role of a mother, but this is different. He’d expected the coldness, but not the hostility.
Geumjae is away—he’s been sent on a ‘mission’, and that’s one more thing that strikes Yoongi as odd. His father’s ashes have barely cooled. When he’d questioned it, Heeyeon had shrugged. Work doesn’t stop for death, she’d said, and the clinical coldness of it had wormed its way through Yoongi’s head.
It’s been a week—and Yoongi doesn’t feel safe.
“Eommonim,” Yoongi breaks the silence, and Heeyeon looks up. His mother has always been pretty—Yoongi takes after her quite a bit, their skin pale and eyes fox-like. It irks Yoongi, how for their surface-level similarities he’s never felt connected with her. That had all been his father, now dead and gone. The grief teeters somewhere—Yoongi keeps it in. “Where’s Hoseok?”
She blinks, then looks back down, chewing carefully through the meat. “He’s at the healers like you’d asked.”
Yoongi had, except he’s not been allowed to go near the healer’s block—something about keeping the environment as minimal as possible for an omega in dry heat. Supposedly, the solution is to calm down the omega’s environment—so different from what the omega doctor had said.
“Yes. It’s just been a while,” Yoongi says, and Heeyeon hums. “When will I be allowed to meet him, have you confirmed with the healers?”
Heeyeon cuts her meat into smaller pieces. Her nails catch the glare of the lamp overhead. “Is it necessary to meet him so soon?”
Yoongi frowns. “What?”
He receives no response, and the foreboding feeling grows. Something is off, has been off since the moment he’d received the call. Heeyeon chews each morsel slowly, and the sound seems especially loud in the tense silence between them.
“Son, it’s time to stop playing,” Heeyeon says then, keeping aside her fork and knife, and picking up blood-red wine. She looks at Yoongi over the rim of her glass, eyes menacing. “Stay. Grow your roots. Take over, as your father envisioned.”
“What?” Yoongi repeats, clutching his spoon—his legs shake. “What are you talking about? Father permitted me to leave. It was agreed that Geumjae would handle the affairs.”
Heeyeon snorts lightly, patting her mouth. “You had a childish whim. He played along. Yungcheol was soft-hearted like that,” she says, eyes hazy. “But now it’s time to come back. Support the family, carry forward the Min legacy like he wanted.”
Yoongi keeps his spoon aside with more force than necessary. “What’s going on? What’s this rubbish?”
“Your birthright is not rubbish,” she hisses, eyes flashing—it’s the first drop of emotion he’s seen in a while. “Yungcheol never planned long-term—he always needed you, even after you left. He never let you know because he let his heart get in the way. Now that he’s passed on—can’t you honour him even in death?”
It’s too much, all at once. “He never said a word. I have a life in the city; I can’t leave that.”
“What life?” Heeyeon snorts, taking a swig of wine. Her lips come away stained red. “With that omega? Sick and weak, unable to handle distress? Ridiculous.”
“Eommonim,” Yoongi starts, but Heeyeon seems least bothered. “Careful.”
“Or what?” She asks, smiling—and Yoongi’s alpha begins pacing inside. “You can’t do much when your omega is at the healer’s, hmm?”
Yoongi’s blood runs cold.
“If you lay a hand on him,” Yoongi begins but Heeyeon sighs. “Eommonim.”
“I won’t need to. The way his wolf is, he’ll succumb soon enough, don’t you think?” Heeyeon questions casually, and Yoongi’s stomach sinks. Hoseok isn’t improving. Yoongi is a fool to have trusted his home base without his father in charge. “In any case, I have a respectable alliance for you, should he pass.”
“Eommonim!” Yoongi shouts, standing up, his body trembling with—anger, and maybe fear— he’s not sure. His wolf spins in circles, yelping in panic. He grabs hold of the steak knife blindly, and around them, guards stand on high alert, coming towards him. Heeyeon, however, keeps sitting, unbothered. She tuts, and the guards stand down. “I swear to the Moon—”
“You hurt me, and you hurt—what is he called? Hoseok?” Heeyeon says calmly, smiling lightly—but her eyes seem overjoyed, manic almost. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want that now, son, do you?”
Yoongi stares at her—and then at all the guards around them. He’s alone, with no one, not even Geumjae, as support. If he makes a mistake—Hoseok will pay for it.
How naïve of him, to assume a bereavement visit in their world would be just that.
He drops the steak knife—and sits back down, terror joining the swirl of anger and grief in his belly.
🖤⚔🖤
[2 months ago]
Rooftop, Myeongdong
Yoongi crashes through his apartment roof door, shoulder throbbing in pain—and faces the long figure standing at the edge of the building.
Kim Taehyung paints a lonely picture, standing in his suit and blowing out smoke rings into the slowly descending autumn chill.
He says it’s lonely—but Yoongi can tell there are people nearby. He grits his teeth and walks on— stopping right behind the alpha. And then—his alpha’s rage overspills, and Yoongi shoves at Taehyung, wanting him to pay—for ruining everything. “You motherfucker.”
Taehyung stumbles—he catches his balance surprisingly fast, turning around with a hand in his pocket. A lit cigarette dances between his lips—and this time, it’s Yoongi who stumbles back, caught by the shock once again.
At twenty-seven, Taehyung has grown.
It’s been years—almost seven since he last saw Taehyung. A lot has changed—the alpha pup is no longer a pup, having grown into his features. His face is lined with graceful beauty, and he looks more omega than alpha—but Yoongi isn’t fooled. He never had been, not with Taehyung.
“Hyung. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Shut it,” Yoongi snarls, wanting to snap, itching for a fight but keeping to himself. Taehyung can take him on now, far too easily—Yoongi’s out of practice, and he’d never been that trained in combat, to begin with. “Why?”
It all boiled down to that. Why? Why now, after so many years? What could have possibly warranted Taehyung breaking his rule, defying his father and entering Yoongi’s life again—or really, Jimin’s?
The shock and horror on the omega’s face had been enough. It had been years, and Yoongi had never been able to figure out what happened in their past—but that one look had been enough. A tale of hatred, enmity—and betrayal. Love too, if Yoongi wanted to be bold—or maybe not love, but some familiarity. A connection that is rare in the underworld.
The shuttering of Jimin’s eyes, the horror in Hoseok and Jungkook’s when he shot that man—Yoongi had guessed Jimin was trained, but he hadn’t expected that level of skill to remain after all these years. From what little he’d kept track of Jimin—the omega had given up his profession, completely giving in to building a normal life.
The familiarity of the gun in his hands, the knife flung at Taehyung—perhaps Park Jimin the assassin had been a name to reckon with.
The cut is razor thin on Taehyung’s cheek, but the alpha is unbothered. He takes one last drag, before crushing the cigarette under his boot. The smoke is pungent as always, yet Yoongi’s past with nicotine craves it the moment he smells it. Taehyung keeps looking—and then he shrugs.
“Because I can,” he says, stepping close. He smells like nothing—scent-blockers overpower Yoongi’s senses. “How are you, hyung? It’s been a while.”
His voice and face betray nothing—it’s almost as if Yoongi had never known Taehyung at all. In many ways, he hadn’t—theirs was a friendship that began as a reluctant partnership, ending with some fondness on Yoongi’s end. They weren’t close—but it had been like magnets whenever they did meet. Despite the gap of seven years, Yoongi can still feel the buzz clicking, his wolf inside wanting to take Taehyung in—it doesn’t make sense, this kinship.
“Why now?” Yoongi asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. As much as he wants to, he won’t fight Taehyung—not even because of his lack of skills, but he can’t. He’d turned his back on him in a way, and karma seems retributive now. “Why—why like this?”
Taehyung sighs deeply, turning away. He’s gotten taller too—he always had been compared to Yoongi, but it is dangerous now. His hands are weathered with battle wounds, but the years have been kind to him—both physically and financially.
“Certain things are in motion that require him,” Taehyung says after a while, shaking his hair out. “My apologies to your omega, though. If that’s who he was.”
Yoongi snarls, and Taehyung’s eyes light up with familiar joy. “You could have done this quietly.”
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that, hyung?” Taehyung pouts and the urge to hit him grows. “I get so bored back home. Gotta have my fun too.”
“Taehyung—”
“Okay, fine, no. I’m not that spoilt,” Taehyung says, snorting into his fist. He levels Yoongi with a serious gaze. “Jimin would never have agreed to come back to this life if he wasn’t threatened, hyung. Simple as that.”
In hindsight, it makes sense. The Jimin Yoongi has come to know in all these years is stubborn to a T, strong-headed and fierce. And no one would know that better than Kim Taehyung—someone who had grown up with him. “You put my pack in danger.”
Taehyung shrugs, though his mouth curls, a bitter look in his eyes. “Not my problem. I had to convince Jimin I was serious.”
“Would you have? If you had to get down to it?” Yoongi asks. Taehyung steadily looks away. “Would you hurt me?”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe. Since you left so conveniently.”
Yoongi stumbles back, old guilt building back again. He scoffs, but the pain is familiar. It’s one he spent weeks suppressing until it lost its voice. “I see. So a revenge, was it?”
“You think too much of yourself, hyung,” Taehyung says lightly, taking out another cigarette and lighting it up. In the glow of the lighter, he comes across as menacing. “I care about Jimin coming back and doing this favour for me. You were collateral. I did what I had to do.”
“Bullshit,” Yoongi snorts, but he won’t be able to get it out of Taehyung. “Why Jimin.”
Taehyung stutters at that, coughing. He gets himself back under control—but his eyes shake briefly. He shrugs, a picture of perfect nonchalance—but Yoongi sees it. “Jimin was the best assassin the camp had ever seen.”
“Ten years is a long time out of business.”
“Jimin practised for life,” Taehyung counters and his eyes seem sad. “I bet he practised even out of camp. He was too paranoid to stop.” He looks at Yoongi from the side. “He’s not you.”
Yoongi scoffs, crossing his arms. “What does that mean?”
“It means you gave up,” Taehyung says bluntly, and Yoongi looks down. “You gave up your life. Your position, everything. Not that I care about that.” Taehyung takes one more drag and blows out several rings. “Jimin’s always been a lone wolf. Looks out for himself, and for that, he needs to be the best. Maybe he gave up on the jobs, but practice? No way.”
Taehyung speaks with confidence as if he knows Park Jimin stripped bare to his bones. “You speak like you know him.”
“I do know him. We grew up together. Competed, fought, fucked—you can’t get rid of that sort of knowledge,” Taehyung says, dropping the cigarette. His hands tremble when he rakes them through his hair. “That’s how I know he’s the only man for the job.”
It’s Yoongi’s turn to sigh now—so much of this doesn’t make sense. Hoseok is below, still in shock, and Jungkook’s curled with him in his nest—Yoongi’s here, confronting his past. Hoping to understand why he’s dragged back into this mess over and over again.
He’d always known Jimin’s past would catch up to him someday. He’d hoped it would be a private affair and not this public spectacle. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given how dramatic Taehyung had been even in some of their shared work—but now he has to put aside his feelings, tending to what’s left of his pack.
Yoongi stares out at the Seoul skyline. “He’s left, hasn’t he?”
“Jimin? Yep,” Taehyung says. When he turns to Yoongi, his eyes are lined with apologies. “He won’t put you guys in danger.”
“Self-sacrificing dick,” Yoongi mutters, something painful yet fond growing in his chest. “Will this job hurt him?”
“I hope not,” Taehyung murmurs. “In any case—I am sorry, hyung. Whether you believe me or not.”
Yoongi’s caught between the two, but he’ll manage. He has worse things to worry about. Taehyung turns around, brushing past him. Yoongi catches hold of the lapels of his jacket.
“Will you make sure he’s safe?” Yoongi asks, looking Taehyung in the eye—and the alpha meets his, a golden ring flickering in them. Not one of aggression, but a promise. Yoongi can feel his own rise. He understands, at last, what it means. He's too distraught to face it, however. “Whatever it is—will you keep him alive?”
It’s all Yoongi cares about, in the end. He can’t control most things—and as a pack leader, he feels even more helpless. Jimin’s unreachable, and Taehyung knows about it—as much as he wants to hate him for ruining the normalcy of his life, Yoongi knows Taehyung’s promises.
Taehyung waits for a while, biting his lip. Yoongi can guess the remark he would lie to make—something snarky, uncaring—but one doesn’t keep a lookout for nearly ten years without some semblance of care. And Yoongi’s banking on it.
It seems like Taehyung knows it too, since he sighs. “He’ll be safe.”
“You’ll let him come back?”
“That’s up to him and what he sees fit,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi nods. Fair enough. Knowing Jimin and his monstrous tendency for guilt, the chances are low. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of that.”
Taehyung straightens his jacket and begins walking again—when Yoongi asks one last thing. Maybe he doesn't want to face the reality just yet— but he'll ask anyway.
“Will you be safe, Taehyung-ah?”
It’s been years, but Yoongi’s always cared about Taehyung. He stands with his back facing Yoongi’s—and nods, his head low. Somehow, Yoongi’s alpha can feel that connection snapping into place. He wonders if Taehyung feels the call too.
Neither is going to answer it tonight.
“No promises, hyung,” Taehyung mutters, and Yoongi’s gut sinks. “Stay in touch. Don't be a stranger this time.”
Yoongi stays on the rooftop for a long, long time.
🖤⚔🖤
[Present]
Yoongi sits in his chair surrounded by the guards, staring at his mother across the table where she now sits at the head of it—his father’s seat. She swirls her wine—and her eyes smile.
“I have someone suitable lined up already,” Heeyeon says dreamily, laying back against the seat. She seems small, and unsuitable for that position. And yet. “Agree to mate him—and Hoseok-ssi will be healed.” She takes a swig in, chewing on a grape daintily. “Fight, and he dies. Quiet simple, really.”
He can see it too. Without access to Hoseok or knowledge about his whereabouts, Yoongi’s at a disadvantage. He will need support to at least find him—and he has to play along with Heeyeon until he does. He clutches at the tablecloth. “Who is it?”
Heeyeon smiles, except it’s not warm—it’s manic, and Yoongi now knows not to take it lightly. “You must have heard of him. Kim Seokjin, Master of Spies.”
Yoongi frowns. It sounds familiar, though he’s been so out of touch with the underworld that he can’t recall where he might have heard it. “I don’t even know him. Why would I marry—?”
“Because I’ve chosen him, and he’s perfect for you,” Heeyeon cuts in, red nails glinting. “He’s perfect for our organisation. If you cared even a little bit, you’d understand.”
“I don’t wish to. I wish to marry for love.”
Heeyeon sighs. Then she clicks her fingers—and immediately, one of the guards steps forward, punching Yoongi across his face. His vision rings in his head, his hearing muffled; a moment later, his tongue tastes like salt and iron. His lip stings when he stretches them. “What the fuck?”
“I’ve had it with your rebellion,” Heeyeon says quietly, but her eyes are murderous. “For years I told Yungcheol to sort you out, bring you back home. His weak heart could never do it. It falls on me to set things right.”
“Eommonim—”
“Take him to his chambers—maybe he’ll do well with some time to mull over things,” Heeyeon mutters, leaning back and swirling her wine again. “Come back to me when you’re more sensible.”
The guards drag him up before he can say anything—they’re rough with their hands, and before he knows it, he’s thrust into his room, and locked in. He’s not really a prisoner—his phone is still in his pocket, as are his belongings, so his mother doesn’t care what he does—because he’s effectively locked in here until he ‘behaves’.
He stays on the floor for a long time, still recuperating from the shock—none of the events makes sense. His mother’s plans, her disdain for his father— had his death even been an accident? The thought of anything else drives his body into shock, so he avoids that line of thinking.
Kim Seokjin. Again, familiar, but nothing comes to Yoongi’s mind. Was he another mafia boss’s son? An assassin? Some rich brat with links to the underground?
And what of Hoseok? How was he faring, if his mother was refusing treatment for him based on Yoongi’s consent for marriage? How had the situation gone so out of hand?
He thinks of when he’d last seen Hoseok—unconscious, nearly frothing at the mouth, so weak he could barely hold himself up—and Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he realises how willingly he walked right into his mother’s honey trap.
Yoongi will face anything—but he refuses to lose Hoseok to his old life. It’s the least the omega deserves, after all this time.
He reaches for his phone in his pocket, scrolling through his contacts.
I promise, hyung. You call me—and I’ll be there.
Yoongi clicks on Kim Taehyung’s name before he can change his mind.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
I had to fit so much in one chapter phew I hope it's not a lot at once. I'll answer any additional questions in the comments if any. I have mixed feelings about the way I wrote the chapter but oh well. Maybe with future POVs of Yoongi, I'll do his character justice.
Also, it's been a YEAR since I first began writing this story! Happy one-year anniversary lol.
I also want to add: when I first began writing this, I didn't have half the plot, worldbuilding or even the complication this story has turned into. As such, I would ask you guys for some grace and forgiveness for any plot holes, confusing world-building things, or disconnected new stuff just popping up. It bugs me because I hate having continuity issues in my stories but I promised myself when I started ETS that I won't be critical of myself as I usually am. I'll do my best to make sense of the plot, and connect them but yeah.
For clarification:
> True mates: destined mates for romantic/sexual partnerships.
> Soulmates: destined mates for platonic relationships; I'm sure however there are cases of soulmates who choose to pursue a romantic relationship. idk I'm still stuck on the destined bond lore for this fic pls forgive meI also love writing taehyung from someone else's perspective gahhhh so refreshing :")
Chapter 19: Wayward Son(s)
Notes:
LOOK WHO IS HERE BEFORE THE MONTH GETS OVER!!!
Okay, but I was so excited to post chapter 19- and I had to post something for 10 YEARS OF BTS hello??? It coincided nicely. I spent 5 hours in ADHD hyperfocus last night finishing ch 20, so now I'm here. Let's get ready.
This is one of my best chapters yet. It was thrilling to write, and I hope you can feel that. However, some changes:
EDIT: in ch 18 I wrote that Yoongi could see some faint Mark on Taehyung. DELETE that. I fucked up in plot continuity. That fact does not exist anymore. No one can see the mark. I will edit ch 18 later but yes. Forgive me.
CONTENT WARNINGS:
1) I didn't want to spoil it but it's important. There are implications of pseudo-incest in dialogue, and it will be a part of the plot moving forward. DON'T WORRY, none of the main characters actually engage in it or support it- it serves as a motivator to push against. Hopefully, it will not be triggering. Please pause/exit if it is.
2) a very brief scene of sexual harassment toward Jimin.
I WILL SCREAM IN THE END NOTES HAVE FUN!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun rose and fell, but he couldn’t tell apart minutes from the hours. At one point, Jimin was passing out from wave after wave of heat.
How Taehyung kept up with him, what he did during his rut—Jimin couldn’t answer. He was nothing but a vessel. As long as he was stuffed with a knot, the world could be on fire.
On the third day, the waves began receding, though each one was more intense than the last. His wolf, usually quiet drove him to milk the opportunity before it was lost.
Jimin’s ankles were hooked around Taehyung’s shoulders as he drove his knot in, and once the knot caught—Jimin let loose. Sleep beckoned, and his eyes could barely stay open.
Sometime during the night, he saw Taehyung rush to the bathroom with a hand slapped over his neck. Jimin opened his mouth to ask—before the thought was too much to hold, and he gave to sleep.
He woke up to a tongue lapping at his slit, and hair tickling against his bruised inner thighs. He clamped them around Taehyung’s head instantly, toe curling into the sheets as his back arched, tears leaking out his eyes.
He came, moaning as Taehyung swallowed— when he rose up, the alpha’s mouth was covered with slick, eyes golden and chest flushed. His hair stuck to his neck with sweat.
Taehyung was a vision to hold—and Jimin’s omega claimed him.
Ours. He’s ours.
Clarity fell upon him and Jimin felt human again, feeling the crusted come and sweat in his crevices, and the sheer filth of an omega in heat. He’d never felt so exhausted yet rewarded.
Something was sticking on Taehyung’s mating gland—a skin-coloured pain patch, like the kind they used after missions. “What’s that?”
“Hmm?” Taehyung inched closer, smelling like lavender musk and homely sage with each passing minute. “What?”
“This.” Jimin pressed into the patch, and Taehyung hissed, loud enough that Jimin recoiled. The alpha’s eyes were blazing golden. “You got hurt?”
Taehyung stared, eyes dimming slowly. Something like fear pooled into them. Then he nodded, shaking his hair out and hiding his neck. “Something like that, yeah."
“How do you get hurt in a heat,” Jimin muttered, lying on his back; his hips and thigh hurt. His slit throbbed. “Did I do something?”
“Nah, something from training. Don’t worry about it.” A pause, Taehyung’s nails skimming over Jimin’s calves, his half-hard cock flat against Jimin’s thigh. “Let’s avoid our mating glands, though, shall we? Don’t want an accident.”
Jimin snorted. He looked down, petting the alpha’s hair as he rutted slowly. “What? Like accidentally mating each other?”
“You never know.”
“Yes, because I want to be tied down with you,” Jimin said, looking up, revelling in the fall. “Whatever. Same goes for you.”
Taehyung didn’t respond, going deeper into his rut—Jimin closed his eyes before spreading his legs for the alpha’s use again.
🖤⚔🖤
The phone keeps ringing as Jimin stares.
Yoongi-hyung calling…
The phone is Taehyung’s, there’s no doubt about it. Sleek and grey, scratched up in some corners due to his carelessness. Jimin’s seen it too many times to be mistaken. And yet—there is a disconnect between what his eyes perceive and what he knows.
His unofficial Pack Alpha should be the last person to know Taehyung.
Jimin’s fingers tremble as he presses on Accept. A cloud of delusion lingers, that perhaps it’s someone else and not his hyung. Anyone but his hyung.
“Taehyung-ah? That you on the line?”
It takes everything to keep holding the phone as Jimin’s heart breaks again.
“Listen, Taehyung-ah. I know this is out of the blue but— I don’t have time. There’s a—I’m back home, and they’ve got me. I didn’t know who to—are you listening? Say something, Taehyung. Please.”
The world fades and Taehyung blurs as tears collect—the last of them before Jimin wills his heart to harden. That is the way it had been, and that is how it will always be.
Jimin can’t catch a damn break in his Moon-cursed life.
“Hello, Yoongi-hyung.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen with horror and Jimin faces them head-on. Every-fucking-time. He decides to trust the alpha and it backfires. When will he learn that he’s all alone in this world and he can’t rely on anyone?
“Funny catching you here of all people.”
Harsh breaths echo. Jimin doesn’t want to think how long this has been going on, the connections brimming and threatening to engulf him.
“J-jimin,” Yoongi stutters, a first for him because he’s only ever been a stable presence. A figure entering Jimin’s small life and rooting to stay. How stupid Jimin must have looked all along. “I can—hyung can—”
“Hyung can what?” Jimin snaps, backing away as Taehyung comes closer with his hands raised, waist still wrapped in a towel. Jimin doesn’t feel an inch of attraction, though, too blinded by the betrayal. “Lie some more? Pretend to be my friend while joining hands with—” Jimin looks up, at the fear and regret broiling in Taehyung’s eyes. “With my enemy?”
Taehyung’s eyes shutter with hurt, but Jimin doesn’t care. All his life he’s had to hurt more than he’d signed up for, while others somehow carried on just fine. Painfully picking up his fractured pieces, trying to heal his wolf from all the assault. Learning to trust people again—and for what?
To be dragged into this world again, demolishing everything he’d worked so hard for. Jimin had adjusted, again, for his friends to be safe. He’d made peace, all in the hope that he’d be able to return and beg for their forgiveness.
This is what happens when you fall and allow yourself to feel again. He’s never liked you for you.
Yoongi’s breath rattles, and Jimin thrives on it. It’s been a while since someone took him seriously, and not just an omega in distress. “Jimin. It’s not like that, I promise. I can explain.”
“I wonder how,” Jimin snorts, leaning against the wall. “What’s your reason? I thought you were our hyung. Our pack Alpha. The one who protected us.”
“Jimin, I did, I am. This is just a misunderstanding—”
“You’re nothing but a spy,” Jimin spits, the anger churning in his gut. His hands tremble, and his vision blurs again. “There’s nothing you can say.”
It gets quiet then. Taehyung stands at a safe distance; Jimin waits— for something. Anything. He wants to crush the phone to bits, and shower Taehyung with a thousand cuts. Make him bleed all over the fancy carpet. Escape this goddess-forsaken place again and disappear, this time forever.
“You’re right. There isn’t,” Yoongi says, his voice carrying the familiar stability that Jimin had trusted first. It once again puts his body at peace, and he drives his nails into his palm. “And when I get the chance I’ll explain. But right now, we don’t have time.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “Of course. I don’t need it— have a great life, hyung, I’ll give the phone to your best friend.”
“Jimin, wait!”
Instinct, and perhaps their pack bond, has him stay. “What?”
“It’s Hoseok,” Yoongi blurts. Jimin freezes. “Please listen to me now. You can cut me off or punish me but right now, I need your help.”
“What’s wrong with Hobi-hyung?” Jimin asks, jaw aching from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “Hyung?”
“Put me on speaker,” Yoongi instructs and Jimin obeys blindly. “Taehyung. You there?”
Taehyung clears his throat, edging close but keeping away from Jimin. His body is keyed up like he expects Jimin to lash out any moment with his daggers and carve him up. “Here, hyung.”
It’s the familiar way he calls Yoongi hyung that cements it. Taehyung and Yoongi knew each other beyond work.
“Okay. So. Hoseok’s been taken.”
Jimin nearly crumbles, limbs shaking from the force of staying up. Fear climbs out of his chest into his throat, the Hoseok-shaped part of his heart thundering away. He clutches the phone tighter. “What do you mean?”
“It’s— long story short, I’m back home,” Yoongi starts. Jimin opens his mouth to ask where, but the elder beats him to it. “Taehyung knows where. Hoseok had a dry heat induced by distress. I thought taking him to the family healer would be the best thing to do.”
Taehyung inhales sharply, gingerly taking the phone away from Jimin. “Okay. Taken by whom?”
“My mother.” Yoongi sniffles. “Look—I’m home because, well. Appa is dead.”
Taehyung’s nose flares and his eyes shake before the mask falls into place. “Yungcheol-samchun? Really?”
“Yes. And…Goddess, I can’t explain this on call. I’m running out of time. But Hoseok’s been taken and I’ve been locked up. We need to find him. I’ll explain everything once I’m out of here.”
Jimin has questions, too many of them swirling and joining the emotions that have been rising steadily, but the urgency in Yoongi’s voice means putting aside all of them and focusing on one thing alone—rescuing Hoseok, wherever he may be.
Taehyung looks at Jimin and nods. His mind roars when he thinks of working with Taehyung, but he can endure it a while longer. Jimin nods back.
“Okay, hyung. I’ll touch base with you once we’re close to the Min Estates. Will you be accessible?”
“Yes. I’m free to move within but there’s a tag on me—for now. Once you’re close, I’ll contact you again and give you the next steps.”
“Great. See you.” He hangs up.
Silence rings loud.
“Jimin—” Taehyung starts, but Jimin pushes past him, going to his closet and taking out the weapons. “Jimin. Please.”
He ignored him, taking out a duffle bag next and lining them with clothes. His body itches with barely restrained rage, his blood boiling. He needs to do something, though he’s not sure where to begin. Rescue Hoseok—but how? From where? Was Hoseok truly innocent? What if he’d also been in cahoots with Taehyung?
Had Jimin always been a puppet in Taehyung’s world?
His wolf senses Taehyung nearing, scent fresh from the shower. Mere moments ago Jimin had allowed himself to give in and partake in some joy, and yet again, the Moon Goddess had taken it away. Happiness was never meant to be his—Jimin is a fool for wanting it.
“Jimin, I’m sorry.”
He shoves one more dagger, faster than a hurricane because if he stops even a moment, Jimin’s afraid the next dagger will find its place somewhere soft and fleshy, red lining its serrated edges.
“Jimin-ah, please—”
“If you want to live, you’d want to shut up,” Jimin says, refusing to turn around and even look at him. He doesn’t want to know how Taehyung looks, or do anything with him. Jimin is a fool, and he’s always been when it comes to him. “Only Hoseok. After that I leave.”
It’s probably a miracle, or maybe common fucking sense, that Taehyung doesn’t protest. What does Jimin have to lose anyway? His best friend has been kidnapped, his other best friend is soul-bonded to another assassin, and his pack alpha turns out to be in his past line of work. Who does Jimin protect anymore, if not himself?
He zips up the bag and leaves, uncaring of how or what Taehyung says or feels.
🖤⚔🖤
His phone falls from his hand the moment Jimin hangs up.
Fuck. Fuck. This is the last thing Yoongi had anticipated when he’d panic-called Taehyung. It’s been months since their meeting on the roof since Taehyung had called him up.
He’d guessed that Taehyung knew something about Jimin’s disappearance from their lives—but he’d never thought they’d still be together. Had the special favour Taehyung wanted Jimin for not been accomplished yet?
The bed dips as he falls, his body trembling. They don’t stop, starting from his head down to his limbs, over and over. Jimin knows. Yoongi’s worst fear has been realised at last, the one secret he’d protected with everything he had. All else was okay—but Jimin was never supposed to find out the reason behind Yoongi’s presence in his life.
And now…
Yoongi presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, as deep as they can go until he sees stars. It hurts, but he wants it to—wants to punish himself for the clusterfuck he’s gotten himself into. Getting Hoseok into. Hoseok, who has nothing to do with this—suffering in a world he had no clue of.
It brings things into focus. The image of Hoseok kept somewhere, miserable and sick, barely able to stomach food and slowly giving into the distress of his omega—it kick-starts something. Yoongi gets up, urgency rising in him. What is he doing, having a morality crisis when Hoseok is locked? He’d take a thousand punishments over potentially harming Hoseok. He’d never be able to forgive himself otherwise.
No, right now, he needs to prepare for Taehyung—and Jimin— internally. Make sure they can somehow make it in, enough that they can put their collective skills to scour the place inside out. Find something, anything, on Hoseok—Yoongi is willing to pay whatever the price, including his life.
The resolution calms his alpha down as his heart slows. He inhales deeply—and then proceeds to knock on his door.
Nothing like the present to start playing yet another role—just like he has been for the past ten years.
The wait is excruciating—but Yoongi busies himself with the last rituals of his father. Business in the underworld carries on as usual—the death is tragic, but the loss of profit is even more. His father’s lawyers and other associates begin making rounds, and soon, Yoongi finds himself neck-deep in the family business.
The work should feel suffocating, akin to drowning like it used to once—but this time, it’s a welcome distraction. Yungcheol had been a meticulous man—all his affairs were in order. As he’d promised Yoongi, he hadn’t been involved in anything—but at his mother’s insistence, Yoongi is being brought in again.
For Hoseok’s sake, Yoongi can handle that role until he can quit, once the omega is safe enough.
If he asks about Hoseok too soon, suspicion will rise. Heeyeon is shrewd— and Yoongi unfortunately shares the same quality. Pity she used it to be cold-hearted and calculating, but parents aren’t perfect. Yoongi isn’t either.
It doesn’t mean he won’t make an effort to understand her, only if to see what he’ll be going up against.
“The role suits you so well,” she says quietly as they riffle through the papers, Yoongi sitting in his father’s chair. It feels wrong as if it’s been moulded to keep him out. Heeyeon doesn’t notice his discomfort. “You at your rightful place at last. How I have struggled.”
He holds in a scoff, biting his lips hard to avoid rolling his eyes. All she had to do was birth him, before passing him over to the omega nanny. Only Yungcheol would take time out to play with Yoongi, while Heeyeon would fret over her appearance and her distended body, years after the pregnancy. Typical of her to think she struggled when she had barely even been a mother.
Yoongi asks anyway, like the dutiful son he’s supposed to be. “How come, Eommonim? You were always so…natural at it.”
Heeyeon laughs, a tinkering sound. “Now, now, son. There’s no need for flattery.” She turns towards him, her gaze hungry. “All in due time. When it’s right, you’ll know. You’ll know what it took to bring you into this world, and how you have to honour it.” She sighs, eyes lost. Something’s afoot, but Yoongi can’t tell yet what. “Soon. My family will be together.”
She sounds detached, distant—like she isn’t even in the room with him. Yoongi frowns, almost snapping his fingers—but he holds back. Their ‘family’ has never been one for closeness, choosing to lead distinctly separate lives with little recognition. And now, with his father dead—there’s no chance Yoongi sees them as a family, or ever will.
Silence descends once more, marred occasionally by the scribbles of signatures or shuffling of papers. Yoongi goes over each aspect—the business was profitable, and doing well. There are a lot more social causes they were donating to now—something that warms his heart, but when his mother looks over his shoulder—she snorts derisively. She takes it from him, tearing one of the contracts to shreds. “We won’t be needing these anymore.”
It pricks his sense of justice. “Why not?”
“Because that’s not what we do,” Heeyeon says, adding one more contract to the shredder. Her nails are sharp and red, clacking against the device. “Charity. As if we need to waste money on lost causes.”
“That isn’t—this isn’t what Appa would have wanted,” Yoongi argues hotly, though he never discussed business with Yungcheol. Just the occasional update about his life in Seoul. “Eommonim—stop. Stop.”
Heeyeon fixes him with a stare, so cold Yoongi freezes on the spot. Suddenly he feels seven again, facing her cold wrath when he’d broken one of her precious statues. She’d never raised a hand—her gaze had been enough.
Even now, it pierces right through, conveying what she truly thinks about Yoongi’s opinion. She smiles thinly, getting right back to the task. Hums. “Yungcheol wasn’t the right man for this world.”
“Appa was—”
“He was a soft man. Too forgiving and gentle, and he paid for it,” Heeyeon continues, watching the machine shred the paper. “He took whatever he got and could never stand up for himself. That’s not a leader. That’s a man without a spine.”
The anger he’s been suppressing since everything went to shit bubbles to the surface, clawing its way out. How could she be this cruel? Her husband’s ashes hadn’t yet cooled and she was already looking down at him. Probably had been for a while. “You never even cared about the family business. You have no right to say that.”
“Don’t I?” Heeyeon asks, though her question is rhetorical. “I was his first business deal. It would be unseemly of me not to know, hmm, Yoongi?”
Yoongi feels the words—but pauses. “What?”
“Taken from my true love,” Heeyeon whispers, and something twangs in Yoongi’s bones. “Sold, really. Yungcheol went along. It opened up several avenues for him.” Heeyeon smiles to herself, but her eyes seem dead. “Before me, he was nothing.”
There are words but there is no voice. Yoongi can only wait.
“He is still nothing. But I am free at last. And now I can leave.”
Like a gavel on wood, the words hit him right in the chest. Yoongi stays rooted, afraid to move. “What do you mean, Eomma?”
It’s rare that he calls her that. Too informal and familial for a person who had only ever been a womb.
Heeyeon startles out of her daze and smiles when she catches Yoongi’s eye. She walks over, patting his cheeks—her hands, contrary to what Yoongi perceives about her, are warm. Clammy almost, and so close, she smells like cinnamon. Faint, bittersweet. They don’t bring comfort like a parent’s scent is supposed to.
“Dinner tonight,” she says, rubbing her thumb under his eye, down his jaw—Yoongi doesn’t dare move. “We’ll be meeting your intended mate’s family. Dress well—and behave.” She presses a nail just under his chin, and Yoongi flinches. “Your little lover’s life is on the line.”
Then she walks away—leaving Yoongi behind with an uneasy stomach
🖤⚔🖤
The Estate is three hours away—and the drive is excruciating.
Daegu. Yoongi had been from the Min Clan based in Daegu—Min Yoongi, how stupid of you— and Jimin had never connected the dots.
Well, how could he? It wasn’t like Jimin was a walking dictionary of all the underworld crime families; he’d been a mere assassin—he got an assignment, he killed, and he left. No calling cards, no revisions—get proof of death and earn his keep. That’s all.
In his early years at the university, he’d never thought of doing a background check on Yoongi—he’d put that habit behind him, not wanting to give into the paranoia that haunted him. He hadn’t trusted the elder immediately—but Hoseok’s belief had been enough proof that Yoongi was a good person. Jimin clung to that rather desperately.
Still, the Mins were famous—one of the few establishments with a perfectly legal parallel company, the crime so subtle they didn’t stand out. A mafia family as opposed to an assassin clan—they dealt in substances and the grey area rather than humans, and Jimin had admired that when he’d heard.
That’s nowhere to be found now.
Taehyung is the one driving, and Jimin sits beside him, pressed to the door. It’s excruciating—not because of the drive, but the forced proximity with the alpha. The fact that Jimin has to put up with this a while longer until they can locate Hoseok and bring him to safety. Put up with the closeness, the insufferable lavender—he’s not attracted, but it’s still a good scent. A scent that invites safety in him even as his logical side struggles, the weight of the betrayal hanging over them.
It makes him feel safe, but Jimin doesn’t want to feel safe. No, he wants to take out his pretty daggers and shred Taehyung head to toe. Hang slivers of his skin for the sun to dry and the crows to feast on. He wants so badly to—to do something, get that anger out, to scratch the itch that’s been building for a while.
All in all, not the best road trip at all.
Taehyung seems to be reacting to him, if Jimin goes by how stiff his posture is, knuckles white around the steering wheel. Every few moments he looks sideways at Jimin, scent dripping with concern and apology. Miraculously he keeps quiet—none of that inane chatter he keeps up to get under Jimin’s nerves. Wise of him, or Jimin would have ripped his tongue out for good.
His scent is overwhelming, though, a tad bit too strong for Jimin’s liking—musky, like it usually is after sex. But they’d done the deed a while back, so it shouldn’t last so long— but no. Jimin doesn’t care. Fuck Taehyung’s scent and fuck him. Fuck his stupid fucking omega and his dumb biology. It’s only ever gotten him in messes when really, he’d just wanted to lead a normal life.
Jimin ignores all of it as he stares straight ahead, arms crossed and close to the dagger stored around his waist. He’s not going to kill Taehyung, needs his help if he’s to get to Hoseok—but maybe after…
He doesn’t want to doze off, not around Taehyung at least—but the safety lingers, and he hates it. He keeps his eyes open, but eventually, his biology wins out—and Jimin closes his eyes.
Someone shakes him awake—and Jimin’s knife is out before he opens his eyes.
Taehyung holds still as the knife presses into his jugular, barely breathing. Jimin breathes hard, heart racing—before he realises.
He doesn’t drop the knife, though. Taehyung takes the hint, and backs away slowly, hands raised. “Just waking you up. We’ve reached.”
“Reached where?” Jimin asks, looking around as he slides his knife back into its pocket. They’re parked in the middle of fucking nowhere; trees and a dirt road greet his sleep-ridden eyes. “Doesn’t look like a fucking estate.”
“Obviously we’re not going to turn up at the front door,” Taehyung snarks and Jimin raises an eyebrow. The alpha bites his inner cheek, clearly wanting to reply but choosing wisdom again. “There’s an outhouse somewhere. Used to be an old communication unit for the estate. We’ll connect to it and contact hyung.”
Jimin hates Taehyung saying hyung so casually. Betrayed as he is, his omega is still possessive over their pack leader. Never mind that they were clearly friends long before that.
He gets out, stretching and cracking his joints. Taehyung takes out the bags, unloading some weapons and a couple of essentials. Huh. It’s been a while since Jimin’s gone on an external mission, and the familiar scene threatens to bring up memories he’d rather keep suppressed.
His skin feels hot as he watches Taehyung efficiently pack, keeping the remaining things back in the trunk. Jimin looks away, distracting himself with his own preparations. He’s not going to be taken in so easily. He was betrayed, and made a fool of; Jimin’s not a brainless omega slut. Not now, not ever.
The outhouse is easy to locate, some two-hundred metres into a rough trail. It’s a wooden unit, clearly neglected—Taehyung slams through it easily, checking for any traps. There are none. Inside, near the electrical unit is a communication box. Taehyung pulls up the lever, waiting for it to charge up—before connecting it to a strange flat phone.
“What the hell is that,” Jimin asks, even though he doesn’t want to talk to Taehyung. His curiosity has always been hungry.
“It’s just a discreet phone,” Taehyung answers, inputting a code. He frowns as he works, tongue poking out. “Good for satellite location & rough communication. Connects to regular cell phones too in cases of emergency. Hyung and I—” He stops short, casting a guilty look at Jimin. “Anyway. Yeah.”
“Hyung and you, what?” Jimin presses, enjoying the way Taehyung squirms. “Exchanged love letters?”
Irritation flashes across, but Taehyung shrugs. “Just communication. It’s a handy little thing.” The phone lights up, and Taehyung fist pumps the air. “We’re connected. I’ll ping hyung, and then we’ll wait.”
Jimin walks away, exploring the hub in the forest. It’s awfully boring, with nothing to do. There are old newspapers shoved in some corners, and a pantry full of expired food. The air is musty, and Jimin’s nose tickles. He sniffles, feeling that itch again. He scratches his neck, cursing at the amount of dust particles that must have gotten in already.
A moment later Taehyung’s weird phone rings—and Jimin walks over. Taehyung puts it on speaker, and the voice crackles, echoing. Jimin has to lean in to hear, putting him way closer to Taehyung than he’d like.
“Hello? Can you guys hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Taehyung says. His eyes are focused. He used to get like that during missions. It was one of the many things Jimin liked. “What’s up?”
“Okay, you’re at the outhouse?” Taehyung grunts in affirmation. “Great. There’s a trail out of the back exit— starts flat, and gets uphill after about 500 metres. Bit of a hike.”
“Hike to where?”
“There’s a passage to the end of the hiking trail. It was built in the 80s—so no one’s catalogued it recently. The passage should go underground, and I’m hoping it’s not been sealed.”
Jimin frowns. “So you’re not even sure this will work?”
“It’s the only way that won’t get you guys caught,” Yoongi whispers. “If it’s not sealed, great. Should open into a room or a closet. You stay there until I give the all-clear. I’ll try to connect you guys to an audio link. Then we can look for Hoseok.”
“And if it is sealed?”
“Go back, and I’ll look for another way. Do not come walking through the front door.”
Taehyung pouts. “Why not? We’re pretty good assassins, you know.”
“I do. But I don’t want to risk Hoseok’s life even a bit,” Yoongi sighs, and it’s so familiar Jimin’s heart hurts. “You get it, right, Jimin-ah?”
Jimin does, and as complicated as this seems—he’d rather it be long-winded than a rush job that would botch a mission he’s not gotten a chance to study inside out. Even if a lot of assassin jobs were left to chance—they always studied their paths, to minimise the risk of a missed mission.
“Yeah. Your way seems the safest.”
“Great, Okay. You’ll know the trail, just follow it upwards. Get into the tunnel. Ping me if it’s sealed, otherwise only when you’re safe inside. I’d like to reduce the chances of signal tracking.”
“Sure, hyung. Thanks. See you soon.”
The link disables, turning grey. Taehyung switches it off, pockets it—and lifts his bag, opening the door for Jimin. “Shall we?”
Jimin rolls his eyes as he walks past, locating the trail and starting on his own.
It begins flat, just as Yoongi had said. It’s covered with weeds and broken rock, surrounded by tall strands of wild grass. It’s not foreign—Jimin’s done his fair share of cardio and workouts. They used to have entire training sessions in the wilderness, in case they had to escape their target locations in emergencies.
Taehyung trails behind, not too far that he’s lost but not too close that his scent is overwhelming. Amidst the natural breeze, it’s not as potent—but Jimin is aware of him anyway. Aware of the vulnerable position he’s in, and how easily Taehyung can overpower him—the trail is narrow enough that falling would be bad news.
It finally begins winding up, damp in a few spots. Jimin locates a stream nearby—it’s hidden, barely a whisper—but life thrives around it. It’s beautiful—but he turns away, not wanting to be distracted. At times he has to climb on all fours—but the burn feels good. At any rate, it distracts him from the itch he feels under his clothes, the restlessness that’s been building the whole time since he sparred with Taehyung. How long had it been? It felt like ages, but Jimin can swear it was the same day.
The sun begins setting, engulfing them in the twilight. Taehyung switches on a flashlight from behind—but they come on a curve, and Jimin slips on a rock before he can stop the fall.
Arms wrap around him from behind, and Jimin is in a cloud of lavender with sage.
Taehyung’s holding him steady, his body warm through the layers of clothes. His scent is even stronger, that strange musk lingering still. He’d have made a comment earlier but now—Jimin wants nothing to do with him.
He shoves off the alpha, carrying on without looking back.
His heart is racing anyway, but Jimin’s quite adept at ignoring it by now.
Thighs burning from exertion, they eventually reach the end of the trail—it’s the tail end of dusk, the stars blinking into existence. As promised, there is a metal door planted into the side of a flat hill surface—it's rusted hinges screech when Taehyung pulls it open, but thankfully the noise is hidden in the din of the surrounding woods.
The flashlight shows a smaller passage, with barely enough crawling space—and Jimin winces at stuffing himself down that. The frown on Taehyung’s face matches his feelings, and he wrinkles his nose at the musty smell. “Do we have to?”
“It’s the only way,” Taehyung says, looking around. It feels like a trap—but that’s Jimin’s paranoia making itself known. No matter Yoongi’s truth, his feelings for Hoseok were real. Of this, Jimin has no doubt. “You first.”
“Why?” Jimin asks, not at all enjoying the prospect of having to crawl on all fours for who knows how long. His back already aches from it. “You should check it out.”
“Chances of me getting stuck up ahead are higher,” Taehyung says calmly, his face blank. Jimin can smell his growing frustration, though. “You’re smaller. Leaner. Easier to manoeuvre.”
“Sure. It’s totally not because you want my ass in your face,” Jimin mutters—before he bites his tongue. Goddess above, maybe he’s been the problem all along, the reason for Taehyung’s infuriating attitude. Jimin can’t stop making things about sex. “Ignore that.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow, mouth twitching—but he doesn’t comment. The tension of his betrayal, of the secrets he’s been hiding from Jimin hang heavy between them—it’s clear that Jimin’s not in the mood. He won’t hesitate to cut a bitch right now.
He instead attaches his weapons to his harnesses, tucking in the food reserves they’ve always trained to carry—and once clear, stashes his bag in the bushes nearby. Taking the flashlight from Taehyung, he holds it between his teeth before proceeding to move in—and almost coughs from the smell, and the strings of cobwebs hanging on the ceiling. He perseveres, only because Hoseok is trapped somewhere and Jimin can’t have that. “This is going to ruin my hair.”
Behind him Taehyung coughs, loosely closing the passage door. It feels even hotter, the cloying presence of his scent pressing on him. His ribs itch and it takes everything in him not to wiggle about; he does not want to do that while Taehyung has a front view of his ass.
“Just focus on getting your friend out—you can spoil yourself as much as you want later,” Taehyung says, maintaining some distance to avoid Jimin’s feet. “Did you forget your scent blockers?”
“Huh?” Jimin focuses on the endless passage ahead, clearing out the cobwebs. “Nope, it’s there. Why?”
“Nothing. Scent’s stronger,” Taehyung murmurs and Jimin stiffens. The alpha usually never comments on Jimin’s scent, not the way he reacts to Taehyung’s. “Probably the tunnel. Never mind.”
Except Jimin does. “Stronger how?”
Silence, the shuffle of knees against the hard floor. “Sweeter. A bit bitter too. Maybe the anger?”
“You can smell that?”
“Most can’t, but I c— um. I guess. Yeah.” Jimin frowns because Taehyung sounded like he was on the verge of saying something and stopped. He can’t turn around to see his face and check—but there’s a growing doubt gnawing at his belly. “Wait. Fuck. Are you on pre-heat?”
Jimin freezes, sudden enough that Taehyung’s head does bump into his ass; he doesn’t register it. Fuck. How long has it been? He pats his pockets for his phone—before he remembers throwing away his old one into the Han. The old one with the heat tracker. “Um.”
“No fucking way,” Taehyung curses, something like panic building in his voice. “Jimin. Are you serious?”
“I didn’t—it was in my old phone—this is your fault!” Jimin hisses. He can’t even face him. “If you hadn’t come back—”
“What kind of boomer omega doesn’t sync their tracker to a fucking calendar,” Taehyung deadpans, and goddess it sucks being trapped in a tunnel where he can’t access his daggers. “Moon above, please don’t have your heat in the middle of this tunnel.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes. He worries, though. He’s never been the most attentive about his heat; Hoseok had to remind him frequently even with a tracker. In camp, the warden and healers would put it on the cycle roster that he’d check obsessively. How had he not put two and two together? “In any case, even if that does happen— and it won’t—just leave me and go. Find Hobi-hyung and make sure he’s safe.”
Lavender turns sour suddenly, and Jimin coughs. Something like anger burns around them. “Why the fuck would I—?”
Taehyung’s phone pings—and they pause. He manages to get the device out with some difficulty—but from what Jimin can guess, it suggests that a connection has been established and the device is ready for further communication.
“Yoongi-hyung says he’ll be setting up a recording device,” Taehyung whispers, keeping the device inside. “Once we reach, we can access it—maybe see if Hoseok-ssi’s location is talked about.”
Jimin gulps, nodding to himself. The conversation about heat is kept on the back burner. They keep crawling—hoping against hope that it all goes to plan.
🖤⚔🖤
The tie his mother has gifted him is blood red in colour.
Yoongi stands in front of the mirror as he tightens the knot, tucking it in under his suit jacket. The package had come an hour ago, Heeyeon’s touch all over. Wear this tonight. Our guest is favourable to red.
A bit of a weird request, but Yoongi wants to be on his best behaviour—with the playing card she has over him, he’d rather not rebel.
The agenda for tonight is to meet Kim Seokjin’s family, yes—but really, Yoongi wants to know where Hoseok is, somehow find a way to relay the information to Taehyung— and wait as they do the rescuing while he keeps Heeyeon distracted.
A guard is already waiting for him when he exits, bowing swiftly. “This way, Master,” he says, walking ahead of Yoongi. It’s unnecessary, but Heeyeon had a penchant for drama. Based on her strange behaviour in the morning—he’s sure this is one of them.
The dinner hall is empty when he arrives.
Yoongi smiles as he bows at the guard, who walks out and shuts the doors behind him. It’s been a while, but he does the rudimentary check—for other guards, cameras or the like. He doesn’t find anything—it’s a risk he’ll have to take if he has to get the information across in the most discreet way possible. He doesn’t trust his mother—or what she might have done to Hoseok since his arrival.
Whistling, Yoongi edges close to the dining table—checking out the intricate designs carved into its surface. Complicated enough for him to slip in a little gift, unseen to the naked eye.
Once firmly attached, he checks the connection to the device he’s carried—generating the link when it shows a green signal. He sends it to Taehyung’s device just in time—the hall doors open with a flourish, and his mother stands at the entrance, radiant and unlike a grieving widow.
It’s simply not right—and Yoongi can’t put a finger on it.
“Yoongi-yah,” Heeyeon croons, walking toward him and pressing her cheek to his; Yoongi towers over her, but when he meets her gaze, he feels smaller than ever. He accepts it, the press of floral perfumes covering her natural scent. “You’re early.”
“Nothing better to do,” Yoongi says, smiling half-heartedly. She returns it as if she knows why. She clearly doesn’t buy it. “The spread looks marvellous.”
There are all sorts of dishes— various banchan, cured meats, and main courses. She walks to the head of the table— pulls the chair back and gestures for Yoongi to sit. She takes the adjacent one, once he settles in—again, the overwhelming cloud of wrong hovers. This was his father’s chair. Yoongi has done nothing to earn it, no matter how much Heeyeon insists upon it.
An attendant pours them wine, serving the starters alongside. Yoongi’s stomach growls, but finds he has no appetite; he’s on to something—he can taste it, the air pregnant with expectation.
“So, Eommonim,” Yoongi starts, and Heeyeon looks up curiously. “Tell me about this Kim Seokjin. Who is he?”
Heeyeon’s eyes light up. She swirls her wine steadily, watching the condensation drip into the glass.
“A good omega from a good house,” she begins, sighing as she leans back. “The family is strong. The union will help us strive forward, and make others think twice before attacking our clan.”
“Why so?” Heeyeon frowns, and Yoongi pours some more into her glass. She strangely doesn’t seem as alert. “What’s so special about the family?”
“It’s the Kim Clan based out of Seoul,” she states like it’s supposed to make any difference to him. “He’s the eldest omega son.”
Yoongi pretends to mull over it, swirling his own wine. He doesn’t take a sip. He makes sure the device link is switched on, and that the sounds travel. “What do you like about him?”
“Oh, I haven’t met him yet,” Heeyeon shrugs. “I know his father. And I vouch for him, so his son has to be exceptional as well, no?”
Children don’t always reflect their parents, Yoongi thinks but keeps his mouth shut. “Perhaps. I’m curious to meet him now.”
“I’m glad.” She takes a sip, meeting his eyes. “What changed your mind?”
“Sorry?”
“About this mating? Your lover isn’t worth it?” Heeyeon asks, lips cruelly red. Yoongi holds back a retort. “Looks like he doesn’t have a lot of time. Didn’t smell like anything.”
It takes everything in him to keep sitting, to not get up and demand answers right there and then. He’s no combat expert like Taehyung or maybe even Jimin—but he knows that these situations require patience and a steady head. Hoseok’s life depends on it.
“I thought about what you said earlier,” Yoongi starts casually, chewing on some lotus stem chips. They taste like ash. “Now that Appa is gone I need to—I should— take the role. Lead the way. He would have wanted that, wouldn’t he?”
Heeyeon beams with pride. “Of course! He never said it out loud—but he missed you. Geumjae is good but you…” She turns to him with those hungry eyes again. “You’re the true son. The one meant to head this clan. Anyone else would have been an insult.”
Yoongi shrugs, smiling blandly. Just then, his other phone buzzes—he checks it discreetly under the table and sees the update from Taehyung’s device. They’ve reached the end of the passage, it seems. He initiates the audio link and sends it across—before pocketing it.
“I was—misguided when I rejected my role,” Yoongi bullshits, bowing his head. He hates every word leaving his mouth. “Rebellious, perhaps. I’ve grown now. I never thought someone like Appa could just…die. Like that.”
“It is…tragic,” Heeyeon states like it’s the news. Yoongi’s alpha claws at his chest, begging him to see. “But the Moon Goddess intervenes when she needs to. She needed you back home. I suppose this was one way.”
Yoongi tries not to scoff at that. Blaming the Moon Goddess, how convenient. No, something else was up—and he’d find out soon enough.
“Her wisdom is eternal,” Yoongi parrots, looking around. There are guards outside, and it’s already late. Where are the intended family members? “It’s good it prevailed when it did and I can now make the decision for our family.”
“Indeed. I’m proud to see you do what’s right.”
“Mm.” Yoongi cuts into the steak. Hair rises at the back of his neck; his alpha can sense something he cannot. Heeyeon sits calmly, still sipping only wine. “Where is Hoseok, though?”
That startles her out of her stupor, and she frowns. “Why do you want to know?”
“Ah, Eommonim, he was my consort before I came here,” he chides lightly, playing it off. “Even if I choose Seokjin-ssi for the future of our clan, I still owe him safety. We can release him now, can’t we?”
Heeyeon still looks suspicious, tongue poking her cheek. Yoongi smiles, playing dumb—he just needs a location, and the other two can take care of it. He’s about to press some more when he freezes.
A strange, rotten smell begins creeping along, and Yoongi’s alpha trashes inside.
“Now why would we want to do that? It would be such a waste of time and energy.”
Only Heeyeon isn’t the one speaking.
His mother stands up in her seat, eyes twinkling with joy. “Joonjae! You’re here finally.”
Yoongi’s alpha has him locked down tight—he clenches his jaw as he unfreezes. Something is very, very wrong.
“Apologies, Heeyeon-ah. It was a long journey,” the voice says, gruff yet smooth, slithering under his skin. A weight presses on Yoongi’s back, smothering him. “As for where this Hoseok is—why, he’s in a special place. Away from this poor excuse of an estate.”
Hoseok isn’t here. Hoseok isn’t here. He’s been moved, and Taehyung and Jimin have already come but Hoseok isn’t—
“Won’t you be gracing me with your attention, son?”
Yoongi curls his nails into his palms, breathing out before heaving himself up and turning around with a thin smile on his face.
It falls the moment he meets eyes with their guest.
He’s never met him before—but Yoongi can swear it was an older version of Taehyung looking back at him, only there’s a scar across his face and his lips are smiling cruelly. Taehyung never looked like that.
His father, on the other hand, apparently does.
“Kim Joonjae-ssi,” Yoongi says, bowing a full ninety degrees. His knees tremble, but hopefully, his pants will hide it. “What an honour to meet you at last.”
It’s not, but he’s heard the stories. An old friend of his father’s—running a business together. Relationships had soured eventually, and the Kim and Min clans were forever rivals. Yoongi bets it had to do with Joonjae’s chosen career or rather, his family legacy.
An assassin, one of the most ruthless ones.
Yungcheol had his own moral code, and Yoongi vaguely recalls his father cutting off families that didn’t fit it. He’d never understood, until years later when he met Taehyung and did the joint assignment as a peace opportunity. He’d never asked if it had worked out—if their fathers had joined hands again. His friendship with Taehyung had been separate from it all.
“You’ve grown well,” Joonjae says, stepping closer—and with that, the source of the strange scent becomes clear. “A capable alpha. Good.”
Yoongi nods, still unsure. Heeyeon stands by the side, her body thrumming with barely restrained energy, like she wants to get closer to Joonjae. He turns his attention back to the assassin, who is staring at him with amusement. “Thank you. But what brings you here?”
“You didn’t know?” Joonjae turns to Heeyeon and reaches to pinch her cheek. She leans into the touch, and the foreboding feeling grows. “Heeyeon-ah wanted us to formally meet. So we can proceed as one now.”
Something in the way he phrases the words gets under his skin. “Proceed as…one?”
“He’s Seokjin’s father, Yoongi,” Heeyeon interjects, eyes happy. “Family, remember? Why else would he be here?”
What? Kim Joonjae is Seokjin’s father? But that doesn’t…he’s Taehyung’s father. That’s how Yoongi’s always known him as. If he’s Seokjin and Taehyung’s father then…
Seokjin and Taehyung are—brothers.
Yoongi raises his head to meet Joonjae’s eyes. He hadn’t even known Taehyung had siblings, at least not by name. Taehyung had never talked about his family, and Yoongi had never paid enough attention, too distant from this world to give a fuck. He’d always intended to get out whether his father gave him permission or not. It had only been a matter of time.
Joonjae’s looking at him with the same hunger his mother does—only there’s a gleam in his eyes, a strange fracture in the irises themselves. The alpha assassin steps even closer, fingers hovering over Yoongi’s face—and the scent intensifies, rotten earth and crushed flowers. The scent of sickness, different from death but inviting it all the same. His alpha grows within, sitting on its haunches—there is a threat and Yoongi’s not sure how to face it.
He just has to be ready for it.
His alpha holds its ground, but as the scent grows, he feels a pull towards Joonjae—an incessant call to submit, to give in. To kneel down and accept him as the more powerful one; Yoongi digs his feet in where he stands, as much as he can. Whatever it is—he cannot give in to this person, and the presence he’s carving by the minute.
Instead, he holds out his hand—Joonjae is distracted momentarily, looking down at it. He looks up with barely concealed contempt—before smiling, and Yoongi almost stumbles back.
His teeth seem a little too wolfish before they disappear.
“Come now, son, a handshake?” Joonjae tuts, before tilting his neck, and more of the scent pours out, enveloping Yoongi in a cloud of it. His knees tremble, but Yoongi holds out—focuses instead on the faded Bite on Joonjae’s neck. A dead mate, interesting.
“My condolences,” Yoongi says, deliberately cutting through the haze of that scent cloud. As far as he knows, only omegas have the ability to scent-daze; alphas cannot manipulate their scent. “It seems to have been a hard loss.”
“Mm? Loss?”
“Your mate?” Yoongi points out at Joonjae’s neck, and the assassin stiffens. “It’s not easy to bear.”
“The death of a mate? Perhaps,” Joonjae says lightly. He doesn’t seem affected. “But my mate isn’t dead, so I wouldn’t know.”
Yoongi frowns. “What?”
“She’s right here,” Joonjae croons, turning—towards Heeyeon, who smiles back, eyes manic. He pulls her in, sliding an arm that’s much too intimate around her waist. “My true mate.”
Joonjae jerks as a brief light occurs to his mating gland—a bare slash before it dies out—and a darker mark is left behind, right next to the faded Bite.
Yoongi stumbles back then, watching as Joonjae nuzzles into his mother’s mating gland, something like canines poking through. Heeyeon is weightless in his grip, eyes briefly rolling back as a strange mix of rotten earth and cloying cinnamon fills the air.
Scenting complete—Joonjae turns towards Yoongi, and his eyes are bright with greed. Right beneath his mating gland is the edge of a crescent moon, so small it wouldn’t catch attention unless one searched for it.
“My true mate and now—my true son, together at last,” Joonjae says with a damning certainty—the air swirls in Yoongi’s lungs. “My family. As the Goddess decreed.”
The glass falls from Yoongi’s hand, staining the carpet beneath.
🖤⚔🖤
It takes them some two hours to reach the end of the passage—and by the Moon’s grace, it is unsealed. A semi-cracked wooden door stands in their way. Jimin shuffles back on his ass, bumping into Taehyung and startling him.
Being trapped in such close quarters wasn’t ideal, and it isn’t now that Jimin’s facing the end of the journey, dust in his hair and clogged in his throat— and if he truly is in pre-heat, Taehyung’s growing scent does him no favours. But he’s not going to focus on that.
Jimin leans back and kicks against the door, covering his mouth against the onslaught of falling dust. The door is weak enough that it gives away after two solid kicks, and Jimin takes care of the rest by brushing past, careful of splinters.
“Could have alerted someone,” Taehyung murmurs, and though he can’t see it, Jimin rolls his eyes. It’s not like he’d been carrying a toolkit to gently break through. He saves his breath for another day. “This place stinks. Please tell me it’s better up ahead.”
“Seems roomier,” Jimin informs, waving the flashlight. They crawl some more—before the passage suddenly opens into a larger space—and he sighs, the relief of cool air welcoming against his hot skin. Wow, he really ignored all the signs his body was giving him, huh? The space is not much of a difference—but enough that the two can move side by side with a little room to spare. “Closet of some sort?”
“Storage, I think,” Taehyung says, shuffling quietly. Once settled and catching their breaths—he takes out the device and sends a message to Yoongi. Not a moment later, it buzzes—with a new link attached. Taehyung frowns. “Huh. It’s a—audio link?”
Jimin shifts closer, leaning over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Audio?”
“Mm.” Taehyung taps on the link, and they watch it load before an audio channel opens up—and a crackling sound appears. “Oh. Hyung’s sending us a live recording.”
“So we can listen?”
“And maybe get some hints about where Hoseok-ssi could be located,” Taehyung concludes. He fiddles with the settings— the audio is soon clear and the volume is low enough to hear but hopefully not enough to attract attention. “I guess we stay put until we get a solid lead.”
Jimin’s not okay with waiting when Hoseok could be in danger—but he has no choice. They don’t know the estate well enough to explore and avoid getting caught. Taehyung sets the device in between, taking out two protein bars and offering one to Jimin.
“Why?” Jimin asks, but takes it anyway, stomach aching at the sight of food. His body is cramping. He hopes it’s because of the insane cardio he had to do to get here because otherwise...
“Looks like you need it,” Taehyung says, leaning back against the opposite end. Like this, their feet and knees touch—it’s a tight fit, and at rest, their scents swirl around. Jimin can even smell a bit of his own, which shouldn’t be possible— unless. Stop it. Stop manifesting it or whatever. You’re fine. “Don’t know what’s out there. Might as well as.”
It’s said nonchalantly, but for a moment Jimin swears he can see golden eyes flicker before they vanish, the notes of protection bleeding through—and he would have found it cute, if not for the betrayal. The device crackles and stabilises; there’s a woman speaking and Yoongi engaging in mundane conversation.
“How long have you known him?” Jimin asks, one ear on the device. His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, making out the planes of Taehyung’s face. His expression, however, remains unknown.
“So we’re talking about it?”
“No,” Jimin says, playing with a hole in his jeans. “I’m bored. Can’t think of Hoseok. This is the next best bet.”
Taehyung scoffs to himself.
Yoongi-yah. You’re early, the woman says. The tone is sweet but cold. Nothing better to do.
“Since I was seventeen.”
He’d guessed as much, but it still hurts to hear. “Before or after I left?”
“After,” Taehyung murmurs, fiddling with a ring. “Joint mission. Fathers were old friends. We stayed in touch after it was complete.”
Jimin bites his lips, holding back a volley of questions at that. Why did you send him after me? When? His curiosity will be the death of him one day, but not today. Taehyung is waiting—but Jimin won’t give him that satisfaction.
The audio crackles some more, louder in the silence pressing upon them. Jimin doesn’t intend to break it or have a decent conversation with Taehyung.
The alpha has other thoughts. He seems to be picking at his clothes.
“Hyung’s my Soul Mate.”
Jimin jerks. “What?”
More silence; Jimin’s curiosity gnaws at him. A sigh. “That’s my guess, anyway,” Taehyung says, voice low. “It’s weird. I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t want to stay in touch, but my alpha had other plans.”
He has so many questions, yet so much hatred—it’s hard to choose which. He’s about to ask when—
So Eommonim. This Kim Seokjin. Tell me who he is.
Jimin blinks, looking down at the device. Taehyung jolts, so he knows he didn’t mishear. They edge closer. It’s scattered information with a lot of background noise—but Jimin is able to piece it together enough.
Apparently, Yoongi is being arranged to mate with Kim Seokjin—which is news to Taehyung as well, who frowns, holding the device tightly.
The Kim Clan of Seoul. I know his father well. Good omega. What changed your mind about this mating?
They listen, both a bit lost—Yoongi spouts some bullshit about being a good son, whatever that means—and then, he comes to asking about Hoseok.
Where is he? Can’t we release him now?
Jimin gears up for the information—the moment he has it, he’s going on a hunt. He’s ready for it, hands primed on his dagger for comfort.
What he’s not ready for is the guest the woman was talking about.
What’s the need for that? It’s a waste of time and energy.
Before he can react—Taehyung drops the device, a first for him as his eyes widen. Jimin is sure he mirrors him—because what is Joonjae doing all the way here?
He’s not mistaken, as he picks up the device and holds it close. He’d recognise Joonjae’s voice anywhere—the gruff authority, the way it curled in his belly and slithered under his skin. The feeling transgresses through the device, and has the same visceral effect on Jimin—and turns out, Taehyung as well.
Jimin doesn’t have to see to know the shock permeating Taehyung’s scent. It crawls into the back of his throat, adding to the growing itch—but he ignores it in favour of holding on. He fiddles with the settings, the frequency going out before coming back—and much more audible.
The more they hear—the clearer it gets. And the more confusing as well, melting into a familiar pool of horror.
My mate is not dead. Here she is, my true mate. And now—my true son.
We are a family at last.
🖤⚔🖤
Silence clamours somewhere inside, joined by the racing of his heart as it slams against his ribcage.
Yoongi stares at the two of them, the cruel amusement in Joonjae’s eyes, and the giddy hunger in his mother’s. They’re still attached to each other, fingers pressing into the other’s waist with a dizzying possessiveness even he can feel.
“What do you mean?” Yoongi asks though he’s sure he already knows the answer. It curdles in his belly like sour milk.
“Has your mother not told you yet?” Joonjae asks, tilting his head again—more of that disgusting, addictive scent pours out. His mother looks down, twin pools of red on her cheeks. Joonjae tuts. “Heeyeon-ah. We agreed, didn’t we? The day of the funeral.”
Shame shines in her eyes. “I’m sorry, alpha. I had to get the guests out.” She swallows, and Joonjae rubs circles on her waist. “Yoongi wasn’t in his senses either.”
Yoongi bristles at that, but his words are muddled in his mind. He’s seeing it, but it’s not making sense.
“And is he? Now?”
Heeyeon looks up with pride. “He’s reflected. He understands now.” She steps closer, fingers reaching out and ghosting over Yoongi’s face. Cloying cinnamon. “Don’t you, Yoongi-yah?”
The dam bursts forth, and Yoongi stumbles back. “What the fuck is going on?” His alpha trashes, clawing up his throat and wanting to dominate. To fight off the threat. He grinds his teeth as he holds it back. “True son? True mate?”
Joonjae sighs, disappointment flooding every exhale. Against his will, Yoongi shudders. He doesn’t do that. He’s never responded to a stranger like this, let alone another alpha.
“This is inconvenient. Heeyeon says you’re better, but you don’t seem to be listening.”
“I don’t even know you!” Yoongi bursts, fighting to hold his alpha’s reigns, but its panic is choking him anyway.
“But your wolf does, no?” Joonjae remarks, smiling. He leaves his mother, stepping around her and coming closer. Yoongi instinctively leans back, hating every moment of it. “It recognises me by scent alone. Don’t be a fool, son. You know.”
“I don’t,” Yoongi says, but it sounds desperate to him. Joonjae’s eyes shine with victory. “And I’m not…I’m not your son.”
“How soft you’ve grown from your years in the city,” Joonjae murmurs, fingers trailing across Yoongi’s skin; they burn. He’s going to hurl. “Heeyeon is my true mate. And you are my son. My true alpha son from the bonding. A gift from the Goddess herself.”
The assassin blinks, and his eyes shine red; Yoongi freezes. He’s seen those before. He knows, but that can’t be possible—
“Nothing stands in my way now,” Joonjae says, hands in his pockets but presence suffocating. “Not Sora or Yungcheol. I can be free at last, and you, my son—you are the key.”
Yoongi can’t make sense of it—he doesn’t know who Sora is, and his father’s name on this man’s lips seems like an insult to his memory. He died a week ago but the grief Yoongi feels now is insurmountable.
He grapples with history the best way he can.
“But you—you already have an alpha son,” Yoongi says, as the fact makes way through his scattered mind. Shit, Taehyung—he must be listening to this, isn’t he? But he can’t focus on that right now. “Why do you need me?”
It’s a fair question—when he already has Taehyung, why this struggle for Yoongi, who never wanted to be a part of this world? Joonjae blinks at him—before he laughs, deep throaty chuckles that send shivers down his spine. Menacing, like a wolf’s growl. His mother giggles next to him, and it’s a strange rhythm of rough and tinkering bells: the image of a broken record. Joonjae stops eventually—and steps even closer, backing Yoongi against the table. The edge digs into his lower back.
“Who? Taehyung?” Joonjae asks, voice low but heavy with contempt. “How could he? He was never my son.”
Yoongi blinks, his mind blanking out. That’s not—but he can see Taehyung in Joonjae’s features. The same eyes and smile. Yoongi, on the other hand, looks nothing like him. He wonders if that’s how his mother got away with the affair. He looks like her, pale skin and fox eyes, the kind Hoseok always teased him about—
“What?”
“A bastard boy from an omega whore,” Joonjae continues. Yoongi’s head spins. “My greatest shame. Heeyeon has forgiven me for it, but…” He turns sideways, and his mother gives him her hand, and Joonjae nuzzles into it. Places a kiss, and it fractures Yoongi’s mind some more. Joonjae inhales, eyes shuddering close—when he opens them, they’re cruel again. “If not for Sora, he’d have died with his whore mother. But Sora…she was a damn thorn in my side since the beginning.”
Heeyeon tuts, now squeezing Joonjae’s shoulder in sympathy. “Despicable woman,” she hisses, cinnamon burning bitter in Yoongi’s nose. “Hanging a sword over your head like that.”
“Mm. She’s not a problem anymore, so all is well.”
“I wish you’d let me have a chance before you took care of her, yeobo,” Heeyeon whines, pressing her cheek to Joonjae’s shoulder. Yoongi barely breathes, afraid of attracting their attention. He’ll hurl if he has to hear anymore or see them even. “Taehyung proved to be a good enough soldier eventually.”
“That, I can’t deny,” Joonjae chuckles. He seems proud as if he didn’t just damn his son to a cruel fate. Yoongi doesn’t want to think of how Taehyung must be hearing all of this. “He might be a bastard son but he trains well.” He steps back, hands in his coat pocket. “Is that enough for you, son?”
It’s not, but nothing’s ever going to be. He’d never expected this walking in today. Still, he tries. If not for himself, then to extract the complete truth for Taehyung. To spend, what, twenty-seven years of his life believing something and finding out it’s different? Yoongi himself can’t cope, and he wasn’t even raised under Joonjae’s thumb.
“You…you treated him like a son. I remember that.”
Joonjae shrugs. “I had to. Appearances are important in this line of work, you’ll do well to remember that.” He walks away, pulling out the chair opposite Heeyeon’s, and settles himself in. “My other children are not alphas. Sora insisted on keeping him, raising him as ours, as punishment to me—which served me well in the end, I suppose. He’d temporarily make do—until you mate Seokjin, of course. Then as a mated alpha, you’d be able to take over. We’d combine forces with Min Clan, become one—and establish a new order.” He opens his dish, revealing a rare steak. It’s still pink, blood leaking in some places, and Yoongi swallows down bile. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”
Something strikes him then. You’d mate Seokjin, and you’d take over. But Seokjin is…
“Wait,” Yoongi cuts in, and Joonjae looks up, cutting into the steak without breaking eye contact. Yoongi does his best not to crumble. “If…if I’m your son…and so is Seokjin…then…”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to—going to—” Oh, he’s going to throw up. “You’re going to make me mate my half-brother?!”
Joonjae tuts, chewing on the meat carefully. Pale pink slides down his fork. “Well, well. It’s not like you know each other. It’ll be fine.”
“He’s my brother!” Yoongi explodes, startling Heeyeon out of her chair. “That’s so—that’s fucked up. That’s wrong.”
“Only to those who know,” Joonjae says breezily, and Yoongi can’t believe his ears. “Seokjin isn’t a bastard and you’re my true alpha son. Pups from this union will be pure-blooded, won’t they?” Joonjae smiles, and his teeth look garish. “So what does it matter, really?”
Yoongi begins shaking now, the force of his alpha threatening to burst out. He’s not sure he can keep anything in for long—his insides, or his wolf.
“They’d be strong, healthy and beautiful,” Heeyeon sighs, eyes dreamy. She looks lost, and Yoongi knows he will never have her back. That he never had her in the first place. She’d lived her whole life in love with another alpha. “A true heir. Like the kind we dreamed of, yeobo.”
Joonjae smiles at her, holding her hand across the table—Yoongi can’t bear this a moment longer.
“You can’t,” he starts, and Joonjae’s eyes turn to him. They lock him into place. “This is wrong.” Each word feels heavy, resisting the force of Joonjae’s gaze. “I won’t mate Seokjin-ssi. That is disgusting. What is wrong with the both of you?”
A beat of silence. Joonjae curls his lips. “Calling my darling son disgusting. You have some nerve,” he spits, and there it is again—the red in his eyes that Yoongi’s convinced is a fluke. It has to be. “You won’t, is it?”
“I—no. I won’t.”
“You won’t?” Joonjae clarifies again, patting his mouth with the napkin. He sets it aside carefully but remains sitting. “Seems like there has been a misunderstanding.”
One moment the assassin alpha is sitting calmly—the next moment, something sharp digs into the jut of his collarbone, close enough to his jugular that his alpha trashes. Yoongi lurches, falling and clutching his shoulder—it comes away red, blood spurting out and dripping on the floor. He grabs hold of the weapon—and it’s the steak knife with which Joonjae had been eating.
Joonjae towers over him, leaning on one knee and levelling Yoongi with a look filled with disappointment and contempt. He places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi screams when he digs into the wound with his thumb, through his dress shirt. He can barely see, eyes fringed shut with hot tears, Joonjae’s scent so atrocious it burns. So does his shoulder. The air stinks of copper and iron.
“You get in my way and you will never know peace,” Joonjae murmurs, voice layered with an Alpha Command that Yoongi can’t hope to fight back, not in this state. He drives his nails into his thigh just to ground himself. “If you want your friend alive—you’ll do as I say.” Joonjae twists his shoulder back, and Yoongi breaks into sobs, the pain blinding everything. It’s only his shoulder and the fire in his veins. “I have waited too long for this moment for you to ruin it. Submit.”
Yoongi gasps as the wave of pain subsides, and the honey-syrup flow of the Command flows in, numbing his senses. It would be so easy to give in—to forget all of this, forget Taehyung and his rebellion, forget his life in the city and forget Hoseok—
No. You can’t forget Hoseok. He’s the one who saved you and gave you a chance at a normal life.
Yoongi fights back the Command, pathetic whimpers dribbling out of his mouth. “At least—at least tell me where he is,” he rasps. Joonjae tilts his head, and more of that horrid stench pulls him into submission. Yoongi turns his nose away. “Please! Just—I won’t be able to do anything anyway. I just want to know.” He leans back, crawling towards his mother, who stares down at him blankly. “Eomma, please. Please.”
She says nothing, and Yoongi keeps looking, hoping for once she’ll be a mother to him. She looks away, scoffing.
“Pathetic. This isn’t how you were raised,” she says, and Yoongi closes his eyes. Hope frays around its edges, and Yoongi is about to let go. “Yungcheol ruined you.”
“Now, now, Heeyeon, it happens,” Joonjae chuckles behind him. A hand pets Yoongi’s hair. Hot breath in his ear. “You’ll behave until he’s safe, won’t you?” His touch is searing hot, disgusting. When Yoongi doesn’t respond, Joonjae pulls back his hair. “Will you, son?”
“Y-yes.”
“Silly boy,” Heeyeon croons, crouching down on her stilettos. Her eyes seem far away, dead. “He isn’t even here. He’s in the catacombs.” She traces a finger around Yoongi’s temple, pressing a cold kiss on them. “And you’ll never be able to find him.”
🖤⚔🖤
Heeyeon and Joonjae’s laugh echo in broken harmony, breaking through the rough crackle of the device in his hand.
Jimin is frozen, fingers cramping from how hard he holds it. He wants to let go but is terrified of moving, to do anything when his brain is pretty much-scrambled eggs.
In the end—Taehyung makes the decision for him.
He wrenches the phone out of Jimin’s hand, nearly leaving behind scratches— and flings it across, smashing it against the wardrobe wall over Jimin’s head. Jimin startles, shouting as he holds his hands over his head, pieces of the phone falling around him. Waits. Looks up finally.
The alpha is barely breathing, the scent so strong yet unstable, so acrid that Jimin can’t tell apart his emotions anymore. He has no idea how Taehyung feels—only the raw grief and rage swirling in his flickering golden eyes.
Shit. Shit. His alpha must be shaken, close to the surface but the human side isn’t stable either to hold it or control it. Jimin can feel how his body is locked—the itching grows, and his stomach throbs—but so does his mating gland. As if Taehyung’s pain is somehow reaching him. That makes no sense.
They can’t afford to have him unstable while on enemy territory. Not with Joonjae prowling around, fuck. Jimin leans across, crowding Taehyung’s space. “Taehyung? Taehyung, hey. Hey, wake up.”
Nothing happens. Taehyung stares into empty space, irises swirling with gold and brown. Beads of black that Jimin’s never seen. Doesn’t know what to do with it. He catches hold of Taehyung’s face, pressing his thumbs under his eyes. Moisture glistens, tears unshed.
Jimin forgets the past twenty-four hours, the betrayal still brimming in his heart as he faces the utter brokenness in Taehyung’s eyes.
“Baby, hey,” Jimin whispers, unsure of how to get through. He rubs circles on the apples of his cheeks. This close, the lavender burns so bitter, so musk-ridden. “Taehyung-ah. Come on, break out of it. We need to get out—go back. Hoseok isn’t here. We need to get out before your father—”
Jimin stops. Taehyung simply stares at him, as if he doesn’t recognise him. Jimin thinks of doing something drastic—like maybe slapping him awake—when shouts rise outside, closer to the closet. Sharp whistles sound—and then someone’s thudding against the door.
“There was a scream here, I swear!”
“Patrol located an unauthorised link around here!”
“There’s an intruder, shut the grounds!”
Fucking fuck, why now? Jimin curses, slipping back and gathering their meagre haul. Taehyung is still not reacting, which means it’s up to Jimin to get them out of there.
He looks behind Taehyung at the passageway. Convenient, but if the guards are already here—they won’t have the time to crawl back safely. Jimin is strong, but he can’t lug Taehyung around; not when he’s this unresponsive. The man is heavy as a rock.
Jimin grits his teeth. Fighting it is.
He holds the dagger between his teeth as he zips his bag shut, stashing it on Taehyung—he’ll need to be protected from any wayward weapons the guards might throw— and prepares himself. Everything hurts; his legs feel shakier than most days and the familiar pain shoots periodically up his abdomen—but Jimin’s fought in worse conditions.
One good thing about having a maniac like Joonjae as a trainer—he’d wrung out every bit of human endurance out of Jimin with his insane assignments.
His omega, which had been scrambling a moment ago, settles down, quiet as Jimin assesses the situation by sound alone. Five, maybe ten, guards outside—and they’ll grow the longer he delays. He can take care of those, but the tricky part is keeping Taehyung hidden so he’s not used as leverage. Jimin removes his outer jacket and covers Taehyung with it; hopefully, the alpha wouldn’t wake out of his funk at the wrong time.
He’s sweating underneath—but that could be nerves. He hopes that’s all it is.
May the Moon shed her light upon me, Jimin prays—before kicking the door open—and gutting the guard that had been leaning against it.
Blood sprays in the air, but Jimin doesn’t waste precious time as he kicks the storage door close behind him, ducking as one of the other guards roundhouse kicks him. Jimin holds him by the ankle, twisting it—before slashing across the vein there.
It’s been a while, and he’s definitely not as good as seventeen—but two months of shitty practice at the camp had ignited his muscle memory well enough. Jimin is a hurricane—it feels like it, at least, as he twists and turns, defending himself and guiding them away from the storage space. His mating gland throbs, which has never happened in a fight before—but something about Taehyung sitting inside defenceless fuels an instinctive need in him to protect.
His vision blurs blue after a while—but soon enough, the hall is littered with dead guards—one is still moaning, crawling towards the alarm buttons placed into the walls. Jimin walks towards him, stepping around the body and the blood—lifts him by the hair and slashes across his throat.
Let it be known—blood is not a good conditioner for hair.
He’s a mess, but he can hear more coming from the other end—he prays that the lady, Heeyeon or whatever she was named—hasn’t been alerted. They’re dead if Joonjae finds out, if they're remotely described.
Jimin scrambles for the wardrobe, flinging the door open; Taehyung’s caught in the jacket and the bag—Jimin removes it for him, and the alpha comes out stumbling, eyes shaking. Still strange, like he doesn’t know how to walk or talk.
This won’t do.
Jimin tucks his dagger in, digging into his bag for anything—miraculously finds two masks, which he slips on himself and Taehyung.
Then he grabs the alpha’s hands and makes a run for it.
It’s madness, to expose themselves like this—but it’s done. The passage is not an option anymore, not with the bodies littered around it—they might find the opening, and trace it to their car. Fuck, he hopes Taehyung hasn’t kept any source of identification on it.
Jimin runs blindly, dragging Taehyung behind. He can see guards running from the other end—so he turns around, his omega somehow helping him sprint faster than normal.
He can see an open door leading outside—when out of nowhere, a baton appears, and Jimin runs into it.
“There you are!” The guard screams, but everything’s disoriented—his nose isn’t broken, but goddess, it hurts like a bitch. Something stands over him, a black blob taking a knife out. Jimin sees the edge glinting. Another presses a heeled boot on his wrist, and Jimin screams. “Oh, look. There’s two of ‘em!”
“An alpha probably,” another says, and there are sounds of a scuffle. “Shit, he’s a pretty one, isn’t he?”
“Get them both,” one commands, kicking Jimin in the ribs. Goddess. He hates that particular move. “Get them to the room, we’ll check where they’re from.”
“Probably sent to kill the Lady.” Two hands grab Jimin’s wrist and drag him—somewhere. “Or her son. Popped out of nowhere, huh?”
“The Late Daebonim’s darling son,” one of them snorts. “Figures why. Is nowhere near the scene, suddenly claims the seat.”
Casual conversation carries on as both Jimin and Taehyung are dragged. They stop; a door clangs open—and they’re thrown inside.
“Smells ripe in here, doesn’t it?” One of them remarks, sniffing. Something comes close to Jimin’s neck, and he strains away. Another kicks him in the head. “Look at that. Seems like an omega cunt.”
Jimin would cut off their dicks for that alone, but he’s still catching hold of his bearings.
“Bitch smells like he’s in pre-heat.” Someone groans, and another growls.
“Want to open him up and see what he’s like?” Heavy hands pet Jimin’s legs, and he thrashes. A couple of them laugh, and another kick lands on his ribs. Goddess have mercy. “Look at him being all feisty.”
“Fuck…fuck off,” Jimin wheezes through the pain. He can’t tell his symptoms from the pain anymore. Jimin’s trapped in his worst nightmare—an omega in a room full of rowdy alphas, helpless, unable to protect himself. An omega in pre-heat. This shouldn’t happen to someone like him, not with how much he’s trained.
The men laugh, as one of them settles between Jimin’s knees, cooing at him as he traces Jimin’s body through his clothes. His screams are caught in his throat, too terrified to do anything. Jimin tries kicking—and someone holds a knife against his neck.
Jimin sobs, distress building as his omega trashes, screams. Alpha, alpha, please. Please come to us. Please come back.
He has no hope. Taehyung’s unresponsive; maybe they’ve already taken care of him. The thought of it feels so painful Jimin can’t breathe—
Something tackles the blob above him—and the laughing cuts off, blood gurgling in its stead.
It’s silent for a moment, though Jimin’s head is still screaming, still scrambled. And then, a low growl.
“Hands off my mate.”
Lavender bursts through as Taehyung attacks—the guards are no match for a son of a famed assassin. The scent of blood takes over soon, but Jimin can’t tell them apart as he fades in and out, shooting pains more frequent along his abdomen and his ribs. He watches blankly as Taehyung rips into the remaining guards—more ruthless than Jimin could ever be. He’s never been clean about his kills—that’s more Jimin’s preference. A flame of pride begins burning as Jimin sees Taehyung come back—just like his omega had begged.
It’s the last thought he has—before he jerks right where he lays—and a thick glob of slick leaks out of his slit.
No. No. How is that possible—it was supposed to be pre-heat. Sure, Jimin hadn’t kept track of his dates but a heat? In the middle of this?
Taehyung freezes as he slashes up the last guard’s belly, blood spurting out as the guard holds his innards in. He turns towards Jimin—and his eyes glow gold.
“No. No. Jimin?”
Jimin groans in response as he curls in, a wave of hot sweat taking over him. It’s not here yet—but it’s only a matter of time. For some reason, his heat is coming faster than usual. Or is it that it had been coming, but Jimin had been oblivious to it as usual?
Remember back when Taehyung used to keep track of it for you?
That’s the last reminder he needs. Taehyung curses; lavender quickly takes over the blood, and the scent is a relief, digging under his skin and burrowing into his bones. He needs it, needs to drown in it. Feel the coldness of it against his hot, hot skin. Jimin blinks. Shit, it’s clouding his head much too fast.
“Shit, Jimin, worst fucking time, fuck,” Taehyung murmurs as he grabs Jimin gently under his arms, hauling him up and keeping an arm around Jimin’s waist while he places Jimin’s other arm around his neck. “Shit, baby—you think you can hold a gun?”
“Can…can do much more,” Jimin slurs, slapping his face awake. “I have—I have some time.”
Taehyung takes two guns and extra clips from the guards’ pockets, handing one to Jimin. “You sure it’s not a false alarm?”
“Do I look like I would fake heat of all things?” Jimin snaps, momentarily alert. He desperately tries bargaining with his omega to pause, just until he can find a safe space to ride it out. “False alarm, my ass.”
“Yep, there’s the familiar heat snark,” Taehyung says, pulling the door open. Thankfully, nothing’s in the way. “You see anyone, you shoot their fucking brains out, okay?”
“I’ll…shoot your brains out…” Jimin says, leaning into Taehyung—he smells so good, sage now flowing through his scent and merging with the lavender. Musky, almost like a pre-rut. Huh. “Do you even…know where you’re going?”
“Nope,” Taehyung grunts, stumbling a little under Jimin’s weight. He feels a little bad. “We need Yoongi-hyung for this, fuck. I need to get us somewhere safe.”
“Just get me out of here…you can take care of hyung. Maybe get him out too.”
Jimin can’t see too clearly, but Taehyung sends him a pained look as if it’s not an option at all. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
“Moon’s sake, Taehyung—just go. Don’t worry about me.”
“I literally cannot leave you,” Taehyung murmurs, and Jimin’s confused. What is he on, being a stupid fucking martyr? “Hey, Jimin-ah?”
“What?”
They stumble across the hallway in the shadows, ducking and avoiding gunshots as much as possible.
“I’m sorry.”
Jimin whacks him in the neck. “Now’s not the time, idiot.”
“No, not for that,” Taehyung says—before stiffening, turning his arm and shooting at someone behind them. The resounding bang echoes, vibrating in Jimin’s ears. “Well, that too. But what you’re going to find out soon.”
It’s too complicated for Jimin’s pain-ridden, soon-to-be heat-addled brain. “What the fuck are you on.”
“Just—I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want you to know. I’m sorry.”
Some more gunshots ensue; Jimin’s pretty sure he gets a couple in—eventually, Taehyung gently takes it away. He smells dizzyingly strong, the musk overpowering and burning his nostril hair. Jimin wants to gulp it in, can’t help but think of it on his skin, lingering for days and warding off other alphas—
Taehyung growls in his ear. “Jimin, stop.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimin whines, even as another glob of slick pours out. It’s the worst feeling. “I can’t help it.”
“I know. Just—don’t think about sex right now.” A peck on his hair even as they stumble—somewhere. “Can smell it on you. Makes it harder for me.”
“Why does it matter to you,” Jimin argues, though that’s generous. “Not like you’ll go into a rut in reaction anyway, hah.”
There’s silence, Taehyung wincing but Jimin doesn’t think much of it. He tries, he really does—tries to think of people dying, killing people, and his friends. University life, that one ugly professor who hated his guts. Corporate alpha douchebags trying to undermine him. Anything but Taehyung and his scent, his strong arms around Jimin and how they’d feel when they’d hold Jimin up against the wall as he fucked into him—
“Jimin.”
“Get me the fuck out of here!” Jimin snaps, helpless as another wave of heat hits him, followed by nausea. “Alpha, please, just get me out of here.”
Suddenly they halt—Jimin blinks his eyes open; they’re fringed with tears. There are more guards in front of them and Goddess, he wants to give up. Just kill him already; this is the worst luck that’s hit him since forever
A figure walks out of the group, small and lean. Jimin doesn’t care—until a wave of pine hits him in the face.
It’s both a relief and a source of disgust because it’s another alpha’s scent, even though it’s an alpha Jimin knows very well.
Yoongi looks cold in the moonlight; his left shoulder’s bleeding through his coat—probably from the scuffle that must have happened in the room, whatever Jimin could gather from the audio. Beside him, Taehyung is calm—not frozen, but not moving either.
“What do we have here,” Yoongi says quietly, in a tone, Jimin’s never heard him use before—and fear joins the hormonal cocktail already present in his system. “Intruders on the estate.”
Shit, is Yoongi going to double-switch on them? Was this a trap?
“Father’s ashes haven’t even cooled and there are already enemies,” Yoongi sighs. His eyes are sharp on Jimin’s, nose flaring. “By the looks of them—they’re already close, boys.”
Oh fuck, this is happening. Betrayal, the favourite theme in Jimin’s life since he was five fucking years old and was cursed with the worst parents ever. Present ever since, until Jimin couldn’t trust anymore.
“How you wanna go about this, boss?”
Yoongi tilts his head, gaze calculative. Then he smirks, and it’s so cruel, Jimin’s not sure he even knows the person in front.
“No need to announce their presence. Kill them swiftly,” Yoongi orders. Jimin squirms, wanting Taehyung to run—but the alpha stands completely still, arms tight around Jimin. “Don’t take the exit from the second gate—there are too many guards there. Make sure they don’t access the weapons in the compound outside the gate. And make sure they don’t escape via the second trail out of the woods.”
“Got it, boss!”
The guards begin crowding them; the Moon Goddess hear his prayers for once—his heat symptoms reduce momentarily as the fight of his omega comes out, and Jimin’s alert once again.
“Report to me once you’re done. I’m going out for a walk, I need to carry out some errands for Eommonim at the exit trail.”
Yoongi turns around as the guards surround them—and then he winks.
Jimin barely has time to process before the guards grab them, confiscating their guns. They go down an unfamiliar, but empty route— running into no one. Just as they near the second gate—Taehyung bursts into action, twisting away.
It’s laughingly easy—though he’s still slowed down by the agony of his pain and the heat temporarily at pause. They kick away the guards, running in a zig-zag fashion towards the second gate, which is unlocked—they shut it, going to the compound and finding the weapons Yoongi had hinted about. The area is free of guards as well.
His mind is a razor-sharp path of flight and fight as they take the array of guns and daggers—when the guards burst through, Jimin flings daggers left, right and centre. Those that survive he shoots, and before he knows it, the ground is littered with bodies again.
The two of them stand in the middle of it, breathing hard. One body moans, grabbing hold of Jimin’s ankle; he doesn’t even look down as he points the gun and shoots. Blood and brain splatter in the air—but at least the guy is dead.
Taehyung’s looking at him, his eyes golden. Jimin’s sure his are blue. “Bit of an overkill, huh?”
“I have precisely ten fucking minutes before my waves start again,” Jimin grits his teeth, and Taehyung jolts into action. “The second trail. Go.”
“Our scents,” Taehyung murmurs, wiping something off Jimin’s cheek—probably dead guy’s brain matter. Whatever. “Any scent blockers in that compound?”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Right,” Taehyung nods, like he knows how close Jimin is to going off the rails, losing his senses once again. “Just a moment.”
It’s a long moment, but Taehyung brings some scent-blocking patches— and Jimin growls when he brings it close to his scent gland, the scent ten times more oppressive than usual. Taehyung has the decency to look apologetic. “Only a bit. I’m sorry. Can’t have them tracking you while you’re in heat.”
“I hate this,” Jimin hisses as Taehyung presses the patch in firmly. It’s even worse on heat when his wolf is close to the surface and scent is what he needs. “Get that shit off of me as soon as we’re safe.”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything, applying it carefully and then on himself. Jimin growls as the lavender is temporarily cut off—though it pushes through anyway. “Stupid thing doesn’t work even here.”
There’s that guilty look on Taehyung’s face again. “You can smell my scent, Jimin. You always have.”
Which isn’t a new fact—but why is Taehyung saying it like that? Like it’s supposed to mean something?
Fuck it, he can decipher Kim Taehyung and his unnecessary cryptic messages later.
They carry some more clips, and then Taehyung takes Jimin’s hand as they take the trail. It’s thankfully not a rough path—hidden, but clean, and they’re out of the main thrush in a couple of moments. At the end stands Min Yoongi in all his suited glory.
“Thank fuck,” Yoongi whispers, his breath forming a cloud in the cold. At least heat allows Jimin to bear the winter. “Thought you guys would never make it.”
“Almost didn’t,” Taehyung says, pulling Jimin close when he sways. “Hyung—no time. You know a place?”
Yoongi assesses Jimin critically from head to toe, nose flaring briefly. His expression sours before he nods.
“Yeah, there’s a heat/rut safe house ten minutes away. Hard to miss,” Yoongi says. His eyes carry that familiar clarity; his pine scent is like the call of a home that Jimin’s too far away from now. “I’ll take care of things here. You keep safe. Here are the car keys.”
He flings something at Taehyung, who catches it deftly. “Thanks, hyung. About the passage and the car—”
“I’ll take care of it.” Yoongi gives one more look to Jimin. “You take care of him, okay? I’ll check in two days.”
“Four,” Taehyung cuts in, and Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “That’s how long his heats last.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says, lips twitching. “Four it is. On your way now.”
Jimin passes out before he can hear the end of the interaction.
He jerks awake—his skin is hot, peeling backwards and forwards and nowhere. There’s a fire inside of him that’s going to consume him alive, and worse—there’s a delicious press of lavender that’s nowhere close to him, on him, inside him.
“Alpha,” Jimin croaks, and there is a soft growl. “Alpha, please.”
He’s lying down somewhere. The surface is soft beneath his—naked body, when did that happen? Above him is a midnight blue ceiling with streaks of silver. His throat is parched dry, and his hole is so, so empty.
“Just a few minutes, baby,” someone—Taehyung, alpha—murmurs. A face hovers into his vision. “Patch will activate soon. You can be a good omega till then, can’t you?”
Jimin whines. He can, he can be the best omega. Still, his skin burns and his slit leaks, the emptiness growing with each passing second. He needs to be fucked, and he needs to be fucked now.
Taehyung caresses his hair back, gaze fond yet apologetic, guilt shining in his eyes. He lets Jimin tongue at his skin, at his scent gland; keeps his hands away from Taehyung’s still-clothed bulge—he’s still wearing clothes. Even though his skin is hot, hotter than it was before. His scent is musky and strong; it smells like sex and a promise of endless knots. Jimin’s mouth waters.
“Just a couple of seconds more, then I’ll help you,” Taehyung says. He sounds somehow sorry about it as if helping Jimin in heat is the last thing he wants to do—the rejection stings because they’ve done this before. Each time, sharing cycles and helping each other— “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”
“What for, alpha?”
Taehyung tucks Jimin’s hair in. Sorrow lines his eyes.
“For everything.”
Jimin doesn’t respond—because the final wave hits—and he’s lost in the heat at last.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
So???? SO????? How are you guys feeling????
I'm so fucking RELIEVED to have this out, goddess above. Joonjae is FUCKED up fucked up, and there is an explanation for it in maybe ch 21 but HE IS THE WORST I HATE HIM SO MUCH god writing that scene with yoongi and his shoulder injury while he begs his mom to intervene...please WHY. But also YES the pseudo-incest plotline is relevant because it 1) shows Joonjae's fucktard behaviour 2) serves as a motivator for the characters in the future. Bear with me, it will make sense. But- I understand if it may be a sensitive/triggering matter, so please- feel free to stop. If you want to know what happens, hit me up on Twitter. I can promise you nothing explicit will happen regarding this tag.
Also y'all can see why I had to remove the Namgiseok trio; can't have Namgi bros in love man. I ran into this giant plot hole at the beginning THANK GOD it would have been a right mess if I hadn't caught it when I did.
AND DKBNDOKDHO obviously I had to put in a heat segment LMAO cliches rule. When I tell you I fucking LOVED the way I wrote that end sequence of events. The action was just *chef's kiss* I had SO much fun. It played out like a movie. The dialogue was just aahhhh next ch is smut central yay!!! Hopefully I can post twice this month! Leave your thoughts and love!! I feed of it like a hungry vampire!!!
Chapter 20: The Revelation
Notes:
HI LOVELIES I AM BACK THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE
I want to apologise but this one-month break is fair this time because I genuinely had such a packed second half of June and the first week of July, I'm still recovering from minor burnout. With ADHD paralysis everything feels even worse, and then the AO3 lockdown was scary ngl.
Anyway, I am presenting to you the final chapter of Arc 2! And what do you know, it's a heat/rut chapter hehe :D but not juuuust that :P it's finally here out in the open. I tried my best but I'm also not super happy? Whatever. Reminding myself again that this fic is for FUN.
cw: sex. this is for the ones reading but not necessarily wanting to read the smut. I can't tell you which & what to avoid so I guess you can ask me in the comments. thanks <3
ENJOY!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
On the morning of the fourth day, Jimin woke up with a clear mind.
His heat had passed sometime during the night, while Taehyung’s rut had still been raging. That had quieted down too—he could smell the lavender, and their combined scents—the sweat, slick and cum— but no heat or rut. It was all clear.
Taehyung was sleeping soundly, body wrapped around a pillow and three others in a circle around him. If Jimin didn’t know better, he’d believe Taehyung was the nesting omega between them.
He rose, wincing at the cum stuck to his skin and clumping his hair. Everything ached—from his slit to his muscles, his bones creaking and joints cracking. He didn’t even want to know the positions he must have been in—all he could think about was a shower. Preferably hot.
The heat room bathroom was small and sparsely decorated—but the water was hot, thank the Moon, and Jimin wasted no time in using it all up. Taehyung could manage; he was the Head Boss’s son. He probably had a fancy marble bathtub full of rose petals to bathe in. Jimin didn’t have to give into his omega’s insistence to care for the alpha.
He washed off days of bodily fluids, cleaning thoroughly between his folds and flushing the leftover cum out. He peeled off the birth control patch on his arm—hopefully, they worked, and he wouldn’t end up with Taehyung Junior. Maybe he should pay a visit to the camp healer anyway, and take an extra shot of pills. A pregnant omega in an assassin camp was as good as dead
His body was a sight to behold—handprints and bruises littered across, neck ravaged with hickeys—as were his thighs. Taehyung had gotten to places Jimin didn’t even know could exist. He blushed, buttoning up furiously—the others couldn’t know.
When he came out, the alpha was still sleeping, unbothered. Jimin snorted. What a lousy assassin, if he slept through that much noise. He walked out without a second thought—focused on carrying on with his day.
And working towards his status as the best omega assassin.
🖤⚔🖤
He wakes up in a forest.
It’s the one that he’s woken up in many times before. Cold and misty, with little light. A canopy of trees forms a ring above him, the sky high and distant.
Jimin shivers, naked. Dirt embeds itself under his fingernails. His palms are pink and raw as if he had been on all fours.
Beneath the raw petrichor and the leaking sap, a trail of lavender and sage lingers. Jimin follows it blindly, desperate for the familiar scent. It’s the only thing he knows in this otherwise strange place.
He walks for what seems like hours, sticks and stones piercing his feet. The trail gets stronger until the forest opens up to plain land and the rising sun. Heat walks across his skin, welcome after the cold.
In front of him is a desolate, broken temple. The lavender is strong closer to it and Jimin reluctantly walks in.
There’s no one. The temple is broken and unkempt as if it had been abandoned a while back. The idol on a raised pedestal, however, is one he recognises from pictures and stories—the Moon Goddess sat atop a crescent moon with her robes billowing behind her. Her face is a picture of serenity, with a smile that’s still present despite the erosion of her surface.
Lavender permeates from her—and Jimin is confused.
“All scents begin from me.”
Jimin startles. There is no one, not a single soul—he’s all alone. Yet, the voice had been vaguely familiar—feminine, but merging with all others. It prickles along his spine, as Jimin faces the idol. Somehow—he feels safe in her presence.
It’s never been. Jimin lost faith in her the day he’d escaped camp.
“Not quite. Or you would not seek my guidance all along.”
The voice—it’s the one that his omega often uses to berate him. All scents begin from me. Jimin looks up at the idol—at the signs and symbols adorning her body. The phases of the moon drawn into the centre of her chest. The Goddess who blessed them with the ability to shift, before letting them remain.
“You must realise soon, little one. Or else it might be too late.”
He frowns. Too late for what? Where even is he?
“Accept, and know peace.”
The ground where he’s standing begins shaking, crumbling—the sun’s rays make their way through the temple doors, splitting the floor. Beneath is fire—red hot and unforgiving—and Jimin screams as he falls into burning again.
Jimin wakes up in a body that is a furnace.
Everything burns—his body, his innards, and his very soul— fire licks at his bones, eating away at the marrow. His head throbs, as does his abdomen—and his hole, fluttering away in its emptiness. Hot slick leaks out of it, and Jimin sobs, clutching the sheets.
“Alpha,” he gasps, craving the lavender, the promise of sage. He’s empty, and he has nothing. “Alpha, where are you?”
There’s no response, and Jimin cries at the abandonment—again. Everyone always leaves him, in the end, never giving him a chance to prove himself. To show how good he is, and how good he can be. They turn their backs and leave, and Jimin is left behind, crying their names.
“Shh, omega. I’m here.”
A hot hand caresses his sweaty hair back, drawing circles that soothe the heat away. Jimin scrambles for more of it, curling towards the source—he can’t see, tears fringing his eyelashes shut. All he can do is feel, the lavender thick in his mouth. The heat of the body pressed next to him, letting him curl inside.
The heat of the fingers trailing down his back and into his thighs, probing at his slit. Jimin cries, spreading his legs wider as he tries to suck them in—anything to fill his hole.
Fingers massage his walls, using his slick from time to time to make the glide wetter, hotter, and smoother. Jimin lets him do as he pleases, compliant as he falls back—and the alpha hovers over him.
Taehyung’s golden eyes pierce into him—rooting him to the spot. His vision clears momentarily as he takes the alpha in, the flush of naked skin sticking to his, the sweat dripping off of him. Taehyung in all his glory, ripped muscles and even stronger thighs trapping Jimin between them. The proud, red curve of his cock ruts between Jimin’s folds, teasing and hot.
“Is this what you want, little omega?” Taehyung whispers—his voice is hoarse as if he’d been growling. Long hair falls over his forehead and curls around his neck, sticking to the skin with sweat. Jimin is captivated. Taehyung presses in his fingers again, a harsh curl—and he whines, spine arching. “Needy little thing. Begging and receiving but never satisfied, hmm?”
He smells so—wonderful, thick and delicious lavender curling around Jimin’s tongue. It lingers every time he swallows—his throat is sore. Had the alpha used it? Had Jimin begged him to? The thought of taking Taehyung in drives his omega up the walls, and more slick leaks out. Taehyung tuts, collecting it—and sucking his fingers digit by digit.
The alpha hovers closer, never stopping his rutting as he comes close, licking Jimin’s scent gland neck to the jaw. He trails kisses along, his tongue probing Jimin’s mouth open as he sucks on Jimin’s, letting him taste Jimin’s slick.
He smells like musk—like rut. Jimin’s eyes widen. No wonder Taehyung’s scent seems so strong, imprinting itself into Jimin.
His vision hazes blue, and Jimin gives in as he kisses Taehyung back, letting him explore and taste, biting lightly at his tongue before pulling away. He doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches between them, jerking his cock slightly and rubbing it between Jimin’s folds. A hungry smirk lines his mouth as the tip breaches his walls—and Taehyung pushes, inch by inch until Jimin’s hungry cunt swallows it all, tightening until Taehyung has no chance to escape even if he tries.
Heat begins licking him everywhere—his bones, his gut, his muscles cramping as he tightens, locking his ankles behind Taehyung’s shoulders and pulling him close. His nose is buried in the alpha’s neck, as close as he can be to the scent—and nails drag down his broad back as Taehyung thrusts. The copper scent of blood joins the mayhem—and Jimin greedily gulps it in.
My alpha. Mine, his omega chants, and for once Jimin agrees. Taehyung is theirs, and that has always been the truth. From the moment Jimin laid eyes on him and promised to take his spot. The moment Jimin’s omega chose him—and now he’s here to stay. Here to fuck his knots into Jimin and pump him full of pups, cute little things that’ll look just like Taehyung. Insufferably pretty without even trying.
Taehyung growls in his ears as his thrusts get harder, faster—Jimin pushes him, and presses him as close as he can. I wish he could— merge with me. Become mine. Taehyung living in his skin—how wonderful to have his lavender with him forever. How right, that Taehyung wouldn’t smell like anyone except Jimin.
His knot begins catching at Jimin’s slit—and Jimin cries at the promise of it. Alphas can’t form knots outside of a rut—so it’s just as well that Taehyung’s cycle coincided with Jimin’s.
The thrusts are sloppy. Taehyung’s body trembles from the force of it—both are a mess of limbs, sweat and whimpers as he comes at last, releasing the knot into Jimin. Fucking the spilling cum back into Jimin, making sure nothing goes to waste.
Tumbling to the side, pulling Jimin in with him and tucking him close, as the intense wave of heat subsides—and Jimin’s omega is satisfied. Until the next time.
Jimin blinks sleepily, licking at Taehyung’s chest in soft, kitten strokes, tasting salt, lavender and sage. He feels more wolf than a human, but heat is a good excuse to not give a shit. He’ll be mortified once it’s over and he’s expected to be a civilised member of society. Until then—Jimin’s going to act the way he wants.
At least Taehyung doesn’t mind.
The alpha plays with Jimin’s hair absent-mindedly, rubbing circles into his waist. Without the haze of the heat—Jimin can see his handiwork: the bruises littered across Taehyung’s skin, nails drawn around his arms and leaving behind scars. His own body feels like it’s been through a battle—his slit is sore and his thighs cramping. His cock feels ragged, and he can’t imagine how Taehyung must be faring. His lower back seems beyond repair—but Jimin knows Taehyung would never harm him, at least never during heat.
“How…how long has it…been?” Jimin slurs, curling in and closing his eyes. The gap between waves is lesser during the second day—slowing down by the third, though much more intense. From the looks of it—it might still be the second day if the tingling in his gut is anything to go by.
“Don’t know,” Taehyung murmurs. He sounds exhausted—and now that Jimin sees it, bags hang under his eyes. “Probably day two. You’re knot-crazy.”
Jimin giggles. “Knot-crazy.” Goddess, he’s so out of it. “Not crazy. Get it?”
There’s no response, and Jimin whines indignantly, slapping weakly at Taehyung’s chest. The alpha lets out a forced laugh, and Jimin slaps him again. Taehyung holds it this time, wrapping his freakishly large hands around Jimin’s. His knot will go down soon, and Jimin will start begging again.
“Let’s get you some water,” Taehyung murmurs, procuring a bottle and letting Jimin at it slowly. Golden rings glow around his pupils. “You smell dehydrated.”
“Feels like it.” Jimin gulps it in—before taking the bottle and dumping it over his head. Taehyung squawks in disbelief but Jimin simply shakes his hair. It feels great on his heated body. “Can’t wait for day three—at least I’ll be able to handle food.”
“Hmm.”
Silence weaves in, and Jimin revels in it. His mind is quiet for once, no war between himself and his omega. United at last, if only for getting his brains fucked out.
“How come you’re having your rut?”
Taehyung stiffens next to him. “What do you mean?”
“I remember having heat symptoms. Don’t remember rut.”
“Hmm.” His scent smells muddled. Confused, frustrated—scared. Jimin wrinkles his nose. “Date was close by.”
“And you were giving me shit for forgetting.”
“It was still far away.” A pause. The heat begins climbing out of his belly, spreading outward. “Anyway my rut’s always started a couple of hours after yours, hasn’t it?”
That’s true. Eerie timing, that one. Jimin doesn’t care for the logistics of it as the heat builds—and he squirms around Taehyung’s knot. The alpha realises and holds Jimin by the waist. Shuffles closer, a knee between Jimin’s as he slots it in deeper, fucking him slowly. Jimin’s eyes flutter close with each shallow thrust, his breath hitching.
Jimin doesn’t answer as Taehyung’s knot loosens, the leftover cum gushing out—the alpha is quick to plug it in, fucking him again. Jimin holds him by his shoulders, nose curling into his scent gland as Taehyung pushes him from behind. Gulps in the lavender—and the strange scent of regret it carries.
🖤⚔🖤
It’s been two days since Yoongi last heard from Taehyung and Jimin.
Two days that he’s spent staring at the ceiling of his room, tending to his wounded shoulder and entertaining himself to the spiels of his spinning mind. It’s a lot of time to take apart the emotions from the facts and face reality.
The reality that Hoseok isn’t here. He’s been taken somewhere else, a place Yoongi can’t recognise. Silly little boy. He’s in the catacombs. His only hope is that Taehyung would know what that means, because if not…
Yoongi turns to his left—and winces when pressure lands on his shoulder. He turns quickly to the other side—but it’s too late. The injury has split open again, thanks to the carelessness that’s been clouding him since he left the dinner.
He gets up, feet sliding into the specially crafted wooden sandals that his mother had gifted him for his ‘betrothal’. The first of many, my darling, she’d said, landing a cold, dry kiss on Yoongi’s forehead, long after Kim Joonjae had retired to the guest chambers. After Yoongi had guided Taehyung away to a safe house, and come back pretending to be the ever dutiful son.
Removing the shirt is the most painful part—the helplessness of a strategic wound, which he’s sure was deliberate on Joonjae’s part. Yoongi bites his tongue as he removes it slowly; the bandage is dotted red—yellow from the betadine, edging rust-brown from the old blood. The red stands stark—and Yoongi grits his teeth as he slowly unravels the bandage, squeezing his eyes shut as it stubbornly clings to the wound. It comes away at last, threads still stuck to the open flesh.
The centre of it is a raw red, the surrounding skin a fleshy pink. Blood leaks from it in thin rivulets, and Yoongi cleans it up hastily before it can stain the carpet below. The pain is a welcome distraction—all he has to do is clean it up, disinfect it, apply the medication and wrap it up again. It allows him some reprieve from the endless loop playing in his mind.
The blood reminds him of the red of Joonjae’s eyes.
Growing up, Yoongi hadn’t been religious. The Moon Goddess was just that—a deity that their society agreed upon, but there was a range of believers. There were some who were zealots, and some who maintained their distance. Over time, her stories and legends were treated just as, with no sense of wonder. Yoongi had been the same—he enjoyed the deep dive into history and dabbling in various myths—but when it comes to his personal beliefs, he likes to think that he has enough of a personal moral system that will sufficiently guide him well.
As someone born into the mafia, that’s the only way to bear the onslaught of guilt and shame.
He’s read enough stories to know what those red rings mean. Whether Heeyeon knows what they mean. Being someone’s True Mate would definitely allow that privilege.
True Mate…and Yoongi’s real father.
He gives up on the wound halfway through as he rushes, his head in the toilet bowl as he throws up. Only strings of thick bile and saliva come out, burning the ridges of his throat—but it’s a satisfying distraction.
It just doesn’t seem believable. Yoongi’s grown up on the Estate—with Yungcheol, been carried by him and loved, trained and taken care of. Not once had he met Joonjae, not even in any of the official events or celebrations his father— can he still call him that? — hosted. He’d heard of Joonjae as the infamous assassin—but nothing else.
To know that he’d fathered Yoongi, that he’d had an affair with Heeyeon for years…that he was behind his mate’s death. That maybe…maybe they were behind Yungcheol dying too.
Yoongi heaves as the thought slides through him. His father, a formidable, firm leader…reduced to a victim of a cunning assassination plot.
He’s dimly aware of the blood leaking from his wound again, sliding down his arm and onto the marble floor. Yoongi’s far away enough that the pain doesn’t steal him away; all he can think about is the way Joonjae had grinned, had made him submit—gleefully, unlike how a father’s pride should be. As if Yoongi was something to be coveted and owned, to be moved across like a piece on a chess board. His mother’s apathy, the contempt in her eyes as Yoongi had begged her for mercy.
Where had he ended up, after running for so long?
He thinks of Taehyung listening in on them. If he ever did, caught in the haze of an escape and an omega in heat. Yoongi had been alerted midway through the dinner by a guard, and had taken over—Joonjae or his mother could never know.
How is he to tell Taehyung that they are—brothers?
At least the connection makes sense, his alpha comments, a soothing weight. Yoongi sinks with it, down on the bathroom floor. The tile is cold against his cheek. You’ve always wanted to protect him.
That was—the bond, Yoongi thinks blankly. The night on the roof, when it snapped into place at last— the call between their alphas established. A Soul Mate. Fucking great timing.
It’s not as surprising, in hindsight. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Taehyung, he’d known that the kid was meant to be a part of Yoongi’s orbit. It’s the same pull he’d felt towards Hoseok, and Jimin and Jungkook eventually—as their wolves had connected, it had grown. Not all of them were soulmates—but destined pack bonds had a funny way of settling in. Taehyung’s had been the strongest, though Yoongi had waved it off as kinship in the underworld.
Denial has never been his friend.
And it won’t explain the fact that Joonjae is arranging for Yoongi to mate his half-brother.
He gets up just in time to hurl the remaining bile in his belly—and pass out on the rim.
🖤⚔🖤
Taehyung’s growls vibrate through his entire spine right down to his belly, into his toes—and curl into his slit, hot and dripping as Taehyung fucks his tongue into it.
Jimin cries, legs trembling as Taehyung spreads his thighs into a split, near animalistic devouring Jimin’s hole as if he’d never have a meal again. He pushes a finger alongside, and Jimin quakes from the overwhelming pleasure. His head spins, and his back arches off the bed again. His cock is left unattended, hard and cold; Jimin’s hands are slapped away every time he tries to give himself some relief.
The alpha refuses to show mercy, no matter how much Jimin begs.
“Alpha, please,” Jimin gasps, his tongue somehow working. It hurts in the best way; earlier Taehyung had fucked his throat until Jimin swallowed both cum and his screams, and now it’s beyond sore. “Please. A knot.”
Something slaps his slit, and Jimin recoils, even as mind-numbing pleasure takes over. Taehyung hovers over him—wild and golden-eyed, slick-covered mouth twisted between pain and pleasure. In the blue haze of Jimin’s vision, he’s the most handsome alpha Jimin’s ever seen.
And the cruellest, if Jimin goes by the quick way his mouth twists into a mean smirk, even as he relentlessly keeps fucking Jimin with—Goddess, three fingers?
“That’s all you want, don’t you?” Taehyung murmurs, his voice hoarse from eating Jimin out. “Dumb little sluts like you only ever want a knot.”
Jimin whines at the thought of it. Pictures it growing red just beneath Taehyung’s cock, the way it slides in and locks them in place so there’s no way Taehyung’s cum will escape. Pups, so many pups. “Need…need knots. Pups. Please, alpha, I’ll be a good omega.”
“Good omegas aren’t knot-sluts though,” Taehyung says, taking out his fingers; Jimin’s hole clenches around nothing. He’s empty, so empty. “They listen to their alphas. But I guess you’re too good to do that, hmm?”
“N-no—uh, ngh— I’m good, I’m good—”
“Didn’t even ask if alpha needs a break,” Taehyung continues, gaze disappointed—his omega trashes. Alpha can’t be mad at us alpha can’t be sad get him get him back GET HIM BACK— “As long as you have a knot stuffed in you, hmm?”
It’s a curious dance between want and humiliation; Jimin wants a knot, Taehyung’s knot—but he hates disappointing him. What if he gets mad—and leaves? What if he rejects Jimin’s omega because he wasn’t good enough?
“N-not any knot…yours…” Jimin heaves, legs slowly settling down. Slick leaks down his hole to his ass, mixing with the cum. “Only…yours, Taehyung, alpha—please.”
Hands rub along his skin, hot trails that leave him blind with desire. The wave has been rising for some time—more intense, as it’s known to happen on the third day. Knots last longer, and so does the clarity.
“Asking so nicely too,” Taehyung coos, hands gripping his hips and digging into them; the bruises would be atrocious. Jimin’s omega loves being marked. “Fine. Since you’re such an obedient omega.”
Jimin almost thanks him—but he never gets the chance to, because Taehyung flips him on his belly, dragging him up until his ass is in the air. A pillow slides underneath—but the position shifts his world, head spinning. Soft pecks land all over his ass even as fingers dig into the meat of it, prying it open. Taehyung blows hot air, dragging Jimin’s slick all the way back.
“The best way to get you a nice little knot,” Taehyung growls, something sharp gliding across Jimin’s skin—something like teeth. “The best way to get what I deserve too.”
“All yours, alpha,” Jimin whines, omega compliant as Taehyung prepares. Fingers probe around his slit, collecting the slick and spreading it all over; Jimin can hear every sound—the sharp exhales, the wet slide over Taehyung’s cock, the rustle of the sheets. Their scents merge together, lavender and orange becoming one.
Taehyung hitches him higher as he breaches through his walls, thick and heavy, raw against his sensitive skin. There’s little patience in his moves—an alpha in a rut is unpredictable—but that’s exactly why Jimin loves it. Both of them have always taken and given from each other in equal amounts; it’s the one time Jimin felt free of his omegan guilt.
His cock reaches deeper in this position, and Jimin clenches around it. Taehyung reaches around to grab Jimin’s cock, sliding it through a wet fist. He laughs, hoarse and deep in Jimin’s years, rumbling down the back of his neck.
“Why don’t you fuck something too, little omega,” Taehyung huffs, pushing Jimin deeper, a hand holding him by his shoulder, the other on Jimin’s hip. “Pretend like you’re doing some work instead of just lying down and taking it.”
He sounds so derisive it should hurt—but it sends the best tingles up Jimin’s guts, currently being rearranged. He can barely move, with the way Taehyung weighs over him—but he manages to shift the pillow to where he wants it, letting it rest against his cock.
Taehyung’s thrusts take care of the rest, each so deep the pillow rubs against Jimin—and the sensation is too much, too good, too overwhelming. He ruts against the pillow without meaning to and clutches the bedsheets around.
“Sneaky little omega,” Taehyung huffs, the front now plastered to Jimin’s back. He can feel the beginnings of the knot, and his omega crows. “Even when you can, you make me do the work, hmm?”
Jimin has no answer—he’s lost, gone off the edge into a world where nothing matters. It’s just him, his knot and that wave of heat rising higher and higher. His vision burns blue the closer he gets; where he ends and where Taehyung begins—he doesn’t know.
The knot begins catching, and Taehyung’s thrusts get frantic, desperate. It’s rawer, rougher than before— painful, but not uncomfortable. Jimin refuses to let go of it, a vice-like grip on Taehyung’s cock. When the knot locks in and Taehyung starts spurting cum—Jimin’s down to earth again.
He melts into the bed below, lying as Taehyung keeps jerking into him, trembling—and Jimin passes out.
🖤⚔🖤
He faces his reflection dressed in a suit, yet another gift from his mother. It’s all for show—the moment he’d worn it, it had felt like a sentence.
Yoongi winces as he carefully puts his left arm through the jacket sleeve. His wound is better tonight—stitched and packed, though the painkillers he’d taken still let some of the pain escape. He grits his teeth through it—something tells him showing any sign of weakness in front of Joonjae won’t be received well.
Joonjae had accepted his invitation to a private dinner, and Yoongi intends for it to proceed smoothly. If that means showing himself as a submitted alpha, then so be it.
He goes about the remaining tasks thoughtlessly— a sprig of freesia perfume on his wrist, clasping on his watch— and a negligible dose of blockers, rubbed just beneath his scent gland. On the night of the dinner, Joonjae had released a cloud of pheromones as he’d Commanded Yoongi to submit—something that shouldn’t be possible anymore. It had almost taken over Yoongi’s alpha—and right now, that isn’t something he can afford to lose.
Once again, when he leaves, there is already a guard present ready to escort him. It’s unnecessary and gives him a foreboding sense of déjà vu—last time, he’d received the most unimaginable news of his life. What could possibly be worse than that?
As he makes his way through to the hall, he checks in with his alpha. This time, he’s prepared. He knows what not to say, to keep a lid on his emotions. Someone like Joonjae seems to be unpredictable, a dangerous enemy to have. Pretending to go along with him would be the safest option—and this time, Yoongi wants to collect information.
Maybe gaining some clarity, even for his own sanity—and perhaps, to relay that information to Taehyung—is the best he can do while he’s trapped within the estate.
His alpha agrees, a steady, warm presence. A glowing weight in his chest. The freesias from his perfume linger, and a stray thought of Hoseok’s weakening one does enter—but Yoongi keeps it aside. Not now. You’ll know if something happens to him, even if he isn’t your mate. Love is enough.
The dining hall looms ahead, and Yoongi inhales sharply—regretting it the moment the scent of rotten earth and crushed flowers invades his senses. Joonjae is already inside—and for a moment, Yoongi feels frozen at the spot. It’s overwhelmingly atrocious—he’s not sure what Joonjae meant by a child knowing their parent’s scent, because Yoongi can’t stand to dig deeper into this one. He sniffs his perfume-laden wrist slowly—before straightening the lapels of his coat.
He bows the moment he enters. “Joonjae-ssi.”
The assassin doesn’t reciprocate, continuing to sit in the seat—the head of the table. Huh. So that switch’s already happened. A napkin is already tucked into his collar, his plate laden with the starters. Yoongi approaches the adjacent chair carefully, keeping his scent and demeanour under control. The last thing he wants is to set off an alpha that’s clearly—
He stops himself from completing the thought.
As Yoongi sits, leaning as far as possible from the scent as he can manage—he observes Joonjae from the sideline. He’s ruggedly handsome—except for the scar on his face fracturing his features. Even though he’d denounced him, it’s much too obvious that he’s Taehyung’s father— there is nothing of Yoongi that could remotely connect them. The hopeful doubt enters again—was this another lie by his mother? Was Joonjae truly Yoongi’s father?
Yoongi bows slightly, pulling in the chair and settling down. Out of the shadows, servants come and start serving the food—it’s like clockwork, with not a sound escaping their mouths.
“Son.” Yoongi jolts, willing his legs to stay still. “Your invitation was much appreciated. Though, you may call me Abbeoji from now on.”
Yeah, over his dead body. Yoongi waits for the servant serving him wine to leave, before clearing his throat. “Forgive me. It’s new.” A pause, as the servant finally melts into the darkness. “Though I believe we must keep up appearances for now, shouldn’t we?”
Joonjae smiles—it’s menacing and calculative. “You’re right. I must have been overcome with emotion.” He swirls his glass of wine. “It’s not every day I get to meet my true son, now, do I?”
It’s clearly bait— Joonjae is not stupid enough to completely believe Yoongi’s act of submissiveness. He’ll be testing the waters, feeling out Yoongi’s alpha and his boundaries before going in for the kill. Yungcheol always used to say that the best killers were the ones who went for the mind before the blood.
Yoongi can believe that now.
The hall is silent save for the scraping of their knives and the clinks of their chopsticks. Joonjae’s scent is like an acidic cloud; not too strong, but not too pleasant either. It sticks like a layer of oil— almost as if he is sick. If he hadn’t been right in front of Yoongi, he’d have thought that was it.
There’s something more at play here—and if Yoongi’s guess about the red eyes he’d seen briefly is correct— it would explain a lot. And he’s not sure if he’s in his right senses to process it just yet.
“So Joon—Abbeonim,” Yoongi says, biting his tongue at the jolt of anger rising. “I asked for a private dinner because I’ve been…reflecting.”
Joonjae hums. “Reflecting? What you were doing last time?” He smirks, a canine poking his lower lip. “I certainly hope this time it is more fruitful.”
Yoongi nods. Fucking A-grade asshole. “Last time I wasn’t in my right senses. Some time away has helped.” He cuts into his steak. For everything to make sense, there had to have been a beginning. Yoongi had been distant before—and it’s cost him a lot. Better late than never. “I think more than anything, I simply wish to…understand.”
Joonjae pats his lips, picking up the soup spoon. “Hmm. Understand your beginnings?”
“Of course, that. But more of…you. And Eommonim.” There is too much history that’s been hidden, but it’s impacting them all now. “These are some murky waters, no?”
He looks up—and freezes when he finds Joonjae staring at him, through him. It burns, and his alpha claws itself in.
“Tell me, Yoongi,” Joonjae starts, tapping his fingers in a rhythmic motion. “How will knowing help you?”
He keeps his gaze lowered, the perfect picture of submission. “I want to understand so I can…serve you better. Be the son you wanted—and do my duty at last.”
Joonjae snorts, and the weight of his alpha reduces. “You’re certainly gifted with clarity. I’m pleased,” Joonjae croons, tone full of mirth. “Not surprising, I suppose. Heeyeon always told me you were astute when you wanted to be.”
Yoongi offers a bland smile. He plays with a ring, now shifted to his thumb—Hoseok had gifted it on their fifth anniversary, a promise ring. I’ll always stay. I choose you. He often used it for support, a connection—a promise that no matter what, Hoseok would always be there. He’s alive. He may not be your mate but you’d know if anything happened. The Moon Goddess has mercy.
“Eomma and you must have struggled for so long,” Yoongi tries, chewing on the meat carefully. It’s a little too rare for him, though Joonjae doesn’t seem to mind. “If I understand, I will feel more connected. It’s what I always wanted growing up.”
“Is that right?”
“Explains why I ran away, doesn’t it?” Yoongi says lightly, twisting the truth. Let Joonjae believe that he ran away because he didn’t feel a connection to Yungcheol—perhaps the only person who’d been a real parent to Yoongi. “Now that I am back, and I have met you— it makes so much sense.”
Joonjae smiles, smug. It’s been only a couple of minutes and Yoongi already finds him insufferable; how the hell did Taehyung grow up under him? And turn out somewhat normal?
“I think you’re right. What a right tragedy, not feeling connected to your alpha parent—your poor wolf never had the chance. Perhaps now we can set things right.” He keeps aside his chopsticks. “It started long before you were born. Right after I had mated with Sora— from the Lee Clan.”
He’s vaguely heard of the Lee Clan—a powerful underworld family, said to be connected with the Royal Family’s treasury. If Joonjae had a foot in that through formal mating… “The ones associated with the King?”
“That would be the one.” Joonjae pours more wine. One of his eyes twitches. “How much do you know of the Kim Clan, son?”
Nothing, if he’s being honest. Sure, he’d had the mandatory lessons with Geumjae about the underworld families, the links and network that he was supposed to be alert of—but Yoongi could never pay attention. He knew the Kim Clan were an assassin clan, that their kills were the best in the country, with even global repute—but nothing else. “I’m afraid I’m rather unacquainted with the history.”
“I see. Yungcheol must have been a poor teacher.” He can hear the underlying accusation—that Yoongi was a poor student. “Well, my grandfather had raised the Kim Clan to greatness. With that comes recklessness—I suppose my father was blinded. It dwindled, and by the time I was to inherit—it was in shambles, with nothing of its former glory remaining.” A swig of wine, his scent evening out. Yoongi breathes through his mouth. “Out of desperation, I offered to extinguish some thorns in the Lees’ side in exchange for mating one of their omegas. And so, Lee Sora became mine.
“I was told Sora would be a quiet omega— in time, I learnt I was duped.” Joonjae chuckles darkly, his eye twitching again. His lips curl at the memory. “I couldn’t do much once the mating was done. The Lee Clan had connections—and wealth. Through the mating, the Kims had access to that—Sora’s inheritance alone could run the camp for generations. She was valuable in that, and so I knew keeping her was necessary to the survival of our clan. We mated for many years, hoping that a business would turn to love—but she never quite came to terms with that.”
Yeah, Joonjae doesn’t seem capable of love—simply ownership. He wonders if this Sora had assessed that early on. Yoongi straightens himself. “Why? What was wrong with her?”
“Stubborn,” Joonjae says, with a distaste showing the first of a chauvinist attitude towards omegas. Yoongi would recognise it anywhere; he’s seen plenty of alpha asshats in Seoul. “I realised why she’d gone so long without a mating. It’s because no alpha wanted her; she was incorrigible. It was too late for me—she had control over the wealth she had given my family. She knew we would be nothing without her.
“I worked to raise the name of the Kims to its former glory. For the sake of our families, we eventually had to consummate our mating— she became pregnant, and having done our parts, I decided to use the wealth to grow our connections, and offer our services to other clans. When I went to the Min Clan—I had full intentions to use their Daegu standpoint for establishing a connection to Busan.”
“And that’s where you met my mother?”
“Patience, son,” Joonjae says, a growl woven into the tone—Yoongi’s hair stands on his arms. “The Min Clan at the time were ferocious of outsiders—I wasn’t any different. It was a string of failed meetings—Yungcheol’s father was an obstinate alpha. Difficult.” He pats his mouth again; his plate carries the pink of rare meat. “I admit I was young, carrying too much on my shoulders. Daegu had much to offer—it was fate that I ran into your mother at its most esteemed pleasure house.”
Yoongi’s jaws drop without his control. His mother was…an escort? She’d never presented as such, and the story was that she was from one of the other underworld families. “What—what do you mean?”
“What I said—she was, for the lack of a better word, serving regrettably as an omega whore. One of the best, they said. I didn’t care; I was away from home and in any case, Sora would never willingly bed me. I walked in—and the moment I met her—I knew.”
Joonjae smiles, an actual, genuine one that’s brimming with love—it’s strange enough that Yoongi grimaces.
“I knew she was my True Mate.”
“It was that easy?”
“True mates are destined by the Goddess. They’re meant to be,” Joonjae says, shrugging. “I could smell her scent under all the ones she had worn. My alpha was finally alive—and she could feel it too. It’s a bond without words—she understood, and we didn’t look back.”
He sounds lovesick, and that’s even more disgusting. It makes Joonjae seem human, and Yoongi has a weakness for those. He clenches his fist. “But you were already mated.”
“Yes. What a tragic life,” Joonjae murmurs, finishing the last of his steak and pouring another glass. He looks up, sighing—and there it is again, the red flash. His scent grows stronger, and Yoongi gags into his napkin. “A whorehouse is not a place for someone like Heeyeon. I understood the way to the heart of the Min Clan was through the darling son, Yungcheol. I struck a friendship with him—and offered Heeyeon’s hand in mating.” Joonjae chuckles, as if he didn’t just announce was a vile person he kept showing up to be.
“She wasn’t pleased. Accused me of selling her. We must have conceived you in those months, however, so I shared with her the greatness we could achieve if we both were in high enough positions. A son born out of a true bond—surely she could see it the way I did.” Something like fondness steps across his face. “And she did, eventually, once she saw the comforts of living in the Min house. Whores are deceptively simple-minded.”
Moon above, the way he speaks of Heeyeon, his own True Mate—Joonjae’s mind must be fractured beyond repair.
“So I was born…and then?”
Joonjae shrugs. “Nothing. You were born some three months after Seokjin—thankfully, you looked more like Heeyeon than me. But we decided one son was enough—the less Yungcheol had, the better.”
Way to go, him casually mentioning Seokjin and how close in age they are, without speaking of the elephant in the room. One Joonjae clearly doesn’t think is a massive, moral problem.
“What if…what if I had presented an omega?”
Suddenly there is a slam, making half the cutlery jump in the air. Yoongi almost jolts out of his chair, his alpha on high alert—a growl sounds, menacing and low. When he turns—Joonjae is glaring at him again, his irises ringed red. When he smiles—there are slight…fangs?
Moon above, it really is as Yoongi had been fearing. “Joon—Abbeoji?”
“You are an Alpha,” Joonjae says, and the words wash over him, strong enough that his alpha shivers. “Anything else and you would not be here right now. Be grateful.”
Yoongi bows, hands in front. “Y-yes, Abbeoji. I apologise.”
The scent gets near unbearable—until it suddenly drops, and the air is back to normal again. Yoongi looks up—and Joonjae is the same as he was, not a hair out of place. He wipes his hands and drains his glass. He stands up, right behind Yoongi’s chair.
“What do you look so scared for? Relax a bit,” he says, patting his hair, and squeezing his shoulders; one of them is close to his wound—and Joonjae digs. A reminder to behave. Yoongi grits his teeth. “We have a glorious reign ahead of us. It’s a time for celebration.”
When Yoongi is alone—he throws up his dinner and yields to his alpha for comfort.
🖤⚔🖤
There is a fire licking across his back, creeping along his limbs and wrapping him around in a fiery embrace.
Jimin gives in to it again, yielding himself to its relentless warmth. It’s all around them, taking Taehyung along—he kisses down his chest, his stomach, the tip of his hard, leaking cock—ignores it as he bites into the hard muscle of his thigh. The alpha growls, veins standing out as Jimin keeps teasing. “Omega.”
“Oops,” Jimin giggles, dragging his nails across Taehyung’s calves—the heat is intense, more than any cycle he can remember—but it’s the third day, and his head is clearer for it. Still knot-ridden and hungry, but clear all the same. “Sorry, alpha. I’ll be better.”
Taehyung’s the one who is in the throes of an intense rut—it’s always the case with alphas. They start late, end later. He smells divine, like all the good things Jimin’s ever wanted; his mouth waters the closer he gets to Taehyung’s groin—the musk sticks to his skin, his tongue, invading his senses in the best way. Slick pours out, and Jimin spreads his legs, letting it drip.
You’re wasting the alpha’s seed, his omega whines, but Jimin’s not an idiot. The knot at the end of the cycle will be the most explosive one—he can feel the call growing under his skin. He reaches down, collecting some of it and letting it drip on Taehyung’s cock, watching it merge with the pre-cum. Lavender and orange bloom again, and Jimin inhales sharply.
Heat is much more fun when Jimin is aware of it.
Maybe he takes too long because Taehyung growls again—menacing, livid. When the alpha looks down, his golden rings swallow his eyes. “Jimin.”
“What?”
“Fucking—do something.” His cock twitches and Jimin touches the tip again. “End this torture, please.”
“It’s so cute when you beg,” Jimin sings, delirious. He’s in a happy cloud, full of their combined scents, bathed in Taehyung’s. “Poor little alpha puppy. Not getting what he wants.”
Taehyung’s face twists in pain and anger. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? A puppy?” Jimin lies on his stomach between his legs, chin resting on his hands. “But you are. Spoilt little thing. Not getting what you want.”
“Could be using your mouth for something more useful,” Taehyung growls, groaning when Jimin jerks his cock again.
“Like what? Sucking your pathetic little cock?” Jimin blows air on it, and pre-cum oozes. “Can’t even knot me for long. What’s the point?”
“Shut you up long enough when you were begging for it,” Taehyung grits, sitting on his elbows. He looks angry enough—and then he pouts. “Jimin. Please. My wolf is going crazy.”
Jimin tuts, stroking it through a loose fist. A knot is already forming at the base of it; it’s not fun when his mouth gets knotted—but his slit is too sore, as much as his omega keeps begging for more. Jimin needs a break; Taehyung probably just wants a release.
“Fine. Since you were so polite.” He gives the tip kitten licks, bitter lavender settling into his tongue. He keeps stroking as he takes it in inch by inch, until he’s almost at the base, nose touching the enlarged knot. It’s hot and wet, heavy on his tongue as he swirls it around, breathing out his nose when it nudges the back of his throat. A small gag rises up—and he breathes through it.
Taehyung groans, falling on his back as his thighs tighten up, fingers clutching the sheets around him. Jimin hollows out his cheeks, and the alpha shouts—a hand comes up in Jimin’s hair, clutching it at the base.
Jimin taps his stomach—and lets himself be used.
An alpha in a rut is no joke—in his most primal state, Taehyung has little control. He’s never hurt Jimin, but it is close enough—sometimes he’s too rough, too generous with his bruises and scratches, the strength of his wolf magnified. When he fucks Jimin’s throat, he’s near animalistic—like an urge to claim, to make sure Jimin is no one but his. That’s always been the case with all their shared cycles before.
He doesn’t mind. What Jimin gets—he gives back tenfold.
Taehyung holds him by his jaw, guiding him back and forth—Jimin reaches down, pushing into the pulsing heat of his slit, the walls hungry again. Slick gushes out, and Jimin raises himself on all fours, ass out—Taehyung growls at the position. Jimin takes his finger out—reaching forward and rubbing the slick into Taehyung’s skin, his stomach and his chest, tweaking his nipples—making the alpha jerk in his mouth, and Jimin choke.
It’s a wonderful feeling, one that his omega rising higher and higher, entering that familiar headspace, the one where he’s floating and nothing matters. Just Jimin and his hungry hole searching for a knot.
The knot is steadily growing, and he thinks Taehyung’s going to explode right there and then—when the alpha suddenly lifts him up in an incredible display of alpha strength—and has Jimin on his lap, mouth now free even as his cock breaches his hole without hesitation.
It should be painful, but his hole is so wet and loose, there is no resistance anymore. Jimin moans, gruff and hoarse, as Taehyung fucks into him at an almost manic speed, sucking at Jimin’s chest, his teeth scraping against his nipples. He grips Jimin by the ass, nails digging into it as he pushes Jimin deeper, as if he wants to fuse with him—and become one.
Jimin would yield in a heartbeat if he could.
He lifts Taehyung by his hair, looking down at him as he rides, thighs cramping from the force of it. The golden rings in his pretty eyes, promising safety. Taehyung’s alpha on the surface—and Jimin’s omega rising up, meeting him. His vision glazes blue, and Jimin leans down to kiss him.
It’s much too tender for the wildness otherwise, but Jimin licks into his mouth, tasting him and biting at his tongue. Cries as the knot begins catching—kisses down Taehyung’s neck, so close to his mating gland. It’s pulsing pink, so inflamed that Jimin could just bite. He shouldn’t, they shouldn’t. From the start, it had been off-limits—but for a moment, Jimin wants so badly, he’s willing to risk it all.
There’s a small, frayed patch right under it—but he forgets as Taehyung switches his head, close to his scent gland. Jimin inhales—and pulls Taehyung to his own, where they scent each other in harmony.
He can feel his own mating gland inflamed, his omega begging for a Bite—so close yet so far. The only alpha to get so near, the only one Jimin had allowed—somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows something is off. Things have changed between them, but right now—Jimin is Taehyung’s, and Taehyung is his.
It’s the oldest story in history.
He buries himself in Taehyung’s scent as the knot explodes, hot cum flooding his hole and mixing with his slick. Taehyung groans into his neck as he holds Jimin close, cock jerking inside as the knot locks. Their bodies tremble, the clarity hitting them hard as they both collapse, a mess of tangled limbs.
They heave, chest to chest and knot-to-slit. That had been intense—maybe not the last one, but they must be getting close to the end of it.
Taehyung brushes a hand through his sweaty, matted hair—and Jimin passes out with his nose in Taehyung’s neck.
Telling time apart is next to impossible when one is in heat.
Jimin wakes up in the position he’d passed out in—still close to Taehyung’s neck, his head rising with the alpha’s deep breaths. A sliver of moonlight slices through from the window adjacent to them—and for some reason, it looks brighter than usual.
Taehyung’s heart beats gently in Jimin’s ears, a constant thump lulling him with a sense of calmness. He matches his breaths with Taehyung’s chest—and blinks sleepily.
His mind is clear, and his senses slowly return to him. He must be close to the end—the next time, he wouldn’t be as hungry. He’d have to cater to Taehyung still—but he’d still have enough leftover energy, one last force of the heat—before it gets over.
Jimin follows the trail of moonlight, the way it swirls with the bedsheet. Taehyung’s skin. He traces it gently, aware of the grime on their bodies—but he’s so content. He’s safe, and his omega rests at last, in tandem with the wolf within Taehyung.
The alpha’s hair is splayed out, crusted with dried slick, cum and sweat. Jimin shifts to watch the moonlight glide across Taehyung’s skin—and his eyes catch on his exposed neck.
His mating gland is swollen, a raw red bright as a rosy apple. Out of curiosity, Jimin reaches to poke at it—the alpha jerks before settling into a deep slumber, and Jimin swallows his giggles in. He traces around it, the gland firm under his thumb—when his nails catch on something rough.
He tries again, and this time his nail gets caught under something sticky. Jimin raises his head, brushing the stray strands of hair away as he shuffles for a closer look.
It’s a patch—a skin-coloured pain patch, small enough and coloured just right to merge with Taehyung’s skin. And it’s placed right under the mating gland, one of its corners lifted—probably from the sweat and movement.
Something cold dips in Jimin’s belly. He shouldn’t; it’s none of his business. He’s happy where he is, and once this is over he won’t have to think of heat for the next three months. He’s happy now, omega satisfied with the knots, and Taehyung yet again an exemplary heat partner. No matter their dynamic, he’d always been a good one.
Jimin can’t help it as he scratches under the patch. It’s not the now but a memory, his heat thirteen years ago when Taehyung had first put a pain patch—claiming getting hurt.
The alpha shifts beneath him—but Taehyung’s recovering from a rut wave, and those are near impossible to wake out of without the alpha’s awareness. Jimin bites his lips as he works through the patch, his stomach getting colder as he pulls away from Taehyung’s skin—before he loses his patience, and rips it right off.
Thirteen years is a long time for an injury to remain— unless something was supposed to be hidden from the naked eye.
Jimin stares at the tiny clear circle, darker around one edge—the mark of a full moon. The brand of a Soul Mark.
All at once, a rush of images opens up in his mind—and it spins until it comes to a halt, a lucid stability that Jimin had never imagined could stem from this.
His finger trembles as it hovers over the mark—but Jimin can feel the pull, and the moment he touches it—his own mating gland swells painfully, a slice of hot heat before it settles. Jimin doesn’t have to touch to know.
It had been there all along, hadn’t it? Namjoon had even said it, and Jimin had been wilfully blind. A tear slides out hot and cools on his cheek as Jimin stares. If he were to look at the mirror—he’s sure there would be a complementary Mark of a new moon—dark and coloured in.
Their shared cycles. How Jimin could always smell Taehyung, or he him, even when they wore the strongest blockers. You’ve always been able to smell me, Jimin-ah. Smelling Taehyung’s emotions in his scent—which Jimin couldn’t do with anyone else. How the moment they started they couldn’t stop, a pull between their wolves that had been impossible to resist.
How his omega would rise to meet Taehyung’s. The claim it made on the alpha, then a boy, the first time Jimin had seen him on the raised podium next to Joonjae. Always hovering around Taehyung. When Taehyung had told him heatedly once that there would be no one else his alpha could stand to fuck.
In a flash, he remembers the escape from Yoongi’s estate. Taehyung throwing the alpha guard away, snarling. Hands off my mate!
Mate.
Like a slash of fire—Jimin stumbles back from Taehyung, sitting on his haunches. His omega wails, but Jimin is lucid enough for his human side to come out, the side he’d trained to take over his pesky little wolf. The side he trusted more than his omega—or wanted to trust because his omega would show him things Jimin didn’t want to face.
You must realise soon, little one.
Jimin squeezes his eyes shut as the tears flow out, as his omega holds him and Jimin fights it, fights the tight feeling of betrayal and relief embroiled in one chaotic dance.
Accept, and know peace.
How can he? How can he just—how can he accept that Taehyung was destined for him and that Jimin was sold to the very place where he’d find him? How was that fair?
How is it fair that Taehyung had probably known all along—and Jimin didn’t?
He crawls further away, falling off the bed—he drags himself further, the sheets clinging to him. Jimin can’t run; his heat isn’t over yet—he can feel the pull, the call from their wolves. How can he, though?
How is he supposed to just—accept? And peace? It was never meant for people like him—how can accepting Taehyung as a mate be peaceful?
The feeling is too tight, too painful—and Jimin chokes out a sob, unable to hold it in. He covers his mouth with a fist—but it’s too late; his omega, stupid little wolf, probably sends out a distress signal through his scent—a scent Taehyung could smell all along— and the alpha wakes up, alarmed.
“Jimin?” He croaks out, eyes smeared with sleep. He sniffs, nose flaring at probably the sadness. Jimin wants it to be anger—but he’s so tired. No, that’s a lie. He can’t be angry because beneath the betrayal—there is relief. “Jimin—what are you doing over there?”
It’s the concern that does it. Jimin can see it for what it is, and can taste it now. Can remember it from years past that he’d brushed off as a strategic tactic. He can’t face it, he can’t accept it—he can’t.
Jimin doesn’t heed his wolf as he stands up, reaching for the nearest thing he can grab—an ornate vase apparently— and flings it in the alpha’s direction. Taehyung yells, covering his face as shards of glass fall around him, some slicing against his biceps—but Jimin doesn’t care. Or he does because his mating gland flares with pain. You can’t hurt your mate!
Watch me, Jimin growls, looking for more things—he’s distantly aware of the heat building in his gut, the slick leaking against his thighs—but there is anger and a need for revenge—and the tell-tale signs of grief. He comes across yet another décor item—and flings that too. Taehyung rises, golden eyes in full alert as he dodges that—and in a display of alpha speed, reaches Jimin and grabs his wrist before he can look for anything else. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Let me—let me go!” Jimin snarls, vision tinged blue but trembling as if his omega is battling his more rational side. “You fucking—you fucking pig! I hate you!”
“Jimin—shit, fucking—listen to me—” Taehyung struggles, and on good days Jimin would have weaselled out but today isn’t a good day, tonight he’s an omega in heat and Taehyung is an alpha in rut—one designed to protect a defenceless omega. Never mind that Jimin has never given in to that image. “Fucking hell—Jimin, STOP.”
His body freezes, his omega winning the inner tug of war as the Alpha Command takes hold, Taehyung’s alpha nipping Jimin’s omega in the neck, making him submit. He lets go, and Taehyung catches him before he can fall—he’s limp and helpless—and the hatred grows. Of course, it’s like Taehyung to use his alpha voice against an omega in heat and control him—
Stop it. You know you were misbehaving. Listen.
Both are heaving; Taehyung’s golden eyes rove over Jimin’s—he’s not angry. He’s concerned, and in his primal state, he would probably be feeling the distress tenfold. Jimin’s omega whimpers, and he decides he hates that too.
“I’m sorry. You weren’t listening,” Taehyung murmurs, guilt showing—both on his face and in his scent. Because Jimin can smell those. He guides Jimin to the bed, settling him down. He moves away—Jimin can still smell the musk, the heaviness of an alpha in a rut. Can smell the constant layer of arousal, and how Taehyung is holding himself back. “Will you promise not to kill me? Can I let you go?”
Jimin bares his teeth—but then he nods. The anger recedes as furiously as it had arrived—and Jimin slumps where he sits. Taehyung closes his eyes—and then the weight is lifted off.
He reaches to maybe—maybe stab Taehyung with a shard he picked from under the blanket—but Taehyung is faster, and he holds Jimin by the wrist. In one hand. His gut lurches at the size difference, and he wills his omega to stop being such a slut.
“Jimin-ah, talk to me,” Taehyung begs, and Goddess—had he always sounded like that? So gentle with Jimin where it mattered? No, that can’t be right. Jimin remembers—he remembers the competition, the anger. The hatred. Or was it that you wanted him to hate you so you could hate him back? “Please. I’m—I’m really close to a wave and I know you’re not in a state right now so—I’m not going to ask. But please. It’s driving my alpha mad if you don’t talk.”
Jimin keeps his mouth shut, though his tongue chokes on the words, the build-up of screaming accusations—one’s that he knows aren’t fair, but not quite wrong. Taehyung lied to him. He hid something crucial from him for years—what explanation could there be that would justify it?
The smell of rut intensifies, and his omega trashes inside to answer. Jimin squeezes his thighs shut—this is the worst timing. Then again, everything is always the worst timing for him. Jimin shouldn’t be shocked at this point.
Taehyung kneels, face twisted in pain. “Jimin, please. I’m begging you. Your scent’s killing me. Tell me so I can make it right.”
Jimin laughs. Now that’s something he hasn’t heard before.
“Make it right, sure,” Jimin whispers, voice hoarse. “How, exactly?”
“I—I don’t know, but if you’ll tell me—”
“By lying to me? By hiding the truth from me?” Taehyung frowns, and Jimin is so done. He goes for the kill. “By covering up being my True Mate?”
The moment he says it, both of them gasp—a brief slice of light, a hot seal of pain at the base of his mating gland that he claws at, and so does Taehyung—before it dies down.
And shows a darker, more prominent park on Taehyung—and the alpha’s horror trapped in his eyes.
“Jimin…I…”
Jimin pokes at Taehyung’s Mark harshly, digging into it; the alpha gasps in pain, grabbing Jimin’s wrist away. “How long?”
“Jimin…it’s not what you think—”
“How long were you hiding this from me?”
It’s a rhetorical question; they both know it. Jimin’s avoidant, but unfortunately, he’s been blessed with too good a memory.
It started the day Jimin had caught a pain patch on Taehyung’s neck, right in the middle of their first shared cycle.
Taehyung knows he’s lost, and he slumps, refusing to look Jimin in the eye. “Since we were fourteen.”
He knew it, but it still hurts to hear it confirmed. Fourteen. Thirteen years and Jimin never had a clue.
“Since your first heat,” Taehyung continues, head still bowed down. “I went into my rut a couple of hours after you presented. I didn’t connect it then, but it was a matter of time.”
Jimin’s vision blurs—from the grief of lost years, the bed of betrayal it lies on. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Taehyung looks up—his eyes are moist with unshed tears, and the golden rings continue dilating, engulfing his pupils. “Because if I claimed you at camp—you’d have died.”
“What?” Jimin recoils, but Taehyung edges closer, without touching. “How would knowing—”
“He would have killed you,” Taehyung murmurs, baring his teeth—not at Jimin, but an imaginary threat. Or not so imaginary; Jimin knows the person he’s talking about. “Or worse. It was for the better that you didn’t know.”
“Said who?” Jimin snaps, fingers crawling into the sheets. “Who are you to decide?”
“Jimin—”
“A destined bond is about both of us; why do you get to call the shots?” Jimin says, wincing as his abdomen cramps, as a glob of slick leaks out. Taehyung’s nose flares, but he rolls back on his haunches. Jimin realises belatedly how naked the two of them are. “What about my right to know?”
“You don’t—you won’t understand,” Taehyung seethes, gritting his teeth as a bead of sweat rolls down his neck, his mating gland—and his Mark—flaring with need. Jimin can smell it so clearly now. “It’s not—a True Mate bond isn’t a joke. It’s—different. It carries weight. It would have fucked us up.”
“Right, because you’re so knowledgeable,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes. “Save it. What’s the worst that could have happened?”
“I knew you won’t get it,” Taehyung grits out, the veins in his temples pulsating. “And I can’t explain it right now. You need to leave if you don’t want to fuck.”
The fucking audacity. “If I don’t want to fuck?”
“Jimin, I mean this with utmost sincerity, but you are my destined mate,” Taehyung snarls, eyes a blazing gold and close to the rut wave. “And if you don’t leave, my alpha will lose it, and I don’t want that.”
Jimin gapes at him. “Un-fucking-believable. You’re still asking to share the cycle despite hiding this secret from me—”
“I had no choice!” Taehyung roars and Jimin stumbles back. Taehyung stays in the spot. “We were fucking fourteen. We were kids. Look what happened to us even without knowing!”
His omega is frozen with terror. “T-taehyung—”
“Do I need to remind you?” Taehyung growls, but there are notes of pleading woven in. “You want to know how it fucked us up? Huh? Did you forget?” Taehyung stands, hard and proud but trembling too. Jimin can’t look away from his face. “It made you run away, didn’t it?”
His brain is on a roll, and an old pathway opens up as his mind is flooded with memories. The images, hundreds of them. Of a past Jimin had tried to suppress but never could, the last time he’d seen Taehyung before he locked him away, the trials and the face—
Jimin shoves Taehyung aside and runs to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before throwing up bile. It’s acidic, crawling up his ravaged throat—and it burns just like his name does.
He collapses on the bathroom floor, too weak even as his gut cramps, the last wave of heat taking over. Somewhere, he can hear Taehyung’s sharp bangs against the bathroom door, begging Jimin to let him in. Let me take care of you. Please.
But Jimin can’t. People can’t take care of him; they always let him down.
It doesn’t matter, in the end, because something or someone breaks the door down, and he’s being gathered in hot arms, sweltering and burning against his fevered skin. Jimin tries to push himself away—but the pain is too great, and just like before—he gives in.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
IT IS FINALLY OUT hallelujah Jimin you obtuse fuck (I say this with love while shaking him by the shoulders). Anyway yayyy they're true mates (confirmed) and it had to happen in the most dramatic way possible lmao. I'm hoping in the next arc I can dedicate some space to explaining the whole true mate lore etc. Man, I've built a MAMMOTH I'm crying why do I do this to myself?
Also the yoongi-joonjae scenes and the little bit of the backstory! I'm not sure if more will come out in future chapters (like why was Taehyung adopted/what happened to his real mom) so I'm not putting it all out as of yet. I have it all in my mind (and notes) so hopefully, it'll make sense.
Also, I know no one cares but I've been obsessed with I Can See You (From The Vault) (SNTV) and let me tell you that song is dedicated to vmin of the past in this fic. When I finally finish telling that, the song will make SO MUCH sense. It's also an amazing song hehe.
Until next time!
Chapter 21: Go Ahead and Cry, Little Boy
Notes:
Yes, you're not hallucinating I am updating after a week. I happen to be procrastinating in real life by escaping into a fic, thank you burn-out for shaking my resolves. :D
Okay for real though, this is probably just a one-off incident so don't hold me to it. I had a mad writing sprint earlier this weekend and finished ch 22 in 2 days. So I decided to go ahead with posting. I would honestly love it if I could finish this fic by the end of the year. Let's pray.
Title from Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood which is also a very vmin (of this fic) song I've been listening to on repeat. ALSO- new POV alert hehe. Strap yourself in for 14k of...drama. I guess.
Warnings: scenes of imprisonment, a brief description of being treated badly. Nothing too graphic. Also NOTE: the first part is ALWAYS a past snippet, written in the past tense. Since some readers asked about the last chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Outside of their agreement—Jimin didn’t know Taehyung.
Or at least, that’s what he pretended, because the humiliation of sharing his heat with the person he hated most...how he’d begged for the knot, the pathetic way in which his omega took over. As the days went by, Jimin steeled himself for Taehyung’s usual bullying to resume.
It never came.
The alpha was annoying—crude even, now that they were all presented wolves— but he never brought up their arrangement in public, or spoke of Jimin as anything less. It was almost as if he too was pretending, that Jimin was just his top competition—and nothing else.
Strangely enough, it gave him a sense of relief.
They still fought, argued and battled. They played petty pranks or got back at each other, and tried to sabotage training days and test assignments. It kept Jimin alert, on the lookout for the next time Taehyung struck—and it was fun.
He kept to himself, preferring to figure things out on his own—no amount of friends could deter him from his goals. He’d gone on a couple of assignments outside camp and he knew there was a world out there for him. He just had to bide his time until he was ready, perfectly trained and able to bargain for global assignments to earn his keep.
Still, he wasn’t immune to the lack of community at camp. The way others talked about him, of him, to him; the giggles and thinly-veiled hostility. The Elite students resented him for besting them—and they were the worst of the lot.
Yet Taehyung never said a word about Jimin’s origins or how he was lesser than them—he met him head-on, and as infuriating as the alpha was—he admired that about Taehyung.
He sat by himself, but he wasn’t immune to how others saw Taehyung. Outside of a cycle, Jimin could admit that Taehyung wasn’t…bad to look at. The Head Boss’s youngest, handsome after his presentation even if a little too…omega-like. Pretty, Jimin thought, but that wasn’t an acceptable compliment. A shame, because no other word suited Taehyung.
He grit his teeth as the omegas on his table giggled when Taehyung walked past them. A trail of lavender lingered, and Jimin inhaled it—regardless of the character, Taehyung’s scent was still the best thing he’d ever smelt.
The alpha paid no attention, surrounded by his lackeys kissing his ass. Jimin snorted to himself; the omegas looked over, rolling their eyes when they saw who it was. Pathetic. They didn’t have half the skill that Jimin already possessed. They’d spend their lives simpering after pathetic pretty alphas and wasting away.
Jimin ate his food quietly—but he could feel a pair of eyes on his neck, and the haze of lavender present still.
🖤⚔🖤
Hoseok wakes up to darkness.
It’s the first thing he registers. That, and the scent of something chemical and musty, like dust and bricks. Perhaps cement. He sniffs—and then shuffles back inside…a blanket?
He’s on a bed.
The thin blanket scratches against his hot skin, though the room—that’s what he assumes it is as his eyes adjust— is cool with a draft of wind from somewhere. His throat hurts with every swallow, and he’s in a thin…hospital gown.
Hoseok shifts and something rattles—and he nearly trips when he puts a foot on the ground. He looks below, feeling down his leg until his fingers come across something cool and metal, interlinked together.
A long line of chains wrapped around one of his ankles trails to the wall behind him.
He’s chained to a wall. There’s an anklet around his leg—and Hoseok can’t move.
All at once, his omega bursts out, and the panic bleeds through his skin in a now familiar, atrocious wave of heat. Only— it’s not pleasurable.
There is nothing and no one—he’s trapped in a dark room with unfamiliar scents, chained to a wall on a thin, creaky hospital bed—Yoongi isn’t here. He isn’t here, his comforting pine is nowhere to be found. Hoseok can’t move, and he can’t explore because he’s—
He keels over, his omega coming out and pressing him back inside, engulfing him in a strange haze of protection. He’s not safe. He hasn’t been for a while. His skin burns cold and his throat is parched. His stomach clenches in hunger but the thought of food makes him gag.
Hoseok is sick—that much he remembers.
Curling into a foetal position, he bends far enough to press his head between his knees, to ease the budding pressure. Fractured memories pile upon him—their apartment, bereft of his pack, smelling sick and lost. Yoongi coaxing food into him, cleaning him gently with a washcloth. Trips to a doctor—her face isn’t clear, but he remembers going because Yoongi had said Jimin would be there and—
Jimin.
He shudders as the older memories take hold of him now, the ones that he doesn’t want, had tried to repress but failed. Namsan Tower, laughing with his chosen family as they brought in Jimin’s cake. The smile on the omega’s face while Hoseok placed the numbered 27 candle-set. The scent of happiness all around.
The knife in the waiter’s neck. The blood, so much of it, all over the cake he’d baked, mixing with the cream as the waiter’s head fell into it. The door bursting, the sudden rush of unfamiliar men dressed in black—Hoseok had curled into Yoongi, but that hadn’t saved him.
He remembers the man who held him at knifepoint.
And he remembers Jimin taking a gun and shooting at the guard behind Yoongi. The spray of blood in the air, but mostly—the utter lack of warmth on his best friend’s face.
A face that, for a moment—Hoseok couldn’t recognise.
A sob escapes as the memories swirl, dragging him in deeper, his omega trashing at the imagined threat. He waits for the pain, and the moment his wolf would numb him to it as it takes him deeper, away from everything.
It never comes.
It still hurts, but this time—Hoseok doesn’t feel so bad in the face of it. He lies there, curled into the scratchy blanket as he breathes, stroking his hand like his mother used to. Like Jimin had begun to, once they began rooming in university and he missed his mother. That is the Jimin he still remembers—and hopes to because the other one…
Lights flicker above him, hazy under the blanket. There are noises, and the scent of chemicals grows—Hoseok’s never smelt anything like them. It’s oppressive, and he curls deeper—until someone roughly takes the blanket off.
He doesn’t recognise them—and that’s the last straw for his omega.
There are several of them—two of them straighten him out, but Hoseok trashes, the chain rattling as they try to hold him to the bed. Another one is carrying a plate with food. All of them are alphas—he can’t smell them, but he knows. His omega cautions him, and Hoseok resists—until one of them pinches him on the back of his neck.
His head falls back as he submits, but every moment is painful as the person with the food approaches; he tries turning his face away but they open his mouth and force the food, spoon by spoon.
It’s not even a moment before Hoseok rolls over to the side of the bed—and throws up. The people curse, one of them pinching Hoseok again—and he submits, eyes heavy as he watches them walk away, the room smelling of chemicals and vomit.
It’s the same each time. Hoseok wakes up alone, dehydrated and exhausted, but his wolf refuses to retreat. The distress builds, and the guards come at a certain time. He can manage the water, but the food is unappetising—every time, he throws up. Sometimes the guards—that’s what he thinks they must be, with their attire and mannerisms— slap him, curse at him or nip him in the neck. Each time feels like a violation that Hoseok can’t hope to come back from.
Yet he does. Every single time.
Somehow, his wolf is alert—weak, but on the lookout. Maybe because Yoongi isn’t here, and so, Hoseok can’t be weak. He can’t be dependent. But it’s different—because Hoseok’s sure even if Yoongi isn’t here—one of his pack members is.
He misses Jimin and Jungkook.
They left, both of them, without a goodbye. Jimin hadn’t even left a note—one moment he’d promised Hoseok he’d explain, the next he had been unreachable. Jungkook had tried to trace him using his connections—but it was almost as if Jimin didn’t exist anymore.
That had been strike number one.
He had to hold their pack together until Jimin felt safe enough to come back. That’s what he’d chosen— even though his wolf came crawling out, keening for the omega. He’s our pack. Our Soul Mate. Bring him back.
The weakness threatened to take him under, but Hoseok had faced worse—he could manage this. They would find a way. Jimin used to have disappearing spells before, a long time ago when he’d started university. And Hoseok had found him time and again.
Then Jungkook went rogue, and somehow this—Hoseok couldn’t take anymore.
He’d ignored it, but the weakness that had been growing flooded him—and before he could say a word, he’d lost himself to his wolf, taken under so fast he couldn’t reach out. Yoongi was still there, but Hoseok couldn’t make out his face—couldn’t hear him, or speak to him. It had been as if he was underwater, a thin layer between the two of them.
He’s not here now, but Hoseok is stronger for it.
The guards arrive at a particular time, like clockwork. There is no telling apart of time here—they let the lights on now, and Hoseok can see a hexagon-shaped room. There is a thick, metal door at one end, and he faces it. This time, Hoseok leans against the wall, legs loosely covered in the blanket. This time, he will fight—his nails are cracked and dirty, and he hates the sight of them but maybe they’ll serve a purpose.
He clutches his bedsheets, toes curling into the bed as he waits, the handle of the door twisting—and revealing the—
Hoseok blinks. There are no guards.
It’s one lone person, tall and well-built—and smelling nothing like those oppressive chemicals, even from so far away.
The man blinks back, before quickly assessing the room: the crumpled sheets, the pool of vomit from yesterday. He wrinkles his nose, then walks back out—before ushering someone in, pointing at them to clean.
The person does so dutifully, not just the rank vomit but also the toilet bowl, and the trays of food. They press a button on the wall—and a whir of air blasts through the vents, clearing away the smells. In their place is a pleasant nothingness—scent neutralisers. Hoseok breathes in—and sighs in relief.
He catches the scent of the man at the door—and it’s hard to place. He looks like an alpha, but he doesn’t smell like one. He doesn’t carry that horrible, chemical scent either. It’s mild, like sandalwood, but not musky like an alpha’s would be.
It smells quiet and safe.
Once the cleaner leaves, the man steps out again—and comes back with a plate of food. The sight of it has Hoseok recoiling, shuffling back against the wall. The man raises an eyebrow—and raises a hand, approaching slowly.
He places the tray on a table instead—and steps back, hands raised. Hoseok tilts his head as he sniffs, his wolf seeking out the threat. There is none, and the longer the man stands—the safer Hoseok feels.
The man waits for him to finish the inspection. When Hoseok says nothing—he nudges at the food. “Would you like to eat?”
The voice is soft yet deep, working its way down Hoseok’s spine like a blanket of calmness. Yet, Hoseok shakes his head—he hates that food as if he is in some form of prison. Maybe he is, what with the chains and all. He’s still not going to eat that crap, though.
The man’s eyes turn pleading almost. “Please. You haven’t been eating well. The guards have told me you can’t keep it down.”
Hoseok curls his toes in.
“If you don’t eat, you’ll get weak. We can’t have that—so please. Just eat something. You can choose what to.”
That’s interesting. None of the guards gave him a choice, forcing the disgusting gruel and dry bread down his throat. A choice, though…
Hoseok takes a leg out, and shakes it—the movement is a lot, his calf twinging from pain. But the man catches it, looking down at the chain to the wall. Realisation seems to hit him—he shoves a hand in one of his pockets, taking out a chain of rings and shuffling around— before picking one out and walking towards Hoseok’s ankle.
He smells no fear as the man works on the lock—and the chains fall. The man removes them gently and steps back. Hoseok flexes his ankles, almost crying in relief at the movement.
The man is patient as Hoseok takes a step tentatively. It’s strange to walk without the constant rattling; he feels light as a baby bird. He takes step by step till he’s at the table, almost crashing into the wooden chair.
Hoseok tries a couple of bites—it’s not any better when it’s by choice, but he can focus on it and not the terror of eating. The man’s right—if Hoseok needs to build up his strength, he’ll have to eat whatever he gets.
After the fifth attempt, he gives up, chucking the spoon away as he gulps down the water instead. The dry bread is still better—it scratches his already parched throat, but at least the texture is bearable.
The man hovers, wincing at every crunch—before he gets something out and shows it to Hoseok.
It’s an apple. Red and juicy, and the fruit of Hoseok’s dreams.
“Will this be better?” The man asks, and Hoseok almost grabs for it—but retreats at the last moment. The man chuckles. “Makes sense. That does look horrible.”
He leans against the table, taking out a pocket knife—Hoseok stiffens at the sight of it, but the man places it on the apple, tongue poking out in concentration as he peels. He’s rather clumsy with it, the apple fumbling several times—Hoseok almost instinctively reaches for it when the apple nearly falls for the seventh time—but the man works on it, determined.
It’s silly, sort of cute. Hoseok snorts.
The man looks up—and blushes, a pretty pink against his golden skin. “Sorry. I’m not the best at cutting fruits or vegetables.” He skins the apple some more, the peels falling around him. What a mess. “My mother used to give them to me like this, between classes. It’s nice when someone takes care of us.”
What does that mean? Is the man attempting to take care of Hoseok? What if this is one of those psychological horror cults where they expose the victim to acts of kindness after violence to fuck with their brains?
Should Hoseok believe him?
He seems safe. His wolf is present. Wait. Listen.
Hoseok’s always heeded his wolf—and so, he trusts it once again.
The man cuts the apple into haphazard shapes, some of the peels carrying more of the apple than the apple itself. Still, he offers them to Hoseok, placing them on the plate.
The man puts away his knife, crouching down and sitting on the floor next to the table—a safe distance away from Hoseok, but not too far. He doesn’t force or look expectedly at Hoseok to eat them—mindlessly playing with his long, nimble fingers and seemingly lost in thought.
Hoseok doesn’t want to be lulled into some cult practice—but he is hungry and his omega is calm. He picks up one of the slices—and bites into it, almost moaning at how fresh it tastes. Embarrassing.
The man smiles. “Good?”
The omega responds by stuffing himself with more of the slices. The man chuckles, looking down with a smile.
Once the apple craze recedes—Hoseok feels more alert, and he nibbles carefully. Slowly. He doesn’t know when he’ll get an apple next.
“What’s your name?”
Goddess, his voice sounds bad. Unused and hoarse, as if rocks have grown in the moistness of his throat. At least he hasn’t forgotten how to speak yet.
The man points to himself. Hoseok nods. The man smiles again. “I’m Namjoon.”
Namjoon. What a pleasant name. The blanket of safety grows larger. Hoseok looks down, picking at the apple. “I’m Hoseok.”
The man's—no, Namjoon’s— face lights up. “Hoseok. That’s a lovely name.”
He nods. Clears his throat. “Where am I?” He gestures around the place. “What is this place? Why am I here?”
“I see you have questions,” Namjoon says, voice soothing. “Naturally. You woke up in a strange place.”
“Not every day one wakes up chained to a wall.”
“They don’t, do they?” Namjoon smiles, and Hoseok looks down again. It feels so easy to talk with him. Hoseok should stay alert. “You are in the catacombs. One of the rooms, anyway. And as for why…it’s a command by my father. So.”
Hoseok blinks. “Catacombs? Father?”
Namjoon frowns—until understanding dawns on him. “Hoseok-ssi, do you know why you were—uh, captured?”
Captured. Surreal, to hear it confirmed. Hoseok shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. The last thing I remember before this was a car, in the middle of some estate. I remember a lot of green. And then I woke up here.”
“Oh.” Namjoon’s chin juts out. “Well. That complicates things.”
“What is it?”
“You’re certain you don’t know?” Hoseok shakes his head, and Namjoon exhales. “Hoseok-ssi—who are you?”
He had not been expecting an existential question—but being captured is good grounds for it. “I’m a dance teacher and physical therapist based in Seoul. Why?”
Namjoon’s eyes widen. “Huh. So you really don’t know.”
“All this double talk is giving me a headache,” Hoseok whines, and Namjoon apologises softly. “What’s going on, Namjoon-ssi?”
Namjoon—he can’t peg his sub-gender, but surely he must be an alpha by the build of him— sighs. “Well. I don’t know why you’re here, Hoseok-ssi, or why my father took an interest in you. But you should know.”
“Know what.”
“That well—you’re currently in an assassin camp. Way out of Seoul.”
Hoseok stares at him. “What?”
“It’s a—well technically, we did expand and offer other services but primarily our family is an assassin clan—”
“Assassins? Did I hear that right?” Hoseok asks, and Namjoon nods. Holy shit. Jimin’s birthday suddenly makes so much sense—and with that, comes the familiar flood of terror. “Oh fuck. Holy shit.”
“I’m sure this is a lot for you—”
“So this is a place that, like, kills…people? Politicians and stuff?”
Namjoon winces. He looks almost…ashamed. “Amongst other things. We have a large clientele. But also, don’t forget the other things we do—”
“Do you…will you…?” Hoseok gulps, the words caught in his throat. “Will they kill me?” Namjoon opens his mouth, but Hoseok rushes. “I swear, I didn’t know what was happening last time! I swear on the Moon!”
“Last time?”
“Yeah, with Jimin!”
“Wait, wait,” Namjoon says, shuffling forward while still maintaining the distance. “You know Jimin?”
Hoseok leans back on the chair. His guess was right; Jimin is connected with some sort of assassin camp and…probably is one himself. Shit. He reassesses Namjoon, expecting some sort of sudden attack—but he looks curious, maybe intrigued. Hoseok can’t place him—and he’s not sure if he should speak more about Jimin—but something nudges him to be honest. That Namjoon, by nearly all accounts, is a safe bet. “Y-yeah. He was my roommate in university and my best friend. Practically family.”
“Huh,” Namjoon says, scratching under his chin. “Okay. Fine. Why did you connect an assassin camp to Jimin? Did you know about…his past?”
He hadn’t, and that’s still a sore point. The Jimin he’d met at eighteen had been bright, a little reserved but curious. Hungry for achievement, and Hoseok respected that. He’d met plenty of people like him—perhaps runaways from a broken home. He’d never pried, and Jimin had never volunteered—it had never mattered back then. His omega had seen him, picked him out in a room full of freshmen—and Hoseok had known.
There had been a block from Jimin’s end, a blind spot where there should have been a willing presence of a wolf. Hoseok’s omega had clawed at him because Jimin was theirs. And yet—he’d been so far away, so cut off. He’d known then, that Jimin needed time.
And Hoseok had been willing to give him that. Wait, until Jimin came back home.
In hindsight, it hurts that Jimin left without giving home a chance.
“No. I know nothing,” Hoseok spits out, picking at the frayed edges of his shirt. “Jimin was a person. From Busan, he said, but he’d moved around a lot so he didn’t have much of the satoori. His parents were dead, and all he had was a limited inheritance. He studied dance and finance and moved to law. He dreamed of making it big.” And he had, despite the leg start. Determined to make it, as if haunted by—something. It all makes sense now. “But he was running away from something. That much was obvious.”
Namjoon winces. “I know it’s not my place. But I apologise. Assassin training does that to you.”
Training. As if Jimin had been one for years. “What, lie?”
No response. Hoseok hadn’t been expecting any. He balances the chair on its hind legs, precarious. “I don’t remember much. Just that we all went out for Jimin’s birthday—and it was going okay. But then we were—I guess, ambushed.”
“Ambushed?”
“Yeah,” Hoseok whispers. The images hover at the edges of his memory. So does a name. “Some guy named Taesung? Taehyung? I think that’s what Jimin called him. He entered with a lot of men. Alphas. They didn’t smell like anything. He tried to…he killed the waiter. And there was so much blood.”
“Hoseok-ssi…you don’t have to—”
“But that wasn’t nearly as shocking. I think Jimin taking a gun and shooting a man dead was. It was like…nothing to him. I couldn’t recognise him.” Hoseok gulps down the saliva and the bile. Apple skin clings to the back of his throat. “It’s kind of a blur after that.”
Silence rings between them, bouncing off the walls. Blood rushes inside Hoseok’s head, his pulse loud. He closes his eyes, reeling himself back in and meeting Namjoon’s instead, which carries—confusion and surprise.
“So Taehyung and Jimin aren’t dating?”
“What?” The two had looked just about ready to kill each other. At least Jimin had, while the man—Taehyung, he’d remember that— had laughed like a maniac and held a knife against Hoseok’s pulse point. He rubs against his skin, still feeling the phantom edges of the blade. “No, definitely not. Or maybe—I—I don’t know. I’m just finding out my best friend was an assassin. I guess he could be having some assassin…lovers.”
Namjoon snorts. “They were far from that. Really infuriating, those two.” He chews on his bottom lip. “Okay. That’s not what matters here.” He clears his throat, looking away. He’s handsome, in a rugged, unusual way—not the typical beauty, like Jungkook or Jimin, but charming nonetheless. Hoseok’s always had a thing for unusual faces. They usually speak of history. “Look, Hoseok-ssi—I’ll be honest with you.”
“I guess that’s a start.”
“I’m not sure how or why you’re here. Or what the connection is. All I’ve been told is to keep you here, until…further notice.”
“That’s so…reassuring,” Hoseok deadpans, and Namjoon fights a smile. Hoseok can make out a dimple. “So you don’t know either.”
“Maybe if I find Jimin, I can ask—”
Hoseok grabs hold of Namjoon’s hand, startling him. “Jimin’s here?”
“I—yes. Well, he went out on a…trip. But he should be back soon. Why?”
His omega clamours, banging against his rib cage. Where is he where is our Soul Mate bring him back BRING HIM BACK. Hoseok breathes through the hope, the bitterness of it. “Just—a familiar face, I guess.”
“Maybe so. Let’s see,” Namjoon says, then stands up suddenly, dusting off his pants. “I’ve been here long enough. I should get going— what?”
Hoseok’s driven his nails into Namjoon’s wrist, holding onto him. Desperation burns acrid in his mouth, his heart thundering—Namjoon can’t leave. Hoseok will go mad if he’s alone again, and with what he knows now. He looks up, and searches for hope. Watches the conflict in Namjoon’s eyes.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, a little pathetic, a lot scared. “Please. I can’t—I can’t take it.”
Should he be this way with a stranger, someone he’s just met? There are no clear answers, but Hoseok’s always trusted his wolf and right now, it thrives in Namjoon’s presence. The heat and pain don’t feel so bad, and Hoseok will take it.
“Okay,” Namjoon exhales, gently removing Hoseok’s fingers. He doesn’t drop it, and Hoseok stares at it, the sensation of it settling on his skin. It feels like home—and he can’t explain it, except that he knows when something is beyond logic. “I can’t stay but I promise—I’ll visit. You won’t be alone for long. Okay?”
Hoseok doesn’t want him to go—but the gentleness in Namjoon’s eyes promises safety.
It’s been a long time since Hoseok’s had that. And so, he gives in.
🖤⚔🖤
Warm red, green and orange flickers behind his eyelids, with the occasional flash of blue. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will darkness into them. It proves futile because try as he might—images blur across, and as he focuses on the colours—his brain begins waking up, the smells and sounds coming alive.
The sensations on his skin: cheap motel cotton on his arms, a rough pillow under his cheek smelling faintly of lavender, oranges and detergent. As Jimin blinks awake, he realises several things at once.
He’s on a clean bed wearing clothes. His thighs chafe together and his slit is sore, each move sending a slight throb of pain. Worse—he can smell the faint infusion of oranges with lavender lingering about.
The late morning sun filters in through the blinds, lighting up the room. Jimin looks around, trying to pick it apart. A pile of rumpled sheets lie in the corner smelling overwhelmingly of slick, cum and sweat. He looks away—and his eyes catch on a broad back, the figure packing something into a bag.
Taehyung looks like how Jimin feels—clean, fresh and dressed well. He stiffens when Jimin shuffles in bed and turns around. Exhaustion lines his face—bags hang under his eyes, his usually luscious lips cracked and dry. His face is expressionless. “Oh. You’re finally up.”
Blank, listless, stating the blandest thing in the room. Jimin gulps, looking back down at himself; he’s dressed. Who got him these clothes? Why does he—why does he feel so clean? He’s always been messy after a heat. Yet, his omega doesn’t pick up on it—it’s calm, quiet. As if everything is right.
He clenches his fists. No, it’s not. He gets out, rushing to the bathroom where he checks in the mirror and—his neck is bare. Had he hallucinated the whole thing then? Had it all been a dream? Possible—except it doesn’t explain Taehyung getting into a rut as soon as Jimin got into a heat.
Jimin looks up in the mirror again. His neck is ravaged with hickeys, some scratches—that’s normal. Taehyung was always gentle, but getting carried away was inevitable in a rut. No, they definitely shared a cycle—he can feel it in his slit and cock, both chafed dry.
Behind him, Taehyung appears, leaning against the bathroom door and crossing his arms. He’s wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, and Jimin can see a fresh pain patch stark against his neck. Now that Jimin knows—he can’t look away. Taehyung catches his gaze and sighs.
“The Mark won’t exist for you until you receive a Bite from me,” Taehyung murmurs, before pushing off. “Get ready. We should leave soon.”
He turns around, and something desperate claws itself out of Jimin’s belly; he wants Taehyung to stay. Suffer. Explain. Something, except that blankness. “What did you do to me?”
Taehyung halts. “Sorry?”
“You,” Jimin turns around, clamping a hand around his mating gland and pointing a finger at him. “You used me for the last wave of your rut, didn’t you?”
The alpha stays, before turning around slowly. “What?”
“Be honest,” Jimin spits, and for a split moment, it’s almost like he’s out of his body, observing himself saying this. It’s so vile, and yet. “What did you do? Why am I in these—who did this?”
Taehyung’s mouth drops slightly. Then it merges into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. “Are you joking right now?”
“I’m very much not,” Jimin says, stepping close. Taehyung smells freshly showered, his usual notes of lavender coming through minus the musk, thank fuck. “Something happened last night. I remember passing out. You were at the edge of a rut wave. I’m well within my rights to ask.”
He’s being unfair, he knows it. Of all the alphas Jimin has to be scared of, Taehyung is the last one of them. At least, not for something like this. He is scared though, and that is a valid excuse, isn’t it?
Taehyung’s eyes shutter, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. When he opens his eyes, anger lines them—along with hurt. “Out of all the things, Jimin. You seriously can’t be thinking that.”
Shame licks at his heart. “Don’t turn this on me—”
“You’d think that low of me,” Taehyung spits, low and cutting. Then he deflates as if he doesn’t have the energy to hold so much anger. “Shit. That hurts.” A pause. Then the alpha chuckles. “I guess we have changed.”
Then he walks away, shoving his wallet into his pockets and taking the duffel bag with him. “I did the best I could with the washcloth. Perhaps a shower would be better. Meet me in the lobby when you’re done.”
The door’s click feels like a nail in a coffin.
He doesn’t end up showering—Taehyung had done a good job cleaning Jimin thoroughly. How he’d managed that in the middle of a rut, he’s not sure— but Jimin feels clean. He switches his pyjamas for jeans, wincing as they rub against his still-sensitive skin. His inner thighs are a sight to behold, covered in blue, red and purple. Brief flashes of the cycle emerge—Taehyung between his legs, sucking into his skin. Caressing it with those long fingers, sliding it up his slit and around his cock—
Nope. Nope, not a single thought will be spared. Jimin is an omega recovering from heat. No sex. No. He pulls up his jeans hastily, thinking of practically everything but Taehyung in a rut.
The room is bare when he looks back—plain, though there is a collected bowl of shards in a corner next to the sheets. Right. Jimin had tried to smash something on Taehyung’s face. He shuts the room without a second glance, too overwhelmed—and not enough space to process what happened.
Too much had, that’s the problem.
The motel is decent— Taehyung had chosen well. As he nears the lobby, he smells Taehyung and the low exchanges of conversation. When he rounds the corner, a lovely sight greets his eyes.
Taehyung leaning over the reception desk, chin tucked in his hands as he speaks with the receptionist—an omega, by the smell of her floral scent. She giggles, ringing up the bill and blushing to her roots.
Jimin hates her immediately.
It’s silly, feeling jealous—and also new. Back at camp, Jimin had never cared—Taehyung hadn’t been his, not on the surface at least. He could flirt all he wanted, but Jimin knew at the end of the day, Taehyung would come slinking back to him and him alone. He didn’t have to worry.
He doesn’t have to now, either— but his wolf rises, snarling as they watch Taehyung. The green lick of envy courses through his veins, and now that he knows Taehyung can smell his emotions—he catches it when Taehyung gets the scent. How he stiffens, eyes briefly glancing sideways before ignoring Jimin—as if he doesn’t exist.
Okay then.
The alpha hands over a wad of cash, thanking the receptionist and bowing, before walking out without waiting for Jimin. He walks fast, towards a lone rental car parked in front. Jimin rushes behind, the foreboding feeling of guilt threatening to consume him.
Taehyung gets into the car wordlessly, backing out in reverse silently. Jimin stares ahead, arms crossed but nails digging through his sweater; it already smells good. And it also smells…blank.
They’re not going to talk about it.
Goddess, is this how Taehyung had felt every time Jimin had run away? When Taehyung tried to talk to Jimin but he’d ignore it? Wait, had he even hinted at it at all? Did he ever plan on telling him?
I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know.
So Jimin wasn’t supposed to know. This is a fluke in Taehyung’s big plans and as usual, Jimin’s a burden once again. Hallelujah.
Taehyung follows the directions on the car’s GPS screen, stopping at a small café after half an hour. It’s remote, a small town within the larger Daegu city, and it feels safe—it’s far away enough from the estate. Taehyung gets out, leaning against the door as he takes a cigarette out. Jimin watches him blow out the smoke rings, ash it out, and repeat.
Stupid fucking moron. Jimin hates how pretty Taehyung looks, the bane of his life. And because he’s Park Jimin, unable to hold himself back— he gets out, standing close to Taehyung—deliberately.
“You mind moving?” Taehyung asks, his voice stiff.
“I do.”
The alpha hisses. “Jimin, don’t start.”
“Start what?” Jimin looks up at him from under his eyes. “I’m just standing. Can’t I do that?”
“There’s the whole fucking field around you,” Taehyung snarks and Jimin shrugs. If they can’t be direct, maybe they can irritate each other into talking. Jimin’s creatively petty. “Stand somewhere else.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Jimin—” Taehyung stops. Smashes the leftover stick with the heel of his boot. “If I move, will you follow me?”
“Yes,” Jimin says, crossing his arms. He leans against the door, shoulder brushing against Taehyung. A bead of thrill slides down his spine. “I need a big alpha to protect me so soon after my heat.”
“Moon above, you’re fucking infuriating,” Taehyung mutters, taking another stick out. Hmm, he’s stressed. Jimin plucks it from his fingers, flinging it away. “What the fuck?”
“I don’t like the smell.”
“Then stand fucking away—” Taehyung sighs. “Jimin. Please?”
Jimin studies his fingernails. “Not until you talk to me.”
“I can’t,” Taehyung pleads. “Please, not—now. I can’t, okay? Give me a break.”
“That’s the last thing I should be giving you,” Jimin replies hotly, though a part of him feels the pinch. Probably his weak-as-shit omega, falling over upsetting ‘their’ alpha again. Moon above, Taehyung is his destined mate. It still refuses to settle in. “Don’t you think you’ve hidden long enough?”
Taehyung’s eyes shutter. “Jimin-ah, I told you—”
“It’s not enough and you know it,” Jimin says, the anger rising. He’s not yet sure where that wave will crash, or on who. “Avoid it all you want. You know it, I know it. I deserve the truth.”
Silence rings between them. The noon sun blazes above. Taehyung chuckles weakly. “I guess you’re not getting it now, then.”
Then he walks away, taking out a pack and smoking in the distance. Stubborn little motherfucker.
Eerily enough, a bustling red truck pulls up next to theirs—and out comes Yoongi. Fucking fantastic. It’s been, what—two months?—and Jimin’s Pack Alpha has changed. Leaner, paler—more serious, and that’s saying something for Yoongi.
“Hi, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says, and the gravelly pitch of his voice is a soothing balm. Jimin has missed him. “You look well.”
“Of course, I do,” Jimin says loudly, smiling tightly. “Got my brains fucked out and everything.”
Taehyung hisses in the distance, and Jimin smiles. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, before shrugging. “Crass as ever. Already feels like home.” He’s dressed inconspicuously, in a thick hoodie and pyjamas.
“What’s with the truck?”
“Borrowed it from a farmer. Didn’t want anyone to follow. I’ll return it on the way back.”
They wait as Taehyung comes around, hands in his pocket.
“Hey, hyung,” Taehyung greets, and Jimin realises again, how close Taehyung and Yoongi were. Are. Hyung is my Soul Mate. Right, that’s another thing he needs to ask questions about. “Looking chirpy.”
“I should not be awake at noon,” Yoongi grumbles, shuffling forward towards the café and sitting outside. “Could cut this tension with a knife. That’s exactly how I wanted my morning to go, really.”
“You brought this upon yourself,” Jimin blurts, and the tension is thick, swirling under his tongue. “Don’t act so surprised.”
“I’m not. This is small talk,” Yoongi states calmly, casually going through the menu. “Can’t ask Taehyung how he felt fucking your brains out, now, can I?”
Heat climbs up his neck into his cheeks; Taehyung snorts next to him, resolutely looking away. His lips twitch into a smile. The nerve of him. Jimin slaps Yoongi’s hand. “Hyung!”
“Back to normal. That’s all I had to do, Jiminie?” Yoongi teases and Jimin hates this. He hates how much he wants to reply, refute—he’s angry. He’s furious at being played around with. And yet, his omega purrs inside, recognising their Pack Alpha. “What’s going on between you two?”
Taehyung looks up. “Huh?”
“He’s pissed,” Yoongi says, nodding at Jimin. Great, Yoongi turning his psychoanalysing on him. “And it’s not at me, even though he should be. Or will be, in the future.”
“Damn, you do know him,” Taehyung murmurs, crossing his arms. Everyone’s defensive today, fucking fantastic. “Nothing’s going on. That’s probably how Jimin is on a normal day.”
Oh, he’s on. “And how am I on a normal day, Taehyung?”
“An infuriating little shit,” Taehyung snaps, then schools his face into nonchalance. “Presumably, of course.”
Jimin’s just about had it. They’re all dragging things through the mud; what’s one more? “I guess on normal days I don’t find out I have a True Mate.”
Yoongi spits out his coffee.
Taehyung whips his head, eyes burning with irritation. Good. “Jimin.”
“And I certainly don’t find out that he’s been hiding it from me for thirteen-fucking-years, but hey. I guess that’s just me on a normal day.”
“Holy fucking shit,” Yoongi gasps, thumping his chest. That’s the most emotion Jimin’s going to see from his stoic ass. “What the fuck?”
“Oh, sorry, hyung. I forgot I had an audience,” Jimin says sweetly. He sips at his coffee, breaking off the tea cake. Banana walnut, Jimin’s favourite. Of course, Yoongi remembered. Jimin’s going to pay him back in petty, though. “How are you?”
“No, no, let’s stay right here,” Yoongi says, leaning back and watching them keenly. He chuckles to himself, rubbing his face. Points a finger at Taehyung. “Now it makes sense. All of it.”
Taehyung deflates, ruffling his hair. “Hyung, c’mon.”
“A bit of everything, my ass,” Yoongi mutters, and Jimin frowns. “A True Mate, are you fucking serious?”
“Hyung, please,” Taehyung says, his voice cracking—just barely, but it’s there. Both pick up on it. “Not now. I’m begging you.”
Taehyung never begs.
Except for that one time, Jimin had turned his back on him. Maybe he doesn’t have a right to feel betrayed when that’s all both of them have ever known.
Yoongi is a better human, because he shrugs, clapping his hands. “Okay. Back to business. I have the perfect distraction.” He winces. “Let’s all focus on Hoseok.”
“Yes, let’s do that,” Jimin says, jumping at the opportunity. Taehyung exhales in relief, and Jimin knows a losing battle when he sees it. He also has some empathy—it’s there somewhere, under layers of self-righteous anger. There is too much between all three of them and what happened before the heat that Jimin’s sure none of them are ready for. “We know where he is now.”
“You do?” Yoongi frowns, biting into his sandwich. “You know what the catacombs are?”
“My guess is the one back home,” Taehyung adds, fluffing the back of his hair. Yoongi looks confused. “It’s like an underground structure built under the entire estate. If Abbeoji is—” He stops short. Gulps, then squeezes his hands into a fist. “If Joonjae spoke of them, I think it’s a good place to start.”
Neither of them points out the hitch in Taehyung’s throat at Joonjae’s mention. Jimin and Yoongi exchange a quick glance and look away. He clears his throat instead. “The catacombs are huge, though. He could be anywhere in them.”
“Say, when did you come to the Min Estate, hyung?”
“About a week or so ago. Maybe longer, I’m not sure. Why?”
Taehyung curses. “Oh, fuck. Maybe that’s the prisoner Abbeoji was speaking about.”
“Prisoner?” Jimin asks, frowning. Then he remembers. Namjoon had talked about it too. “Oh, right! Namjoon-hyung had said he was preparing one of the cells.”
“The timing seems close enough,” Taehyung murmurs. “He could be anywhere, but at least we have a location. If Namjoon-hyung tells me, maybe we can find Hoseok faster.”
“You think he won’t?” Jimin asks, and Taehyung shrugs. “He wouldn’t blow our cover, will he?”
Taehyung bites his lip. “I don’t know. I’d like to think he won’t but…I honestly don’t fucking know with my family anymore.”
He sounds…disappointed. His scent smells like it too, though his face doesn’t betray an inch of emotion. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but Jimin shakes his head. Not now.
“We can try,” Jimin says, reaching out and squeezing Taehyung’s shoulder. The alpha stiffens, before relaxing. His omega yips. “We’ll have to be discreet regardless. Time is of the essence now.”
“It really fucking is,” Yoongi mutters, sighing. When he drops his hands, he looks pained. “You guys are not going to like this.”
For Yoongi to say it…Jimin knows he won’t give bad news for the heck of it. Realistic to a fault, but never unkind. Jimin prepares himself. “What is it?”
Yoongi opens his mouth—before pressing it into a line. He flexes his fists, tilting his neck side to side. Nervous. Afraid. Jimin can’t smell it but he can feel it, his wolf responding in kind.
The alpha sighs again. “I think—I think Joonjae is—Feral.”
A gust of wind makes its way through, the wind chimes tinkering in the sun. Yet, the sounds all seem far away—as if Jimin is underwater. “What?”
“It’s just a guess,” Yoongi continues hastily, looking troubled. “I could be wrong. Goddess, I hope I am.”
“What makes you…think that?” Taehyung starts carefully, voice tight with—something. It hits Jimin belatedly how much Taehyung has had to find out in the last couple of days.
“I did a paper on it briefly,” Yoongi starts, scratching around his thumb. “Information on it is tightly controlled by the King. So I might not be accurate but—”
“Hyung, spit it out,” Taehyung snaps. Yoongi deflates.
“His eyes are red,” Yoongi whispers, and Jimin jolts. So he’d seen right. He hadn’t been hallucinating after all. “And he smells—I don’t know if you’ve smelt it but it’s almost as if—”
“He’s a dead man walking,” Jimin says, and Yoongi points a finger at him. Jimin groans into his hands, rubbing his face. Goddess, what a mess. “Oh, Moon above. Isn’t it a sickness of our wolves?”
“Yep. Apparently happens when there is enough of a fracture between the wolf and human components,” Yoongi adds. “The wolf is affected. They act out, and it only gets worse. Supposedly—shapeshifting can be possible.”
“Holy shit, Taehyung,” Jimin gasps, squeezing his biceps. “That’s why I couldn’t kill him. The poison would have been too weak for him.”
Taehyung’s mouth drops into an O. “Well. That’s a bummer.”
“If he’s truly Feral,” Jimin starts, twisting his fingers into knots. His stomach feels the same. “I can’t kill him by myself.”
“You don’t have to either,” Taehyung murmurs, tongue poking his cheek. “We don’t have enough information.” Then he smiles, shaking his head. “But Namjoon-hyung will.”
Right. The walking-talking encyclopaedia. And as a beta, he’d be a strategist.
“Okay, sounds good,” Yoongi says, holding his hands up. “But who the fuck is Namjoon?”
“Oh, right. He’s my brother. The middle one.”
“Moon, how many siblings do you have?”
“Just the two.” Pause. “We adore each other so much.”
“Ah, that’s why I knew about them,” Yoongi snarks. Taehyung grins.
“Aw, hyung. You never asked,” Taehyung pouts. They seem to be walking around the issue of being…siblings as well. “Just kidding. I wanted you all to myself.”
“Fucking brat,” Yoongi mutters, though he sounds fond. Jimin feels very much out of the loop, and he’s spent the most time with Yoongi. “Anyway. So. You need more information on the feral sickness. And then you need an actual plan if you want to get out of this alive.”
“Abbeoji needs to die,” Taehyung concludes, eyes narrowed and dark. “He’s done too much to get away with this anymore. As long as he’s is alive, none of us will ever be free—or safe.”
“He’s done worse than the mating?” Yoongi asks, and Taehyung’s eyes shutter. He looks away, clenching his fists; Jimin thinks about what Joonjae has done to Namjoon, and their mother—his mate. Who he had assassinated. Yoongi seems to catch on from the long silence and nods. “Got it. Maybe another time.”
The barista announces their order, and Taehyung moves without prompting. He seems to be walking slower than usual, and something tells Jimin it’s deliberate.
Yoongi catches on as well.
“Jimin,” he starts, hand over Jimin’s. It’s rough yet warm, marked with callouses. “You need to know.”
Jimin already anticipates what’s to come. Excuses, explanations—something to make him believe that he’d not been strung along the last ten years. “What is it?”
“He didn’t send you after me,” Yoongi murmurs, tracing Jimin’s knuckles softly. “I was planning on coming to Seoul. He only asked me for a favour.” A pause, and he clears his throat. “It was sheer dumb luck that I ran into you at Yonsei. Or that you were Hoseok’s friend. I promise.”
Yoongi’s voice carries the familiar sincerity that Jimin’s come to believe and trust over the years. And a part of him still does, clashing with another familiar friend: the one that believes the world is out to get him.
“And the part about you being in the mafia?” Jimin asks, meeting Yoongi’s eyes; even then, they shake, a little past Jimin’s shoulder. “When was that going to come out?”
“Seoul was supposed to be a clean slate,” Yoongi says. He ruffles his hair. “You’d get it, won’t you? You made your way over too.”
He doesn’t say it, but Jimin hears it anyway. You were an ex-assassin hiding in plain sight. You lied to us too. We both did things to cover up.
Hard to be mad at someone when Jimin’s equally guilty, perhaps the reason for this mess and his pack getting involved. If Taehyung hadn’t barged into Jimin’s life, how would it have been? If Jimin had come clean from the very start, would Jungkook have come searching even after he left? Would Hoseok be less sick, and safe in the knowledge that Jimin was okay? He knows it’s not his fault, but it’s hard to believe, to separate the facts from the feelings.
“It is what it is,” Jimin says, shrugging, taking his hand away and playing with his rings. “I don’t…hate you. But I’m also not sure how to cope with the fact that, well. My pack alpha, my best friend’s future mate, is also my—” Enemy almost slips out, but it feels wrong. Taehyung isn’t his enemy. Jimin wanted to believe he had been, but that would be a lie. “Is also Taehyung’s friend. Someone who I’d left behind. That’s harder to digest.”
Yoongi hums, staring blankly at the table. Then he nods, once, twice. “I get it. I don’t expect forgiveness—or maybe we can speak about this later. But I’m sorry.” He smiles, albeit a bit sad. “He wanted to know if you were safe and happy. That’s all I told him.”
Jimin looks up, heart sputtering and something warm fluttering to life inside his chest, but before he can dig and ask what do you mean—Taehyung comes by, a tray full of their food in both hands. He seems to know they talked, but doesn’t ask; instead, he settles down, serving Jimin his order and going about the motion—coffee with cream, two sachets of sugar. It’s so mindless that Jimin doesn’t even ask how he remembers.
“I’ve been thinking,” Taehyung starts after a while, tongue poking out as he swirls the whipped cream. “The way to get Abbeoji down and out. We need Jin-hyung for this.”
Jimin chokes on his sandwich. “Excuse me?”
“Hear me out,” Taehyung says, holding a finger. “I know what you’re thinking. Daddy’s little prince and all that. But that’s exactly why he will be helpful.”
“Your weird family dynamics aside,” Yoongi remarks, leaning forward. “How?”
“Jin-hyung’s is Abbeoji’s favourite,” Taehyung starts, eyes gleaming a bit. “Always has been. First son and all that. Of course, the day he presented as omega, Abbeoji resorted to being a massive dick about it.”
“So Seokjin-ssi will hate him?”
“No, he’s been pathetically trying to win his favour ever since,” Taehyung grumbles, rolling his eyes. Except his lips twitch down as if he is sad about it. “Abbeoji never looked down on him in front of everyone else. Always between us. Jin-hyung has a lot of sway within the camp because of it—he basically runs the show, but gets none of the recognition he deserves.”
“Joonjae’s winning the Father of the Year award isn’t he,” Yoongi mutters, shaking his head. Taehyung presses his lips into a line. “Okay. So what I’m hearing is if we have Seokjin-ssi on our side, it would tip our winning chances?”
“I’m sure of it,” Taehyung says, taking a big bite out of his burger. “Our only problem is that Jin-hyung is too…hmm, attached to Abbeoji’s opinion of him.”
“Ah. Because of a lifetime of trying to get his attention?”
“And approval, yep.” Taehyung licks the sauce off his thumb, and Jimin looks away. He’d guessed as much about Seokjin, but to hear it confirmed…a part of him pangs for the omega, strangely enough. Now that he knows how vile Joonjae is, even someone like Seokjin deserves better. “So he’s wilfully blind to a lot of shit. Idiot.”
“So how do you propose winning him over?” Jimin asks, sipping at his cup. Taehyung chews carefully. He looks at Jimin, then Yoongi. Swallows.
“I know it comes across as Jin-hyung is Abbeoji’s number one supporter,” he starts, drumming his fingers on the table. “And in some ways, he is. But I’ve grown up watching them. And I know that he’s suffering too.”
“Okay, but that still doesn’t—”
“And it’s only going to get worse,” Taehyung pushes through. “He’s going to get Jin-hyung to mate you, and he’ll never tell him about it. It’s going to kill him.” He tilts his head, sighs. “Especially with Jungkook-ssi being his True Mate.”
They would be able to hear a pin drop in the wake of the silence; Jimin stares at Taehyung, who is staring at Yoongi—who is watching them both, mouth aghast. And that’s saying something.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says after a moment. Slurps in an abnormal amount of Americano. “What?”
“I figured you should know.”
Yoongi turns towards Jimin, who looks down. This is the worst. Why is everyone calmly dropping truth bombs as they wish? What happened to the pacing of the plot? “Jimin-ah, what?”
“It’s weird,” Jimin says, then winces. Way to go, 10/10 with the narration. “We discovered it by accident.”
“Moon above,” Yoongi swears, leaning forward and rubbing his face. “How is everyone and their fucking mom having a True Mate? What is this, a mate bazaar?”
“Well, it’s not that big of a deal. Namjoon-hyung said true mates aren’t rare; they just aren’t found,” Jimin parrots, though he echoes what Yoongi feels. All at once, everyone seems to be having a destined mate, including him. The Moon Goddess’s sick idea of a joke, apparently. “In any case. It’s true. Jungkook got captured by Seokjin-hyung and he almost killed him, which is when the Bond kicked in.”
Yoongi chokes on his coffee again. He thumps his chest. “Moon, give me a moment,” he wheezes, eyes wide and neck red. Jimin feels bad for dropping so much on top of everything else. “What the actual fuck. This is so—” Yoongi pauses, shaking his head and pinching his wrist a couple of times. “Wait. Did you say captured?”
“That’s what I’m assuming. Never did get the whole story out of him, now that I remember.” Not to mention, he still hasn’t met Jungkook. Seokjin had told him he was safe, but where is he? “Look, hyung, I’m sorry for dropping all this on you right now but Jungkookie is still out pack mate—”
“Goddess, no wonder my tracking led me to that barren fucking town,” Yoongi comments under his breath. Jimin exchanges a look with Taehyung. “That’s close to your estate. Isn’t it?” Taehyung nods, and Yoongi chuckles. “That punk. Running off and getting himself into goddess knows what.”
Jimin straightens. “Tracking?”
“Hob-ah was getting worse,” Yoongi says, looking into the distance. “Doctor said familiar pack mates would help. That’s why we ended up all the way here. I figured I could look for you both. But the tracking wasn’t reliable.” He inhales, looking up at the ceiling. “I thought home would have more traditional healers, so I took a chance. Found out my dad is dead, then Hobi got taken. And here we are, in this nice café with overpriced coffee.”
Jimin stares at him. Taehyung blinks, hands crossed. Yoongi looks at them both without an expression. Finally, Taehyung clears his throat.
“This is fucked,” he says.
And Jimin laughs. Tired, incredulous and confused— and Yoongi joins in with his throaty cat chuckles. Taehyung snorts to himself, fiddling with a paper straw.
“Eloquent,” Yoongi says, once they’re done. They’re all running on leftover adrenaline, a bucket full of secrets and little sleep. It was meant to catch up someday. “I feel like we all need to sit and, like, exchange notes.”
“Family therapy, how innovative,” Jimin huffs, and the other two snort again. “But that’s a long way to go. First is coming back on track and planning how we can get out of this alive, so we can sit for notes exchange.”
“Good point,” Taehyung says, pushing back his jacket sleeves. “As I said—if we want to do something about Abbeoji, Jin-hyung needs to be on our side. If not involvement, at least no interference.”
“So essentially, ask him to turn a blind eye towards us.”
“Yes. We can’t do this without him not knowing because he always finds a way. He can get any kind of information out.” Jimin doesn’t refute that. The lengths to which Seokjin went just to prove that Jimin lied and knew Jungkook—he’s not an omega to get on the bad side of. “If he knows, we have to make sure he doesn’t go running to Abbeoji. So we need to figure that out.”
“Okay. Now you make sense,” Yoongi says, scratching under his chin. “Okay. Here’s what I’m thinking.”
“Shoot.”
“First step—we get Hoseok out. He’s the main bargaining chip Joonjae has over me at the moment,” Yoongi states calmly. Taehyung nods. “You both know where these catacombs are. If I go, it’ll raise suspicion. So I should stay back and hold the fort down—play along with my mother and her plans—while you get him out safely.”
“That’s not bad at all,” Jimin comments, and Yoongi bows. “What will you do here until then?”
“I’ll see what else she and Joonjae are planning. He said something about merging the Min and Kim Clans through the union. I can find out more about that, and see how it could play along in our future moves.”
“Okay. What else?” Without knowing, both of them look toward Yoongi to guide them. Jimin wonders if it’s Yoongi’s intrinsic nature to lead as an alpha coming through.
“You scout your side of things. Figure out how to keep Hoseok safe. If Joonjae is feral, my guess is his mood is not reliable. So try not to push him or anything. Be absolutely sure of where Hoseok is being kept, who guards him, what the timings are. Should it come to it, we should be able to take him away when we need to.”
They all meet each other’s eyes—and nod. Something alights in between—Jimin can’t see or name it, but there is an understanding between their wolves, a promise they’ll see through. He’s afraid of naming it—but it could be hope. For what, he’s not sure yet.
“Okay, hyung. We’ll keep in touch through a burner; I’ll keep you posted on any updates from our ends.” Taehyung then slides an arm across, and clasps Yoongi’s hand. “It’s good to be working together again.”
Yoongi smiles. “It’s good to see you too, brat.”
🖤⚔🖤
In the dark with a fluorescent tube light, telling time apart becomes an impossible endeavour.
Hoseok’s not sure how many days have passed, but the highlight of his time is when Namjoon visits. It’s become his new clock, and so far, Namjoon has visited seven times. So perhaps seven days have passed since he woke up.
It makes the passing of time all the more bearable.
With Namjoon comes the promise of safety, though not as intense as Yoongi’s used to be. Somewhere, his omega craves the presence, Namjoon’s soft scent of sandalwood more soothing than Yoongi’s pine. It still hasn’t put the weakness at ease—he eats, Namjoon brings fresh fruits along sometimes—but his wolf still wants Pack around—and doesn’t let up on it.
“You’re not getting better,” Namjoon says, frowning as he places a bowl of fruits in front. “Is this not helping? Do you need—medicines?”
“I don’t know,” Hoseok replies, chewing the banana carefully. It’s a struggle, but at least he can have solids now. He remembers Yoongi feeding him liquid mush at one point. “I do feel weak, though. Hollow, almost.”
Namjoon frowns some more, tilting his head. He’s quite handsome—though with an unconventionally attractive face—or aura, maybe. Hoseok looks down, ashamed.
“Hollow? Like a void?” Namjoon asks, and Hoseok nods. Void makes sense. He hadn’t been prepared when Jimin had left without a warning, and then Yoongi had informed him about Jungkook leaving too. His life had changed overnight. “Did you— do you have a pack?”
“I do—did,” Hoseok murmurs. They’d never applied for official pack status—Yoongi had been waiting for Jungkook to clear his first year of training. They were in no hurries, their bond cemented between wolves. A government document wouldn’t change that. “I started feeling this way after—that night. It kept getting worse. Hot and cold? I couldn’t tell.”
“Hmm.” Namjoon scratches under his chin. “Okay, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this but—do you know what dry heats are?”
Hoseok frowns. He has heard of them…but not quite. “Sort of. Why?”
“Is it okay if I…?” Namjoon asks, raising his palm to Hoseok’s face. It’s vast but lean at the same time. Long, like the rest of him. “Just to check.”
He nods, and Namjoon places the back of his hand against Hoseok’s; it feels cool, refreshing. He finds himself leaning into it, embarrassingly enough, but passes it off as weakness. He’s allowed that.
It’s too fucking lonely in this big dark room sometimes, that’s all.
“Yep, you’re running a heat fever,” Namjoon says, lips pressed into a line as he trails fingers across, at certain pressure points. It should be intimate, but it feels rather clinical. Hoseok needs to stop clinging to the barest attention. “Dry heats are basically distress heats. Omegas have them when they’re in severe…distress, and need to return to their basal instincts for survival.”
“Oh.” He remembers how hot and strange he felt, but so dry—not the typical heat symptoms. He didn’t want to fuck anyone, that’s for sure. “How—how do you know all this? You don’t—um. Come across as an omega. No offence.”
“Why would I be offended?” Namjoon smiles, a little teasing, and Hoseok’s cheeks flush. It’s just because there’s another person and you’re lonely. This is just your wolf. “I’m not. Not that omegas can’t be bigger or taller, to be fair.”
“Right. Of course, not.”
“I wanted to become a healer actually,” Namjoon volunteers after a while, though he doesn’t confirm if he’s an alpha or a beta. Hoseok’s tempted to typecast, but that would be a disservice. After all, Yoongi looks far from an alpha but is one. “I know. Strange career choice for an assassin camp, huh?”
“Well. I guess people get hurt a lot here? So a healer is needed.”
“You’re right. But I…wouldn’t have been able to,” Namjoon says, a little wistfully, eyes dropping down. “Anyway. I wanted to become one because Seokjin-hyung, my brother—wasn’t allowed to visit the camp healer. Had to figure it out on his own. So I wanted to learn for him.”
“That’s…awfully nice,” Hoseok says, popping in a grape now. “And thoughtful. Very sweet.”
Namjoon shrugs. A dimple pops out as he fights back a shy smile. “Hyung’s always looked out for me in his own way. As an omega, he got…unnecessary flak for it. It’s silly, because being an omega has made him one of the best fighters out there.” Then his eyes widen, and he bows hastily. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to hear me praising…killers.”
His attention and consideration takes Hoseok by surprise. Whatever he’s read about assassins has been varying degrees of ruthlessness and depraved immorality; this level of gentleness…No. Don’t buy into it. Remember, he’s still kept you in this basement. Be careful.
It sounds a lot like Yoongi’s voice.
“I’m…he’s your brother, right?” Namjoon nods. Hoseok shrugs too. “You’re allowed to praise your brother. Or admire him, I guess.”
“Right.” Namjoon borrows an apple slice. “Anyway—I studied a bit of omega health for him. Coming in handy now.” Then he hums carefully. “Actually, I think Jin-hyung might have some herbs that could help you. I’ll get them along next time.”
Hoseok’s stomach flips lazily at that. “Are you sure? Won’t you get…in trouble for it?”
“For helping you? Nah,” Namjoon chuckles, ruffling his hair. “I’m invisible around camp. Unnoticed, as long as I don’t create trouble.”
He wants to ask what trouble looks like for someone as gentle-seeming as Namjoon—but it doesn’t feel right. His omega cautions him. He picks at his skin through the horrible hospital gown.
“I think Yoongi had taken me out to find a better doctor,” Hoseok says after a while, bringing his knees to his chest. “I don’t know where he is now.”
Namjoon doesn’t ask about Yoongi. He focuses instead on Hoseok. “You were brought in from Daegu.” Hoseok frowns at that. Daegu? “Is…this Yoongi from there?”
“Yeah, that’s his hometown,” Hoseok confirms. “It doesn’t make sense, you know.”
“What?”
“Why I have been captured…is it because of Jiminie?”
Namjoon bites his lower lip, troubled. He shrugs, though his mouth is turned downwards. “I don’t know, Hoseok. I wish I did. For what it’s worth though—I am sorry.”
“N-no, it’s fine,” Hoseok murmurs, leaning his head against the wall. It spins, the familiar nausea rising. He gulps water. “Can we speak about something else? This is—a lot.”
“Sure.” Namjoon settles down. “Wanna tell me about Jimin? From university?”
Hoseok opens his eyes. Namjoon has a gentle, encouraging smile on his face, and once again, it echoes safety. He gulps. “From university? Why?”
“Just like that. Jimin was a bit of a loner here.” Namjoon snorts, eyes distant. “Not sure how true this is but sometimes it felt like I was his only friend.”
“He was like that at the beginning,” Hoseok says, smiling to himself. Meeting Jimin in the introductory freshmen orientation week, his wolf was immediately on alert as something clicked in. “Aloof. Closed-off. Barely spoke. But my wolf was stuck on him.”
“Any reason?”
Hoseok bites his lip. Should he tell him? Would that put Jimin in danger…what if this is just a nice guy act again? No, he shouldn’t be so trustworthy. He shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe I take closed-off people as a challenge.”
Namjoon’s eyes glint knowingly, but he doesn’t say anything. “I suppose that’s a good thing. When I met Jimin again—he seemed better. Happier.” A pause. “Free.”
“I guess he took his time thawing out…but once he did, goddess,” Hoseok chuckles weakly. “It was an honour. He and Jungkook were attached at the hip—a riot. And I adored them. I’ve never had younger siblings, so.”
“Ah, to spoil someone younger than you,” Namjoon winks and Hoseok smiles. “I, unfortunately, did not have the same privilege. Taehyung’s younger, but both he and Jin-hyung spoil me.” He shakes his head. “I can’t blame them. I’m a walking hazard sometimes.”
Hoseok needs to remind himself that Taehyung is someone outside of being a cold-blooded killer. As much as he had terrified Hoseok—he is still a person, and Namjoon’s allowed to be fond of him.
“You’ve taken good care of me,” Hoseok ventures, and Namjoon blushes. Cute. “I never said it, did I? Thank you.”
“As long as I’m able to get away with it.” Namjoon stands up, and Hoseok knows it’s time. Another long day has begun. “I’ll come back faster, next time. And with medicines. Don’t worry.”
He probably shouldn’t—but Hoseok has always trusted his wolf.
And his wolf trusts Namjoon.
🖤⚔🖤
Back in the car, the tension of things left unsaid hovers over them.
Taehyung is quiet, one hand on the steering wheel while the other picks at his lips, eyes unfocused and distant. His scent smells slightly sour, which is the only hint Jimin has about Taehyung’s true feelings.
Alpha is sad, his omega informs him, and Jimin doesn’t need its voice anymore to understand. He can smell it, even taste it, and unlike before—Jimin worries.
There is that anger too. It’s a never-ending tug of war, what Jimin thinks he should feel versus how he really does. For all intents and purposes, Jimin should be fuming. Enraged, claws out and teeth baring. So much has happened in the last week alone that he wouldn’t even know where to start if he does.
True mates. Soul mates. The whole thing with Taehyung’s real mom—how Yoongi ties into this. How he ended up in Jimin’s life because of a favour. How, in the end, though Jimin tried to distance himself—fate caught up to him anyway.
He tries to contain himself instead, to keep aloof and unbothered—but that’s the thing about destined mates. If Jimin can read Taehyung—so can he. Only he has been able to for much longer.
All those times that Taehyung would somehow know Jimin was in danger, and come for him. Responding to Jimin’s distress calls, begging him to keep shut—not for others but really, for himself. The way he’d checked out at the Min Estate, and got back only because Jimin’s omega had asked.
Hands off my mate!
Perhaps an instinctive reaction—but Jimin can’t forget the way Taehyung had looked: livid, and protective. Through the daze of the heat, his scent had smelt like a promise.
And now, it’s nowhere to be found.
Jimin’s omega whines in muted distress eventually, and Taehyung responds once again. “Jimin-ah, please. Stop.”
A retort is there on the tip of his tongue but Jimin swallows it down. He uncrosses his legs, fingers drumming his thighs. “I can’t.”
They fly past the first of the reed fields. “You’re not even trying.”
“Why do I have to?” Jimin snaps, and Taehyung’s nose flares. “I’m not saying anything or asking like you asked. You can’t expect this much from me.”
“You’re not doing me a favour.”
“Oh, but I am,” Jimin says, anger and sorrow curdling together. “We could get this out of the way and get our shit together. I could ask you all the questions I want to. I deserve that, but I’m not.”
“Deserve,” Taehyung mutters, scoffing. “Let’s not go there.”
Jimin turns towards him. “What does that mean?”
“Both of us have a lot of things we think we deserve,” Taehyung states, mouth pressed into a thin line. “And we’re probably not going to get them. So.”
“So, what? I’m not supposed to ask?”
“You can ask. I don’t have to answer.”
“Fucking typical, Taehyung,” Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Everything has to be on your terms, doesn’t it? Everyone else can go fuck themselves.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, that’s how I feel!” Jimin throws his hands in the air. “All these secrets, all these—these lies, this avoidance—my omega doesn’t feel safe. You can’t expect me to be okay with any of this.”
“I’m not—that’s what I want—” Taehyung sighs. “Whatever. It’s not like you’re going to believe me anyway.”
“You haven’t given me a chance—”
“I did last night,” Taehyung murmurs, knuckles white on the wheel. “And you smashed a vase on my face. Forgive me if I don’t trust you right now.”
Jimin stills. “Excuse me?”
“And frankly speaking, we have bigger things to worry about,” Taehyung carries on, hand shaking through his hair. His scent smells all over the place, and Jimin can’t tell how he’s feeling. His omega trashes inside. “It doesn’t matter whether we know the past or not. So just—get over it. And move on.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Jimin asks, turning fully sideways. Taehyung’s on the defence, alert and distanced. It’s worrying, but Jimin’s going to kill him anyway. “Doesn’t matter?”
“I mean, it’s in the past—”
“It doesn’t matter that you lied to me for years?” Jimin spits out and Taehyung stiffens again. He opens his mouth, probably to spout some more bullshit—but Jimin beats him to it. “You lied about us. Whatever you thought you were protecting, but you lied. And not only that,” Jimin adds, turning over his ring. “You sent someone after me. You had him infiltrate my life and check up on me when you had no right.”
The car screeches to a halt, pulling up on the side of the road. The weather is cloudy, with gusts of wind passing through the reed fields and blowing the dust along the road. He faces Jimin, nose flaring. “No right?”
“None whatsoever,” Jimin repeats, unbuckling his belt. “I’m a former assassin colleague of yours. That’s it. You should have left it at that.”
“You were—are—my True Mate,” Taehyung states calmly, but his voice trembles with restrained anger. “I told you, I had no choice.”
Jimin crosses his arms. “True Mate or not. You had no rights to me, and you never will.”
His omega clamours against him, but as always, Jimin feels his words slip out before he can taste them. He regrets it for a moment when he sees Taehyung’s eyes shutter—before he reigns it in.
“Fuck this,” Taehyung mutters, pulling up the hand brake and getting out. He slams the door hard enough that it shudders, and Jimin flinches with it. More than that—he chokes at the acrid cloud of scent Taehyung’s left—angry, helpless, and underneath it—grief.
You’re hurting him when he’s already hurt, his omega cautions and Jimin bites his tongue. When will it ever be on Jimin’s side? Sure, Taehyung’s received a huge shock—but so has Jimin, with no reprieve in between. None of this is his fault.
He feels the guilt anyway.
On impulse, he gets out too, slamming the door. Taehyung’s kicking the road in front, scuffing his feet against the ground. He shakes, and Jimin knows Taehyung when he’s angry. It’s best to leave him alone.
Too bad he’s tired of their bullshit. It’s time to end this insufferable cycle. He reaches behind, pulling Taehyung back by his shoulder; the alpha reacts instinctively—turning Jimin around and twisting his hand behind his back. Jimin isn’t angry for once—he stays, breathing through his mouth. “Let me go.”
“What is your fucking problem,” Taehyung says, growling under his breath in a way that makes Jimin’s heart race with fear. “Can’t you leave me alone for a single fucking moment?”
“No.”
“And why is that? Because curious little Park Jimin can’t stand it when he doesn’t have answers?” Taehyung scoffs, pressing Jimin’s wrist into his lower back.
“No, because you’re being a fucking coward right now and it’s getting on my nerves.”
There’s a beat, two, and then Taehyung chuckles. Each sound is a derisive scrape.
“That’s rich,” Taehyung says, pressing close. Lavender burns unpleasant in Jimin’s throat. “Considering you ran away when shit hit the fan. But sure. I’m a coward because things aren’t going your way.”
“That’s not it.”
“Right. And you’re not a persistent little fucker all the fucking time,” Taehyung growls. “This is what you’re going to get: I figured out you were my True Mate, I knew that was bad news, so I chose to keep shut. It worked out since both of us are alive right now. You’re welcome.”
Jimin’s had enough. He relaxes, before shoving his elbow into Taehyung’s midriff, twisting out from under the alpha when Taehyung stumbles back. He doesn’t give him time to recover; Jimin catches hold of him by the collar and pushes him hard enough against the hood of the car. And then he gets up close and personal.
“That’s not enough and you know it,” Jimin hisses, poking a finger at Taehyung’s chest. “This isn’t some family bullshit you have to hide; this is my life too. You don’t get to call the shots here.”
Taehyung rubs at his chest, his eyes glowering with irritation—and fear. “Jimin—”
“You don’t have to tell me your entire fucking history,” Jimin presses. “I could care less.” A lie. But they’ll both pretend it’s true. “But if I’m your destined mate then I’m involved in your life, whether you like it or not.”
“Not if it hurts you.”
“What, like you care?”
Taehyung narrows his eyes. “It’s not like I have a choice.”
Wow, straight to the heart. No, Jimin doesn’t care. “That’s what you keep saying,” Jimin continues, crossing his arms. “Next you’ll say you ‘chose’ to keep watching while I ‘ran away’.”
“Well, I did,” Taehyung says, tone dropping low. “You only left because I let you.”
“Bullshit. I earned my right to leave.”
“Amazing what you can do with enough time to rewrite your story,” Taehyung muses, something cruel lining his mouth and eyes. Except this time, it doesn’t make Jimin’s blood boil—he can taste the sorrow. For who or what, he doesn’t know. “Earned it? Baby, you could only leave because you didn’t know about the bond.”
“What the fuck are you on about—?”
“If you know about your True Mate, you can’t stay away from them,” Taehyung states calmly. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have been able to leave camp.”
Jimin stills at that, but his mind fights for logic while his omega begs him to see. “So, what? Some sort of bullshit sacrifice?”
“Call it what you want, I don’t fucking care,” Taehyung snaps, but his lips tremble. “I told you, he’d have killed you. I told you we could leave together,” Taehyung says, and Jimin’s blood runs cold. No. Not here, he wouldn’t. “But no. I got punished instead.”
“Taehyung—”
“You know what my biggest regret is?” Taehyung asks, looking down and crossing his arms. “That you’re my True Mate. And that I knew about it.”
Each word is a hot slice against Jimin’s soul. “What—”
“I regret knowing you’re my True Mate because once I knew, it was all I could think about,” Taehyung says, and maybe it’s the dust but his eyes seem red. “And because I knew about it I had to make choices around it. I had to keep you safe. I didn’t have a choice because my wolf was in charge.”
Jimin takes a step back. Taehyung’s still looking at the ground. He wants to say something—but what? How does he respond?
Taehyung clears his throat. “And I didn’t tell you because you’d have been burdened just like me. I couldn’t imagine that for you. So yeah, Park Jimin. I fucking lied, and I’d do it again.”
“You—you can’t—”
“And I’d do it even if it makes you run away again,” Taehyung says, each word punching. “Because that’s all you have ever done and will do. I know my losses when I see them. And I’m a fool, for falling for it over and over again.”
They stare at each other; Jimin’s mind is a swirling mess of questions, regrets and answers. The snippets of the past, the betrayal of the present, and goddess, the ever-present guilt.
None of it makes sense, but all Jimin can think is this morning, and what he said. How he’d been so ready to believe the worst of Taehyung. And he had the audacity to ask for a chance himself. Taehyung was right—Jimin doesn’t understand.
What is he doing, chasing and digging for information so desperately? How would knowing change their past? It all happened thirteen years ago—and maybe knowing would give Jimin some answers— but something tells him that he already knows them—he’s just not ready to face it.
You’d have been burdened just like me, and I can’t imagine that for you.
“I’m sorry.”
It slips out, like ice through his fingers. Taehyung looks up, confused. “What?”
“I don’t know why I’m saying this, but maybe that’s what this is,” Jimin continues. None of this makes sense. But maybe it doesn’t have to. It’s there in Taehyung’s scent, how much he’s keeping inside. “We’ve never been able to tell each other things. I’m tired now, Taehyung.”
The alpha pushes his hair back. “Jimin-ah, what new bullshit are you starting now?”
“You’re right. You have been telling me, I just don’t listen,” Jimin says, stepping closer. Taehyung looks down at him, keeping still. “And I’m sorry for that.”
Taehyung narrows his eyes. “This isn’t like you. What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure,” Jimin says honestly, curling into himself. “You’re sad. Or something like it, and it’s making my wolf act up. And since we’re such great communicators, it came out the way it did.”
They don’t say anything. For the first time, Jimin feels like he’s in the blind—arguing with Taehyung is easy. Staying with him, really paying attention to him—that’s hard.
But they need to start afresh.
“You’re upset and you have been for a long time,” Jimin attempts, his chest feeling too raw. “You’re trying your best. I crossed a line this morning, with what I said about your rut.”
“Jimin.”
“It was low of me, you’re right. I was angry and I took it out on you. Like I—like I always have, I think,” Jimin presses on, looking to the side. “And that’s not fair of me. Not back then, and not now.”
The pause is a heavy weight, pressing down onto his chest and into his stomach—but Jimin pushes through. His omega is right with him.
“I guess I’m angry because I feel like a fool,” Jimin adds after a while. “But what’s making me angrier is that you’re angry too when really, you’re sad. And lying to yourself about it.”
A beat, two. Jimin squares up, meeting Taehyung’s eyes at last. They’re wide, wet with unshed tears, lips trembling. Jimin goes for the final kill.
“So lie to me all you want. But don’t just—don’t lie to yourself. Okay?”
A gust of wind picks up, swirling the sand and gravel under their feet. Jimin’s hair flies all over the place, the brisk winter wind cold in the pockets of warmth.
He holds Taehyung’s eyes the whole time—and watches as Taehyung’s face crumples.
It happens out of the blue, so suddenly that he can’t name it. One moment it’s Taehyung’s stoic face; the next the alpha sobs—sobs, like a child— crouching down on the ground.
Jimin is too stunned to move.
His wolf is panicking, urging him to do something—but Jimin stares. Crouches down, but simply watches. It’s something he’s never seen before.
Taehyung’s sobs aren’t loud—they’re silent, followed by intermitted gasps of air. Tears flow steadily even as the alpha curls into himself, smaller than he ever was. Than he should be.
“I’m tired, Jimin-ah,” he says after a while, sniffling. Jimin shuffles closer. “I’m so fucking tired.”
It’s vulnerable. That’s the difference, the taste of it new between them. Taehyung would never acknowledge any weakness, because, in their line of work, any weakness could be taken advantage of. Right now, however—he looks like he’s giving up. His shoulders are hunched over themselves.
Jimin doesn’t say anything. He instead lays a hand over Taehyung’s, caressing the calloused skin. Taehyung gulps, eyes shuddering close. His nose is red.
“All my life I kept wondering why he’d never fucking look at me,” Taehyung says after a while. “Just one look. That’s all. It was always off to the side, y’know? Get this done. Don’t do that. Seokjin is better even though he’s an omega. Namjoon has the brains. All the fucking time.”
It burst out of him without restraint. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“No, but he made it seem like that, didn’t he?” Taehyung snorts weakly. He opens his eyes then—and Jimin’s heart squeezes. Pink and swollen, shaking in their home. He looks like a Boy, an unloved, sad boy. The kind Jimin used to catch a glimpse of sometimes and cherish. “I was never enough. I thought I could never catch up.” Taehyung stares at Jimin’s hand on his. “Turns out, I really can’t.”
“You weren’t allowed to,” Jimin insists, something festering inside, pushing him towards Taehyung—and it’s not helpless attraction this time. His knees knock against Taehyung’s, and he reaches out, hands breaching past and holding Taehyung’s face in his hands. He’s warm to touch, and so soft. So—breakable. “He didn’t allow you to. It wasn’t your fault, Taehyung. Joonjae is just a massive fucking dick.”
Taehyung holds his gaze. His lips are slightly parted, the lavender now coming out in gentle waves, calm replacing the rotting sadness. Jimin breathes with him. “Then why do I feel like I didn’t do enough?”
His voice is so small. Jimin gulps, rubbing the apples of his cheeks. He can feel it, this moment, embed in his memory and change his life forever.
“Habits take time to die. It’s not like Joonjae taught you better. He’s the one who got his knot wet and blamed it on you.” Jimin strokes his hair carefully, curling it behind his ears. Taehyung instinctively turns his cheek into the palm of his hand. It’s strange, taking care of someone. Especially if that someone is Taehyung—but who else, if not Jimin? Accept it, and you’ll see. Maybe the Moon Goddess had some pull after all. “It might take you time. Actually, it will. But I’m here to remind you.”
Taehyung hums, looking at Jimin with—hope. “Remind me of what?”
“That you’re not just a dispensable soldier,” Jimin says, lip curling as he remembers what Heeyeon had said. He’s a good enough soldier, so it worked out. “You’re Taehyung. You’re an assassin like me, and you know the same things. You’re an alpha, a capable one, no matter whose child you are.”
Taehyung blinks at that, lip trembling. He bites at it as if holding himself back—when he turns to Jimin, he has a smile on. “Capable, huh?”
There it is, the alpha Jimin knows. Goddess, it really had been there all along. Jimin rolls his eyes. “Yes, very. I won’t say it again.”
“But you just said you’ll remind me.”
Jimin twists his lobe and Taehyung yelps in indignation. “Even in sadness, you’re infuriating.”
“You like that,” Taehyung says, before suddenly lowering his eyes. His scent retreats, fluttering. Is he shy? “You do, right?”
Jimin’s wolf responds to the feelers. It’s an odd feeling. His chest is stuffed full as if his heart is expanding with no room to grow. Jimin tastes that tentativeness, the way Taehyung asks like he needs to know he’s still liked. As if Jimin’s opinion of him matters.
“It’s appealing,” Jimin says lightly, smiling when Taehyung’s cheeks bloom pink. It’s a pretty, pretty colour. “Don’t tell me you care about what I think?”
“I do,” Taehyung says, without batting an eyelid. “I always have.”
He shouldn’t be surprised. This morning had been proof enough of how much it did. Still, it’s not something Jimin had been expecting. “What?”
“It’s not a surprise, c’mon,” Taehyung says, not moving—leaning back against the hood of the car, still on the ground. Jimin wants to stay like this even though the gravel is piercing through his jeans. “Why do you think I competed so hard? You were the only one worth it. Kept me alert, too.”
The stuffiness gives way to a thrill. It’s true; Jimin had worked so hard to rise to the top. Taehyung used to piss him off—but that used to keep him going. He had to prove himself, always.
Maybe the two of them aren’t so different, in the end. Both hungry for approval, wanting to prove themselves to the world. Now, somehow caught in this moment, understanding that all the struggle had been for nothing.
It’s mostly that, which has Jimin pressing closer, pulling Taehyung by the chin and kissing him. Slow and soft, none of the rush he’s always felt for him, that urgency of limited time before people (really, shame) caught them. It’s not even pity. Taehyung looks like a Boy and no matter how much he denied it—Jimin’s always had a weakness for that.
He licks in, tasting the salt and lavender, unsure of where they are or what they could be—but this moment right here. That’s all there is for now.
He pulls away, still holding Taehyung’s face in his hands, and it feels precious. Scary, like he’s crossing over into the unknown. Only Taehyung’s eyes ground him, full of wonder and—fear, like his.
“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now,” Jimin murmurs, stroking his cheeks, wiping under his eyes. “I’m not sure if I want to name it even. I do have a lot of questions and I do want answers. That hasn’t changed.”
Taehyung holds on to Jimin’s wrist as if he has all the answers.
“But I won’t run away again,” Jimin continues, and Taehyung’s eyes widen. Jimin can taste the promise for what it is—the truth. “I don’t know the ending but I’d sure like to figure it out. Together.”
They stay like that, two broken and hurt people in the middle of a desolate reed field, filled with unsaid truths—but giving into new beginnings.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
gaaaaahhh hoseokieeeeee I love u baby I'm so sorry :((( but yes simp over joon :D his POV was interesting to write because it's so...innocent? Free of immoral nonsense? I've been wanting to write the namseok meet cute 5everrr the angst is gonna be delicious hehe.
Man, when I tell you all how much I planned that vmin conversation at the end. I had all sorts of snippets- late-night conversation while sleeping. Dramatic yelling in the rain. I settled on this because there's something so raw about...pulling your car over in the middle of nowhere so you can have a breakdown about your self-worth, lmao, sorry tae-tae.
Borrowed some of the readers' quips about them needing family therapy. Yes, yes they do. There is SO much to speak about between themselves. Hopefully, they'll come to terms with it & process it on their own. I'm pleased with the pacing in this chapter.
idk about the next ch but anyway hope u enjoyed this treat for being the amazingly supportive readers you are <3
Chapter 22: Seams Pulled Apart
Notes:
Y'all thought I'd miss a birthday update that easily? :P
Yes, I'm updating, and yes, it's been a long time coming. Life has been a rollercoaster, so more on that in the end notes. Enjoy this delicious 16k feast of Seokjin having an inner reckoning huehuehue. I loved writing this chapter so, so much.
Yes, first part is a past snippet. Just a friendly reminder.
And for our dear Jungkookie- you are light, love and care personified. I am honoured to know you. Happiest bday, little one. You don't have a POV here but you're talked about plenty and jinkook is thriving, so woohoo! It's over in Korea but who cares it's still your bday here.
Have fun everyone!
warnings: weird family dynamics, morals, violence
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Most days, Jimin went about his days as usual. Training, demonstrating techniques to the younger students, and sparring with his classmates. Occasionally he’d get tasked with a mission, and get his reward. Repeat.
At times, he’d make a pocket for his indulgence in Kim Taehyung—usually through heated debates, and the occasional clap back to a prank. Sometimes not even that, and a part of him itched to do something—but he couldn’t name it.
Maybe he didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to admit how much he waited for three months to end, so they could share a cycle again.
Taehyung was a phenomenal heat partner. Jimin had been blind, insisting on managing it alone—and now, he was ruined forever. He’d often been made to feel guilty for indulging in his omegan desires, lovingly called a slut behind his back—but the heat was where he shed all the shame.
It made a part of him feel whole, the perpetual void full with the care, scent and presence of another.
Time passed, and they’d shared two more cycles—before the other students began catching on. It wasn’t forbidden—but Jimin didn’t want to attract attention by tangling with the Head Boss’s son. He couldn’t deny it either—and so, he was stuck in limbo. It was just heat/rut after all, so it shouldn’t have mattered anyway.
And then, like most things in Jimin’s life—it did.
They were in the mess hall, digging into their meals with fervour. Jimin, as usual, kept to himself, away from the giggling and gossiping omegas around him. There was an alpha vying for his attention, and occasionally, Jimin humoured him. Silly little pup. He didn’t even smell that great, but Jimin liked how interested he seemed.
He liked more Taehyung’s gaze at him, willing Jimin to pay attention. As if.
“Are you sleeping with Park Jimin?”
The question was loud, and Jimin turned towards the person—Byun Baekhyun, the Elite asshole— who was facing Taehyung. He was in a similar position, surrounded by ass-kissing lackeys.
Taehyung turned away from Jimin, frowning. “Sorry?”
Baekhyun waggled his eyebrows at Jimin before striking. “I asked,” he said, leaning back in his seat and pointing between the two of them. “Are you fucking Park Jimin?”
The entire mess hall came to a halt. Omegas and alphas both stared between them, and Jimin could feel the attention nearly peeling his skin off. His cheeks burnt hot, and instinctively, his hand went towards his dagger-less belt.
Taehyung snorted, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Fuck Park Jimin?” He ate a crisp from his plate nonchalantly. “Now, why would I ever do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s pretty hot,” Baekhyun said. Jimin clenched his teeth. “A little birdie told me you’ve been going to his heat room.”
Shit. Jimin had taken great pains to keep this under wraps as much as possible. He didn’t want to be known only for fucking the boss’s son and have all credibility taken away. Taehyung had been in agreement, so it had worked out. Or so he thought.
“Guess your little birdie’s blind,” Taehyung said smoothly, looking unbothered. He’d take care of it; his reputation was just as precious. As the youngest son, he had sway. His gaze flickered over to Jimin, giving the barest of nods—before his lips turned up into a smirk. “I don’t sleep with whores like that.”
What.
Some of the tables broke out in giggles; Baekhyun snickered, giving Jimin a salacious once-over before shaking his head. Taehyung went back to eating lunch, studiously avoiding Jimin’s gaze, as if he didn’t exist.
Over his dead fucking body.
Jimin stood up, ignoring the whispers as he dumped his leftover lunch into the bin, burning with humiliation—and shame. The giggles licked at his heels, and once out of sight—Jimin ran away.
He waited in the alcove outside of the weapons room, where he’d seen Taehyung go a while back. When the alpha came out—Jimin had him up against the wall, dagger to his throat.
Infuriatingly enough—Taehyung didn’t seem surprised. “Jimin. What a pleasant surprise.”
“If you were half the decent assassin you claim to be, you wouldn’t have been,” Jimin said, digging the blade in. It, however, didn’t feel right. “A whore, huh?”
Guilt flickered in Taehyung’s eyes, but he schooled his features into careful nonchalance. “Oops. Hit too close to home?”
“I hate liars.”
“Then you must be hating yourself,” Taehyung crooned. He leaned back, and the space between them filled with lavender. A hint of sage? Jimin’s “Considering you slept with half the camp.”
The audacity. Jimin twisted his blade, but it only made Taehyung smile. He tried again. “What I do in my downtime and on my bed is none of your business.”
“Sure. I’m staying out of it.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Jimin said, having stepped closer. Only sheer will stopped him from inhaling Taehyung’s scent like an animal. “Just admit you’re jealous.”
Taehyung tilted his head. Lavender flooded the tiny nook even more, and Jimin struggled. Then finally, after an eternity, Taehyung shrugged.
“Yeah, I am. What are you going to do about it?”
That wasn’t—Taehyung can’t be—“You can’t be jealous.”
“Why not?” Taehyung challenged, licking his lips. Jimin looked at them, spit slick and luscious pink. No, don’t think of him like that. “You think I like sharing? After I’ve had you in heat?”
“I—”
“But I suppose I can’t dictate what you do in your downtime. Got it,” Taehyung said, studying his nails. A smirk played on his lips, eyes alight with mischief. Jimin felt desperate for something—anything.
“That would imply you’re not fucking anyone else either,” Jimin snorted, sheathing his dagger. He stepped back, suddenly anxious to leave. Yet he remained rooted to the spot, at the edge of something. “Which is ridiculous.”
There was no response, and Jimin looked up, expecting defeat—except Taehyung looked smug, his eyebrows raised. Jimin stumbled back, cheeks hot. It couldn’t be…“Right? You’re also fucking other people.” Taehyung shrugged, a smile growing as Jimin caught up. “No way. No fucking way. Are you serious?”
“What can I say, Jiminie, no one compares to you,” Taehyung sang. He sighed. “Guess my wolf knows what it likes, hmm?”
Something hot began licking inside Jimin, craving and begging him to give in. It sounded like a permission, a release—and Jimin knew it was bad news, and that it would ruin things—but all he felt was a thrill down his spine. “So apart from me, you’ve never—?”
“Nope.”
Jimin bit his lips. “So in between you don’t—?”
“No, Jimin, I don’t fuck anyone else because I don’t want to, because I can’t—” Taehyung stopped short. Cleared his throat. His eyes shift. “Cause I’ve had you in heat, and you’re pretty fucking remarkable. And my alpha seems to have high standards.”
Goddess above, the words sang to Jimin’s soul. He pushed in deeper, crowding Taehyung against the wall. “Like me that much, alpha?”
Taehyung stiffened. His eyes shook with interest and alarm, both. “Y-yeah.”
“Like the way I fit around you?” Jimin whispered, trailing a finger down Taehyung’s chest. In the nook, they were hidden from the rest of the world. Just the two of them, and no one else. “Am I tight enough?”
“Yes.” He sounded strained.
“And to think you go without it for months in between,” Jimin mused, biting his lips to keep the moan in. Taehyung’s eyes dropped down, hunger flashing in them. “How rude of me.”
And before he knew it, Jimin went for the kill.
He cupped the front of Taehyung’s pants, where he was semi-hard already, twitching under Jimin’s hands. Taehyung held his wrist, grip painful. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Taking pity on you,” Jimin replied, rubbing over the cloth—his stomach swooped with heated want. Goddess, he’d missed Taehyung in a rut, loathe as he was to admit it. Maybe this one time was okay. “Your alpha has made such a sacrifice. I’d hate to be responsible for any…neglect.”
Taehyung groaned. “Jimin.”
“Unless you don’t want it?” Jimin asked, pausing and taking his hand away—Taehyung lashed out, holding it right there. Jimin smiled. “That’s what I thought. I see the way you look at me, Kim Taehyung.”
The alpha ground into his palm and Jimin let him, head heavy with want. Power. “No point hiding, is there? I know what I want.”
“How much?”
“Think about it all the time,” Taehyung said, now fully hard, definitely leaking a bit. They shouldn’t be doing this outside of a cycle. And yet, Jimin couldn’t move. “Your tiny hands on my cock. Or your mouth? I can never choose a favourite.”
Jimin groaned helplessly, his hand squeezing, imagining. Lavender rolled thick on his tongue.
“You made this whine whenever I fucked you,” Taehyung whispered, lips at Jimin’s earlobe, his breath hot. “Something tells me that’s reserved for me alone.”
His pants were full of slick, leaking down his thighs. He couldn’t help it, as he imagined Taehyung’s scent on him, in him, like he had the last two times, and how much he’d dreamt of being fucked by him ever since. Couldn’t stop thinking about it either—and now, Jimin wanted it again.
He stood on his toes, kissing Taehyung—and it hit him that this was their first kiss outside of the daze of a cycle.
The difference was stark. This time, Jimin could smell and hear everything. Taehyung, but also the other scents—his clothes, the wall they were pressed up against, and the heat of Taehyung’s skin. The rustle of clothes in between. Any moment, someone could come and catch them, and that drove a sick sense of pleasure through his toes.
Taehyung returned the kiss with fervour, and Jimin’s hand fumbled at his belt, before diving right in. Taehyung groaned in his mouth as Jimin wrapped his hand around his cock. It didn’t even close fully, fuck.
“Shit, you’re so hard,” Jimin gasped, sliding it through a loose fist. It’s a rough glide; all they had was pre-cum. “Is this all for me?”
“Y-yeah, all—all for you.”
“Fuck,” Jimin moaned, taking his hand out and spitting into it before going in again. “Fuck, it’s so big.” It really was, and Jimin couldn’t believe it. “You’ve been fucking me with this?”
“You didn’t realise?”
“All I could think about was a knot,” Jimin said, the glide smoothening out. “Goddess, this fit into me?”
“You leak a lot, so.”
Moon, Jimin didn’t want to even think about it. He could picture it; his hole leaking, making the glide smoother. Wetter. Slick was leaking down his thigh and—“Taehyung, I can’t—”
Hands fumbled at his belt, and before he knew it, they were inside Jimin, forgoing the underwear which was wet, his cock just as hard as Taehyung’s. The alpha’s fingers probed at his slit, scooping the slick and spreading it all over. Taehyung couldn’t catch a grip, and Jimin hitched himself closer. The fingers curled into his slit, pushing against its tight, pulsating walls.
Jimin came.
And so did Taehyung.
He breathed into Taehyung’s shoulder, throat choking on the lavender and orange both. And then—
It fell upon him like the heaviest waterfall. Jimin pulled back, taking his hand out and almost gagging at his cum-stained hand; Taehyung’s was the same with Jimin’s slick. They both stared at it—and Jimin stumbled back, wiping it off hastily onto his trousers.
Moon, that wasn’t supposed to happen.
There wasn’t an excuse of a heat or a rut…Taehyung seemed to carry a similar regret, and Jimin felt it curdle in his belly. Something was settling inside, regret, yes, but also—want.
Things were changing. He could taste it, even as he turned around and left Taehyung behind—with a tail between his legs.
🖤⚔🖤
Seokjin flicks through an arms deal agreement, licking his thumb and forefinger as he turns yet another page, glancing carefully. It seems alright—he collects the sheets, stacking them on top of each other before passing them over to the guard stationed outside his wing.
Then he proceeds toward his room, making sure all the paths are clear and free of spies—it’s known to happen. Seokjin can usually sniff them out, but these days he’s a bit more paranoid.
He looks to his sides before entering, shutting the door just as quickly. Instantly, he’s met with cedarwood and rose, and his mouth waters against his will.
The owner of the scent lies on Seokjin’s bed without a care in the world.
Jungkook’s breaths are shallow, though his slumber is deep. His hair is all over the pillow, a right mess, and he smells alright. A little stale, his bandages rusted brown, but otherwise—a picture of health. Seokjin lets out a sigh of relief.
Then he gets to changing the dressings again.
It’s an unsaid thing now, how quietly yet seamlessly he gets into the role of a caretaker. He shouldn’t, and there is some resentment—but for the most part, his omega says it’s good, that it’s needed for Seokjin’s benefit. And as it has been most of his life—Seokjin always listens.
Halfway through, Jungkook wakes up in alarm—and struggles, slapping Seokjin’s hands away. “What are you doing?”
The same spiel all over again. Seokjin sighs. “Your dressings are old. I’m changing them.” Jungkook looks at him suspiciously, and Seokjin drops his hand. He takes out a blade—the alpha stiffens—before placing it on the bedside table, showing his empty hands. “See? I’m not going to kill you.”
Jungkook curls his lips. “Right. Like you don’t have ten other weapons concealed on you right now.”
He gets up, feet on the ground. Like this, he seems to be drowning in Seokjin’s shirt—his omega crows in possessive delight, which he ignores. They didn’t have an option; Jungkook’s old clothes were unsalvageable and Seokjin had too many to spare. It’s pragmatic, and not a claim—no matter how much his wolf cackles in glee.
Seokjin approaches him again, slowly, and this time, Jungkook allows him to enter, holding out his arms. It’s a thing now—Jungkook tries to rebel, Seokjin backs down—and it’s enough to gain the alpha’s trust. It’s downright humiliating, but Seokjin would rather have a quiet, docile alpha than the chance of a ruckus.
Mostly, he ignores how he can’t help but care for Jungkook, even if it’s the last thing he wishes to do. And worry for him, when he’s away attending to the camp matters of the day.
It’s the strangest pull.
As he cleans out the wounds—better now, thank Moon for his guilt— he thinks about the past couple of days. Joonjae had gone on a business trip to Daegu, and had refused Seokjin’s company—it had hurt, but Seokjin is used to it. He took over the camp silently, as had been expected of him, and will run it until Joonjae comes back. That has always been the case.
Cedarwood and rose merge in and around him, and Seokjin gets lost in the task. It’s a foolish mistake that could cost him his life, but he’s tired and the scent is so good—
There is a small commotion at the door, and Seokjin jumps as it bursts open—he turns around, hiding Jungkook behind him, and flings one of his other knives at the intruder.
Namjoon catches it deftly, though he stumbles at the spot. “Hyung? What the hell?”
Seokjin exhales sharply, clutching his left breast pocket. Then it hits—Namjoon is in his room. “Namjoon-ah. What are you doing here?”
He stands in front of Jungkook, having shoved him somewhat halfway into the sheets—but it doesn’t matter. Namjoon’s already looking at the lump behind him, chucking the knife to the side. “Who’s that?”
“No one.”
“It’s clearly a person, hyung,” Namjoon says, stepping closer—Seokjin steps back, blocking his vision. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, Namjoon-ah. Just—nothing. Could you visit me in a bit? Or I’ll come, I anyway don’t have anything going on—”
“This is so painful,” Jungkook grumbles, shoving Seokjin aside and sitting up. His hair is in a cowlick, and he looks disgruntled, patting it down before looking at Namjoon. “Hi.”
“Hi?” Namjoon says, tilting his head, and looking between Seokjin and him. “Uh, you are…?”
“There’s no need to tell him, he’s just—leaving,” Seokjin starts, trying to cover Jungkook again—but the alpha is surprisingly strong. That, or Seokjin is weak from the shame encapsulating him by the minute. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’m Jungkook.”
“You dolt, you’re not supposed to tell your actual name—”
“What, like I’m going to lie about it? I’m not like any of you losers—”
“Goddess, never mind,” Seokjin cuts him off, turning to Namjoon—who is staring at Jungkook. “He’s just—an alpha. I found. For my…heat?” No acknowledgement. “Don’t, um, tell anyone—”
“Did you say your name is Jungkook?” Namjoon cuts in, stepping around Seokjin. He says the name with some familiarity.
“Yeah, that’s my name. What’s up?”
Oh, he’s sure Jungkook’s messing around to make Seokjin’s life miserable. He turns around, catching an odd, rebellious twinkle in his eyes. What a child. He crosses his arms, taking Namjoon in. He seems to have sprinted, his shirt overturned and his glasses askew. His scent is of weak sandalwood—that’s all it would ever be. He keeps aside that guilt for now. “Joon-ah. What’s going on?”
Namjoon pulls back, biting his lips. He scratches at his inner elbow, and Seokjin looks to see if it’s at the track marks. It’s around it, so hopefully it’s still some time before he has to give him another shot. The beta turns around, shutting the door close, before approaching closer. “I—I know that name.”
“You know me?” Jungkook asks, pointing to himself.
“Of you,” Namjoon amends, crossing his arms behind his back. “There is—hyung, the prisoner Abbeoji had asked us to keep track of last week.”
“Yes?”
“That’s—it’s an omega,” Namjoon starts. He seems nervous, and Seokjin itches to soothe him. “He’s been here a while.”
Seokjin had been told that a new prisoner would come to camp—he’d delegated the task to Namjoon, too preoccupied with an injured alpha to care. “Okay? And?”
“He’s incapacitated—”
“Omega? He?” Jungkook starts, jumping up and stepping closer; Seokjin holds him back—and he snarls like a baby alpha. “Stop! I need to know!”
“There’s nothing to know here, these are camp matters.”
“He knows my name!”
Seokjin sighs. “Jungkook-ssi—”
“Is it Jimin? Is he hurt?” Jungkook bursts out, his scent growing agitated as it begins smelling of—joy, anxiety and alarm. But mostly care, and for a moment, Seokjin feels—jealous. He’s our alpha, his wolf hisses, and he tamps down on it.
“No, it’s not—though it’s curious that you know Jimin. So does the prisoner,” Namjoon remarks, scratching his chin. “He told me his name was Hoseok. Know him?”
It sends Jungkook into a flurry. His eyes flicker gold, unstable—and Seokjin responds, his omega nearly taking over. It’s never been so out of control before. He pushes Jungkook back, who fights—the downside of tending to him is that he’s much, much stronger than before. Still not a match for Seokjin—but a good enough attempt. “Will you stop?”
“You don’t get it! It’s Hobi-hyung!” Jungkook exclaims, and Seokjin slaps a hand over Jungkook’s mouth, looking around fervently. “Hmph!”
“Stop screeching and I’ll let you see him!” Seokjin hisses, and Jungkook stops fighting—looking up at Seokjin with wide eyes. They’re doe-shaped, curious—and scared. “Namjoon-ah— stop standing there and do something.”
“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon asks though he covers Seokjin’s other side. “Fight him?”
“Just hold him while I check,” Seokjin says, wiping his hands on his trousers. Jungkook stays still, though he glowers at Seokjin and Namjoon. “We’ll cover him up. Take him to see this—Hoseok.”
It’s a risk—and Namjoon certainly agrees. “Are you sure?”
“Abbeoji isn’t here,” Seokjin responds, looking through his closet for something to cover Jungkook’s head. They’ll have to take another passage—but one could never be safe enough. “Guards are easier to deal with.”
“Which passage are we taking?” Namjoon asks, helping Jungkook cover up. “Wait—how did he even get here?”
“Now’s not the time,” Seokjin grumbles, locking his door from inside and going to the other end of his room, where he pulls aside a tapestry hiding a secret door. Every room has a secret escape tunnel to the catacombs built by his grandfather. “Which wing did you say?”
“Block C,” Namjoon says, helping Jungkook up and letting him lean on him a bit; Jungkook still has a limp. “Goddess, what did you do to him, hyung?”
“Everything under the fucking sun,” Jungkook grumbles, and Seokjin glowers. The alpha matches him an eye for an eye. “What? Don’t be a martyr now. You tortured me.”
“You were trespassing!”
“I was literally chilling in that stupid ass town!” Jungkook hisses, as Namjoon gets inside the tunnel with him, and Seokjin closes the door behind him. “You kidnapped me.”
“Well. You were clearly…being suspicious,” Seokjin tries, though it’s not the truth. He’d been too obsessed with exposing Jimin, and now they are in this mess. “Whatever. Let’s focus on meeting this friend of yours.”
He ignores the way Jungkook’s scent smells like anger, corrosive and bitter on his tongue.
It’s a long way, the tunnel gradually sloping lower as they go along. Joonjae had told him the story once—their grandfather, after a massive gang war had rendered the previous camp useless, had decided to build a new one with a parallel structure underneath—for the family to escape to, or to use as a prison. When he’d been young, Seokjin had found it deplorable—damp, dark and eerie. The feeling carries even now, crawling across the back of his neck and down his spine as he leads the way.
The block is all the way across from the living quarters, down under the training grounds. It houses some of the larger prison rooms— it was where he’d kept Jungkook. It wasn’t as frequently used, and that meant he could keep the alpha without being caught. The other two are silent behind him—occasionally, Namjoon grunts with Jungkook’s weight.
They reach the room—Namjoon guides Seokjin, and as soon as they open the door—he’s ambushed by a thick cloud of freesias.
So is Jungkook, who struggles behind him. “Let me through!” Seokjin holds him back, and Jungkook shoves—calming down when Namjoon places a hand on the back of his neck. He’d always been able to do that, even when Seokjin and Taehyung used to squabble—years later, he’d realised it was due to his beta temperament.
The freesias belong to the omega in front of them—a pale, frail man in a hospital gown, knees to his chest and shoulders curled in as he faces them with fear. Namjoon walks around them, hands out. “Hoseok. It’s me.”
“Who—who is that—”
“You’re safe, I promise,” Namjoon croons and Seokjin watches as Hoseok turns towards Namjoon, eyes wide but hopeful. He allows Namjoon to step closer, leaning forward when Namjoon offers his hand. “I think you’d like this. Hyung, bring him forward.”
Seokjin follows, pulling Jungkook along and shoving him forward; he stumbles, glaring at Seokjin—before turning to Hoseok.
The effect is instant—Hoseok scrambles forward, and Jungkook meets him halfway, both hugging each other as if their lives depended on it. Which it probably does, given how terrible Hoseok looks.
“Jungkookie? It’s you?” Hoseok asks, pulling away and holding Jungkook’s face in between his palms, eyes wet. “Aigoo, you look so thin—and you smell weird—”
“Thanks, hyung, I really wanted that to be the first thing I heard from you,” Jungkook snorts wetly, rubbing his eyes furiously though more tears take their place. “Hobi-hyung…Moon, you look—what happened to you?”
It’s the right thing to ask—the more Seokjin sees, the more he can tell and smell how sick the other omega is. Strangely, seeing Jungkook interact with Hoseok doesn’t have his wolf on its haunches—not like the way it had been when Jimin had touched Jungkook, that one time the Mark had flared up.
Hoseok’s scent gets weaker by the minute too, and he looks ready to collapse. He does, stumbling back to the bed and leaning against the wall. Jungkook sits on the edge of it, caressing his ankle gently. His scent is all over the place—anger, sadness, and a pinch of helplessness. Above them—the scent of love.
It tastes sweet on Seokjin’s tongue.
There is a pinch of colour on Hoseok’s cheeks, however, and his eyes seem brighter. Namjoon comes forward, offering him water and taking out an apple from his pocket. He sits on the chair close by, peeling the apple quietly.
It seems like a habit at this point. How long has Namjoon been keeping Hoseok company?
“Don’t know, Jungkookie…just…tired,” Hoseok says slowly, breathing heavily. Sweat lines his hairline. “Joonie says it’s a dry heat. Dunno what that’s supposed to mean, though.”
Joonie. Seokjin looks at Namjoon, who’s concentrating on the apple—though his cheeks scream bright red. “Nicknames, already?”
Hoseok seems to realise at the same time. “Ah, sorry, Namjoon-ssi! It slipped out—”
“It’s fine, it’s cute,” Namjoon cuts in hastily, offering a slice to Hoseok, who takes it mindlessly. Seokjin tracks the way Jungkook’s nose flares, watching Namjoon carefully. “Sorry about the medicines. Found Jungkook-ssi before I could get to them.”
“Oh yeah, Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok says, turning to the alpha who’s sitting quietly. “Why are you here?”
Seokjin sighs, shutting the door and sitting back down against the wall. He can taste the secrets and truths about to come out—Jungkook smells guilty, Namjoon looks encouraging and Hoseok seems intrigued. Jungkook curls his hands inside his shirt, trying to seem smaller.
One of the truths is that between all of them—it seems Park Jimin is the common link. A problem back then—and a problem now. Some things really don’t change, do they?
“I’m—I was just—” Jungkook inhales. Exhales. “I was searching for Jimin-hyung.”
“Right. Yoongi-hyung told me,” Hoseok says, and his voice sounds eerily serious. “What were you thinking, Jungkook-ah?”
“I clearly wasn’t,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth, looking ashamed. “Jimin-hyung promised he’d explain everything. But he ran away. And I didn’t know why so I just—”
“Thought you’d try to find him? And what?”
“I don’t know, get answers,” Jungkook tries, reaching out for Hoseok’s hand. It’s less pale, and the omega sits up higher. “I just—I dunno. I thought he was in danger. That man had taken him. I guess I felt responsible…as an alpha?”
Hoseok snorts. “Right. You’d protect Jimin and save him?”
“Hyuuuunngg,” Jungkook whines, bowing down into Hoseok’s lap. The omega grows fond, caressing Jungkook’s hair. Seokjin looks away, memories of his mother doing the same pinching close. “I didn’t know, okay? I’m sorry.”
Hoseok keeps patting Jungkook’s hair. “It’s okay. You did what made sense,” he says, biting his lip. He nibbles at another slice. “Jungkook-ah…Jiminie is…he’s an assassin.”
Jungkook groans in Hoseok’s lap. “I know.”
“You do?” Hoseok asks, lifting him up; Jungkook looks disgruntled. Hoseok tuts, shaking his head. “Right. Why are you here again?”
“I was telling you and you were judging me,” Jungkook grumbles, pouting—Seokjin holds back a scoff, utterly disgusted by the display. It’s so…un-alpha like, and yet, his wolf coos. “So. After the dinner—”
“Excuse me,” Seokjin cuts in, and everyone turns towards him as if realising he’s there as well. “But could you start from the beginning? I haven’t been part of these cosy interactions.”
“I’m pretty sure you got the memo when you had me trapped here,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowed. Seokjin rolls his eyes. He’s insufferable.
“No, I’m pretty certain you were claiming you didn’t know Jimin the whole time,” Seokjin snarks back. His mating gland itches, and he can smell the silent, slick way cedarwood makes its way through. “Some nonsense about wanting to track Jimin because he was a criminal?”
“Well, he is.”
“Right, and apparently a part of your little Pack,” Seokjin says, pointing fingers at him and Hoseok both. “Cut the act. You might be a cop but you’re bad at lying.”
Jungkook huffs, turning towards Seokjin with clenched fists. “Maybe if you hadn’t water-boarded me I would remember better—”
“Moon above, can you both stop?”
Seokjin looks away to find Hoseok glaring at them, which isn’t a look a prisoner is supposed to have. This camp has gone to hell, weakening in its resolve to imbibe fear. Namjoon has a similar expression though his is more resigned, as he chews sadly at a slice. His peacekeeping brother, too kind to say a word. Or maybe too used to Seokjin’s bullshit.
Hoseok takes a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know you or what this is supposed to be,” he says, pointing between them. Right, Jungkook’s Mark is covered. Maybe they shouldn’t tell him just yet. Seokjin’s not sure if even he’s come to terms with it. “But I’m tired, I don’t think I’ve had a good day in a long while but right now, my omega feels good about Jungkook being here. Whatever he’s willing to tell, I’ll take it. Just. No loud sounds, please.”
It’s reasonable. To be fair, Seokjin is tired too—he can feel it, in his bones and with his wolf, the strain on it is heavy. He nods, leaning back again. Jungkook looks away, fiddling with Hoseok’s hands. He clears his throat—before he starts.
Most of it feels familiar, except for the parts where Jungkook had obviously been lying about not knowing Jimin. It seems he, Jimin and Hoseok are a pack—and they’d been celebrating Jimin’s birthday when an alpha (Taehyung) had come in, killed their waiter and proceeded to cause a scene. That’s in alignment with what Seokjin knows of Taehyung; his youngest sibling had a penchant for drama.
It also throws away the story Taehyung and Jimin had been telling about their ‘courtship’—Jin had known it was off from the beginning. It hadn’t been the relationship itself—but that it was Taehyung and Jimin. Rivals, occasional fuck buddies—but love? They’d hated each other, though sometimes Seokjin thinks they tolerated each other, and perhaps even enjoyed the push and pull. He could never tell with them.
It means Taehyung had brought Jimin in for something else under the pretence of courtship. Seokjin should feel mad, especially because he had been right—but somehow this time, the betrayal, the victory—it doesn’t strike right. Something is amiss, that much is clear—but he doesn’t have enough information as of now.
Jungkook explains how he’d tried tracking Jimin, and came to the town—where he’d been captured by Seokjin. He learnt about Jimin’s true identity— and then they were—
“Um.” Jungkook pauses, looking at Seokjin cautiously. He taps against his neck silently, and Seokjin understands. He shrugs. It won’t make sense to have Jungkook be a prisoner and suddenly living in Seokjin’s room without some background. Namjoon would pester him anyway. Jungkook clears his throat—and pulls down his shirt collar. Hoseok and Namjoon gasp, the omega leaning closer. “So apparently…Seokjin-ssi and I are…Soul-Bonded?”
“True Mates,” Seokjin says irately, his wolf not wanting it to be mistaken for anything else. “Call it what it is.”
“Moon above,” Hoseok says softly, finger hovering over the Mark; the closer it gets—the more anxious Seokjin feels. He hisses when Hoseok pokes at it, and the omega jumps back. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
Seokjin wills his omega away, bargaining with it as usual. Stop acting out. We’re fine. “I’m not sure what that was. I…apologise.”
“That’s a first for hyung,” Namjoon chuckles, studying Jungkook’s Mark clinically. “He hardly apologises. You’re a lucky one, Hoseok-ssi.”
“Yes, I’m so lucky to be a prisoner in an assassin camp of all places,” Hoseok says dryly, and Seokjin snorts. “So. You’re True Mates and that’s why he’s…in your clothes?” Hoseok frowns. “Wait, have you claimed him?”
“What? No!” Jungkook exclaims, hastily pulling the collar up. “It was an accident. I don’t even know how it happened. One moment he was threatening to kill me—”
“Ah, that part you remember?”
“Shut up, I was literally about to die,” Jungkook snaps, and Goddess, Seokjin’s blood is going to boil over. What happened to the scared boy refusing to speak with Seokjin? Had he lost his grip in such little time? Or was it the bond? “Anyway. I passed out from it. And then I was…in Seokjin-ssi’s room.”
“That makes a lot more sense,” Namjoon comments idly. “It isn’t like hyung to have strange alphas around him.”
Seokjin’s ears burn hot. “I’ve been with alphas before!”
“Wow, really sounds like it,” Jungkook snorts, though his nose flares instinctively... as if the thought of Seokjin with alphas isn’t something he’s okay with. Even his scent smells…envious. “That’s where I’m at. What about you, Hobi-hyung?”
Hoseok sighs. He wraps his arms around his knees, chin settling on top. “I apparently have a dry heat. It feels better now, but I was in a…really bad shape.”
“A dry heat is when an omega is in severe distress and retreats to their basal instincts,” Namjoon explains diligently. “I’m assuming finding out your pack mate is an assassin and the other one has gone missing trying to find him can do that.”
“Whatever it was, it sucked,” Hoseok grumbles, picking at his skin. “Yoongi-hyung- that’s my partner— decided to take me to some omega healers in Daegu. I don’t remember much, but the next thing I’m waking up here. And I don’t know where he is.”
Seokjin blinks. Yoongi. Daegu. He’d heard the name…for years, he’d studied all the families. Joonjae had dangled the throne in front, promising rewards if they proved themselves to be the best; Namjoon had backed out, and Taehyung hadn’t been the best student. Seokjin, however, took no chances.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Seokjin says, holding a hand out. His stomach burns cold. “Do you mean Min Yoongi?”
Hoseok beams. “Yeah! How’d you know?”
Oh no. Seokjin’s wolf claws at him to be cautious; the information could very well push Hoseok back into a distressed state. And Seokjin could be wrong but… “Is it Min Yoongi of the Min mafia clan in Daegu?”
Behind Hoseok, Namjoon strikes a hand across his neck, shaking his head; Hoseok freezes, and Jungkook stops short. Seokjin gulps as he faces all three of them.
“Did you…Did you say…mafia?” Hoseok croaks out, after a couple of moments. Jungkook closes his eyes in defeat, and Namjoon sighs. It’s fine. It’s better if people are aware of all facts instead of being shrouded in mysteries.
Seokjin opens his mouth to clarify when his personal phone buzzes. The caller screen shows Eunwoo-yah calling, and Seokjin excuses himself to take it. It’s rare that his right-hand man calls him out of the blue. “Yes?”
“Boss, your little brother wants to meet you,” Eunwoo says, sounding disgruntled. Seokjin can hear some noise in the background. “Said it’s urgent.”
“Did he say what about?”
“Nope. Says he’ll only talk with you,” Eunwoo says. He hisses at someone—probably Taehyung himself. “He’s got his omega with him.”
Jimin’s there? Strange. He looks around; everyone seems to be processing the reveal. Seokjin tunes back in. “Do they want to meet together?”
“Yep.”
“Send them to my office,” Seokjin instructs, hanging up. He has enough information to face the two—and get more answers out of them. “Everyone—some work has come up. I’d love to catch up—but we must get going.”
“I’m not leaving Hobi-hyung here,” Jungkook says, clutching the bedsheet in fierce determination. “Are you kidding me? I’ve finally found him and—”
“You cannot be discovered with Hoseok-ssi,” Seokjin says, stepping closer—and freezing when Jungkook’s eyes flicker slightly gold. “He’s been brought here for a reason. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want you in the middle of it.”
“And you get to decide because?”
“I’m literally running this camp,” Seokjin huffs, ire licking hot against his bones. Why can’t Jungkook be—easy? Why does he fight back so much? And really—why does Seokjin enjoy it? “Well, until my father returns. And I promise you—you do not want to be found out by him.”
Jungkook bares his teeth slightly, refusing to move—until Namjoon steps in, gently releasing Jungkook’s fingers from the sheets. “He’s right, Jungkook-ssi. Our father isn’t…someone you should meet. Let’s reduce any casualties as best as we can.”
“Casualties?” Jungkook echoes, looking at Hoseok—who is staring blankly ahead, pupils shaking. “Look at him! I can’t just—”
“I promise, on my honour, to look after him,” Namjoon says softly, directing Jungkook’s gaze towards him. “You can leave a scented item. He’ll be fine with that. And I’ll update you. Okay?”
Jungkook meets his eyes, looking between him and Hoseok—before he nods. He shrugs out of the shirt—rubbing it over his scent gland and wrists—before rolling it up and keeping it next to Hoseok. He pats the omega’s hair—and then turns around, wiping his eyes furiously.
Seokjin meets Namjoon’s eyes—and nods. Then he takes his leave—ready to get back to putting out fires again.
After making sure Jungkook is back in his quarters safely hidden, Seokjin makes his way to his office—where Taehyung and Jimin are waiting.
They look like hell.
Both support injuries— the bridge of Jimin’s nose is swollen purple, and his lower lip is slightly split. Taehyung shows bruises, and keeps shrugging his one shoulder—both are silent, Jimin fidgeting with a paperweight and Taehyung staring out the office window.
Seokjin clears his throat, dragging their attention as he settles behind his table. He cuts right to it, too frazzled to care for niceties. “What’s going on?”
“No hellos, hyung?” Taehyung asks, pouting, and Seokjin rolls his eyes. Come rain, hail or sunshine, Taehyung would remain insufferably young. “It’s been a long time.”
“I’m unfortunately related to you, so this distance suffices,” Seokjin says primly, stacking important documents in front of him. He eyes Jimin, who shuffles nervously. His shirt shifts, showing an array of bruises up his neck. Seokjin smiles. Maybe they’re not together, but the two still fucked like no one’s business. “I was told this is urgent. Could you get to it?”
Taehyung exchanges a nervous glance with Jimin, who nods encouragingly, eyes warm. Interesting. His brother clears his throat, holding onto the back of the chair. “So. Don’t freak out.”
Seokjin holds the edge of the table anyway. “That isn’t the way to start anything.”
“It’s just a courtesy. I’m sure you’re going to lose your head anyway,” Taehyung snarks, looking uncomfortable. “So. Jimin and I were on a trip and…we’ve discovered some…things.”
“Some truths, to be exact,” Jimin says bluntly, rolling his eyes. “Seokjin-ssi—we’re taking a risk right now. But of all people, you deserve to know what’s going on—and we trust that you’ll make the right choice at the end of it.”
His wolf starts pacing inside; the pair sound pensive, and the air is charged with electricity. “What is it?”
Jimin looks at Taehyung—reaches out, squeezes his hand—and Taehyung starts.
After a while, Seokjin can’t believe what he’s hearing.
Min Yoongi. Their father. True Mates, and bastard sons. Joonjae’s feral condition, and it all starts melting into a giant cesspool—until Seokjin can’t bear it anymore.
Especially when Taehyung tells him of their father’s plans to have him mated to his half-sibling.
Seokjin slams a hand on top of the table—shaking the two out of their storytelling stupor. But he doesn’t care, because—because it can’t be true. It can’t. Seokjin knows his father, he’s his oldest son. Joonjae said so, how he’s the pride of the Kim Clan. This is just another—plot, to distract Seokjin and take the seat from right under his nose.
“Stop,” Seokjin says, through gritted teeth as Taehyung and Jimin stare. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Taehyung whines. “But hyung—”
“No. Enough.” Seokjin rubs his face with his hand. Then he meets their eyes. “Aren’t you two tired of this already?”
“What—?”
“Scheming constantly, going behind people’s backs?” Seokjin presses, and Jimin’s mouth drops open. “I know you two aren’t even together. You’re here for the seat, aren’t you?”
“Hyung, what are you talking about?”
“Just admit it!” Seokjin shrills, standing up, facing Taehyung—and strangely, Jimin stands with him, in front of him. His eyes glow a faint blue—and Seokjin’s wolf snarls. “You’ve been wanting to take over so much, you’re willing to resort to—lies, instead of fighting fair?” Seokjin shakes his head. “Seriously, Taehyung-ah. Grow. Up.”
“Are you even listening to yourself,” Jimin says bluntly, fists clenched—but Taehyung squeezes his shoulder, shaking his head no. Jimin huffs. “Fine. Whatever. Have fun in paranoia land.”
Taehyung sighs. “Jimin, c’mon—”
“No, you really think we’d make something like this up?” Jimin hisses, eyes getting steadily bluer. Seokjin leans forward, his wolf answering the challenge. Beneath it, however…there is a strange buzz the likes of which he’s never felt before. A familiarity, a call. “Newsflash—no one cares about the stupid throne more than you. Get over it. And see.”
“Jimin, shut it,” Taehyung snaps, pushing Jimin behind him. He faces Seokjin imploringly and then—bows ninety degrees, clasping his hands together. “I know you don’t trust me, hyung. But I’m telling you the truth. And we need your help. I swear on our mother.”
Seokjin loses it then—slapping Taehyung across. Jimin jumps forward, but Taehyung holds him back again, rubbing his cheek. Even then, his brother doesn’t look pissed. Only sad—and for a moment, Seokjin doubts.
His fears are louder, and they push it back.
“Get the fuck out of here, and don’t show me your faces again,” Seokjin snaps, holding himself back—especially when he sees how primed Jimin is to step in—not to fight, but to protect Taehyung. Something’s changed—they’re not together, but there’s something here Seokjin can’t name.
He chooses to leave, keeping it together until he gets back to his quarters, shutting the door firmly. He inhales once—and cedarwood with rose floods all of him.
“Back so soon, Seokjin-ssi?”
He doesn’t mean to—but something about the voice—the familiar snark that he’s been hearing for the past couple of weeks, tending to and fighting with—the scent accompanying it and the overwhelming knowledge of how alone Seokjin is with no one to protect him—
He bursts into tears.
He crouches down where he is, holding himself and really, trying to hold them in—but he’s so tired. He’s tired of looking over his shoulder, constantly wondering who is after his hard-earned spot, of being so perfect all the time to make sure he doesn’t miss a single chance—
Joonjae’s plan can’t be true, because if it is—
“Oh, shit,” Jungkook curses, frozen on the bed. He’s wearing another one of Seokjin’s shirts, and his scent smells so rich. “What the fuck? You can cry?”
It sounds so incredulous—that Seokjin can’t help but huff, even as he furiously wipes his tears. “Shut up. It just—got a lot.”
Jungkook says nothing. Instead, he walks over, crouching in front of Seokjin—he shouldn’t be so close to the door—but he finds he doesn’t care as much. Jungkook peers at him through doe-eyes, scent smelling tentative and confused. And then—
He reaches out to pat Seokjin’s…hair.
It’s so sudden, that Seokjin’s wolf doesn’t know how to respond—except he feels a pull from Jungkook. The alpha’s mouth is wide open, gaze distant as he keeps up the rhythmic patting-turned-stroking—it’s soothing, and Seokjin feels his heart calm down.
“You’ll be okay,” Jungkook whispers, cedarwood a comforting weight. Seokjin relaxes without meaning to. “Whatever it is—you’ll be okay.”
Seokjin takes it.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin had known the outcome when Taehyung had first suggested it—but somehow, he’s still surprised by Seokjin’s reaction. Mostly, his accusations.
The alpha, however, is unperturbed, walking back to their room with a sense of purpose. It’s remarkable, how much Taehyung can control without showing a hint of his true feelings. No wonder, then, how he’d kept so many secrets for years without breaking.
The drive back had been…strangely peaceful. Taehyung had schooled himself back into nonchalance, and this time, Jimin hadn’t pushed. He has questions still, and his curiosity is slowly dying inside—but he can offer the alpha the grace of time.
Once inside, Taehyung removes his layers—Jimin hastily looks away, not wanting any more incentives. Sex had been used as a band-aid too often, and kept Jimin blind. No more. He unpacks as Taehyung uses the shower, then waits so he can have his turn. He comes out, catching Taehyung in the act of applying a fresh pain patch almost as if it’s habitual—which it might as well be.
The alpha doesn’t pay attention to him until Jimin clears his throat. “Taehyung.”
“Hmm?”
“What are we gonna do?”
“About?”
“Jin-hyung,” Jimin says patiently. He doesn’t want to be angry or short-tempered. Taehyung isn’t fragile, but they have a tendency to get carried away and ignore the bigger things. “He doesn’t believe us.”
“I know,” Taehyung says, far too easily. He whistles as he slaps on some after-shave. “I knew he wouldn’t.”
Jimin frowns. “You did? Then why did you…?”
Taehyung looks at him through the mirror. “Give me some credit, Jimin. I know my brother better than anyone else.”
Right. Jimin is a mere spectator, the outsider orphan who’d somehow made it to the inner circle—and been resented for it. “But he knows now. He could easily turn on us.”
“He won’t,” Taehyung says confidently, wearing a sweater on top. “Hyung struggles with the idea that Abbeoji could be…inherently bad. I mean, we’re assassins, but that aside—he knows it but he can’t accept it. Not until something happens to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve tried for years— but hyung never got over it. Abbeoji rejecting him because he’s an omega, I mean,” Taehyung says, leaning against the wall across from Jimin. “He’s tried every single day to prove himself. He needs Abbeoji to see him as capable because he’s an omega. For that—Abbeoji needs to be some form of human.”
Jimin’s heart sinks to his stomach. Hearing it from Taehyung himself has his wolf whining inside, a strange pull to see Seokjin not as his enemy or the son of his worst nightmare, but as a fellow omega. He gets it, at some level, that constant need to prove oneself. To show the world how capable omegas are. He’d ended up resenting his wolf, shutting it off completely until he had to revive it to survive in the world outside the camp. And even then, sometimes it feels like some parts are missing, Jimin forever a broken mosaic.
“That’s…horrible,” Jimin says, rubbing his chest at the ache. He imagines Seokjin at thirteen, presenting as an omega and losing all the credibility in Joonjae’s eyes. He was our father’s favourite. Suddenly, all the ways Seokjin desperately sought and still seeks Joonjae’s praise make sense. Jimin used to resent it—but now… “Taehyung, we have to convince him. He’s too valuable.”
“That he is,” Taehyung muses, crossing his arms. His scent smells muted too, and Jimin picks up notes of sadness. “He needs to have his trust broken by Abbeoji himself.”
Jimin frowns. “What? How?” Then it hits him. “And why?”
“If Abbeoji is on a pedestal, he needs to fall,” Taehyung says, shrugging. His face pinches momentarily, showing his true feelings. “He’ll never believe us until he hears it from Abbeoji himself. I’m pretty sure that’s it.”
“Okay…” Jimin says, rocking back and forth. “And how do we do that…?”
Taehyung bites his lips. Looks out the window, before snapping his finger. “Maybe if he heard of the mating from Abbeoji himself.”
“Why would Joonjae have that conversation?”
“Because the sooner he can have the union the sooner he gets to unite the clans,” Taehyung says, pacing excitedly. “We can ask Yoongi-hyung to initiate the talks. Knowing Abbeoji, he’ll jump on the opportunity—call Seokjin. Since we’ve already talked to him about it—”
“It creates reasonable doubt for him,” Jimin gasps, sitting up. Moon above. “Shit, Taehyung—that’s genius.”
Taehyung grins, pleased and looking heartbreakingly boyish for a moment. “Holding you to that, Jiminie.”
“Shut it,” Jimin grumbles, falling back and staring at the ceiling. His cheeks grow warm, as more of pleased lavender comes through. “It’s just this once.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
Jimin turns to his side, shuffling under the sheets. He hears Taehyung chuckle to himself, before calling Yoongi and telling him the plan. He hears Yoongi confirm, promising to come to them with updates.
He pretends to be asleep when Taehyung gets in later—and pats him on the head.
🖤⚔🖤
From birth, Seokjin had been trained to school his features into careful nonchalance—the enemy cannot know how you think and feel. It had taken some effort, but by his teens—Seokjin could exist without another person knowing how he felt.
Except in front of his True Mate who can apparently smell his emotions.
“You smell depressed,” Jungkook remarks, as Seokjin closes the last button and wears his coat. “Like, I’m pretty sure it’s clinical.”
“Has no one ever told you to shut up?” Seokjin asks, refusing to look at Jungkook—or pay heed to how his omega tugs him towards the alpha. “It’s like a motor in your mouth.”
“Bet you wish you’d cut my tongue out, don’t you?” Jungkook snarks, though his scent smells…at ease. Playful. “Not that it would have stopped me. I would have probably drooled all over your fancy carpet.”
“Moon give me strength,” Seokjin mutters, brushing back his hair and straightening his jacket. He’s dressed formally tonight—Joonjae had arrived in the morning, looking sicker than usual. He’d retired to his chambers, telling Seokjin to come for dinner alone—they’d talk then. A matter that requires your utmost attention. “I have to go to a meeting. Are you placed comfortably?”
“From prisoner to guest, what an upgrade,” Jungkook muses, and Seokjin is this close to suffocating him with a pillow. He’d never thought he could meet someone more infuriating than Taehyung. “Yeah, yeah. And I know the rules. No peeking outside, no stepping out, and pretending I don’t exist.”
“At least you listen well,” Seokjin says sweetly, curbing his wolf’s treacherous attempts to be pulled in further. He can feel his mating gland swell a little and pokes it back down. Joonjae can’t know. “I’ll be back shortly. In case someone knocks, ignore it. If it’s Namjoon, he’ll tell you. Only he’s allowed. Okay?”
“Jeez, fine, get to your stupid meeting,” Jungkook grumbles, rolling his eyes and falling onto the bed. “I’ll be here, safe and sound, boring myself to death.”
“That’ll be most convenient.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“You wish,” Seokjin says back, then turns away, cheeks hot. This isn’t like him. He’s not a prude like Taehyung keeps saying, but he’s not Jimin either, brazen with his words. He clears his throat. “Goodbye.”
He walks out before he can think about how awkward he feels in his bones.
It had been strange yet comforting, ever since Jungkook had patted him and Seokjin had taken it without resisting it. He’d gone right back to ignoring the alpha, distracting himself with running the camp. It was all he could do, especially after the outlandish lies Taehyung and Jimin had told.
Deep down, a part of him worries about their lies being rooted in truth—and what he might face tonight.
When he reaches the hall, he’s met with the familiar, abrasive scent of rotten flowers—the smell of sickness— followed by unfamiliar pine.
The doors open—and he faces the table, where Joonjae is already sitting at the head and a small, pale man sits adjacent to him. Seokjin walks with his head held high, bowing deeply. “Apologies, Abbeoji. I got held back by work.”
“Not at all, darling, we’ve been here mere moments,” Joonjae says, smiling wolfishly. He waves a hand over to the man. “This is Min Yoongi. From the Daegu Min Clan.”
Seokjin freezes midway rising.
The dinner…was this the matter they were to speak on? But he hadn’t been warned…his father hadn’t told him a thing. Seokjin clears his throat and rises, smiling blandly. “A pleasure to have you here with us.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Yoongi says, bowing back. He looks peculiar for an alpha—small and pale. His eyes are shaped like a fox’s, sharp and unrelenting, deep-set to give an impression of shadows. His mouth is pert pink, and he licks at them frequently. “Your father boasted of your beauty—but I’m afraid he didn’t do it justice.”
Seokjin blushes even as Joonjae bursts out laughing. He smiles again, settling down into the opposite seat. On the left. He’s never been on the left; Joonjae used to say he’s the right-hand man—but Yoongi sits there as if he already belongs.
He’s planning to mate you to him. He’s our brother, hyung.
Min Yoongi looks nothing like them.
Seokjin and Taehyung had taken after their father, though Seokjin borrowed a fair bit of his mother’s beauty; Namjoon had gone entirely on the mother’s side—while Taehyung looked like a younger carbon copy of Joonjae. It nags at him, as he faces Yoongi-- it can’t be true. The proof is right there…
And yet his wolf paces anxiously, clawing at him to see.
“Thank you, Yoongi-ssi,” Seokjin says amicably, keeping alert as Joonjae watches them. “It’s thanks to Abbeoji, of course. I can’t claim credit.”
“Hmm, no, Sora rightfully wins,” Joonjae says, eyes fond. Our father wasn’t a devoted husband. He had an affair all along. “She was a gem amongst the Lee Clan. A diamond in the rough.”
“I wish I had met her before,” Yoongi remarks, sipping at his wine. He looks at Seokjin from time to time, his face carefully blank. Was this the same Yoongi that Hoseok claimed to have been dating? “She sounds remarkable.”
“She was. It’s a pity she was taken so soon,” Joonjae sighs, and for a moment, Yoongi’s lips curl in bare disgust before he turns it back in. Seokjin frowns. “May the Moon bless her soul.”
They close their eyes and resume. Seokjin plays with the handle of his glass. “I’m pleased to have dinner with you, Abbeoji. But may I know why Yoongi-ssi is here…?”
“Ah, yes, how could I forget,” Joonjae says, clapping his hands. They look gnarled, his nails crooked. “I had been on a business trip earlier, I told you?”
“Yes.”
“It was in Daegu. The Head of the Min Clan, my dear friend Yungcheol, sadly passed away,” Joonjae says, lips turned down. “I went to offer my respects. Truly a visionary leader. Iron fist, if I say so.”
It’s unlike his father to praise anyone so strongly. Either this Yungcheol was truly all that—or his father is building up to something. Yoongi’s face is blank. Seokjin turns to him, bowing his head again. “My condolences. It must have been a hard loss.”
Yoongi nods back. “It was untimely, but as they say—the Moon knows when to give and when to take.”
It’s the most mechanical thing Seokjin’s heard so far, and one he abhors. He remembers the many people who’d said the same at his mother’s funeral—shivers run down his spine at the memory. He smiles tightly, turning back to Joonjae.
“After the funeral, I met with Yungcheol’s mate—Son Heeyeon. A good omega.” Joonjae smiles briefly before dropping it. “Yoongi’s their son. A good alpha, even studied in the city for a couple of years.”
“You were in Seoul?” Seokjin asks. Could it truly be Hoseok’s Yoongi?
Yoongi nods. “For university, yes. Yonsei, to be precise. I wanted to be well-versed in the outside world so I could rule better when I…took over.”
“How unfortunate that it had to happen so suddenly,” Joonjae comments, cutting into his steak. Yoongi bows down. “Heeyeon and I got to speaking—we shared how difficult it can be to run organisations without support. It’s been tough without Sora.”
Strange, because Joonjae only ran it from the background. Seokjin had done all the running around—but he bites his lips.
Joonjae continues. “And without Yungcheol, Heeyeon-ssi felt overwhelmed. We got to talking, and realised the two of you are of age.”
Seokjin’s hand halts. Yoongi keeps looking away. “Age for?”
“Mating, of course,” Joonjae says, calmly chewing. “Well past it, really. You are an omega in your prime.” He cuts again. It feels like the blade is against Seokjin’s soul. “I suppose I’m partly to blame. I couldn’t imagine mating you off to someone less than what you deserved, darling.”
Seokjin’s cheeks burn. He looks up, and finds Yoongi looking at him with…pity? “T-thank you for your grace, Abbeoji.”
“Always, sweet,” Joonjae croons, squeezing Seokjin’s hand. “We think you and Yoongi would match well—he’s almost your age, just three months younger. Well-versed, has Yungcheol’s head on his shoulders. Together, you will lead well.”
He’d always known that he’d be mated off—Joonjae hadn’t been shy about it. As an omega, that was his destiny. Seokjin had tried to prove that he could be more—but it seems he’s too late.
At the back of his mind, he thinks of Jungkook, pacing in his room bored out of his mind—and the Mark on his neck.
Seokjin gulps down the whimpers of his wolf, shoving more food in its place.
“Together, Abbeoji?”
“Of course. Through the union, the Min and Kim Clans will be one—and create history as a new Clan. Your children will combine the best of both—and lead for a brighter future.”
He looks at Yoongi—who seems to be nodding blandly, but his eyebrows are raised as if he’s imploring Seokjin to question it. As if he…knows more than he’s letting on. Taehyung’s voice nags at him, and Seokjin ignores it again. “That sounds well-thought-out, Abbeoji.”
Joonjae brushes a knuckle against Seokjin’s cheek. “I always knew I could count on you. My treasure.”
Words he has heard before, except this time—he doesn’t love them as much.
Dinner is largely quiet—they hold a sparse conversation. Yoongi answers Joonjae’s questions, and Seokjin does when he’s prompted. The whole time, whenever Joonjae is looking away—Yoongi glances at Seokjin. He says nothing, shows nothing—but the implication seems heavy.
It gets over, and Seokjin allows Yoongi to wrist-scent him as Joonjae watches. He wants to rub it off—the pine is good, but it feels all sorts of wrong. It’s not the comforting note of cedar, nor the lighter undercurrent of rose. It’s oily, and when neither is looking—Seokjin tries to rub it off.
Yoongi is taken to the guest chambers, and Joonjae bids him goodnight. Yet Seokjin’s wolf is sitting on its haunches, unsatisfied. He’s always had good instincts—he’d learnt to give into them without losing control, working with his omega instead of against it. He’d gotten a reputation for it through the years—the omega whose wolf was always on the surface, yet never losing control. It had taken years, but Seokjin had known the day he’d presented that his omega would be his strength, despite what everyone—including Joonjae—had said.
It doesn’t feel right that inspite of that, he’s reduced to nothing but a good omega to be mated off. After all that he’s done to prove his worth and value.
Against all rational, he takes a detour—and finds himself at his father’s wing.
The guard cautions him, informing him that Joonjae seemed irritable—but Seokjin pushes past. Their father had kept up a competitive environment amongst them, but Seokjin knows he’s the favourite. Surely he has more rights than either of his siblings, who had obvious reasons to resent him. They didn’t have the same privilege, and they’d never understand.
He enters without knocking—and is overwhelmed by the rotting flowers. He holds his wrist to his nose, hoping for Yoongi’s pine to help momentarily.
“Seokjin? What are you doing here at this hour?”
Joonjae is facing him across the room, hands uncuffing his sleeves. He looks strange—sicker as if the journey from the hall to his wing was too much.
“I wanted to—” Words fail him. There’s so much in his heart, on his mind—but mostly, there is a wave of rising betrayal. “How could you?”
He slaps his mouth as soon as it slips out—his wolf is a lot less stable than he’d thought. Joonjae raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Seokjin decides to throw caution to the wind. “How could you mate me off without telling me, Abbeoji?”
“How could I?” Joonjae repeats, taking a step closer. “You are my son. I know what is best for you.”
“But you…you promised you’d tell me,” Seokjin tries, clenching his teeth. “I come to dinner without a hint—”
“Does it matter? I know I have chosen well for you.”
“I don’t even know him!” Seokjin exclaims. He’d thought when he’d get mated he’d be introduced to candidates, maybe given a chance to choose amongst the ones selected by his father. Joonjae loves him that much, he knows it. “Who is he? And why so fast? How is his family?”
“Careful, Seokjin-ah, you’re asking too much,” Joonjae warns, eye twitching. His lips curl, and he stretches them. “Be the good omega I know you are.”
“But I am!” Seokjin cries, the words bursting out of him. All his life, he’s been good, following the orders Joonjae gave. He never questioned them, never rebelled as Taehyung did—and somehow, he gets mated off while Taehyung gets to court whoever? “But I deserve this much. I deserve to know—”
“Oh, enough with what you deserve!” Joonjae yells, his entire frame trembling. “It’s all you omegas ever talk about! Deserve this, deserve that—when you have earned nothing!”
His face contorts briefly—and then his eyes turn red.
Red.
“Abbeoji,” Seokjin whispers, but Joonjae throws his head back, shaking violently. His nails grow into claws, and his shirt rips at the chest slightly as he throws his back out. “Abbeoji, what’s going on—?”
“KEEP QUIET!” Joonjae roars, though they come out as menacing growls. When he looks at Seokjin next, his eyes glow with red rings. His canines seem more wolfish than before. Seokjin is frozen as the Alpha Command takes hold of him. “You’re just like your mother. A stubborn omega, running your mouth. If you don’t want to end up killed like her—then keep quiet.”
And then Joonjae slashes his nails—claws—across Seokjin’s face—and he falls down.
The pain registers a moment later—he can feel his skin split open, the blood running down his cheeks and nose, the salty-copper taste and stench of it in his mouth. Some of it drips into his eyes—but Seokjin can’t move.
Joonjae seems to have a problem with that too.
“Such a pathetic little omega,” he growls, breathing heavily. His hair seems longer and unruly. “Good for nothing but being bred. And asking me why I’m mating you off. Sweet, that’s all you’ve ever been good for.”
It washes over Seokjin’s soul like a brand of damnation.
Somehow, he scrambles back, leaving before Joonjae can get any closer and do something worse—the door shuts behind him not a moment later, the gust of wind throwing him off his balance. Seokjin doesn’t care as he stumbles away, as far as he can, bleeding down his shirt and perhaps staining the estate floors. He can’t see—somewhere, he smells a trail of cedarwood and rose, and follows the scent blindly.
A wolf is calling to his own, and Seokjin gives in.
He ignores the alarmed cries of his guards as he pushes through, shoving through the door and shutting it instantly, locking it. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Jungkook is there—smelling like rage.
“Who did this?” Jungkook growls, but Seokjin sinks down, again, crying, barely registering the pain of the salt mixing with his wounds. “Shit, Seokjin-ssi—that looks bad. Come here.”
“Just—just l-leave me- a-alone,” Seokjin tries but doesn’t resist when Jungkook pulls him anyway, towards the bed. He sits him down and offers water. His mind is in scrambles; his wolf is bringing the house down. “I don’t—I don’t want a-anything—”
“Just—just breathe,” Jungkook whispers, tentatively patting Seokjin’s head again. Embarrassingly enough, he leans in. It had felt so good last time. “It’s fine. Just breathe.”
Perhaps unknowingly, Jungkook’s scent gets stronger—the cedarwood curls under his nose and tongue, pulling him deeper. Seokjin keeps leaning, and Jungkook allows him—he can’t name it, but something else is driving them to each other. Jungkook holds him by his shoulders, rubbing circles into his skin—squeezing occasionally.
It’s quite a while before Seokjin’s mind quiets down, though he thinks nothing. Numbness grows in the pockets of his heart. He can only focus on the sensations of Jungkook’s movements through his shirt. Every time he breathes, his wounds sting a little bit more.
Maybe Jungkook can smell his discomfort because he whines—his eyes are flickering golden, and Seokjin feels his wolf rise to the call. “Hyung. Can I—can I do something to make it better?”
His tongue is heavy. He nods, floating on the surface. Jungkook shuffles closer, his eyes glowing golden now—and leans in.
And licks at Seokjin’s cheek once.
Seokjin jumps, wanting to push him away because this is just—but his wolf stays, and keeps staying as Jungkook licks again. And again, across the slashes, the sensation wet and rough but also—soothing. It’s overwhelmingly…intimate, but Seokjin craves it, as Jungkook goes to town—it seems like he’s not aware of himself either. It soothes the stinging, and Seokjin can feel his skin close—he hadn’t known such a thing could be possible.
Eventually, all his wounds close, and Jungkook is almost nuzzling into his skin—he smells overwhelmingly of rose now, and safety. Warmth, and when he blinks, his eyes are caught between a hazy gold and secure brown. Seokjin has never felt so seen.
It’s instinct, in the steadily growing call between their wolves—but before he knows it, Seokjin ends up kissing him.
Jungkook is responsive—he seems just as lost, and Seokjin revels in the ease of it. The comfort, and how right it feels. He tastes like salt and medicine, and he’s feverish in a way that ignites Seokjin to just—
The alpha bites at his lower lip—and Seokjin gasps, shoving him away. It wakes them both; Jungkook blinks sleepily before his eyes widen, and he shuffles back. Seokjin curls against his side, hiding himself behind his legs.
Neither say a word. They don’t have to—their wolves are doing all the talking.
Seokjin stares for a moment longer—before going to his washroom and staying inside a long, long time.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin wakes up to pull in his chest—his omega pawing at him furiously, wanting him to follow the call. He turns to his side—Taehyung is fast asleep, facing away from Jimin with his broad back on display. It’s littered with scars and the rough ridges of poorly healed wounds.
He reaches out to trace them—before taking his hand away. They can’t—he can’t just go back to normal without answers. Even if Taehyung needs time, Jimin can’t pretend all is good. They have too much in between them to forget.
There is that pull again, and Jimin rubs at his chest. It doesn’t seem like an injury or an ailment; the cause is definitely internal—perhaps some bullshit his wolf is dragging his attention to. Except…maybe he shouldn’t ignore that anymore. Too much has happened because Jimin was avoidant. If he needs answers—he needs to be willing to ask the questions and face whatever comes his way.
Jimin steps out of the bed, determined to get one of them at least. Starting with—the location of Jeon Jungkook, and whether or not he’s safe.
Too many of his pack members were in danger, and the irony is not lost on him. Jimin left so they could be safe, so that Taehyung couldn’t lord them over him—and they were dragged into this mess anyway. Jungkook, the idiot, wanting to save Jimin. Yoongi, to save Hoseok, had gone back to his home—and stumbled upon something much more sinister. All of them entangled with each other somehow—Jimin is tempted to blame himself, but he has a gnawing feeling that this was all destined.
He gets ready silently, leaving Taehyung behind and walking towards Kim Seokjin’s wing.
It’s a guess that makes the most sense. Seokjin had left hastily when Joonjae had arrived; if all the catacombs were connected to the estate, then he would have gone to a place he felt the safest—and where Jungkook would be safe too.
The wing’s entrance is guarded when Jimin turns up. He won’t be allowed willingly—and slips a knife out, choosing an angle—before flinging it right at the wall in front of the guards’ vision.
Easiest trick in the book. The guards go to investigate, and Jimin slips past them quietly while they’re distracted. He can’t smell Jungkook, but he can smell the freshly applied scent-blockers. He identifies the room— it’s locked. Any moment soon, the guards will turn around and see him; Jimin flings another dagger further away—there is a ruckus, but he swiftly removes a pin—and breaks the lock, slipping in just as the guards turn around the corner.
Jungkook is humming a song, and Jimin sighs in relief.
He walks in deeper, and finds Jungkook on the bed, sketching something on a napkin, eyebrows furrowed and teeth digging into his lower lip. Jimin can’t help but keep watching—it hits him, how he hasn’t seen him since that night. The prison doesn’t count and isn’t something he wants to remember. Some two months later, Jungkook has—changed. His hair has grown out longer, he looks weaker—though healthier than when Jimin had last seen him. He still has injuries, but they seem to be healing—and Jimin lets out a sob.
Jungkook startles. “Who’s there—what the—Jimin?”
Jimin holds a hand over his mouth, but his wolf is crawling out of it, wanting to run, hold, and do something other than just stand and gawk at the alpha. Jungkook drops the napkin, rushing over and holding him. “Jimin-hyung!”
Then he crushes Jimin to his chest, and Jimin cries into it.
The alpha places his chin on top of Jimin’s head, the cheeky fucker—though Jimin only feels relief at the familiarity of it. He tucks himself into Jungkook, sniffling and probably spreading snot all over but he’s just so relieved, after weeks of holding it all in—he can’t smell Jungkook, but it’s familiar anyway. He’s pack, he’s always been.
“There, there, hyung, you’re fine,” Jungkook murmurs, sounding like he’s crying too—Jimin feels a couple of tears drop on his skin, and hugs him tighter. “Still on the smaller side, hmm?”
“Shut up,” Jimin grumbles, pushing away and rubbing his eyes. He snorts when he meets Jungkook’s equally splotchy face, eyes pink and nose running. He wipes it with the edge of his sleeve. “I could still take you down.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Jungkook says, smiling softly and tucking Jimin’s hair in, finger lingering at his lobe. It was a habit he could never stop, and Jimin wouldn’t tell him to either. It was calming for them both. “Hyung. You’re okay?”
Jimin huffs, turning Jungkook around and checking everywhere. “I should be the one asking you that.” He catches the limp, the many bandages tied around—he’s going to deck Seokjin to Neverland, once all of this is done. “Shit, Jungkook-ah. This looks bad.”
“It doesn’t hurt, though,” Jungkook whines, collapsing back onto the bed. “Seokjin-ssi has been an excellent caretaker.”
“He took care of the wounds?”
“I know, I was surprised too,” Jungkook sighs, supporting himself with his elbows. “Surprisingly good at it.”
Jimin says nothing—and neither does Jungkook, as the reality of the situation catches up to them. Now that Jungkook seems healed—it’s a question of who will take the plunge.
He knows now, who Jimin is or at least, was, and it’s out there in the open. The secret Jimin hid for years, tried to bury until it couldn’t exist anymore—the one he ran away from when it came to light, leaving his pack behind. Pain shoots across his chest again, a stone falling into the pit of his stomach as he waits for the questions to come—
“You doing okay, hyung? All healthy?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin blinks. There’s no hostility, only curiosity. He looks concerned…but he should be upset. Furious, even. Jimin has been lying to them for ten years and has put them all in danger regardless of destiny. “What’s going on? Why’s Hobi-hyung here?”
At that, Jimin sits up. “Hobi-hyung’s here?”
“Yeah? You didn’t know?” Jungkook faces him, crossing his legs. He bites his lips again, and Jimin aches to tap against them. Yet he feels a block. His wolf, drawing him back—don’t. He’s not yours anymore. “I thought you’d know…”
“I know he’s been…taken, but not where,” Jimin says, fidgeting. “Have you seen him? Do you know where they’re keeping him?”
“It’s in the same place I was,” Jungkook says, scratching his neck. “I saw him yesterday. Seokjin-ssi and Namjoon-ssi took me along.”
Those names shouldn’t be so familiar in Jungkook’s mouth…but it’s done now. For better or for worse, Jungkook is part of Jimin’s world. He traces lines across the back of Jungkook’s hand. “How…how is he?”
Jungkook grimaces, shaking his head. Jimin’s stomach sinks. “He’s sick. Namjoon-ssi said he has…dry heat? Something like that.”
“Yeah. That’s what Yoongi-hyung said too,” Jimin sighs. He knows of dry heat, but thankfully never experienced it. Perhaps because Jimin’s never been so moulded with his omega like Hoseok had been. “About Yoongi-hyung, Jungkook-ah, you should know…”
“I know,” Jungkook says softly, looking down. His shoulders fall in defeat. “Seokjin-ssi asked Hoseok if Yoongi-hyung was from Daegu. And then he asked if it was the…mafia clan. Is that true?”
Goddess above, what had his world come to? Jimin exhales, but the shivers don’t stop. It had all gone out of control so fast. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one hiding a secret.”
Jungkook looks up sharply at that, and Jimin expects his anger now—wants it even, anything but this guilt threatening to eat into his heart, stomach and everything in between. It had a monstrous appetite now, slamming against Jimin’s body with a carnal hunger.
Maybe his face shows it because Jungkook’s gaze softens. He plays with Jimin’s fingers, swallowing hard. Then he shakes his head, smiling sadly. “I’m not mad, hyung. Before you ask.”
Jimin holds his hands tightly. “Why?”
“What’s the point?” Jungkook asks, shrugging listlessly. He looks tired already. “You clearly left this all behind. Maybe wanted a clean slate. At least since I’ve known you…you’ve only ever looked out for us.”
“That’s not fair,” Jimin whispers, throat feeling chock full of—something. “You should be angry. I could have—I wasn’t a good person and I put you all in danger—”
“Yeah, no, your birthday dinner did not seem planned at all,” Jungkook drawls, rolling his eyes. “When I first found out, I couldn’t believe it. But I’ve had some time to myself…and I guess I’ve been reflecting.”
“Jungkook-ah…”
“I still want answers, though,” Jungkook says swiftly, blushing. “But I’m not mad. Just so we’re clear.”
Jimin wants to protest—but Jungkook’s always been painfully stubborn, and it’s useless forcing him to feel something he doesn’t want to. He hugs himself, rocking on his heels.
“You know how I told you guys that my parents died and left me an inheritance?” Jimin starts, and Jungkook nods, giving his full attention. “And that I’m from Busan. Well—I was. But when I was five, my parents travelled all the way here and decided to…to sell me.”
Jungkook gasps. “Hyung.”
“I guess they didn’t have money—and I don’t know what got them here, but that’s what I remember. I was in the camp from five till when I was about seventeen, short of turning eighteen.
“I’ve done all the things you’ve heard about probably. I trained to kill people. I have killed them. I got paid for it, and by the time I left—I was one of the most recruited assassins.”
“Is that…was that the inheritance you told us about?”
Jimin looks down, shame burning the edges of his heart. “I just wanted a clean break. I took my share and left. I wanted so badly to have a normal story, I made this up—after a while, it was easier to believe this than the truth.”
“What made you leave?”
Jimin curls his nails into his thighs. He’s still not ready to face his past, not the one that matters the most—the one that both imprisoned him and released him. He knows, however, that he will have to one day.
“Taehyung,” Jimin says, his name burning. “I had a complicated—thing with him. It got to a point where staying would have meant—worse.”
“You left because of a boy?” Jungkook asks, incredulous, and Jimin smiles weakly. It drops—because it wasn’t just any boy, and it wasn’t just a boy. The images flash again—the tussles with Taehyung, the smile of a new trainee—and the warm scent of lemon grass. Jimin shakes his head. Not now.
“It was complicated enough that I took my chance to leave when I could,” Jimin says, winking. It feels corrosive—but he can’t bring himself to say it, especially after Taehyung’s accusations. Remember when you ran away because of it?
He’s not ready to unpack what that means just yet.
Jungkook notices it perhaps, and doesn’t push. He still faces Jimin with empathy—and it’s more than what Jimin deserves.
“Tell me,” Jimin says, after a while, combing down Jungkook’s messy locks. “How’s your…bond with Seokjin-hyung?”
Jungkook groans, falling back into the pillows. Jimin giggles, pulling him up again. The alpha looks confused and frustrated. He chews on his lower lip, and this time, Jimin slaps against his wrist.
“It’s…weird,” Jungkook says finally, rubbing at his mating gland—Jimin catches the dark edge of a Mark. “It’s like…whenever I see him, everything makes sense. Like I can see the world in HD. But when he’s away…I don’t even know how it could be possible. What if I hadn’t come here?”
“You’d have gone without knowing, then,” Jimin says, the familiar guilt flaring up again. “Namjoon-hyung said that True Mates aren’t rare, it’s just no one bothers finding them anymore.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Jungkook grumbles, scratching at his gland a little more vehemently; Jimin reaches for it, taking it away. “If people are going to end up with assassin mates or whatever, it’s not worth it.”
He can sense the turmoil in Jungkook—coming to terms with a world he was never meant to stumble into. If all had gone well, Jimin would have continued living as he did, and Jungkook would have eventually found someone who loved him back. They’d have been a happy, healthy pack—and carried on.
As he’s reiterated so many times—his luck is especially fucked, a cruel joke by the Moon Goddess.
He pulls Jungkook in, ignoring his wolf’s frantic warnings as he hugs Jungkook close, practically in his lap—but they’ve always been close, Jimin having a monstrous appetite for physical touch. He’d been denied it for so long at camp—when he’d come out, it was the first thing he’d developed an addiction to.
“Ah, my baby,” Jimin whispers, stroking Jungkook’s hair; the alpha sighs, going loose and soft. He feels Jungkook’s sniffles again and keeps patting. “I’m sorry. I really, really am.”
They stay like that, Jimin finally taking care of him—and Jungkook allowing himself to be.
It’s perhaps why he doesn’t hear anything—the sharp influx of scent blockers is his only warning before something—someone— tackles him, and Jimin falls to the ground—only to have Seokjin snarling in his face.
🖤⚔🖤
[Two hours ago]
Seokjin had slipped out of his room before he could face Jungkook.
It wasn’t that he was…afraid. Last night had been a surprise, a bad one. That’s all. Seokjin had been rattled, and that didn’t happen often. He’d given in just because…he could. And because Jungkook had been there.
He still doesn’t want to have that conversation with Jungkook, however. Or think about the alpha licking him, the warm strokes and the way they healed his wounds. Or the kiss after…
Seokjin pinches his thigh, keeping him alert for the investors’ meeting that he has to sit for. Joonjae had claimed sickness, so Seokjin was in his seat—but it felt wrong now. It felt temporary rather than the reality he’d expected—that one day the seat would be his. Joonjae would make bold statements about equally representing his children—but Seokjin knew no one else made as much sense as he did.
You’re good for only being bred. That’s all.
The investors drone on, and Seokjin is far away. He could have sought Namjoon out, but he’s preoccupied with Hoseok probably. Taehyung has never been an option—and it hits him again, in the middle of the meeting, how alone he is.
He can’t trust anyone. He can’t even trust Joonjae, even though until last night he’d been sure he could. His father always had his best interests at heart.
Or at least that’s what he’d always told Seokjin, over and over, until it was all Seokjin could believe. Had to, because he didn’t have any other option. He couldn’t be quiet like Namjoon or rebel like Taehyung. As Joonjae’s only omega son, his oldest—the attention would always be on Seokjin to be perfect.
The meeting ends, and Seokjin nods blankly before making his way out. He signals his guards to leave him alone—and goes on out, feet dragging him somewhere. Moments later, he finds himself at his mother’s shrine—and it hits him again.
If you don’t want to end up killed like your mother, keep quiet.
On autopilot, he lights the ceremonial incense sticks that Joonjae had ordered. Lee Sora’s portrait stands to the side, her warm eyes and bright smile adding colour to the otherwise sombre memory. Seokjin has her lips and facial structure—Joonjae often praised how Seokjin had gotten the best features out of all of them. The best of both worlds. How happy she would be to see her sons grow so well.
Had it all been for show, then? Was this—the shrine, the garden—all a pretence? He’d thought his father loved her. He’d mourned her, refusing to come out—but Seokjin doubts it now. Killed, not dead, but killed, as if it had been planned.
He doesn’t react when Taehyung shows up next to him, facing the shrine silently. Quiet, pensive eyes roam over it—he reaches to light his own incense stick, holding his hands to himself. His eyes shake—Seokjin could hardly tolerate Taehyung most days, but the weeks after her death had been terrifying, Taehyung’s grief palpable. Out of all of them, he’d been the closest to her—and she had favoured him the most.
Seokjin used to resent him for it. Still does, but now—
“What happened to her?”
Taehyung startles. He looks at Seokjin with moist eyes. “What?”
“Something happened to her,” Seokjin says simply. A year after Sora’s death, Taehyung had changed—angrier and boisterous. He’d rebel against Joonjae even more, taking the punishments as if he wasn’t afraid anymore. There was hatred in those same eyes—the likes of which Seokjin hadn’t seen before. “You know about it. Tell me.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to, hyung,” Taehyung says, looking away. “She died. Please don’t tell me you’re having some psychotic break and remembering her wrong.”
“Moon above, Taehyung,” Seokjin whispers, though he finds no energy to fight. “I met Abbeoji last night. He said something interesting.”
“He can do that?”
“Taehyung,” Seokjin snaps, but holds himself back. He needs answers—and even though he doesn’t trust Taehyung completely, he is his brother. “I’m apparently supposed to be mated off to Min Yoongi. From the Daegu mafia clan.”
Taehyung stiffens but plays it off. “I see. Congratulations.”
“You knew about it,” Seokjin presses. Taehyung shrugs. “Taehyung, please.”
“You seem to think I made that shit up to take your seat,” Taehyung says, plucking a flower and twirling it. “You can keep believing that. I don’t really care.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Seokjin huffs and Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “It can’t be a coincidence, so just answer this for me.” Taehyung says nothing, and Seokjin inhales. “He told me I should go ahead with the mating, or else I’ll end up killed like our mother.”
Taehyung sighs. Bites his lips, shaking a hand through his hair—which trembles. Seokjin waits with bated breath—before Taehyung faces him with a look of pity and defeat.
“What do you want me to say, hyung? It’s right there in front of your eyes.”
Seokjin stumbles. “That’s not—it can’t be—”
“She was assassinated,” Taehyung says bluntly, but it pulls the ground from beneath Seokjin’s feet. “She was sent out in the rain, and her car spun out of control. She crashed.”
“No,” Seokjin gasps, bending down and holding his stomach. The ground spins, and he’s going to throw up. “You’re lying—it can’t be. I saw her. She died because of the rain—the tyres didn’t have any grip—”
“Her car brakes were tampered with. Her tyres were worn out.”
“Stop,” Seokjin begs, shutting his ears. But he can’t stop seeing it. He remembers, how he’d been coming back from a mission and it had failed. Joonjae had been furious and had told him to figure a way back. Seokjin had felt ashamed, and his mother had rushed to pick him up. It had been raining heavily, and Seokjin had told her to stay in—but she’d insisted. Your father is being stubborn. Don’t be silly. “It can’t—Taehyung-ah. It can’t.”
“It is,” Taehyung says harshly, refusing to let up. Seokjin hates him, even though he asked. “And even if it isn’t, hyung— how are you okay with everything else he’s done? What he keeps doing to Namjoon-hyung, what he asks you to do?”
“I didn’t—if I d-didn’t he’d k-kill him—”
“How long are you going to serve him?” Taehyung asks, eyes cold. “How long should our brother suffer because you can’t grow a fucking spine?”
The guilt opens its gaping maw—and swallows Seokjin whole.
The memory is still clear. Seokjin and Taehyung in their early twenties, Taehyung discovering Namjoon’s true status—and how Seokjin was injecting him with hormones. How he’d fallen on his knees, begging Seokjin to stop it. He’d done everything—threatened, hit, cried—but Seokjin had shrugged, helpless. Joonjae had told him he’d rather have Namjoon dead than a beta—so he should choose the wiser option.
How had Seokjin denied it for so long?
“I thought…I thought I was doing the best for the camp,” Seokjin whispers, holding himself. It hurts all over, and Seokjin can’t identify the origin. “For our father…”
“The same father who’s mating you to your half-brother?” Taehyung snorts, though his voice shakes with anger. “Is that not sick? Even assassins have morals.”
He still can’t believe it, that their father had an affair all these years—that he had a son out there, and it’s a son he’s going to have Seokjin mate. It sickens him that Joonjae could even think this is okay—let alone be proud of it.
How can he stand up to someone he had idolised? Someone whose opinion mattered, always had? How does he just—stop that?
Taehyung sits down next to him. He plucks the flower petal by petal, and they watch them fluttering down. It feels a lot like how Seokjin does.
“I didn’t tell you this earlier,” Taehyung starts after some time, quiet and contemplative. “I didn’t see the relevance. Frankly, I’m not sure I’ve come to terms with it myself—but I’m taking this leap.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m a bastard son.”
Seokjin looks up. “What?”
“Abbeoji’s son, but we don’t share a mother,” Taehyung says, voice numb. Seokjin’s ears are full of water. “Abbeoji fucked some whore and she had me. Apparently, Eomma chose to keep me, and raise me as her own.”
“Taehyung…what does that mean—?”
“But she is my mother, blood or not,” Taehyung says, gnashing his teeth. “And I’ll always mourn her. Not once did she make me feel like I didn’t belong, when our own father tried so many times. He hated my guts—you know it, I know it.”
This is too much for Seokjin. He had never anticipated this—
“And he tried to turn us against each other. All the fucking time.” Taehyung throws his head back. “I don’t like you sometimes, and Namjoon-hyung’s passivity pisses me off—but you’re both still my real brothers. You always will be. And I’m going to do right by our family, whether you help me or not.”
Taehyung holds his gaze—until Seokjin breaks away first. His heart races and his head feels heavy enough to drop off. Taehyung gets up, brushing off his pants—before walking off without a word.
Seokjin looks at his mother’s picture. Her smile, her trust in Seokjin. In her children, as much as she could with Joonjae as a father. Seokjin wipes his eyes as he faces her, the shame burning a middle path to his heart—soon, it will give out if Seokjin doesn’t do something soon enough.
He asks her anyway. “Eomma, what do I do?”
She doesn’t answer back. Of course, she won’t.
The dead can’t speak anyway.
All he wants is to get to his room, shut himself out from the world and curl into endless sleep.
But when he gets close—he can smell an intruder.
Or not quite an intruder, but there is a weak trail of orange blossoms. It clashes with Jungkook’s cedar which remains consistent no matter how many scent-blocking patches he gives. It’s a part of being Soul-Bonded, apparently.
Seokjin enters quietly—and sees Jungkook wrapped in Jimin’s arms.
He’d been underwater for so long, that he doesn’t register the moment he comes out of it, everything in high clarity. His wolf snarls, and before Seokjin can choose to control himself—
Park Jimin is on the floor, and Seokjin has a hand wrapped around his slender neck. A blue haze covers his vision, and he gives into his wolf as he squeezes harder, raising a hand to slash it across Jimin’s face.
Someone yells behind him, but all Seokjin’s focused on is eliminating the threat. He laid a hand on what is ours. It gets through because Jimin’s eyes burn blue—and he snarls back, kneeing Seokjin in the groin and rolling him onto his back.
It’s a nasty little thing—but oh so satisfying, as he finally, finally, gets to dig his teeth and nails into Park Jimin. He’d never liked him, too pompous and boastful for an orphaned omega—but now, in his territory, with his alpha?
He doesn’t know where he disappears off to as he gets his hits in—only that he has Jimin on his belly, arms pinned behind his back and thumb digging into his wrist, strong enough to break it so he’d keep his grubby little paws off his mate—
A sharp pain strikes him at the back of his neck—and Seokjin goes loose, falling on top of Jimin.
He’s dragged away, breathing heavily as someone helps Jimin, before stepping between him and Seokjin. He pushes Jimin gently, towards the door.
“Go. I’ll speak with you later,” Jungkook says, and Seokjin can’t see how it’s received because he’s on the ground like a pathetic omega who’s good for nothing—
Jungkook helps him up, labouring under Seokjin’s weight but holding his own. He places him on the bed, brushing his fingers gently over Seokjin’s nape—and the command lifts off instantly.
He’d nipped him. To make him submit.
Nothing can be more embarrassing than that.
“Seokjin-ssi, are you okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding so concerned that Seokjin’s going to be sick. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a bad omega, a bad brother, son—and mate. “What’s going on? Can I help?”
Seokjin’s mute, too stunned by—everything. Nothing. He doesn’t even know where to begin. He scratches at his gland, and Jungkook’s eyes catch it. Some understanding lights up in them, and his scent smells—guilty.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” Jungkook asks, cheeks blooming pink. “I crossed a line, having Jimin-hyung over.”
He did—but at the same time, he had all the rights to do so. Jungkook is only seeking comfort, and Seokjin isn’t the one to provide it.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook continues, twisting his hands. “I didn’t mean to—Jimin-hyung’s like my—” He frowns, shaking his head. Conflict shows up. “He’s my pack mate. I’ve known him for years and—nothing has ever happened.” Jungkook smiles sadly, hopelessly. Seokjin hates that he ever had hope at all. Calm down. You didn’t know him before last month. “Nothing ever will.”
It sounds certain, resigned—practised. As if he’d always known that Jimin would be out of reach, and claiming him was just that—a fantasy. Seokjin doesn’t get it—but then again, he’s not sure if he’s ever loved someone or cared for them so deeply.
“You smell distressed,” Jungkook remarks after more silence has passed. His entire body seems keyed up like he has too much energy with nowhere to place it. “Is everything okay?”
“Why do you care?” Seokjin snaps, too undeserving of that soft care. Just like how Jungkook had asked him the same, and this time it’s Seokjin. “Just because we’re mates?”
Jungkook’s nose flares at that, and his mating gland swells pink. Seokjin’s own feels like an itch. Is it that every time they acknowledge the Bond, it gets deeper? Why doesn’t he feel like stopping it, though?
“Because you’re breaking down in front of me,” Jungkook replies, tone sure and confident, though his face seems hesitant. It’s the oddest contrast, one Seokjin can’t help but believe. “And I’d care about that regardless of you being my mate or not.”
Well. When he puts it like that…
Seokjin hates looking weak. In an assassin camp, weakness had no place to take root—it had to be weeded out, kept away so it couldn’t get in the way. And he’s spent so long keeping that up, making sure he doesn’t slip—that he didn’t realise the giant cracks that had formed anyway.
So he tells him, and Jungkook—he listens. He’s patient with it, doesn’t cut in or put his point forward—he waits until Seokjin is done telling him his dilemma, doesn’t judge him for having it—and the moment he’s done, Seokjin feels a weight lift off his chest and shoulders, everything.
“So you’re not sure what to choose?” Jungkook asks when Seokjin has been quiet long enough. Seokjin nods, falling back. Jungkook lies down next to him, far—but it helps. Cedar and rose lay a blanket for him to curl into. “I understand. But I don’t see why it has to be a choice.”
Seokjin frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—I can see why it feels like you should choose…but the way I see it, waiting for your father seems to be harming more people that you love.”
“Waiting for him…?”
“Some part of you is waiting for him to be—I don’t know, decent or whatever—and has been. For a while.” Jungkook exhales. “Take it from me. Waiting when you already know your losses isn’t even a losing battle. It’s already, hopeless defeat.”
Something tells him it’s about Jimin, and how long Jungkook must have waited. “What, then?”
“Your loyalty to your father has been thankless, but mostly it’s been thankless for you,” Jungkook says, words simple yet—groundbreaking. Jungkook doesn’t even know half of it, hasn’t lived Seokjin’s life—and yet, he knows. “So I don’t think it’s even a choice. You already know what you’re going to do, but you feel bad about it. Deal with that first.”
The alpha squeezes Seokjin’s shoulder once—before turning away and dropping into a deep slumber almost instantly.
Seokjin stays away the whole night, knowing which side he’s going to stay on at last.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
What a fucking ride. Jeez.
Man I love this chapter. I love it. I didn't think I could love anything more than ch 19 but this is a close second. Not because it's a literary genius but the character of Seokjin. I LOVED diving deep into it- his reasons, his fears, his opinions- so much of this was dedicated to Seokjin finally understanding how he's been played with in the Kim family dynamics. We already saw Taehyung and Namjoon, and I was waiting for this. I can't wait to keep writing him.Also the banter between Jungkook and Seokjin <3
Reasons for late updates, IMPORTANT:
I have been tackling low-grade burnout in general from my work, and I feel in a way, some of it for this au. Don't get me wrong, I love this universe and what I have created and I WILL see it through, but I was ONLY writing this for over a year (save the brief Yoonjin stint) and I think I reached saturation. Because we're closer to the end, I KNOW what's going to happen and I want it out but there is still so many WORDS left to complete it that I just...fizzled out. Every time I sat to write the chapter I would hate it, or it didn't feel right. I also had so much guilt and shame for not writing. But I addressed this on twitter, and I felt better. I took my distance- focused on writing something else, editing some other work- and that helped. When I opened ch 23 again, I felt inspired again, and enjoyed it.So this is a fair warning that the updates will take time, there will be gaps- and I would REALLY appreciate it if I don't get comments asking for the updates, because it really drives me to guilt. I love that it's coming from a place of interest and love for this story, and I am honoured by it- but it would help so much. I want to enjoy this universe I have laboured to create, and not just produce like a machine. I hope y'all understand. I love you all, hope you're keeping happy and healthy. See you guys soon, thank you for reading!
Chapter 23: Too Much, Too Little
Notes:
i'm backkkk exactly a month, still struggling w burnout but it was good. I visited my parents' and got a 2 week break from adulting, tho i still had to work and socialise i'm soooo close to just. becoming a mushroom on a field.
this chapter has been in the drafts for so long...but finally I've birthed her. sweetie cutie lovely. y'all are not ready heheeheheheheh
also 3D was so good and refreshing i LOVE the choreo it's so 90s MTV coded i love seeing jungkook have fun & be an unbothered king. i'm borrowing that cuz too many ppl are losing their minds over him acting like a 26 year old.
more about this chapter in the end notes. ENJOY!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was like an addiction. Once Jimin had a taste of it, he couldn’t stop.
He went about his normal training and assignments, a familiar routine that kept him going. As he adjusted to a world where omegas, betas and alphas were treated differently, and one was ranked over the other—Jimin couldn’t help but give in to the curiosity.
Being with Taehyung outside of a cycle… stuck in his mind. How the alpha was—handsome, confident, though at times brutish or simply plain rude. He’d lord his status over others at times—but never Jimin. No, he stayed far, far away, refusing to even look at him.
Until their cycles came, and then he’d treat Jimin like the world’s most precious omega.
But Jimin couldn’t stop. Out of a rut…you don’t…? The look on Taehyung’s face, the confidence. No. Once I’ve had a taste, why would I choose someone else?
Some nights, Jimin gave into the shame, a hand down his pants stroking his cock and wet slit as he thought of Taehyung fucking him without the rut daze. His lavender growing until Jimin choked on it, and the way he’d lick his lips clean off slick after. Smiling, kissing Jimin as his hot tongue tasted him—
Jimin couldn’t stop even as he shamefully came, mouth fisted with a sock to not alert his dorm-mates.
Suddenly, Kim Taehyung was someone Jimin wanted to—own. Conquer, not just a competitor but someone Jimin had to prove himself to. It was the strangest yearning, and try as he did—it was all Jimin could do to keep himself in check.
A month after their hasty excursion, Jimin found himself alone with Taehyung after a long time.
The class had been particularly brutal—disarming under the influence of substances. While they hadn’t been plied with anything, the teacher had given all of them a mix that rendered them near immobile. Fighting through the haze was even more painful than his heat.
In hindsight, Jimin decided to blame his decision on the mix, and not his growing greed for Taehyung.
The alpha quietly packed his belongings, but he was stiff as a board. It was almost as if he was gauging Jimin’s reactions. Everything honed to that one singular point—Taehyung’s back, his hair limp and neck pink. Such a boy, but Jimin could only focus on the lavender emanating from him.
Perhaps he lost his mind. Or both of them did. Jimin turned around, clearing his throat, and Taehyung faced him, face set blank.
“Jimin,” Taehyung said politely, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. He was tense—the veins in his neck were straining, and his shoulders seemed tight. “What’s keeping you?”
“Just resting,” Jimin replied, sitting on one of the desks. “Class was so hard, I need to catch a break.”
“Think you managed just fine,” Taehyung muttered, though his eyes glossed over Jimin’s body head to toe. Heat curled under his belly. “Disarmed Eunwoo pretty well.”
“Is that a compliment I hear, Kim Taehyung?” Jimin purred, crossing his legs over now and leaning back. He really shouldn’t…but where was the fun in holding back? “You’re getting generous lately.”
“You’re a good combatant, get over it,” Taehyung scoffed, though his cheeks reddened. “I’m not a sore loser.”
“You are graceful, I’ll give you that,” Jimin hummed, taking out his dagger and cleaning under his nails. “Respectful, talented, and pretty. Who would have thought?”
“Jimin.”
“You look tense,” Jimin continued, twirling the dagger. “Anything I can help you with?”
Taehyung stepped forward, just close enough to smell good but far enough that Jimin would have to strain. He was already beginning to tower over Jimin—and it got to him, irritating to behold. “Depends. How would you?”
His voice was slow, syrupy enough that his blood became sluggish with want. Jimin leaned in, the lavender calling. “I heard massages are good. Usually hot and wet ones.”
An observer would call it shameful, how obvious Jimin was being. And yet, he didn’t care—not now, when Taehyung was right there, ready to be consumed.
Jimin didn’t resist when Taehyung took a step forward, grabbing him by the chin, kissing him with such hunger he’d have thought he’d been starving. And he had been, for a month—thinking of when he could feed on Taehyung next.
He didn’t resist even as Taehyung lifted him and pushed him against a wall in the corner, rutting against him until the clothes felt too abrasive, until Jimin was putty in his hands, melting into a hot, wet puddle.
There was shame and guilt—but overpowering those was a syrupy calm. It was so right, to taste Taehyung, to nip his mouth open and have their tongues meet. To ruck up his shirt, explore his bony chest—anyone could catch them. The rumours would be innumerable, and Jimin was risking his budding career for sex.
Let them know. Let them know he belongs to me, something in him screamed, so faint that Jimin didn’t care. It was empowering, to be the only omega Taehyung slept with. To be a nobody, and have an Elite alpha’s attention on him. For him. Only him.
Taehyung took him into a deeper alcove of the classroom, as they explored each other again—nothing too bold, but enough that Jimin’s addiction was enabled once again.
🖤⚔🖤
Hoseok paces around the room in a hexagon pattern, counting the number of steps and breaths to stop himself from going insane.
It’s a good exercise to build—whatever little strength he has left. It does help—his omega is lighter, more present without the constant echo of distress all over. Jungkook had left behind one scented shirt—and that had been enough for the time being.
Knowing and having his pack member around had considerably reduced the need to bury himself and never emerge.
And yet. The energy had bloomed outward, into restless limbs and a more active mind. It never stopped, tick, tick, tick, as he understood his reality. The reality of prisons, killers—and mafias.
Do you mean Min Yoongi from the Daegu mafia clan—?
No, no, no, Hoseok thinks, chanting it over and over as he makes the hundredth lap around the room, his hips and joints aching from the exertion.
He wanted to deny it. To turn a blind eye, pretend he’d never heard. That he’d wait for Yoongi, and ask the truth himself. What exactly? That he was part of this world? That he lied to you all along? Hoseok isn’t sure if he can quite take that anymore. Everyone around him has been lying, keeping secrets and carrying on—why is he the one who’s suffering then?
What crime had he done, except loving two people from this hell?
When the walking is too unbearable for his hips—Hoseok collapses on the bed, breathing heavily as his mind catches up to him again. He falls asleep like that—and his dreams are full of knives, guns and wolves bearing their teeth—before they tear into him.
His wolf wakes him up—and he does, heart racing as it yips, turned towards the door with a focus that could burn a hole through it.
Someone’s behind the door—someone very, very familiar.
Not a moment later, keys rattle in the lock. Hoseok is already standing when the door swings open, revealing Namjoon—and behind him, petite, smelling faintly of scent neutralisers and orange blossoms—Jimin.
All at once, Hoseok’s wolf leaps out.
It’s almost as if his human side vanishes, as he runs to meet Jimin in the middle, gathering him in his arms like he always had, hugging him so tight Hoseok’s sure his fragile bones will break. He doesn’t care, nose in Jimin’s hair and neck as he swallows his fellow omega in.
It’s almost like they’d never been apart. Except that’s a lie, because Hoseok can physically feel his soul heal, his wolf coming out of its shell the more he takes Jimin in, tucking him close. Scents him like there’s no tomorrow, and there is finally, finally a merge of freesias and oranges bursting—one of his favourite combinations. A sob breaks out—and builds into a wail, as Hoseok tucks himself into Jimin’s neck, and they both collapse on the floor together, holding onto each other.
“Jimin-ah, my Jiminie,” Hoseok gasps, squeezing him so tight he’s afraid Jimin will bulge out. But he doesn’t care, holding Hoseok equally tightly, crying into his gown. “Aigoo, my baby. Look at how thin you’ve become.”
It’s the first thing he can focus on, as his wolf comes back to normal—a familiar, protective layer present, without holding Hoseok on a leash. He keens as Jimin’s hand strokes his hair, just the way he likes it, and they rock back and forth as they hug. It’s just them in this entire room. The entire world. Nothing else matters to Hoseok.
They pull back eventually—and as they meet eyes—Hoseok gasps, vision blue as Jimin’s pupils ring cobalt, their omegas coming to the surface. It happens much too fast—one moment, Hoseok’s taking Jimin in, the next—the Bond clicks in, and all is right in the world.
It’s like a click, two puzzle pieces joining at last and completing the picture. Images flash through Hoseok’s head—the first day he’d seen Jimin in freshman orientation, a grubby eighteen-year-old, looking lost and scared. Hoseok’s omega nudged him closer, insistent. He’s ours. Go to him. Hoseok had never questioned it—at nineteen, he’d learnt to trust his wolf’s wisdom. He believed in the old stories, the idea of having destined mates and pack-mates—but had never found anyone along the way.
It had made sense for Jimin to be the first one.
But Jimin was too closed off, too aloof—too hurt, his omega had supplied, as they’d searched and searched and come up empty. Almost as if Jimin had no wolf, and that had been crushing. Heart-breaking. To know that there were people hurt enough to separate from their wolves—
Wait for him. Guide him. He needs it more than anyone.
So Hoseok had. Patiently, for years, as Jimin fought him off and stayed away, as he’d slowly come nibbling for firsts, seconds and thirds. As he slowly took Hoseok in and got closer to his wolf. Nights spent crying and shaking with rage as his wolf stayed stubbornly away, refusing to trust Jimin’s human side. Days when Jimin would try over and over, meet omega doctors and therapists until one day—Jimin came running, claiming he’d heard his wolf.
They’d celebrated then, even though it would be months before it happened again. Hoseok had known by then that it would take a while, perhaps forever—before Jimin realised their bond. It had to be organic, because despite all his attempts—Jimin chased logic, and disliked the myths and legends. He knew of them, like most did, but didn’t care much for it. So Hoseok bided his time.
And now here they are at last. Two omegas, not healed—but with the hope to be whole again.
“Hoseokie hyung…what…what is this?” Jimin whispers, hands shaking as he holds his face, clicking his jaw and tilting his head. He looks back up with wide, blue eyes, tears gathering under them. “I feel…I feel like—”
“I know, Jiminie,” Hoseok whispers, gathering his face—so thin, so gaunt— in his hands, tracing the apples of his cheek and under his eyes. Catching the steadily falling tears, as their omega meet head to head. Hoseok presses his forehead to Jimin’s. “It’s been a while, my dongsaeng.”
He closes his eyes as he feels the weight of the dry heat lift from his body—he hadn’t realised how heavy it had been until it isn’t there anymore, as his soul finishes the healing that began with Jungkook. He’s still weak, can feel it in his legs and arms and back—but he’s not sick anymore.
Jimin cries, squeezing his eyes shut as they pour silently. It must be a lot for him, to face it finally, to realise—that ten years ago, Hoseok’s omega had chosen Jimin, and Jimin could receive it with grace at last.
Hoseok wipes Jimin’s eyes, tucking his hair in. He smells so sweet, so much like home. Oranges, under the faint bitterness of those scent-blocking things. He drags Jimin to his throat, tilting his neck and pumping out more of his scent—Jimin inhales greedily, mouthing at it like a hungry child. Hoseok feels whole.
“You’re my Soul Mate, Jimin-ah. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
They don’t speak of the elephant in the room.
For as many questions as Hoseok had, a part of him is afraid of airing them out as he and Jimin sit together, curled around each other. There is safety, freesias and oranges circling them. Hoseok rubs circles into Jimin’s skin as the omega sleeps, tucked into Hoseok’s side.
This is the person that Hoseok’s omega had chosen—the same person who had killed a man without blinking an eye.
He’s an assassin. He’s probably done more than just kill.
Hoseok shudders, squeezing Jimin close as he forces himself to stop thinking. He looks around the empty room; Namjoon had excused himself, wanting the two omegas to spend time without interference. He couldn’t express it then, but Hoseok’s heart had skipped a beat at that. Especially when Namjoon had winked when Hoseok had thanked him.
He closes his eyes. He can’t, he can’t be so fickle. It’s not right, to change his mind without the facts. You have to hear from Yoongi. He’s never lied to you.
Except he had.
Jimin coughs then, rubbing his eyes and blinking at Hoseok; he coos, weak to the omega’s natural cuteness. The best thing was that Jimin, once he got over himself, accepted all that love beautifully. Hoseok had been honoured.
“Slept well?” Hoseok asks, patting Jimin’s hair and straightening his sweater. He can’t help it, his pack omega instincts firing up, wanting to make sure Jimin is okay, healthy and fine. “What happened to your nose?”
Jimin frowns, hissing in pain before smoothening his face out. He sits up, still looking sleepy. “Got punched in the nose. Long story.”
Hoseok gulps, looking down. It could mean anything—that Jimin had the unfortunate stumble with the floor, or that he was perhaps involved in a…fight. “Looks nasty.”
“It’s not broken, thankfully,” Jimin says. He finds ways to cling to Hoseok, and his omega crows in delight. “Missed you, hyung. You look so thin.”
“Don’t leave me next time,” Hoseok jokes, before stopping short. Neither want to point out why Jimin left. “Hyung gets weak without you.”
“Aish, hyung, when you say things like this, what do I do,” Jimin whines, rubbing his head under Hoseok’s chin. It’s like having an adorable, human-sized cat. “Are you truly okay now?”
“I told you, it feels fine. Soul healed up and all,” Hoseok says, getting out and grabbing the apple slices Namjoon had left. “I’m still weak from not eating or drinking but that can be fixed. I’m good.”
“To think Soul Mates are real,” Jimin grumbles, looking over his body. “Don’t they have marks?”
“Not really. They’re usually common and more of an instinct wolf thing? Can’t explain.”
“This is why I don’t believe in the stories. It’s so stupid,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes. He sits on his haunches. His eyes shift guiltily, shame colouring his cheeks pink. “Hyungnim…I guess I should just say it.”
“Don’t.” Hoseok keeps the plate down, looking at his nails. White moon-shaped curves form along the surface. “Let’s pretend for a little while, hmm, Jimin-ah?”
Jimin’s face falls, eyes watering. “Hobi-hyung…”
“Please, I can’t—I can’t take so much,” Hoseok begs, limbs shaking from the thought of it. “I’m not ready. I don’t know when I’ll be. Just stay with me, okay? That’s all I want.”
He doesn’t look up, too ashamed to meet Jimin’s eyes even though he knows he has all the right to feel the way he does. For someone like him, who’s led a normal life and done ordinary things, stumbling upon a world like this should break him. He’s still not sure if he’s entirely whole or if parts of him are going to remain broken forever.
“Okay,” Jimin says at last, shoulders dropping. “Whatever you say, hyung. We can pretend.”
Hoseok feels a wave of gratitude, and is about to thank him when the door opens again—and in walks Namjoon. He’s dressed simply, in a plain turtleneck sweater and pants, and from what Hoseok can see—he doesn’t carry…weapons. It’s just Namjoon, a warm and welcoming presence.
“Namjoon-ssi,” Hoseok whispers, his omega curling in its warmth, especially when Namjoon smiles back. There’s never been a day that he hasn’t smiled or been polite, even when Hoseok sees the way his shoulders are tight with stress. “Is everything alright?”
“Of course,” Namjoon says, nodding at Jimin as well. “I just came back to check-in. And to take Jimin away.”
Hoseok’s belly jerks, the terror of losing his Soul Mate crouching upon his wolf again. “W-why?”
“Because he isn’t supposed to be here or know you,” Namjoon says, with a sad smile. “Too long and it can grab attention.”
“But…he just came back…” Hoseok’s vision blurs, and he sits back on the bed, blinking the black spots out. He feels Jimin’s hands wind through his, orange pumping out gently. “Jimin-ah…”
“I’ll come back, hyung,” Jimin says brightly, though his tone sounds forced. The omega turns towards Namjoon. “Can’t we break Hoseok-hyung out now?”
Namjoon is already shaking his head, arms crossed. “Can’t do that. He’s been kept here so that Yoongi-ssi can behave.”
Jimin stiffens next to him. “You know…?”
“Taehyung just got me up to speed,” Namjoon says grimly, lips pressed together. It all sounds like underwater to Hoseok. He blinks tears, and Namjoon is in front of him, looking regretful. “Hoseok-ssi, I’m sorry. I know why you’re here now.”
He doesn’t say anything after, and Hoseok is grateful. Yoongi is involved somehow, and he’s just collateral in a sick game. That’s what happens to ordinary people like him. They get caught, with no hope of escape.
“It’s okay. I’ve managed so long, I can go on a bit longer,” Hoseok tries, smiling—Jimin’s face crumples and Namjoon squeezes Hoseok’s knee. It’s large and warm—and grounding. “Jiminie?”
“Hmm?”
“Can you leave hyung a scent? It’ll help my wolf feel calm.”
Jimin pulls off his outer sweater, rubbing it thoroughly against his neck and wrists before giving it to Hoseok. He even rubs his wrists along Hoseok’s, and the orange burns in the best way. Namjoon coughs, looking away but otherwise remaining neutral.
“I’ll get Jimin down to meet you whenever the schedule clears up, don’t worry,” Namjoon says, once Jimin wears his boots, looking reluctant to leave. Hoseok’s wolf is clamouring again, but he’s finally in enough control to get it to quiet down. “You look well, Hoseok-ssi.”
Against his instincts, he feels his cheeks warm up, and looks down when Jimin raises an eyebrow. There is shame—but there is also treacherous warmth, and Hoseok feels too greedy to deny himself.
“I promise to free you soon, Hobi-hyung,” Jimin swears, pressing their foreheads together one last time before he backs off, leaving with Namjoon and shutting the door behind him.
Hoseok’s not sure if he feels as relieved as he should hearing that.
🖤⚔🖤
The walk back to reality is sobering.
All of Jimin is pulled apart as his omega trashes, wanting to turn around and go back to Hoseok. His skin feels stretched thin, as does his soul—when he brings his wrist to his nose, he can still smell the freesias.
He digs his nails into his arm as he trudges behind Namjoon, aware of each step away from the prison. From Hoseok, his best friend, pack mate—and now, his Soul Mate.
It falls into place like the rightest thing. Jimin rubs at his heart, the warmth spreading yet displaced all over as if it doesn’t yet quite know how to settle. Soul Mate. Destined by the Moon Goddess. Growing up, Jimin had never believed in the stories, or followed through. It didn’t make sense for the Goddess to exist yet allow for such rampant cruelty in his life. Getting out of camp had been enlightening—there were a lot more people blessed with hope who believed in her presence or didn’t think worse of her.
When Jimin had first been approached by Hoseok, he’d been suspicious of the bright, happy omega who was too nice. He’d pushed him away, but Hoseok had stayed—and Jimin is glad he did because Hoseok saved his life after camp. Or rather—gave him a chance at a new one.
But now—both those lives have clashed with each other, and Hoseok is in danger—because of Jimin.
“Jimin-ah?”
He walks into a broad back—and stumbles back, held on by large, warm hands. Namjoon looks at him curiously—before smiling. Jimin rubs his head.
“That’s a first,” Namjoon remarks, ruffling Jimin’s hair. They’re in the upper wings, in front of a door Jimin’s never seen before. When they’d reached, he doesn’t remember. Horrendous. “Never seen the Park Jimin so lost before.”
“I was just—thinking,” Jimin says sheepishly, drawing his hands into his sweater. “It’s—a lot.”
“Thinking is more of my department,” Namjoon says, leaning against the wall. His chest and arms bulge out a little, but for once, Jimin doesn’t feel anything. It’s almost as if overnight— he’s lost interest in anyone but Taehyung, and that’s embarrassing to admit. Not finding Namjoon attractive anymore? A blasphemy. “You don’t need to blame yourself, you know.”
Jimin looks up. Namjoon’s looking right back, calm and composed. There’s always a sense of serenity and peace around him that Jimin’s always admired, and in a lot of ways, wanted for himself. He knows what Namjoon’s referring to.
“I can’t help it,” Jimin admits, leaning next to him. Time slows down—there are so many things that he needs to pay attention to, but this moment right here—he holds on to this. “I know it’s not my fault…or anyone’s fault. But not having anyone to blame feels so. Wrong, I think.”
“But why blame yourself? What does that achieve?”
“Nothing, really. Maybe if it’s my fault I can spend the rest of my life begging for his forgiveness. Do something, I don’t know.”
“You can still look out for him even if it’s not your fault,” Namjoon says softly. Jimin holds himself tighter. “People like us, Jimin…we can’t keep atoning for our sins.”
It’s both what he has always wanted to hear and something he fiercely rejects. Atone is all he’s ever done since he left this world and faced reality. Trying every single day to be a better person so he never had to return to his roots…and he did anyway. Has killed, maimed, and fallen back into old habits with such ease…only this time, the people he loves are in danger because of their connection with him.
“They’re in danger because of me,” Jimin starts, but Namjoon holds up a hand. “What?”
“Don’t you find it interesting how you’re pack mates with them?” Namjoon asks. He holds Jimin’s gaze. “You found them after leaving. They helped you, I’m assuming and gave you something to live for other than this life of blood and mayhem. And, Hoseok-ssi is your Soul Mate.”
“So, what? It was all destined, so it’s not my fault?”
“It can’t have been. Things like destiny, they’re not logical,” Namjoon insists, twisting his hands. “For what it’s worth, you left camp of your own accord, to try something. You met these people. You were safe, and then coincidence or destiny—Taehyung came back into your life.”
“I mean, yeah. It is Taehyung’s fault,” Jimin grumbles. He wonders if Namjoon knows about their True Mate connection yet, if Taehyung told him.
Namjoon laughs. “I won’t disagree there,” the beta muses and Jimin grins. The mood sobers up quickly. “It’s funny, how She works. Only you were supposed to leave. But Jungkook-ssi thought it fit to follow you—out of love. Yoongi-ssi searched for a cure for Hoseok-ssi out of love too. Not because they hate you or want revenge. They care for you and stumbled into your life. That’s all.”
It’s like how it had been with Jungkook. No anger, only acceptance—so heavy that Jimin finds it wrong to bear its weight. “So if they hadn’t loved me—”
“That’s just wishful thinking. If they hadn’t done this, if you hadn’t done that—there are too many ifs in this situation. But it worked out the way it did—all of you alive, all of you aware. It’s painful, yes, but there is hope to work it out. That’s always better than nothing.”
Hope. Such a tricky thing, and Jimin’s worst nightmare. The hope he’s held onto since a child, for his parents to return, for fair treatment at the camp. Hope that had him dreaming, and hope that made him leave. It’s been there, out of reach yet within his grasp—and Jimin’s tired of how fickle it is.
Perhaps Namjoon is right. In all tragedies, hope is there—that things will work out. So maybe Jimin can try again.
“Thanks a lot, hyung,” Jimin murmurs, bowing when Namjoon squeezes his shoulder and fishes out a key. “Are we supposed to go in?”
“A while back, but I thought you could catch a breather,” Namjoon smiles, winking, and Jimin giggles. “Taehyung’s supposed to come by soon. The room’s pretty secure.”
“Right, he never told me he’d be talking to you,” Jimin says, as Namjoon opens the door and they enter. It’s a big hall—the air is thick with silence as if sounds can’t make their way through. There is a table in the middle, but apart from that it is pretty much bare. “How do you...What did you think?”
Namjoon shrugs, clearing away some papers and settling down. “It’s in alignment with what I know of our father. So I wasn’t shocked, really.”
“That’s…good, I guess?” Jimin ventures and Namjoon chuckles again. Jimin blushes. “Sorry. I guess I never asked how you felt about all this.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to being in the background. Abbeoji much preferred it that way,” Namjoon says dryly. He seems amused. “I never wanted to be a part of this world. I knew from the start. When I presented as beta, it made all the more sense why.
“But Abbeoji…he’d rather have a dead son than a beta. He had me on those…drugs, since the moment my presentation was over.”
The rage bubbles up again, the helplessness of it all. Jimin wonders how Taehyung and Seokjin bore it for so many years. “I’m so sorry.”
“I am, too. I never truly got a chance to explore my beta nature,” Namjoon says quietly. “It’s not a surprise how zealous my father can be, to reach his goals. He never connected with me beyond my status and how to keep it under wraps—so I don’t have much to feel about him.”
“Right. But Taehyung and Seokjin-ssi do?”
“He cared about them enough. Hating someone is still caring for them, in my opinion,” Namjoon quips, winking at Jimin again. Right, message received. “Seokjin-hyung was the apple of his eyes. His omega presentation changed everything. I was a beta, so he lost his hope. And now that I know about Taehyung’s birth…I can see why he couldn’t accept that a bastard son was the alpha.”
Namjoon opens a book, going through the pages. It hits him, how for his stupid little crush on Namjoon and their friendship, Jimin had never really talked to him. They’d been cordial enough, and sometimes Jimin had played around, using his crush on Namjoon to rile Taehyung up—but other than that…
“Does it…change things for you? Taehyung’s birth?” Jimin asks, sitting down in front of him. Namjoon keeps the book aside.
“No,” Namjoon says after a moment, smiling to himself. “Taehyung is…he’ll always be my little brother. Our father has tried to keep us divided, but Taehyung has always been…kind. Except for when you were involved, of course.”
Jimin blushes. “I’m sorry. It was just, um, a stupid thing—”
“It’s alright, you weren’t subtle with your crush,” Namjoon teases, and Goddess, Jimin is going to die. “You weren’t subtle with why you were flaunting it in Taehyung’s face either.”
“Please don’t.”
“It’s cute, everyone likes a good rivals-to-lovers story,” Namjoon continues rather mercilessly, and Jimin groans, hiding his face. “Or benefits, I think.”
“Yeah, we were just fucking,” Jimin mutters, though now it makes sense why they couldn’t stop once they fell into the trap. “It was stupid. We were stupid because of it. It was nothing.”
“Wouldn’t have led to such intense reactions if it was ‘nothing’,” Namjoon says lowly, and Jimin gulped. “I wasn’t surprised when you both showed up ‘together’. But I wasn’t surprised when I found out it was fake either.”
“You’ve always been really smart, I know.”
“I will be surprised if you say you don’t feel anything for him,” Namjoon presses and Jimin’s heart begins racing. “Or he, for you. Taehyung’s always been obvious, though.”
“No, he hasn’t.”
Namjoon looks at him with pity—then shakes his head, opening the book again. Yet, the weight of his implication stays between them—there is a part of Jimin, a habitual part that wants to deny this, only so he doesn’t have to face the truth. There’s another part that only feels relief—because no one else will get Jimin like Taehyung will.
It’s mostly that, and the way the words build in his throat that his Jimin spilling his guts out. “Taehyung and I…we’re True Mates.”
The moment he says, he feels a jolt in his mating gland—unlike before, there isn’t that hot flash of pain, and when Jimin touches his skin, it’s smooth. Namjoon, however, slowly keeps his book down. He looks at Jimin head to toe but doesn’t utter a word.
Jimin scrambles for control. “I found out recently. I’m not—I’m not sure if Taehyung told you or I was supposed to but you’ve always been—you told me about them—”
“Jimin-ah, relax,” Namjoon says, leaning forward. He smiles, though he still looks perplexed. “I’m just…recalibrating everything I’ve ever known so far with what I’m hearing. Give me a moment.”
“Right. Sorry.” Jimin blushes, rubbing his palms against his jeans as nervous sweat collects between them. He’s hot under his collar, feeling seen by Namjoon’s intense gaze. “Is it that weird?”
“On the contrary, it makes way too much sense,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. “Of course, you both had to be Bonded. For two people who claimed to hate each other, you were always around.”
“I didn’t know!” Jimin whines, hiding behind his sweaty hands. “I don’t know why I told you.”
“I’m glad you did. I’m sure it was a lot for both of you to find out.”
“Taehyung…knew,” Jimin grimaces, leaning back and crossing his arms. “He’s known from the start.”
“Interesting. Do you know why he hid it?”
“He says it was to protect me,” Jimin mumbles, remembering the ride back home. How they haven’t spoken about it since. “But I have my doubts.”
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Namjoon says decidedly, tone confident. “Taehyung isn’t the kind to do things without planning them.”
“I thought you were the strategist here.”
The beta laughs. “I am, but Taehyung’s preference for secrets comes from a lifetime of living under our father and his unfair treatment. I’m sure when the time is right, he’ll tell you.”
Yeah, Jimin isn’t so sure about that. He doesn’t question Namjoon further, biting his lips. His wolf is calm, and he’s still not sure why he went ahead and told Namjoon. What could it possibly achieve—other than a weight off his shoulders?
“I’m not sure if Taehyung would be okay with you knowing this.”
Namjoon winks, holding a finger to his lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Jimin giggles, something warm bursting in his chest at the connection, a moment of normalcy in their otherwise fucked up life. He’d missed it, this friendship with Namjoon—he needed to do better, be better from now on—if he was supposed to stay for good.
The door opens suddenly, and in walks Taehyung—carrying some papers under his arm. He looks tired—hair dishevelled, bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept all night. He kicks the door shut behind him, nodding at Namjoon and barely acknowledging Jimin—he sets the papers down, cracking his knuckles. “I see we’ve made ourselves comfortable already.”
“I took Jimin for a little detour before coming here,” Namjoon says, holding his hands behind his head. A bicep jumps, and it does nothing for Jimin. “Visit went well.”
“Really? That’s good,” Taehyung mutters, briefly meeting Jimin’s eyes. “Is Hoseok-ssi…alright?”
“He’s safe and healthy,” Jimin says, gut lurching at the attention. It’s strange, not comforting but not disturbing either. “I wanted to ask something.”
“Hmm?”
“Namjoon-hyung said no, but is there a way to get him out now?” Jimin asks, omega pacing inside at the thought of his Soul Mate in that drab, horrible prison. It just wasn’t right. “There’s no guarantee Joonjae will keep him alive just because Yoongi-hyung will keep his end of the bargain.”
“True, but if we get Hoseok-ssi out now, then he will definitely know something is amiss,” Taehyung counters. Namjoon points a finger at him, though he at least looks apologetic compared to the nonchalance Taehyung is showing. “It could also put Yoongi-hyung in danger.”
Jimin deflates, sinking into his chair. They make sense, but the longer Jimin lives with the knowledge of Hoseok’s condition, the deeper his gut sinks. It hurts physically, in a way it’s never before. Namjoon sighs, looking between them.
“Maybe once we have a distraction, we could rescue him alongside,” Namjoon says carefully. “A good enough distraction that would keep Joonjae from looking too deeply.”
Taehyung looks like he wants to protest, but Jimin cuts in. “What kind of distraction?”
“I was thinking—”
At that moment, the door opens again—and this time, all three of them stand in alertness, hands on their belt. Jimin knows Namjoon wouldn’t lead them into an ambush—he simply doesn’t seem that sort. Had Joonjae found out anyway? Had he personally come to catch them in the act of conspiring against him?
The questions remain unanswered—because it’s not Joonjae at the door. Or any of his lackeys.
It’s Seokjin.
The last person who should be in this room—and Jimin’s blood boils.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jimin snarls, stalking forward. His skin tingles from the memory of being thrown aside earlier back in Seokjin’s room. The blue eyes of the omega, the snarling lips at his throat. “Come to ruin something else?”
“Jimin, relax,” Taehyung says behind him, though his arms are crossed. He’s looking squarely at Seokjin, tilting his head. A burst of lavender makes its way through, and Jimin finds himself relaxing against his will. Stupid alpha with his stupid scent and stupid Bond making things impossible. “Lovely of you to join us, hyung-nim.”
“No, it’s not,” Jimin mutters, and Seokjin rolls his eyes. He shuffles from feet to feet, gently closing the door behind. “Get out.”
“Jimin-ah.”
“I’ve thought about what you said,” Seokjin says, looking up primly. His eyes, however, remain blank and—dead. “I want to help.”
“No!” Jimin snaps, still remembering the hot accusations Seokjin had flung at them so carelessly. Against his brother, and such vile ones. “You made himself very clear where you stood the last time we asked.”
“People change,” Seokjin shrugs, ignoring Jimin’s answering growl. “In whatever way you need me. I’m here.”
“I see you’ve had a change of heart,” Taehyung says, gaze unflinching. “What happened?”
Seokjin walks forward, hand in his pocket. Jimin shifts to move—but Namjoon reaches out, squeezing his shoulder and shaking his head. “Abbeoji let slip something that confirmed your theory. It wasn’t a thing I could look past anymore.”
He meets Taehyung’s eyes, and the two of them stare for a while before the alpha nods, gesturing for Seokjin to sit. “I suppose it’s better now than never. Have a seat, hyung.”
Jimin’s mouth drops. “Taehyung. You can’t be serious.”
“What? I told you, we need hyung. I’ll take what we get.”
“Him? After the stunt he pulled?” Jimin asks, and Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “He attacked me earlier.”
Seokjin shrugs. “You were in my so-called mate’s lap. It was instincts.” Taehyung stiffens at that, meeting Jimin’s eyes momentarily before looking away. No, he can’t believe it to be something it wasn’t.
“I was hugging him, that’s what you do with friends,” Jimin snaps. “You’d know if you had any.”
“Do I have to sit through this gremlin’s chatter if I have to listen to you, Taehyung?”
“I don’t care what you do, as long as we can move ahead,” Taehyung says, indifferent. He opens one of the notebooks. “But if you want to air out any grievances just do it outside.”
He sounds so…tired, and Jimin turns to him again. Something is off, in a way that hasn’t been in all the while Jimin has been here. Taehyung’s had his moments of despair, but things changed after the mission to Yoongi’s home. There had been a fight in Taehyung earlier that seems missing now.
Namjoon seems to pick up on it too, and claps his hands, bringing the attention towards him. “Okay. We need a strategy. But before that—we need a goal.”
“We know the goal. It’s to kill Abbeoji,” Taehyung says bluntly.
“Yes, but why? To what end? Once we know that—we can arrive at the how.”
“That makes sense. If we know the intent, we know the plan,” Jimin pipes in. “I know as assassins we only ever followed the rules…but I don’t think we’re assassins now.”
Seokjin snorts. “Right. We’re some debased group of Avengers, are we?”
“I’m surprised you even know the reference,” Jimin replies. “But well put. I suppose we are. Or Revengers, more like.”
“Plans made out of revenge rarely ever end well,” Namjoon remarks thoughtfully. “There are a lot of factors here, and gaps in information that could prove roadblocks.”
“I agree. Let’s put Yoongi-hyung on a call,” Taehyung says, pulling his phone out. “He’s the one currently at the other base, in touch with Son Heeyeon. Through her, we can have some access to what Abbeoji’s up to, so we can keep a step ahead.”
Someone clears their throat. “Son Heeyeon is…Abbeoji’s True Mate, you said?” Seokjin enquires. Taehyung nods. “And happens to be Yoongi-ssi’s mother.”
“Yes. Abbeoji fathered Yoongi after a secret affair and is claiming him now,” Taehyung confirms, dialling on the phone. He puts it on speaker, placing it in the middle of the table. “He believes that an offspring from a True Mate pairing, an alpha at that, is capable of merging our families—and creating a new one.”
“And he was going to do that by mating me to him…” Seokjin trails off, eyes vacant before he shudders. Disgust colours his face red. “Even though Yoongi-ssi is our half-brother.”
“Something he’s rationalised as purebred offspring from your union,” Namjoon says, though his tone betrays how he feels. The magnanimity of Joonjae’s plans hits Jimin again, and his stomach churns. “Disturbing, even for him.”
“I thought you said it’s an alignment with what you knew of him?” Jimin asks. Namjoon shrugs.
“Killing his mate so he can be with another omega, yes,” Namjoon says, and Jimin notices the way Seokjin’s eyes mist. “Conducting incest, encouraging it even…that can shock even the darkest of souls.”
“You never told me we had a poet for a brother, Taehyung,” a voice speaks up, familiar in his dry humour. “I almost can’t believe you’re related.”
“Half and half, hyung; maybe that’s the difference,” Taehyung remarks, grin wolfish. “Everyone—this is Yoongi-hyung. A long-time friend—and our half-brother.”
“And my Pack Alpha,” Jimin chips in, curling under the weight of everyone’s gaze. “What? It’s true.”
“Still claiming me, Jiminie? I thought the title was rescinded.” Yoongi sounds far off, his voice drafty like he’s in an empty room. “Unless you didn’t want to feel left out.”
Jimin’s cheeks run hot. “No, that’s not it.”
“Hmm, I believe you. Anyway—hello. Sorry to meet under such circumstances.”
“I’m glad we met,” Seokjin whispers. “It opened our eyes.”
“Seokjin-ssi, that you?” Yoongi sounds delighted. Had they already met? “I’m glad you joined. Taehyung was worried he’d not have your support.”
“Have you both already met?” Jimin asks. Seokjin nods, arms crossed. “When?”
“Abbeoji hosted a dinner,” Seokjin says in a clipped tone. “It was to meet my intended mate. After you and Taehyung told me…those things, I had some suspicions.” He drums his fingers on the table. “Post dinner, I confronted him. He let loose that he’d had our mother killed, and if I didn’t comply—he’d have me killed the same way.”
The silence enters cold as a winter draft. Seokjin stares at the table; Namjoon looks horrified and Taehyung looks—furious, and pained. The Kim siblings, and their tragic love for each other. Jimin looks down, feeling his chest tighten with—something. Pity, anger, and some love. Seokjin was our Abbeoji’s favourite. It all changed when he presented as omega.
To go from a prized prince to casual fodder; how must that feel?
Yoongi breaks the silence. “I’m sorry you had to hear those words at all, Seokjin-ssi,” he murmurs, pain belaying his voice. Right, he’d been hurt by Joonjae and his mother. Maybe he understands most of all. “For what it’s worth, I am grateful that you are listening to us at all. It’s hard, going against a parent.”
Seokjin blinks, before nodding sharply, swiftly wiping under one eye. All of them ignore it; Jimin’s sure the great Kim Seokjin doesn’t want to be exposed. He clears his throat. “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi. So then—what do you propose? To what end, as Namjoon asked?”
“The only way out is for him to end up dead, so he can no longer haunt us,” Namjoon says, grim. “His choices might from beyond the grave…but whatever he’s doing now, at least that stops.”
“And how do we kill Kim Joonjae? When he’s Feral?” Yoongi asks. “I haven’t had the chance to look into it yet, but whatever little I know—it’s bad news.”
“It is indeed. The Monarchy controls most information on it—but for the right price, we can procure anything,” Namjoon says.
“There is also the part where he can catch in on us at any moment,” Jimin says. “Diseased or not, he’s not an idiot. I’m not sure how much longer we can rely on him thinking he has us cornered to take it for granted.”
“That, I agree with. Time is running out, and to be caught now would be fatal to all of us.”
Jimin clears his throat. “I also want one more thing.” He fiddles with his sweaters; Taehyung’s eyes narrow, as if he knows already what Jimin will ask for. “I want to free Hoseok-hyung as soon as possible.”
There’s a rough tumble from the phone, the audio shuffling before heavy breathing resumes. “Hoseok’s there, then? In the catacombs or whatever?”
“Yep, just met him this morning,” Jimin says, chest panging with a hollow ache; his omega yearns for their Soul Mate. “He’s doing okay. Weak, but I think now that he’s met Jungkook and me, he’s no longer in dry heat.”
“So my original theory had been right. Both of you were the key.” Something bitter lingers in Yoongi’s voice. “Well, that’s great. I’m glad he’s safe. But what do you mean, get him out?”
“I mean I don’t want him to be stuck in prison any longer,” Jimin says, meeting Taehyung’s eyes and refusing to back down. “I understand tampering with it could expose our plans and alert Joonjae. But hyung’s suffered enough.”
Taehyung stare is blank, and he holds no expression. It’s a little infuriating as if he’s not here. Not with Jimin, at least. “What do you suggest we do? Breaking him out will alert Abbeoji.”
“Not if we create a sufficient enough distraction,” Namjoon repeats, chin jutting out. “One that will have him looking away.”
“Which would be what?”
“Seokjin-ssi and I’s mating ceremony,” Yoongi says. Static sounds before settling. “With a mating, all attention will be drawn to the two of us. I’m sure Joonjae is vain enough to go all out.”
“He is his favourite son, after all,” Taehyung remarks wryly, earning Seokjin’s withering glare. “That’s a brilliant idea, hyung.”
“In the chaos, his focus on Hoba will be little. Considering I’m playing along by agreeing, he won’t have to use him as a threat anymore.”
“Yes, but won’t your agreement make him want to end potential…competition faster?” Namjoon asks, and Jimin’s gut sinks at that. He hadn’t considered this alternative. “Given that you had a relationship with him.”
“What do you think? He’s your father, you’d know him best.”
“I don’t think we know him at all,” Seokjin says softly, face blank. His voice, however, seems heartbroken. “If he is Feral…then he could very well be unpredictable.”
“I suppose things can go amiss amongst guard duties and mating plans,” Taehyung says, hands behind his head. “Alright. So this is it—Yoongi-hyung calls Abbeoji and expresses his interest to mate Seokjin-hyung as fast as possible. He was…quite taken with your beauty.”
“I was, and I mean this in the least incest way possible,” Yoongi says dryly. “Jungkook’s a lucky man.”
Seokjin narrows his eyes in betrayal, though his cheeks betray him, flushed pink and travelling down his neck. “I’d rather not speak of him, if possible.”
Yoongi chuckles; he’s too light-hearted for the gravity of the situation—but maybe that’s why they need him, so they don’t lose their minds with fear. “Alright, alright. So I initiate the process?”
“Yes, that would show your clear intent. Since Jin-hyung just met you and Abbeoji knows him, he won’t believe it if hyung makes up his mind so fast.”
“Certainly not after our chat,” Seokjin mutters darkly, fingers ghosting over his face as if trying to feel for something. “Yes, that makes sense. Then I will comply, once Abbeoji approaches me with the news—as he expects.”
“And he’ll begin right away, no time to lose,” Namjoon says, amused. “I suspect he’s aware of his disease if not completely operating under it.”
“Maybe even utilising it to create terror,” Taehyung hums. “Namjoon-hyung—I need you to research it as much as possible. Get your contacts at the King’s Palace—surely we’ll get something.”
Namjoon nods. “What do you propose we do with the information?”
“Well, one is that it gives us an idea of what we’re against. But mostly, I wonder…if we could benefit from exposing him.”
Silence descends again, though this time it’s rife with doubts. “Expose him?” Jimin asks, leaning forward. “That’s your strategy?”
Namjoon shares his sentiments, frowning. “I don’t know, Taehyung…it seems dangerous. Given what we know is mostly propaganda…”
“It’s the one that makes sense,” Taehyung insists, poking his cheek with his tongue. “Abbeoji, for all his faults—has a loyal following. We can’t hope to fight him alone.” He rubs his eyes. “If we trigger him somehow, and show it to the guests at the mating—then it’ll turn the rest of the assassins to our side, and give us a fighting chance. That’s all we need.”
“Taehyung—”
“Because the last thing we need is messing up. We do that, we may not make it out alive. We need people, hyung,” Taehyung says, pleading with Namjoon. “We always have. He kept us isolated so we’d never know there was a world outside of all of this.”
He turns to Jimin as he says this, eyes imploring—as if Jimin would understand. And he does, no matter the costs that got him out.
Namjoon’s face softens, eyes sad. “Alright. Suppose we do go ahead with this. How do we expose his feralness?”
“If he’s spent so long hiding it, assuming he’s known about it for a while now,” Yoongi pitches in, contemplative, “then he knows how to hide it. We need to know what will push him over the edge enough to get it out.”
“Okay, given that this is the only strategy we have right now—let’s begin with research. I’m sure there is something about the disease which will give us an answer.”
“Good. Then it’s decided—Yoongi-hyung initiates, Jin-hyung plays along. We wait a couple of days for the preparations to kick in, during which we will break Hoseok-ssi out.” Taehyung puts down the fingers, nodding. “Let’s begin, Revengers.”
Jimin laughs out loud.
The walk back to their room is as silent as it is awkward. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together after their return from the trip—for some nights, Taehyung had been missing, up to something—and refusing to share the plans with Jimin.
He seems to be avoiding Jimin now, eyes trained ahead as he walks, Jimin struggling to keep pace with him. They make it to the room, Taehyung bursting in and walking to his closet. He swiftly takes some clothes and spare sheets, intent clear. Jimin waits, unsure of how to breach—this void. He’s not sure if it is even a void, but it feels that way.
Taehyung is quiet as he moves to walk back out—and maybe it’s instinct or desperation, but Jimin reaches out, holding him by the wrist—and Taehyung flinches, as if branded. His chest shoots with pain—rejection never feels good, even if no one names it. “Taehyung, wait.”
“What is it?” Taehyung asks, tone clipped—he’s looking away, and somehow the indifference pinches. “I need to—get to some things. Can’t wait.”
“I—I had—” Jimin swallows, nails biting into his palm. “I wanted to ask something.”
Taehyung’s face darkens. “Jimin, I thought I said—”
“Not—not about that. Not yet,” Jimin tries, though he wonders when. He wants to do right this time, give Taehyung the time and space to trust Jimin, and volunteer information in a way he couldn’t ten years ago. Something to make Jimin stay. “Something’s been bugging me. About what you said the other day. Felt like an anomaly.”
The alpha sighs, shoulders dropping. “Alright. What is it?”
“You said that if we knew about the true mate bond, we couldn’t stay away,” Jimin says, hands curling into fists. “That if you’d told me I wouldn’t have been able to leave. But then…”
“But what?”
“How did you do it?” Jimin asks, the question having lingered in the recesses of his mind. It hadn’t hit him then, but it felt out of sorts. “For ten years even? How did you—keep away?”
“A lot of self-control and an exercise in self-flagellation,” Taehyung comments wryly, lips quirking up on one end all those he sounds bitter. He drops it when he looks at Jimin. “It’s…tricky. Both of those things are true, and I learned a lot about it through trial and error. Researched into the myths.”
“Which is…?”
“The Bond is an issue if both of us know about it. Sort of like a mutual acknowledgement of the Moon Goddess’s decision, I guess. In that sense the force of it grows, and our wolves are bound to come back to each other.” Taehyung runs a hand through his hair. His eyes are lined with bags underneath. “If one of us knows, it’s sort of like a half-acknowledgement? That’s my best guess. I’d know about it, and distance from you created some pain, like withdrawal from a drug.”
Jimin blinks at that. Pain…which means Taehyung put up with ten years of it. “You can—how much pain?”
“It’s manageable when it’s just me. Since the Call is missing from your end, I can ignore it fairly well. Hurt like a bitch during cycles, but otherwise…I learnt to live with it, I suppose.”
“But I didn’t…I didn’t feel any pain all these years—”
“And I am glad for it,” Taehyung cuts in, eyes blank but voice heavy. “It’s why I didn’t tell you. Not only would you have kept coming back here—you’d have been in pain too when you went away. Figured if someone had to suffer, it better be me.”
“So…I was able to leave because I had nothing holding me back?”
Taehyung looks at him then, and for a moment, there is something dark and furious, some sense of brokenness that leaks before it’s quickly covered up with a polite expression. “Yes. That’s what I meant.” He looks at his phone before pocketing it. “Is that all? I really need to leave.”
“I—yes. That’s all.” Jimin bites his lips, watching Taehyung put on his jacket and twist the doorknob; in a moment he would leave—away from Jimin.
He wonders if the slight shooting pains in his chest are from the distance, or because he knows now—and can’t bear it.
“Was it too painful, Taehyung?”
Taehyung lingers for a moment at the threshold, shoulders trembling—before he straightens them He doesn’t turn towards Jimin.
“It was a consequence of the choice I made,” Taehyung answers. “And I don’t regret it.”
He walks out, shutting the door softly behind.
Jimin is left with regret in his heart.
🖤⚔🖤
He’s on the floor, naked. It’s cold against his hot, flushed skin, sweat dripping onto the stone as he moves. In front of him is an idol—a figure he is familiar with. She wears robes, the moon headrest flaring behind her head as she holds two hands out. Her face is calm, serene—and firm.
Jungkook prostates in front of her on his knees, begging for—comfort. Warmth. Something, other than this agony he can’t get to the heart of. It’s everywhere, licking down his limbs and in his head. Every time he breathes, he smells only patchouli oil, earthy and strong. He craves it, yet he wants it to stop.
Where am I, he asks out loud. Some kind of ruined temple, one of the many destroyed as the people dropped their rituals and their faith, and the Moon Goddess remained only a figure in name. This is—what is wrong with me?
You are coming home, sweet child, a voice booms, vibrating through Jungkook’s skull and spine. You have been searching for so long. Waiting patiently. You are here, at last.
Here is nowhere. Jungkook trembles from the fever, sweat blinking into his eyes. His vision blurs, and when he raises his hands—the skin falls off as if melting from the heat building inside him. He looks up again, where behind the goddess is a door—blinding white light shines through, and in the middle of it is a figure that smells like home, like everything right in the world.
Like love.
Jungkook stands on shaking limbs, taking a step forward—he can’t make the figure out, but he knows him. Has known him since the first time he tracked him, and he’s here now.
Reach for him. Stay with him. He has been looking for a home too.
He reaches the light—and the heat engulfs him until he is no more.
He wakes with a gasp.
His clothes are drenched with sweat, leaking into the bedding below. For a moment, Jungkook can’t move—almost paralysed, limbs refusing to cooperate with his brain. It’s happened before, whenever he’s woken from a nightmare. He begins stretching his toes first, before moving upward—until finally, he lets out a deep breath.
As he comes to, he notes several things. Sweat aside, there is a feverish tinge to him that has his mind hazy. His mouth tastes sour, and his gums throb before receding. His head hurts—he downs several glasses of water, shucking his shirt off. Seokjin’s shirt. Whatever bare traces of Seokjin’s scent it had carried have been overpowered by Jungkook’s now, and he winces at the state of him.
The bed is a right mess—sheets twisted as if he’d been trashing. He’s sure Seokjin wouldn’t forgive him for staining his bed, never mind the omega has been missing for days now—sleeping elsewhere, leaving Jungkook to rot in this glorified prison.
He removes the sheets, lying down on the bare mattress; the air conditioning kicks in, but it doesn’t work well—sweat covers him still, though Jungkook can’t be assed to clean himself at the moment.
He closes his eyes, drifting to sleep again—there are fragments of that weird dream left still, but they never connect again. They’re at the edges of recall, and Jungkook chases them, wanting to know the figure at the end—
The room comes into focus again, this time tinged a pale blue of breaking dawn. The analogue clock on the table shows an hour has passed, which doesn’t make sense. He’s sure he didn’t sleep that long. He shifts to his side—and jerks in pain.
Jungkook looks down and—oh. That definitely wasn’t a problem an hour ago, or ever, in a long time. He’s hard, and it’s inconvenient—nothing has happened to trigger him. He wills at it to go down, because he does not want a cold shower so early in the morning.
A jolt of pain strikes under his jaw, gums aching again and head throbbing, vision blurring for the second time. He presses fingers into his temples, rising—when his spine jolts and his dick gets even harder, nearly painful as if it would burst without a release.
Why is this happening now—oh.
No, not here, not now. Jungkook scrambles, but to no avail; his body is feverish again, slicked with sweat as his boxers tent obscenely, like he’s a teenage alpha again in the privacy of his room. It can’t be. He doesn’t have his phone, hasn’t for a while—but surely it can’t be his pre-rut, can it? It can’t have been that long since Jungkook left Seoul.
He wracks his brains but comes up empty. He’s not been aware of time for a while now. He’d come searching nearly two weeks or so after Jimin had left; he’s not sure what it is now—except it’s the thick of winter, from when he last gone out. His winter rut might be on schedule then—but he’s not prepared—
Once he is aware of it, the symptoms are everywhere. The fever, the pre-cum, the hunger—worst of all, his mating gland is throbbing incessantly. Oh no. Maybe that’s why—because Jungkook has been around his True Mate all this while? Breathing in his scent, living in his home? That can’t trigger a rut, can it? How does he tell Seokjin—and more importantly, how does he stop it?
The descent is fast—Jungkook stumbles back to bed, clawing at the sheets as the fever builds, though he’s shivering too. His stomach growls with need, and his gums don’t stop aching—as if some kind of canines will burst through, ready to mark their Mate should he come walking through the door.
Jungkook sincerely hopes Seokjin doesn’t as he loses time again.
🖤⚔🖤
Seokjin goes over the trade report again when shooting pains strike across his chest and up his neck—towards his suddenly throbbing mating gland. He hunches as it travels all over, down his gut and into his limbs. It’s over in a wave, and he rises, breathing hard.
He presses down on the mating gland through his shirt. It has that tendency—flaring up randomly as if somehow urging him to go to Jungkook for—something. Not care, no matter how much the alpha had the night everything changed. The night Abbeoji betrayed me, he thinks again, scratching at the skin above the gland. He gets back to the report, shaking his head off the memories. He doesn’t need to think of that, or the way Joonjae attacked him—or how Jungkook had licked at his wounds, sealing them up. The kiss, and how it had settled Seokjin like nothing else in his life had.
Stop it, stop it, Seokjin chants, squeezing his eyes shut. He’d run away after—uncharacteristic of him, but with how his life had turned upside down, a little personality change seemed normal. He’d avoided his room, taking to sleeping in his office— especially after he’d caught Jimin and Jungkook together, and had lost his mind.
It’s only natural to protect what is yours, his omega contemplates mildly. That’s all it ever is, how Seokjin has trained it to be for years. A hard bargain, to show Joonjae how capable Seokjin is because of his omega. It’s the only way it can stay present always. He had been intruding.
They are friends. It is natural for them, Seokjin argues. Jimin’s comment pierces him again. It’s hugging, that’s what friends do. You’d know if you had any.
He didn’t, did he? All his life sequestered away at camp, made to believe he could have whoever and whatever he wanted—just not control over his life and decisions. He isolated all of us so we’ve never known. But we need people, we always have.
In hindsight, Jimin’s betrayal of the Code and his escape makes sense, bitterly so. The omega had realised something of the world outside and had rejected this life altogether. It’s not something Seokjin regrets—he’s happy being an assassin. But how would it be, if he chose this, if he chose to run it the way he liked? If he settled down with someone of his choice?
Do you mean Jungkook? His omega snickers and Seokjin rolls his eyes. He’s an outsider. Pretty, too.
He isn’t my choice, either. The Moon Goddess decided that, remember?
Even so. He is the right choice. Open your eyes, and see.
Seokjin huffs, circling the incongruences in the report before tackling another pile. So much of running an assassin camp is paperwork. He gets lost in it—until there are rapid knocks on his door. “Yes?”
“Boss? There is a disturbance in your wing!”
Seokjin shoots up straight. Disturbances—no, someone couldn’t have possibly attacked him already, right? Did Joonjae catch hold of their plan, and was starting with Seokjin?
No, it can’t be. Abbeoji is still indisposed, his wolf argues. Right. He’d seemed pretty ill—which Seokjin now knows for the Feral symptoms they are. No, instinct tells him it can’t be.
His mating gland, on the other hand…
He gets up, opening the door where he faces his sentries, trembling and rank with nervous sweat. Seokjin wrinkles his nose. “What disturbance?”
“S-some s-sounds from your r-room, Boss,” one of them stutters, pupils black with fear. “We didn’t investigate as y-you had told us to k-keep away at all c-costs…”
“Good. I meant it. I would have you by the tongue if you had,” Seokjin says, locking his office door behind him and walking ahead. The sentries scramble behind. “Have you alerted anyone else?”
“N-no, Boss.”
“Good. Tell no one. If I hear even an inkling of it—well, you know how bare the wall spikes are these days.”
“B-boss, of course.”
“Your pretty little heads would do well without becoming home décor,” Seokjin says. As he gets closer to his wing, his stomach sinks—and his gland begins throbbing painfully. Something is definitely wrong, and Seokjin can bet it has to do with one annoying alpha sulking in his room. “All sentries are off duty. I don’t want any interference until I call for it.”
The guards bow hastily, practically running away. Once the coast is clear, Seokjin walks through his wing, heart racing with each step. He’s warm all over, like a fever, breaking out into a sweat. He closes the first set of doors, before continuing, to the second set—and opening them wide.
Cedar and rose assault his nose.
And they burn hot.
No. It can’t be, but Seokjin is arrested where he stands, as the scents merge into a thick, syrupy cloud, curling under his tongue. It’s heavenly and dark at the same time, a call to his basest senses. No. It can’t be.
The cedar crawls into his throat, nesting in the warmth of it— and to his utter horror, he finds himself getting wet. Like an omega in heat.
Oh no.
An omega in heat.
Seokjin’s knees tremble as it hits him, wave after wave. It’s horrifying, how fast he comes down once he acknowledges it. He can taste the musky undertone of cedar, the clear notes of a rut. How had he missed it? Had Jungkook even shown signs of a pre-rut?
Well, it’s not like you were around the last couple of days, his omega hums, though it’s agitated—no, excited. Of course, it is. From the start, it has claimed Jungkook—and Seokjin had been in its way.
And now it’s responding to their destined mate, and so, so close to presenting.
Seokjin clasps his thighs together as slick trickles down, in a way it has never before. He’d bargained so effectively, his wolf had never humiliated him like this. Leaking like a little whore, a voice whispers, venomous and amused, and Seokjin shakes his head. No, it’s not his fault. This is biology, it’s out of his control.
His bedroom door shudders suddenly, as if something—or someone—tackled it, trying to break it down…as if to get to Seokjin. As if it had smelled him, standing outside, a meal ready to be consumed.
Seokjin walks back out, shutting the doors and leaning against it, breathing hard. The cedar, however, refuses to leave. It calls to him, beckoning him for a little taste. It’s so potent, that Seokjin loosens his tie, scratching at his throat so he can breathe. Images flash in his mind, the kind someone like Seokjin doesn’t have; he can imagine how Jungkook must be behind the door. Naked and panting, perhaps, battling the building pre-rut. Cock hard as he grinds helplessly into a pillow, biting into the cover as the rut takes over. Would he whine as he comes? He seems like that, but alphas are rarely ever like that, willing to give in.
He shakes his head, thumping his head against the door. This isn’t him. He’s not someone who—thinks of such things, it’s undignified of the eldest son, isn’t it?
The rut hasn’t hit yet. Seokjin can tell, because if it had hit, Jungkook wouldn’t have let an omega walk away. Especially one destined to be his True Mate.
Seokjin can smell it, and taste it. Hear it, the slow steps and the hurried tumble. The growls, which vibrate right out of the door and claw up his spine. His knees buckle again, and he digs his nails into the wood.
Years of training to be stoic is what keeps him calm on the surface. His omega scratches at his walls and asks him to turn around. Go, attend to him. He needs you.
Seokjin walks away.
Try as he might, he can’t forget it.
It’s been hours. Or he thinks it's hours; sometime in the middle, he’d quit work and crawled into the makeshift bed, shivers racking up as pre-heat caught up to him. Nothing felt good enough; there wasn’t a nest, and it didn’t smell like mate. Like Jungkook, his omega supplied, and Seokjin had whined in protest.
He can’t forget, because his heat is around the corner—even though he’d had it last month. Goddess above, he should have studied about True Mates. Did the cycles sync instantly, should one part of the pair go into a rut or heat?
If they do, then there isn’t a shadow of doubt anymore about what Seokjin and Jungkook are.
The moment Jungkook enters rut, Seokjin will enter heat. He can feel it now— the itch under his heated skin, the dizziness that comes from heat fever. His slit has been leaking ever since he walked away, his cock semi-hard for hours now. The cedar lingers on his clothes, and every time he tries to scent-neutralise them—his omega hisses, making him flinch away from the button.
He stumbles out of the bed, pouring himself water—it does nothing to parch his throat or fill his ravenous hunger. It’s not food he wants, he knows, but he’s never had pre-heat so intense. Even when Seokjin had his cycles, he’d suffer mildly. Joonjae would never allow partners unless necessary, or if a cycle had been particularly strenuous—even then they’d been other omega attendants, no alphas. My little rose, Joonjae would say, and Seokjin would take it. His father knew best.
But he doesn’t know anymore, does he? Joonjae had only kept Seokjin so protected so he could mate him off to the most eligible suitor. So he wouldn’t be spoiled goods. The anger flashes through him, joining the fever.
Joonjae isn’t there to stop Seokjin anymore. It wouldn’t be the worst, would it? Sure, Seokjin and Jungkook don’t know each other, but their wolves do. Surely that’s enough.
Seokjin shakes his head and tumbles back to the bed, shaking as the fever takes hold.
It builds, a rising symphony under his skin. So hot he’s sure it could fall right off, leaving behind only bare bones and blood. A reckoning, Seokjin reborn as he breaks free of all his bindings.
He can’t tell minute from hour or day from night. It’s the wave before the heat hits, and he’s lucid enough—but he doesn’t want to be. He wants to give in to the Call, to stop this suffering.
Sweat leaks through his shirt into the bedding, hair sticking to him and skin slick with it. Cedar haunts him, the rose following close. Seokjin thinks of Jungkook, and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, but he’s there. His lean body, and his pretty, pretty eyes which hold so much scorn for Seokjin. And yet, that night, he’d looked upon him with such gentleness, holding Seokjin as if he were fragile. And he must have been because Seokjin had let himself fall.
He allows himself to slip. Thinks of lean bodies flushed with sweat, of corded muscles he’d felt when he’d carried Jungkook— the broad shoulders tapering into an impossibly tiny waist, and it sends a zing of heat through him— Seokjin imagines his legs wrapped around that, flushed close—and he’s gushing slick.
Disgusting. Thrilling.
Maybe it’s the days of stress from running the camp, from everything he’s learnt recently. Or maybe he’s not so blind, and he can imagine the two of them fitting, somehow, despite everything. In his fantasy, it doesn't matter if Jungkook is a cop and a stranger, or that he hates Seokjin; they match anyway. His hand slips inside— and Moon above, he’s so wet and so hot, that Seokjin’s hand seems cooler. He runs a loose fist over his cock, arching his back. His fingers probe at his slit, massaging his walls. How shameful, to do it in his office of all places, desecrate his place of work—but it’s not his office anymore. He’s in his room, and Jungkook is there somewhere. He can’t see him but he’s there watching Seokjin fuck himself—
There’s no warning before he comes, so suddenly and explosive he’d be surprised if the sentries don’t come running anyway. Nothing happens, thankfully, and Seokjin lies there, head clear after hours of the heat fever gnawing at his brain.
He just came to Jungkook’s image in the middle of his office.
It does nothing to get rid of the itch, which only builds, now that he’s debased himself like this. His heat will arrive soon, and if Seokjin doesn’t answer the Call—he’ll be in deep trouble.
The heat licks at his heels— a couple of hours at most— and Seokjin decides to trust the Moon Goddess once and for all.
If he’s rejected, he’ll walk away. He’s handled worse before.
The cedar is strong when he comes to the last door set— it permeates the walls, making his head spin. It’s muskier, somehow, the scent carrying a threat to other alphas—stay away. It beckons Seokjin forward, and he leaks even more. It’s pathetic, reacting this way to hormones— and yet, it’s thrilling too. As if Seokjin is finally giving in, after years of holding himself together.
This time, he goes towards his room’s doors, stopping at the threshold. The Call is so strong it buzzes through his body, and he can feel Jungkook on the other side, pacing and wound up like Seokjin is. As if he’s waiting. Seokjin takes a step back—and a sudden growl sounds, animalistic and deep, making Seokjin flinch before he lets it settle in, the shivers tumbling down his neck and spine. His gut warms, as does his slit, and Seokjin takes it all in.
He tries to cling to the last vestiges of honour, but it’s too late now—his omega is in charge, and all it wants is the knot of the alpha inside.
Seokjin takes a deep breath and opens the door.
He’s crowded against it almost immediately, Jungkook’s nose buried deep into his neck. It happens so fast that his vision spins, his nose assaulted by everything— rut, heat, slick, cedar, and the musk. Jungkook’s feverish body pressed to his, shirtless and wearing only pants which do little to hide his straining cock.
If he salivates, he’s going to blame his omega.
He takes it in, as Jungkook noses up and down his nose, intimate in a way they’ve never been. The kiss had been an anomaly, but this—this is something primal, without sense or reason. And it’s everything Seokjin wants, no matter how much he tries to deny it.
“You’re here,” Jungkook whines— whines, not growls, and that’s the first change Seokjin notes. Alphas nearing ruts are usually mute, their wolves far stronger and intent on breeding than the omega’s need to protect and be bred. “You left earlier. Why?”
Is…is he sniffling? Seokjin pulls him back from his throat— and sees the rut fever taking hold. Maybe not even hours. Perhaps minutes would be accurate before the lucidity is captured. Jungkook’s eyes flicker erratically between golden and brown. “I didn’t know you were entering rut.”
“And you’d leave your alpha like this?” Jungkook pouts and it’s so unlike any alpha Seokjin has ever dealt with. Hell, even Namjoon with his alpha drugs was still more alpha than— than this pup. Jungkook winces, shuddering. “Fuck, I don’t know why I said that. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Seokjin says, tilting his head when Jungkook leans in again— scenting, licking, mouthing at his gland. More of the cedar swims through him, driving him dizzy. It mixes with patchouli oil—his scent, coming out despite the scent blockers he applies. “Is this weird?”
Jungkook presses kisses that feel searing hot. “What is?”
“That we barely know each other but are willing to share cycles,” Seokjin murmurs. Because they, aren’t they? That’s why Seokjin’s here, and why Jungkook is taking it without reservations. The heat is building the more he scents him. “Am I doing anything against your wishes?”
Jungkook pulls back. His eyes are nearly fully golden now, with only brown specks left behind. Once the rut hits, they’ll vanish— and so will his lucidity. “I’m an alpha in rut and my supposed True Mate is entering his heat. I think that’s answer enough.”
“That’s biological,” Seokjin fires back. Jungkook growls and Seokjin leans away. Right, he shouldn’t be so stupid as to challenge an alpha in rut. “It’s not true consent.”
Jungkook’s gaze is fixated on Seokjin’s mating gland now, a slow-burn hunger coming over him. Seokjin feels so naked, so seen, in a way he’s never been before— and for once, he doesn’t want to hide away. “Is it going against yours?”
How is Jungkook having so much control right at the edge of rut? He’s glad for the question, however. Is it going against his wishes? He doesn’t know; he’s never known his wishes. Can he wish to be fucked by—someone he barely knows? A stranger who is his mate and yet, Seokjin doesn’t know a thing about?
“Not really. I’m not sure.”
“Please be certain. I’m not going to touch you against your will,” Jungkook says softly— moving back so swiftly, it’s a wonder. Seokjin can see the clenched hands, the flaring nose with each inhale of Seokjin’s scent, his heat. “You’re free to leave. I can take care of myself.”
“Will your alpha let you?”
“It doesn’t matter. If you’re not comfortable— our wolves can’t force us to. I won’t let it.”
It’s the conviction that does it, Seokjin decides, the respect he’s had to claw his way towards. All his life, complimented in backhanded ways by a father who had ultimately never cared. Feeding him lies to keep him compliant, and only ever saw him as a bitch to be bred, to be married off to a capable alpha. Seokjin had fought all of his life— but this right here is the first decision that comes from his heart.
“No. I’m comfortable. I’m okay with it if you are,” Seokjin says, leaning against the door. Jungkook still searches, and Seokjin wants the hesitation gone. “Have me. Take me, do as you please. I am yours, alpha.”
Like a spell, the switch happens instantly.
The browns leave Jungkook’s eyes in the same moments his rut takes over, and with that Seokjin gushes— the heat is familiar yet horrid, this fire burning under his skin, threatening to melt it off. Jungkook is right there in a moment, and Seokjin bares his neck, knees weak.
Losing time is natural in a heat, and Seokjin is not sure about his as he gives in. One moment he’d been against the door, an armful of Jungkook bearing upon him, the next he’s stripped naked, his clothes ripped apart and in shreds as Jungkook works through them. Slick drips on his carpet, but Seokjin is far away from caring as the alpha bends him over the couch—and buries his head between Seokjin’s thighs.
Something wet and rough laps away at his slit, and Seokjin clenches his thighs around Jungkook even as he arches his back, eyes rolling back at the pleasure that descends. Jungkook does it again and again, and Seokjin can’t help it. He comes.
Jungkook doesn’t stop, however, continuing to eat him out as if he’s a feast in a million, sliding a finger alongside to open him up. Slick leaks out obscenely, and he swallows it all, taking in Seokjin’s cock and sucking softly like he enjoys it. It’s too much all at once—Seokjin’s never experienced a heat like this, and without a warning, he has his second orgasm.
“I’ll take care of you,” Jungkook whispers, popping off his cock and biting softly along the thighs. Seokjin’s cock twitches again. “I’ll be the best for hyung.”
Seokjin lets go off the ledge and falls.
It’s the most unusual experience.
Not because he’s sharing a cycle— that’s strange in itself— but because of how much Jungkook insists on taking care of Seokjin. It can’t be alpha instincts— he’s helped alphas out before in ruts, though secretly, and they’re almost always focused on fucking anything with a hole that’s walking.
Jungkook seems to be delaying it.
Not that he’s complaining—Seokjin’s enjoying this. He’s hardly had time to really enjoy sex, but the heat is restless now, his omega whining for a knot. After maybe his fifth orgasm— just from oral sex— Seokjin takes control.
And it seems that’s what was needed all along.
They’d moved to the bed some time ago when the armrest of the couch had dug uncomfortably into Seokjin’s back. Jungkook had carried him so effortlessly that Seokjin had leaked down his shoulders, and he hadn’t even cared. The heat had taken over easily—all that mattered was a knot.
Jungkook nears his slit again, and Seokjin pushes him away. The alpha whines again—but not in derision or anger. He kneels in front of Seokjin patiently and waits. His cock lays between his legs, hard and pink, fat with cum. He hasn’t even come once since they began, and an inner instinct of Seokjin wants his alpha taken care of.
Seokjin gets on his knees, waiting for Jungkook to mount him.
He doesn’t, however, sitting on his haunches like a puppy, gazing hungrily at Seokjin. It’s strange; for some reason, Jungkook isn’t acting territorial like most alphas do. He usually doesn’t, if Seokjin remembers. Very much an alpha, but shy and sweet and—
“Please, hyung, please let me fuck you.”
— And polite.
Moon above.
He understands, somehow, what Jungkook wants. He wants to be guided, and coddled. He wants to fuck, but someone has to hold the reigns. He’s relinquishing control so easily, so beautifully— Seokjin is wet all over again.
“Sure, baby,” Seokjin says, in a daze— lies down on his back, and spreads his legs. Jungkook sits in between, slowly jerking himself off— still not fucking it in. Seokjin uses his fingers to spread his folds, to glide them along his cock— and Jungkook whimpers, eyes golden and gone. “You want to get in? Keep hyung full?”
“Y-yes.”
“You’d have to be very good,” Seokjin says, head fuzzy with want. “Can you do that? Keep hyung happy?”
“Will stuff you full, hyung,” Jungkook moans, hand moving faster. There’s slick pooling under Seokjin’s ass. “Give you my knot, give you pups. You’re mine.”
Seokjin nearly chokes at that, the heat unbearable. You’re mine. “Okay, pup. You can go in.”
The alpha settles closer, eyes so golden his pupils are pinpricks of black. “Need— need hyung to guide me,” Jungkook gasps, and Seokjin keens. Goddess save him. “N-need—”
“I got you, I’m here, I’m here,” Seokjin coos. He’d never felt such clarity in heat, but something about Jungkook awakened both the need to please and to protect. “Come on, just lie on top of me— yes. Slowly, okay? Don’t crush hyung.”
Jungkook does that— listens to Seokjin, and they both moan in unison when he enters at last. It’s like coming home, this perfect click in his head. Somehow— they fit. Seokjin is too broad, too big for an omega, and Jungkook is lean and narrow, so pretty, so unusual for an alpha.
Perfect for Seokjin.
It’s just like he’d imagined. Seokjin locks his ankles behind the waist, so narrow and tiny, yet powerful. Jungkook moves, and Seokjin loses himself again. There is confidence and strength, yet Jungkook places Seokjin’s hands on his ass, and Seokjin pushes him in, deeper until he’d imprint himself inside.
“Take it, take it all,” Seokjin whispers in his ears, nibbling at it, scenting his neck. He gulps the cedar in, the sweet undertone of rose. “Break me. Hyung can take it.”
The rut takes hold, and then it’s just a haze of Jungkook fucking him, animalistic and frantic— and Seokjin loves every moment of it.
Loves how his alpha is taking him apart—and setting him back whole again.
Jungkook jerks, coming in hot spurts, and Seokjin locks his feet behind, keeping it all in. You’re mine, he thinks in a daze—before he falls, free at last.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
it's fking october hallelujah yesssss!!! Or jimtober, and despite this burn out, i'm gonna work on ch 25 somehow and have an update out for jimin's bday- the event that started this fic!!! pls dear god let me get over my brain rot and do this.
the jihope reunion that we were all waiting for :") i was so soft for it. and the minjoon!! aaahh loved writing about them again, and the round table conference pls my pack is getting together hehe.
And then, ahem:
SOOOO??? JINKOOK???? DID I SERVE? AND LEAVE CRUMBS? NO I DIDN'T I ATE (hyping myself up I deserve it).
Fr tho this heat scene is the one that started it all. I had nothing on jinkook before randomly writing it in my Notes app one August afternoon of 2022 and became obsessed with their dynamic. Built up on it. It led to a series of jinkook snippets which grew into a spin-off that I'll hopefully put out next year. The plot is ready so hehe.IMPORTANT ABOUT JINKOOK and SEXUAL BOUNDARIES: This is regarding the jinkook smut. I'm asexual, but I like reading/writing smut and ETS has been a huge help in me getting comfortable with exploring it. However, as a reader/writer, I have never been into 'positions' in sex. Sex has never been that important to me & I'm a plot girlie always.
That being said- I'm specifically choosing/defining the dynamic b/w jinkook in this fic because it has a lot to do with their personalities and life stories. I suppose going forward I will be writing Jin as a 'power bottom' and jungkook as a 'service top'. That's not to say I'm going to be rigid with this or you guys are not allowed to imagine whatever you want. But I just wanted to put it across as a plot device specifically. As the fic will explore, Jin has been shackled for so long without any real power, and jk is very secure and very unusual as an alpha- they make it work hehe. It doesn't mean I have a preference, or there isn't room for anything else, or that I'm playing into typical alpha/omega stereotypes. Saying this because I'm not about comments demanding why XYZ member is in this position. If it's not agreeable, feel free to leave.
(Also my galaxy brain writing jungkook as a consent-obsessed king in RUT and 3D/Seven both highlight that I KNEW I WROTE MY BABY WELL).
Pls pray for my brain to work and for me to have another update out by oct 13 i cry thank you love you have an amazing time ahead!!!
Chapter 24: Hot and Cold
Notes:
i'm sorrrrry i missed dear jiminie's bday :((( but my week has been wild. Before I update: HAPPY BIRTHDAY PARK JIMIN. I'm sure it's still your bday somewhere in this world. Thank god for timezones. Anyway, this update is special because it marks the event that began this story after all- I'm grateful for you, sweet one. May you be blessed and loved always, for everything you do. I love you.
Now, life update:
1. yes, i missed my deadline, but honestly I've had the worst week. For starters, I admitted I was burnt out- in the therapist field, that's crazy.
2. I took a 2 week break off- and fell sick with a viral flu on day 1. Have been battling that ever since. Today my head finally felt clear and light enough to LOOk at a screen for proof reading.
3. my bestie's wedding is upcoming so I need to recover for that. have to be my hot desi self for the indian wedding <3More in the end notes! Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months—before he knew it, they knew it—Jimin and Taehyung could barely keep their hands off each other.
It was a maddening thing. It was all Jimin could ever think about: Taehyung, and when he’d get him next. It was almost as if they were orbiting around each other, so aware of the other that they needed people around to stop them from colliding.
When they did, it was such a mess.
The hunger followed him everywhere, like a ghost on his trail. After classes, before lunch, sometimes right before they went to sleep. No place was left untouched—hidden nooks, empty classrooms—Jimin felt so desperate, he was convinced he’d take Taehyung in any way—as long as he had him. And it seemed to be the same for the alpha, whose hungry eyes followed Jimin.
Jimin could feel them all the time now, beckoning him to drop everything and focus only on Taehyung. Strip himself bare and let the alpha have his way. Lavender haunted his dreams, waking him up in a flush with a hard cock and a wet slit. Thank Moon for scent-blockers—because Jimin was sure his dorm mates would have complained eventually.
It wasn’t even just the sex…which was phenomenal. Mind-blowing even, the best Jimin had ever had—and he’d slept around fairly well. Omegas were shamed often, even more so in camp—and Jimin has given them all a finger. He could kill a room full of people and fuck five minutes later—as long as he was skilled, it didn’t matter whose knot he was fucking.
No, it was that it was sex with Taehyung. And it should have been wrong on so many levels, dangerous even—not forbidden, but Jimin didn’t want the wrong gaze or more hatred than required. He didn’t want people to think he rose to the top because he slept with Daebonim’s son. Taehyung would never hand out favours like that anyway; not because he was a douche—but somewhere, he respected Jimin too much to dishonour him like that.
If anything, that regard made it all the more hot, for Jimin to even think of restraining himself.
“There you are,” Taehyung said, from behind one of the bookshelves that Jimin had been searching. Or pretending to search, having left clues in Taehyung’s belongings. They were in the grand library, supposed to be ‘studying’ for one of their upcoming tests. “You’ve been hard to catch.”
“I figured it was getting too easy for you,” Jimin murmured, picking a book at random. He’d gone off to the far end, closer to the restricted section where no one would come. “Didn’t want alpha to get lazy.”
Taehyung growled softly, just for Jimin’s ears—it shivered down his spine to his toes, curling in his boots. “Lazy?”
“Of course. Daebonim’s son, getting a loose omega hole at his beck and call,” Jimin drawled, thumbing through another. Musky lavender began making its way through—for some reason, he could always smell Taehyung. Inconvenient, but incredibly rewarding too. “I have self-respect.”
“Mm. That’s why you want to fuck in the library?”
“Who says I want to fuck?” Jimin asked, though his slit was already getting wet at the thought of it. He’d gotten bolder lately, wanting to see how far he could push the alpha’s buttons, the rules of this prison. “I’m here to study.”
“So am I,” Taehyung drawled, leaning on his side and arms crossed. “It’s pretty interesting, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm, it’s called Park Jimin’s greedy little cunt and what’s inside of it,” Taehyung said, sliding a finger along Jimin’s neck. “Could get lost in it. A rabbit hole once you get close enough.”
Moon above, he was going to be the death of Jimin. He tried ignoring it, going through the volumes blindly—until Taehyung pressed against his back, letting him feel how hard his cock was. “Are you going to rut against my ass, now? Really?”
“Unless you’re up for being researched,” Taehyung murmured, fingers coming up front and pressing against Jimin’s crotch, right into his slit through his clothes. “Wanna be my study partner?”
It was a sick, thrilling game. In broad daylight, so close to their colleagues, in a library, of all places—Jimin bit his fist, dropping pretence as he rucked up his shirt and stuffed his mouth with it. Taehyung was quick to respond, fingers under Jimin’s pants as he pumped his cock, massaging his wet walls alongside, hiding his groans in Jimin’s neck. They’d have to be quick about it, too—that was half of the fun of these excursions. How long did they have—before things caught up?
It wasn’t long before Taehyung pulled Jimin’s pants down, and his underwear aside, using Jimin’s slick to make the glide smooth for his cock. They’d have to be both fast and slow—too much movement and the books could fall or worse, the shelf itself. Too slow, and their luck could run out. It made Jimin’s heart race, his blood pumping so fast his head felt dizzy, as Taehyung pushed in, biting Jimin’s shoulder through his clothes.
The best part about fucking outside of a cycle was that Jimin didn’t have to worry about getting pupped. Even then, he’d long stopped sleeping with anyone else but Taehyung, having made sure he was clean. It made the whole experience even more exhilarating, reckless as it could be. But Jimin was beyond caring.
Taehyung’s thrusts became frantic, and he pumped Jimin’s cock too, until they both came together. That was the other fantastic part: how much Taehyung cared about Jimin’s pleasure. In a world where omegas were second, maybe even last—Taehyung’s regard for him had won Jimin over.
And though he promised himself it would be the last time—Jimin knew he was well on his way to branding himself a liar.
🖤⚔🖤
The first time Seokjin had hated his omega was when he’d presented at thirteen, and felt wave after wave of his presentation heat wrack him with a pain he’d never felt before.
The second time had been when Joonjae had found out about his status—and lost all the love he had for Seokjin in a single swoop.
That had been the day he’d promised himself he’d do anything in the world to show how good he was, and would be, with his omega. And he’d set to train it, bargaining with it until it had become so seamlessly a part of Seokjin, they were one and the same.
Many had marvelled, and many had feared him. Seokjin hadn’t cared; he’d only wanted the praise of one person alone—nothing else had mattered.
Except now, when Jungkook praises him, litters his skin with it even as he ruts helplessly against the sheets.
“You’re so pretty, hyung,” he murmurs in a daze, eyes golden and lost. His skin is fever-hot, sweat dripping off of him. “The prettiest omega I’ve ever seen.”
Seokjin doesn’t want to, knows somewhere it’s just rut-speak—but he preens, his omega fluttering. He likes it so much, likes how compliant Jungkook is. He does everything Seokjin asks of him, waiting patiently like an alpha puppy. It does something, that surrender.
“All this just to fuck me, pup?” Seokjin asks, sliding a finger down his slit, massaging the walls and preparing it for the alpha to fuck. “Think you can call hyung pretty and I’ll spread my legs for you?”
“N-no, just think hyung’s pretty,” Jungkook gasps, shuddering as he comes into the sheets. It’s a mess all around—it smells of cedar, rose, slick and cum. “Handsome. Big, like he can take care of me.”
Seokjin’s belly swoops with want. He finds he does, he really, really wants to take care of Jungkook. Be the best omega for him, let him fuck Seokjin as many times as he wants. Bear all the pups he needs. It’s such an unbidden, strange thought, but his omega guides him, and Seokjin understands the bargain.
“And what of me?” Seokjin asks, turning over and flipping Jungkook on his back; his belly strains, his cock hard again. It’s a beautiful thing, hard and pink with pre-cum oozing. The knot right under is even better, red and pulsating. Seokjin salivates at the thought of it knotting his slit, pumping him full. “Will Jungkookie take care of hyung?”
Jungkook whines, eyes rolling back even as his skin gets hotter. Seokjin climbs up on top, gliding his folds around. His cock rubs against the knot, making Jungkook jump in pleasure. He can feel it, his mating gland throbbing, responding. He slaps Jungkook, mercilessly grinding. “Answer hyung, Jungkook-ah.”
“I—I will, hyung doesn’t even need to ask,” Jungkook pants, his breaths shallow. The scent of rut increases tenfold, spinning Seokjin’s head. “Hyung’s mine to take care of—I’ll do anything, everything—”
“Good pup. Such a sweet thing,” Seokjin says, wanting to be fucked, yet wanting Jungkook to be taken care of. He’s never heard of an omega like him or an alpha like Jungkook. But that surrender, really, that power— it fuels him like nothing else. “What should hyung do, baby?”
The endearment slips out almost naturally as if Seokjin was born to say it. Destined even, and the irony isn’t lost on him. It feels so right. Jungkook seems to think so too, cheeks flushed rose pink as his eyes dilate with lust, his teeth cutting into his lips. Seokjin taps against them almost on reflex.
“Want—want hyung to ride me,” Jungkook says, gaze clear for just a moment before slipping back into the rut. “Want you to fuck yourself on my cock. Use me, take me, need hyung to take—”
He doesn’t get to complete it, because Seokjin’s control snaps—and he’s sitting down in one swoop, his hole so loose with the fucking and cum, it doesn’t faze him anymore. Moon, it’s not that Seokjin hadn’t slept around—but he doesn’t think he’s had sex like this. So unyielding, yet so reforming. He knows it’s his heat speaking—even like this, he’s not so far away from reality. One benefit of being so in tune with his omega is that he doesn’t have a split personality crisis, unlike most wolves.
All of this, whatever he is and is doing, is his choice right now. It’s the one he made, that he went ahead with—fuck the consequences.
It’s liberating in the rightest sense.
Seokjin throws his head back as he fucks himself, using Jungkook like the alpha had asked, no, begged, and lets himself have this without guilt. Without worry. So what if this isn’t like him? So what if Jungkook is a stranger and maybe an enemy, so what if he hates Seokjin? Right now they’re True Mates, and they’re destined to be perfect for each other.
So he will fulfil his fate, without shame.
The alpha’s thrusts are equally powerful. It’s admirable, how Jungkook wants to be guided, but his alpha is still in charge. It’s the perfect push-and-pull that Seokjin has always craved. To be in charge, but not so much that it gets to his head. To be compliant, but not so much that he’s pathetic. And Moon, does Jungkook give exactly what he needs. Maybe through instinct alone, but it’s enough.
It’s enough to break Seokjin’s cage a little bit more and free him once again as he comes, nearly howling at the hot spurt of the cum inside, the knot locking him good and proper.
He’s not sure how long it lasts, or how much time has passed. Whether his guards had been alerted, or how the camp was running. He’d sent Namjoon a barely legible text right before he’d chosen to spend his heat with Jungkook—he hopes his brother had taken the hint, and kept his wing free of any intruders. Free mostly of Joonjae.
The heat passes just as fast as it had come. Seokjin’s aware of it as it leaves, his bones and body sore, stained with sweat, slick and cum. He knows Jungkook has maybe one more wave of rut—alphas usually did— and that he’s willing to bear it even as he’s in his senses.
He’s not sure if he would ever have Jungkook otherwise, and he wants this to last.
The next time he wakes up, Jungkook’s fucking him again—caught in the last throes of his rut; he hadn’t bothered asking Seokjin for his ‘permission’. He doesn’t mind, quite enjoying simply laying there and taking it, letting loose in a way he’d never before. Who else, if not his destined True Mate? Who else, if not a cop who could never be as trained as Seokjin, and so—never a big threat?
Jungkook comes, popping his last knot—before passing out on top of Seokjin, his scent weakening, and the signs of a rut melting away. Uncharacteristic of Seokjin—he lets him be, stroking his matted hair as Jungkook sleeps.
His head is clear when he wakes up again. The heat has finally passed for good—he can smell, see and hear again, though his body throbs from being used. His legs are shaky, and Seokjin stumbles out of bed to the washroom, turning on the hot water and washing it all away.
On autopilot, he scrubs himself clean—he’d have to face the aftermath of his decision, his choice, liberating as it had felt. Maybe clean the room all on his own; if the staff found out—Joonjae would know, and conduct a search. The last thing he wants is for Jungkook to be found by his father, and killed.
The very thought of it as Seokjin shaking, even though Jungkook is still a stranger.
You fucked him. That’s hardly a stranger, his omega comments, some sort of glee present. You enjoyed it.
Doesn’t mean he’s known to me, Seokjin replies, washing behind his ears. The mirror shows a patchwork of bruises and hickeys, and they should embarrass him but he feels a strange flutter instead. As if he’s…happy he’s been claimed.
How ridiculous.
He gets out, donning his clothes in the hot shower steam itself. When he’s ready—he takes a deep breath before stepping out.
And almost gags at the scents, but mostly—the mess.
It’s as he’d predicted—twisted sheets, torn clothes—and the overwhelming signs of a shared cycle. The cedar and rose are everywhere, with a weak underlying scent of patchouli oil—his scent then, coming out only when merged with another’s. They complement each other, but Seokjin puts away the thought as he assesses everything with a clinical eye.
Jungkook’s naked form is on the bed, back scratched up and a thin sheet covering his ass; Seokjin’s eyes trail towards his waist—and he hastily looks away, swallowing down the feeling. It should be criminal, to be so dainty and breakable beneath all those clothes. To be so as an alpha.
As if you’re not atypical for an omega, his wolf snorts, and Seokjin rolls his eyes. Yes, he supposes he’s the last person to comment on body types and status correlation—Seokjin can very well pass off as an alpha, especially when he hides his scent. Bodies could be deceiving—Seokjin had learnt that a long time ago.
He does his best to clean—he’s taken care of his surroundings plenty of times to be undeterred by the task, unlike what Taehyung always claims. Abbeoji’s favourite son, he’d heard, but an omega who had lost his respect, and was left alone to deal with it. As if it had been an affliction, a disease to be fixed. He gathers the ruined sheets, switching on the scent neutralisers. The room would have to be aired for all of it to go out—and he’s afraid of Jungkook’s scent alerting anyone. Maybe he’d take the alpha to the catacombs again, just for a while—and clean what he can.
The sheets he can dispose of, too incriminating to be washed and restored. The clothes too, now mere shreds. Once done, he looks at Jungkook again—deeply asleep, lost to the world. How nice, to give in so easily—to never be on alert, or to watch over his back. He’s in an assassin’s room, a prisoner—and he feels safe. Seokjin wonders what that must be like.
Almost on instinct, he takes a washcloth, and cleans Jungkook gently, between his crevices. It’s like second nature, from the time he’d taken care of the unconscious alpha, and nursed him back to health. It doesn’t feel wrong this time—it’s natural as if this is how it’s meant to be.
He is yours to take care of now, his omega murmurs, and for a moment, Seokjin wants to deny it, run away from it—but he stays, letting his choice remain for a little while longer. Bask in it, allowing himself to imagine a world where they weren’t who they are. Where Seokjin isn’t an omega assassin and Jungkook isn’t a cop; where the way they met had been pure coincidence—in a happier way.
The image doesn’t quite hold; this is all Seokjin’s ever known. As he turns Jungkook onto his back, wiping the sweat—he can’t imagine it at all. He doesn’t know who Jungkook is or was, outside of his relationship with Jimin. Whether he is as playful as he shows to be, or infuriating; whether he puts up a show of a strong alpha but is so needy, so…kind.
For a moment, Seokjin regrets bringing him here—into this world of mayhem, blood and death.
He swallows as he brushes his hair back and down his neck. The Soul Mark is stark against his skin, and when Seokjin’s fingers brush over it—Jungkook’s eyes flutter, a sigh escaping his lips.
Seokjin hastily finishes the task before chucking away the washcloth, straightening the sheets around Jungkook’s waist and legs. He locks the doors, and mercifully, the wings are still empty. He’s not sure how long it’s been since his heat started—but he must have missed a couple of days, and it’s a miracle he hasn’t been called upon yet.
If you’re to be mated, maybe it’s not as much of a requirement anymore, his wolf says, and Seokjin holds himself back from snarling. The thought that Joonjae could have already disposed him off because he is to be mated…Seokjin shudders, first making his way to the healer’s unit. He hardly ever does, always told by Joonjae to manage his illnesses on his own—Namjoon used to smuggle healer’s concoctions or herbs in the earlier days, back when Joonjae would know every movement and decision.
Things had happened so fast, that Seokjin doesn’t remember if they’d stopped long enough to wear a birth control patch or not. Heat/rut cycles, especially shared ones, were so unpredictable, that prior arrangements had to be made; he doesn’t know if they were careful enough. And even though his omega is happy at the thought of potentially carrying their True Mate’s pups—it’s not something Seokjin can afford.
Now or ever.
The healer’s unit is empty this time of the day; when Seokjin enters, it’s only Lee Sunmi checking the inventory—and she smiles when she sees him. She’s perhaps the only reliable healer—discreet yet professional, the kind who doesn’t ask too many questions. Seokjin had found her a few years ago—an omega who had been at death’s door, and considered disposable—but he’s always favoured more roles for omegas. It’s the least he can do, to show how valuable they are.
No matter what Joonjae says, he’s not meant simply for breeding.
“Seokjin-ah, it’s been a while,” Sunmi says, holding out her wrist for a scent greet; she doesn’t wear neutralisers—her scent is a pleasant chamomile. “What brings you here?”
“Just had my heat. Not sure if we used the patch.” Seokjin looks around; the unit looks well—before Sunmi, it barely had supplies. “I need some moon tea, if possible.”
To her grace, she doesn’t hesitate, getting the leaves out. Moon tea is an herbal concoction with the sole purpose of a contraceptive or post-heat treatment. The herbs act instantly, and create a barrier in the uterus strong enough that no alpha seed can make its way through—or if they have, are killed immediately.
She brews it, and Seokjin watches it bubble away; a frothy mauve that smells hot and strong—he hates the taste, but it’s needed. There is a pang in his chest, a hollow—maybe the more irrational side of his omega mourning the loss of a potential pup. Think about it. It’ll look like him.
I don’t know him. I can’t mother his kids.
But you’d raise it so well, it whines, but Sunmi offers the tea and Seokjin downs it, holding back the gag at the bitter taste. He shudders, shutting down any arguments from his wolf. There is one, final pathetic whine before it settles down into its mild self.
“So. Who was it that made you forego your careful preparation?” Sunmi asks, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re usually particular about your heats.”
Seokjin’s ears burn hot, but he shrugs. “Oh, you know how it is. Running the camp, losing track of time. By the time it hit—it was too late.” He scratches under his chin, his mating gland swelling slightly. “It’s a strong dose, yes?”
“Nothing will catch after that,” Sunmi assures. There is some pity in her eyes, like she knows the pressure Seokjin is under, and how careful his decisions on childbearing would need to be. Perfect, to serve Joonjae in the end. Mating with my own half-brother so he can have purebred heirs. He holds back bile at the thought, still not able to face it.
“I’ll be on my way then. You’re doing well,” Seokjin says, keeping the cup down and walking out. Despite her assurance, he prays it is strong—he’s not sure what the Moon Goddess’s ideas are on True Mates fucking without protection—and how easy it would be to conceive.
They’re destined for that reason alone, after all.
As he walks along the estate corridors—he sees the decorations.
Strips of white, blue and yellow are lined along the walls, servants dressed in black scurrying with boxes and platters on their arms. They bow hastily when they catch sight of Seokjin, but otherwise—they seem preoccupied.
He makes his way to his office—and halts when the scent of crushed flowers and rotten earth make their way through.
Blood races in his veins as his heart pumps faster, throat closing up in anticipation. It’s the response he’s always had whenever Joonjae is around or even mentioned; a sort of visceral, bodily shutdown that he powers through sheer will alone. Kim Joonjae and his ability to command the deepest of fears in Seokjin’s bones.
He clears his throat, closing the button of his shirt to the top—and enters with a genial smile. “Abbeoji. What a pleasant surprise.”
Joonjae is at Seokjin’s desk, in his chair—swivelling around as he goes through some reports. He looks as he does—salt and pepper hair shaved clipped sharp now, the scar across his face that he’d gotten on a mission once. Supposedly, he’d kept the mark because it was a battle won fairly—but he isn’t sure now. Joonjae doesn’t seem like a fair player, only a smokescreen of false promises.
“Pleasant indeed, my dove,” Joonjae says, throwing the papers on a stack. There’s none of that manic glee that had been the night of the dinner—he looks sick, but otherwise normal. His eyes are brown and his nails are just that—nails. Yet Seokjin can’t forget the way they shifted into claws, the hair that seemed to grow on the back of his hands. “Given that you haven’t been in your office for three days now.”
Seokjin bows down, legs shaking where he stands. “I apologise, Abbeoji. I was…occupied.”
“So it seems.” Joonjae nods at his makeshift bed, the crumpled sheets. Moon above, Seokjin hopes it doesn’t smell of slick. “Sleeping at the office. How dedicated of you.”
The compliment slithers under Seokjin’s skin, settling into the anxious mosh pit building in his belly. “Work was heavy.”
“Of course. My poor darling dove, slaving away at night…” Joonjae stands up, walking leisurely towards Seokjin. “Making sure the camp is in one piece. What would I ever do without you, hmm?”
Once, words like these would have Seokjin grovelling in gratitude. “I was only doing what you’ve asked of me, Abbeoji. I am honoured to serve you, and keep doing so.”
“An honour…how well you speak, Seokjin. You do make me proud.” Joonjae’s fingers trail across Seokjin’s forehead, tucking his hair in gently. “The best of my children. No one could ever compare to you.”
Sick, he’s going to be sick. He hears it now, the contempt and disgust, the glee at having Seokjin in the palm of his hands. How could he have been fooled for so long? Is he fit to lead when he couldn’t even tell apart his father’s intentions?
You lost his favour for no fault of yours. Don’t give into his voice, his omega cautions, soothing yet sorrowful. There is pity, but there is also empathy. All these years, it had been Seokjin’s crutch—his rock, keeping him sane when nothing seemed enough. When Seokjin didn’t, trying so hard to show and prove his worth—and failing.
He never made it possible to succeed, his omega croons and Seokjin settles, smiling and falling into his designated role—if not for himself, then for his brothers who had suffered all along—because of Seokjin’s greed. But no more.
“I am grateful for your grace,” Seokjin murmurs, tilting his head in submission. It’s what Joonjae always liked—all his children to know they were under his mercy. Namjoon didn’t care for it, Taehyung used to rebel—and be punished, until he revelled in it. Seokjin had been too afraid—and now, he’s tired. “Abbeoji?”
“Hmm?
“The decorations outside,” Seokjin starts, crossing his arms even as an itch builds. “What’s going on?”
“Ah, that, my dove,” Joonjae begins, a small smile gracing his face—though his teeth gleam. “You were indisposed, but Yoongi called. He expressed interest in mating you at the earliest.”
Fear and triumph claw their way up his throat. “Really?”
“Yes. He was quite taken with you at the dinner and after,” Joonjae says, hunger in his eyes even as pride darkens them. “How could he have not? You are my most prized possession, after all.”
“I see.” Seokjin scratches above his mating gland, itching now at the thought of even thinking of another alpha. He remembers the plan all of them discussed, right before the heat fell upon him. The mating ceremony is to be a distraction. “Abbeoji. I have…given the mating some thought.”
Joonjae closes in, his rotten scent burning, smarting his eyes. Seokjin swallows down the bile as Joonjae’s nose dives in. “Have you now?”
“Yes. And I…I see your wisdom.” Seokjin closes his eyes as Joonjae noses up and down, his scent slimy and his omega whining in distress. He tamps down on it. Just for a little while longer. “I’m grateful for your grace. Mating Yoongi-ssi would be a dream come true.”
“The Moon blessed me with a child like you,” Joonjae says, each word a razor-sharp insult covered with syrupy sweetness. “I told you I knew what was good for you—”
Joonjae stops, frozen too close, and Seokjin itches to push him away. He’s his father, but everything about his presence feels wrong, his omega and mating gland both in panic at what they consider an unfamiliar alpha. It shouldn’t matter, because parents are always familiar—but Joonjae’s wolf seems wrong. Seems…
Diseased.
Seokjin waits patiently—until Joonjae grabs him by the back of his neck, pulling him close and baring his teeth at his scent gland. This close, the flowers burn—and Joonjae’s eyes glint red.
“You smell different,” Joonjae growls, nosing him roughly, so intense that Seokjin’s stomach nearly comes up. He bites his tongue, tasting blood. “You smell…used.” He sniffs some more, his fingers coming to open Seokjin’s button—
Seokjin slaps his hands away, kneeling on the ground and keeping his head down. He can’t know, he can’t see the bruises Jungkook has left. He’d know for sure, and order an investigation. Over his dead body is Seokjin going to lose someone else to his father.
His father towers over him, smelling horrid. “Did you have your heat, boy?”
“I…I…”
“Because I know you had one last month, my dove, so why do you smell—like a whore?”
Seokjin squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the sickness and panic. He can do this, he can put up a show. That’s all Joonjae ever required of them—utter compliance. As long as he can’t smell Jungkook’s scent—Seokjin will be safe. He prays the Feral disease doesn’t allow for that ability.
“I…I did have my heat. Last month had been…a fluke,” Seokjin says, gritting his teeth. “I was tired and didn’t know how to ask for…rest. So I…lied.”
There’s silence, and Seokjin prays Joonjae buys it, that he doesn’t dig into it. He doesn’t have enough time to notify anyone to keep Jungkook safe. Jungkook, who is still recovering from a rut, sleeping away peacefully unaware of how precarious his life is.
“You lied? For rest?” Joonjae asks quietly, voice clipped. “Do you have any shame?”
“It’s why I couldn’t tell you, Abbeoji,” Seokjin murmurs, looking away. His makeshift bed is in the corner, and Seokjin misses it, strangely enough. “I’m ashamed I let my…omega afflictions get in the way of our work. I couldn’t bear to face you because of that.”
He hates it, hates that he has to blame his omega in the end, to ruin the image of them further in Joonjae’s eyes. But it never mattered, did it? All that effort has been for nothing. Joonjae has and forever will hate your kind.
Joonjae scoffs in disgust. “At least you are graceful about it. Most don’t ever admit it.” He kicks at Seokjin’s hands lightly. “Stop kneeling—you look pathetic.”
Seokjin scrambles up, holding his hands back and keeping his face blank. Joonjae looks him up and down, lips curled before he shakes his head. His eyes flicker red before they settle, and he seems almost normal again. “I apologise. I’ll accept whatever punishment you give me—”
“Oh stop, it’s just a little lie,” Joonjae croons, walking away to the door. “You have seen sense, both with this and the mating. A perfect omega bride, as I raised you to be.” He smiles, opening the door. “What do I have to complain about?”
He walks away—and not a moment later, Seokjin rushes to the bathroom, and hurls his stomach into the sink.
The walk back to his wing happens in a fever dream.
Seokjin enters, shutting the door behind him; the room smells relatively cleaner, though traces of the cycle linger. The sheets are missing, and he panics—had someone come in? Did they discover Jungkook?
His omega trashes more when he comes to his bed, empty of an alpha. Seokjin searches all around—until he comes to the sound of scrubbing in the bathroom. He enters—to find Jungkook crouching, washing the sheets.
A pile of them are collected in a tub, and he’s on the last of them. His shirt is soaked with sweat—sticking to his body, showing the graceful lines of his broad back tapering into the narrow waist. The one Seokjin had his legs around mere hours ago as Jungkook had fucked in, over and over until Seokjin had lost all sense, clinging onto the knot like his life depended on it.
Horrifically, slick begins collecting, and worse—Jungkook picks up on it, turning around in panic. “Hyung!”
That’s new.
Seokjin swallows it all down, playing with his top button and crossing his other arm. “What are you doing?”
Jungkook’s nose is still flared, but he scratches his neck. Hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, and Seokjin feels an indescribable urge to push it back. He presses his nails into the palm of his hand.
“I…woke up, and you weren’t there,” Jungkook mumbles, nose scrunching rather cutely. No, stop. He’s an overgrown brat with no manners and a cop. He hates you. “I felt like shit, everything hurt. But I noticed the scent neutralisers and figured you’d like a clean room when you came back from…wherever.”
“I see.” Seokjin’s throat closes up again, but this time, it’s not fear. It’s…gratitude, and it’s too foreign for him to pay attention to. “I was going to throw away the sheets.”
Jungkook steps closer; cedar rolls off him from the sweat and the humidity. “So you could get rid of the evidence, right? Figured.” He smiles, shaking his head. “Where I’m from, we don’t engage in such wasteful behaviours.”
Somehow, that reels Seokjin in. He can’t help it, the way Jungkook is all around, a bait Seokjin has to get hooked onto. “Wasteful? I was only doing it to pro—” He bites back, clearing his throat. “To make sure no one found out. Save your ass while you’re still here.”
“Right. It’s totally not because you like having me around.”
“I do not!” Seokjin shrills, mating gland itching, all of him wanting to—what? Strangle him? Hold him? He doesn’t know. “I am duty-bound to keep you safe, you know.”
“Really? For who?” Jungkook steps even closer, and like this he’s almost Seokjin’s height, maybe a little taller than usual. Is it because he’s no longer curling in? “Jimin-hyung? The one you attacked?” Another step. “Or Hobi-hyung, who you just met?” There’s a glint in Jungkook’s eyes, and Seokjin stumbles back when he steps even closer, almost toe to toe. “Or me, who is your True Mate?”
“I…I don’t—” Seokjin gulps, his throat too tight; he unbuttons the top button and then some, and Jungkook’s pupils dilate a fraction. It’s also his undoing—because it releases his scent.
And it’s not the one Jungkook’s expecting.
The alpha growls, and suddenly, Seokjin is against the bathroom wall, caged between Jungkook’s arms as the alpha tilts his neck, growling at it. It’s not wanton—it’s the kind that is threatened—and furious.
“Who scented you,” Jungkook murmurs, near guttural as his eyes flicker gold. Seokjin’s frozen as is, his neck tilted. Jungkook leans in, mouth curling as he smells Joonjae’s scent. “What happened, hyung?”
He shouldn’t be calling him that—they’re not familiar enough. They’re not anything at all, and three days of heat sex doesn’t nullify their truth. But Seokjin keeps quiet because he knows not to nudge an angry alpha.
Mostly, he wants to pretend a little while longer and get all the comfort he can.
“I was…I went to visit…” Seokjin tries, but the words don’t come. It can’t be that difficult to describe what happened, yet his mouth doesn’t work. How does he say what Joonjae did? How pathetic Seokjin felt in his presence, how he always has and it will never stop? How he was scented against his will, short of being Imposed upon—and he let it happen? “My father. He did this.”
“He claimed you?” Jungkook asks, outraged and incredulous both. Right, in the normal world, people probably have parents who act like parents. “But he’s your dad…”
Poor Jungkook. Seokjin leans back, though it does nothing for the distance. “What did you expect? He’s mating me off to my own brother. This is a normal Tuesday for him.”
Even as he says it, some sort of hopelessness takes root. Will Seokjin ever be free of the hold Joonjae has had since birth? Will their plan actually work—and set Seokjin free?
Jungkook shudders, closing his eyes. He’s still caging Seokjin in, but for some reason, Seokjin feels…safe. This is a vulnerable position, the worst for an assassin—but he feels okay, and it has nothing to do with Jungkook being untrained.
“Let me make it better,” Jungkook whispers, pressing closer, his scent both soothing and hot. Seokjin’s slit is wet, but he squeezes his thighs shut. All his life he’s controlled his omega—but around Jungkook it’s useless. “Please, hyung. It smells horrible, like a brand. I can’t bear it.”
Seokjin has no complaints; he feels it too, the weight of the scent dragging him down. “We’re not in heat or rut.”
“So? It’s just a scent mark.”
“I have no right to bear yours—”
“No right?” Jungkook pulls back, pupils so dilated it’s a wonder the brown even remains. “No right? Hyung, I’m the only one you can ask without shame. Destined, even, if we want to get technical.”
Jungkook’s eyes are searching, holding himself back and waiting for permission. Like the kind Joonjae never asks for. No one ever has, and here this stranger who doesn’t quite act like one…Seokjin wants it so bad, he can taste it.
He’s tired of always doing the right thing.
“Okay,” he says, dropping his hand. “Okay. Get rid of it, Jungkook-ah.”
The alpha doesn’t waste a moment—he dives in, slow and sweet and careful, like Seokjin’s precious. Not breakable or fragile, but that he deserves to be approached with care. His throat locks up again as Jungkook noses along his scent gland, releasing cedar and rose, and Seokjin breathes in mouthfuls of it, gulping it as if he’ll never get it again. He might not—he can ask without shame, but how long has it been since Seokjin felt anything but shame?
Jungkook goes about it gently, dragging Seokjin’s hand away as he mouths openly, breath hot, the imprint burning. He opens another button for greater access, and Seokjin lets him, head spinning with the scent as he lets go, lets his omega guide him and take without shame. After all—it is his right.
The alpha groans, and it vibrates in Seokjin’s neck down his spine; his slit feels wetter, and he spreads his legs, an open invitation. There is a voice cautioning him to be careful, to not come across as a needy slut—but it sounds an awful lot like Joonjae’s, like all the alpha overseers who’d tell Seokjin to be a good omega, prim and proper. I shouldn’t be doing this…so soon after my heat…It trails off, as he holds onto Jungkook, pulling him in. He can feel his hardness, and for a moment Seokjin’s so hungry for it that he’s willing to shed all his clothes and bare himself—
He gasps, pushing Jungkook away, as he comes to his surroundings. They’re in the bathroom, Jungkook in a sweat-soaked T-shirt caging Seokjin smelling like the world’s best perfume. Seokjin’s in his suit, pants slightly slicked, and ready to—
“We—we shouldn’t,” he gasps, quickly shutting his buttons, his hands trembling as they fail to grab it. Jungkook breathes heavily, eyes blown so wide that Seokjin is afraid to look into them. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen before they narrow, and his lips press into a thin line. He doesn’t say anything, brushing Seokjin’s fingers away as he buttons it up, patting his shoulder. “You don’t smell like him anymore.”
Right. This was to get rid of the scent, and nothing else. It’s not a claim, not like the way his omega keeps chanting. “Thank you. I—I feel better.”
The alpha nods sharply, looking away. His scent smells…upset, rejected even, and Seokjin’s heart pangs. How strange. He instead looks at the pile of unattended laundry, nodding at it. “So…back to the sheets?”
“I’ll have them brand new, don’t you worry,” Jungkook says brightly, his scent sharp. “You should go sleep, Seokjin-ssi. I’ll join you soon.”
The formality pricks, even though that’s what Seokjin had wanted. He hopes his scent doesn’t betray him—and leaves before Jungkook can smell the rejection on him.
🖤⚔🖤
In all his years, Yoongi has never been to the Kim Clan Estates.
Even with the truce between Yungcheol and Joonjae, and the tumultuous friendship with Taehyung—Yoongi had kept away from visiting the other family bases. As the car enters through the winding driveway, Yoongi can’t help but be awed by the sheer wealth that greets his eyes.
All this from running a business of killing people, Yoongi thinks ideally, as he scratches at his shoulder. Death is costly, and the estate is a testament to it.
The estates are in the process of decoration—a team of gardeners tend to the spruced trees, while some servants in black hanbok suits put up trails of white, blue and yellow—along with flower arrangements in the same shade. It had only been a couple of days ago when Yoongi had called Joonjae and expressed an interest in mating Seokjin—the next few days would provide the perfect distraction for scheming—as well as rescuing Hoseok.
Yoongi’s heart squeezes at the thought before his mother clears her throat. Heeyeon sits next to him, peering at him through the sunglasses. “We’re here.”
“I noticed.” Yoongi straightens his jacket. The only other time he’d been here had been to meet Seokjin, and that had been through a back entrance. This time, he’s getting the royal reception. “Abbeonim puts on a good show, I must say.”
She sighs. “Yoongi. This is important. I trust you’ll be on your best behaviour?”
“Of course, Eommonim. The last visit went well too.”
“I heard. Joonjae was singing praises,” Heeyeon says dreamily. Yoongi barely holds back vomit and rolls his eyes instead. “I’m surprised you agreed so quickly.”
“I would be a fool not to.”
Heeyeon tilts her head. “So you found Seokjin agreeable then?”
“He’s beautiful,” Yoongi says blandly, playing along. It’s not even a lie; Seokjin is a kind of beauty people rarely come across—and Yoongi’s hung around Jimin and Jungkook. If not for the whole sibling thing, he’d be better able to appreciate that beauty—though it’s too perfect for Yoongi’s liking. He’s always been more drawn to imperfect beauty like Hoseok’s. “One of a kind.”
“I suppose,” Heeyeon says, sounding miffed. Right, she must be feeling some envy that Seokjin is Lee Sora’s son. Probably regrets they’re not full siblings, the psycho bitch. “In any case. Joonjae’s instincts have always been good.”
“Hmm.” The car stops at the entrance, and an usher comes to open their doors. Yoongi steps out into the chilling November cold. “Is there a dinner?”
“Not tonight. Joonjae wants us to rest; the formal introductions will happen tomorrow,” Heeyeon says, and Yoongi nods. “There will be guests soon. Behave, alright? The future of the Min Clan depends on it.”
“I won’t fail you, Eommonim.” Yoongi bows swiftly, shoulder itching. He rolls it once. “I’ll just be a moment. Have to check something back at the estate”
She leaves, being received by an omega assistant; Yoongi waits for her to disappear—before taking out his phone and opening his chat with Taehyung. He also takes out a nicotine gum—the last few days at his home have reignited his need for smoking. It’s all he can do to keep away from it.
Hey
You there?
Brat
Sup
You reached?
Yeah
No dinner tonight
Any chance I can see Hoseok?
Brat
Hmm difficult
Namjoon-hyung’s in charge
He’d know better
You can meet him
He’s at the library
Which is where…
Brat
Ask anyone
Bit of a walk but doable
Talk to you later hyung
Happy visit
What a brat. Yoongi shakes his head, chewing on the gum as he makes his way through the grand entrance, and is guided by another assistant towards the library.
The estate is certainly something, tastefully decorated enough that it doesn’t look like a breeding ground for young assassins. Yoongi tries imagining Taehyung and Jimin in these halls—and fails. It seems beyond comprehension, given the grittiness with which they view the world. Perhaps it was a makeover, then, a gold sheet over crude iron.
His theory proves true the further he gets away from the main entrance, the walls getting darker and grittier. The library is all the way over in the training building, separate from the living quarters—when the assistant drops him off, Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief, feeling as if he’s back at university.
Inside, by one of the windows, sits a person—he’s built solid, tall and imposing and what a typical alpha usually is—but Yoongi’s perception of status is skewed due to his own presentation. He’s been called an omega on numerous occasions, so he’s no one to typecast anyone else.
Closer still, the person smells like nothing. Not those pesky little scent blockers either, but not the neutralisers as well. It’s mild, like a scent trying hard to be strong—but failing. Weak sandalwood leaving behind no impression.
“Hello?”
The person looks up, startled—and brightens when he sees Yoongi. “Oh! Yoongi-ssi, right?”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. The voice is familiar, a deep, soothing croon. “I suppose Taehyung told you. I’m assuming you’re the final brother, then?”
“Kim Namjoon, at your service.” Namjoon holds out a hand, and Yoongi shakes it. Even with the wrist scenting, his scent is weak. Interesting. “I hope your journey here went well?”
“Splendid. I love nothing more than spending three hours with my unhinged mother,” Yoongi says wryly, and Namjoon’s lips quirk into a smile. He’s rather interesting to look at, that odd sort of handsomeness that isn’t typical. “So. Brothers, huh?”
“Hard pill to swallow, but needs to be nonetheless,” Namjoon says, amicable and formal. He has a way with words, making Yoongi want to dig. A poet, he’d thought the first time, and he still believes it. “How are you coping?”
“With the fact that overnight I had three siblings? Thrilled,” Yoongi says, looking at the books collected on the table. Some of them have complicated diagrams of wolves shifting and a figure that could only be the Moon Goddess. “History revision?”
“Research for our…knowledge,” Namjoon says, nodding. “Taehyung told me you’ve done a paper before.”
They’re purposefully walking around mentioning the disease. Yoongi pulls one of the papers towards him, going over it. Back in university for one of his papers on myths and legends, Yoongi had been enamoured by the myth of the Feral Curse. It wasn’t an unknown one—not a secret, but the information was controlled so severely by the Monarchy that Yoongi had to reach out to some mafia contacts in the royal family to get references. He’d gotten a high grade—but the effort had been excruciating.
“For university. I’ll forward it to you,” Yoongi says, flipping a page. The book is old, some pages yellow and brittle. “Is this a safe place to talk?”
“The library is hardly a place that interests my father—or people strategizing,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. “That being said—there is a mating ceremony that is occupying his attention.”
“So it’s working?”
“For now, yes. He changes his mind often—but the library is safe, rest assured,” Namjoon says, sitting down. “Want to tell me what you know?”
Yoongi’s aim had been to find out about Hoseok, but this is important too. He can tell Namjoon’s trustworthy—his wolf recognises it, though it comes up clueless about what Namjoon is. He’s usually been gifted with recognising statuses—but it’s blank when it comes to Namjoon. He keeps it aside.
For the paper, Yoongi explored the Feral Curse in as much detail as he could. Most had chosen the common legends—True Mates, Soul Mates, and The Great Shift (that dealt with their ancestors losing their ability to shapeshift). Most were deterred by the lack of information on the curse—so naturally, Yoongi had to dig and find out.
“It’s a Curse straight from the Moon itself,” Yoongi says, going to the beginning. It starts off as a story—long ago, the wolves lived as tribes, worshipping the Moon Goddess or the Lunar Mother— but maintaining separate packs. Due to war, cruelty and pack politics, gradually some wolves began to feel bloodlust—senseless killing with no end or reason. This was after the wolves’ ability to shapeshift had been taken away, and they only remained human with inner wolves.
“Our inner wolves guide us instinctually, having the wisdom of the Goddess herself to make sure we maintain order. Disorder gets punished, so all of us owe a healthy society. For some reason, these wolves with bloodlust— they killed for the sake of pleasure. They created discord amongst packs, sparing no one—children, omegas, betas—all were at their mercy. Most of them were alphas, who further created divides between statuses.
“They say the Moon was angered by this—and blighted them with a Curse. The inner wolves were fractured, broken beyond repair—without that, the human side couldn’t make decisions. Whatever they did make would worsen things. The inner wolves were confused—clashing with the human sides, spilling over and creating chaos. They went Feral—unable to live in society, to function, to look after themselves. Such was the merge, they could briefly recover their ability to shapeshift.
“The humans were delighted at first, thinking it a gift and a blessing. An ability to shift—they could hunt more, with better senses, instincts, and ability to heal fast.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, remembering. “But what they didn’t realise was each time they attempted, their wolves were a little more broken and weaker. The next time they’d be even stronger—but when they came back, they’d be weak. Their minds would be a little more fractured than before, their decisions and emotions out of control.
“Ultimately, they’d succumb to the chaos within—lost, feral and mad. They’d become so weak they wouldn’t be able to keep anything down, reacting and killing until they couldn’t defend themselves—and then, they’d be put down. As dogs are.”
Silence stands in the wake, and Yoongi looks up to meet Namjoon’s eyes, his fingers resting on the last page of the books—which shows a wolf put down, the Moon’s light through the heart.
“Well. That sounds like Abbeoji,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi breaks out in a chuckle. “Mad. All sorts of strange decisions. Makes sense the Moon decided to punish him this way. He’s always loved the legends.”
“The decision to mate me to my brother aside,” Yoongi asks, picking up another book. “What else has he done?”
“Taehyung didn’t tell you?” Yoongi shakes his head, and Namjoon sighs. “Well, for starters, he’s always created an unhealthy environment for us brothers. Mixed messages, loving one day, cruelty next—except for maybe Taehyung.” Namjoon scratches his chin. “I’m assuming the Curse develops over the years, with each decision setting it deeper?”
“What makes you say so?”
“Because all of us are guilty, at some level,” Namjoon says, frowning at the document. “It can’t be that any bad act is punishable. Then all of us would be Feral, right?”
“There’s no guarantee we don’t have some dormant gene or in the running for it.”
“No, see, according to this text, it has to do with order.” Namjoon flips the book around, pointing. “Even within an assassin camp, there is order. We have records, trails, and financial accounts. We have functional businesses and a proper system. It’s not senseless killing, or killing for pleasure.”
That does make sense. Yoongi leans forward. “Same for the mafia. It’s a business first and foremost, just not always…legal.”
“So Abbeoji’s being punished with things he’s done out of order, or to shake it up maybe,” Namjoon says, biting his lip. His chin juts out, moving about with a mind of its own. “I don’t think mistreatment of kids is one of them, unfortunately.”
“No, but what kind of mistreatment, right? One is good old trauma, the other is malicious intent to fuck around with what is. Anything like that?”
Namjoon’s face falls, his eyes darkening. He gulps, looking out the window before sighing. “Well. You’d only be able to hear it from me.” Yoongi waits, his wolf on its haunches. “My father, for the last fourteen years, has been administering alpha pheromones in order to make me look alpha.” Namjoon gulps, eyes shaking. “I presented as a beta.”
Yoongi grows still, blinking while Namjoon seems determined. The moment it hits him—he falls back, weak. “What?”
“Yeah,” Namjoon murmurs, rubbing his face. His eyes look haunted, sad. “He couldn’t accept that his son could be a beta. My presentation wasn’t a big deal—no heat or rut for me. But he took me away and put those drugs in me. I’ve had pseudo ruts through the years, and chemical scents injected into me. You would have noticed I don’t have a scent.”
“It is…weak,” Yoongi admits, legs trembling. He’s never met Namjoon, but he feels a strange protective need, to make things right for him. It’s terrible, that sort of violation of one’s true nature. “So you’re…”
“He put them in so young, it’s all I’ve ever known,” Namjoon says, pulling back his sleeves and showing—track marks around his inner elbows, purple-yellow bruises from needles. “My wolf is dependent on them now. When I don’t have them for a while, I’m near delirious.” Namjoon’s eyes mist, scratching at the marks. “He made Jin-hyung put them in.”
Yoongi’s heart falls again. “Excuse me?”
“He told hyung he’d…he’d kill me if he didn’t do it. That he’d rather have a dead son than a beta. And Jin-hyung was so young, only sixteen, and he was trying so hard to regain Abbeoji’s favour…” Namjoon trails off, wiping his eyes before straightening. “So he agreed. I couldn’t rebel. We kept it quiet from Taehyung and our mother; she’d have raised hell—and I would have ended up dead. I know it.”
“Moon above, Namjoon-ssi…” Yoongi’s chest feels tight as if the attack has been made against him. He rubs at his chest, unsure where such a strong ache comes from when he’s never known of Namjoon before today. Could it be their sibling connection? After all, it’s what Yoongi had felt for Taehyung too…but then again, they turned out to be Soul Mates. As far as Yoongi’s aware, that only happens amongst same-status individuals. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
Namjoon shrugs. “I am, too. I’ve never known what it is to be truly beta. I worry sometimes if I ever will…what if I stop taking the hormones, and my body rejects me?”
There is a strange hunger present in Namjoon, hidden beneath that pleasant demeanour. It’s missable—but Yoongi gets it. He’d hidden the same way for years at the mafia before Yungcheol allowed him to leave for a life in the city. The greed to know, to be someone else beyond whatever role has been destined for the likes of them.
“I’m sure we will find a way,” Yoongi says, letting his wolf bleed into his words; there’s a need in him to reassure Namjoon, and guide him well. It’s not like the kind he has for his pack—it’s different as if they’re both on the same path, an understanding that is beyond their human selves. “Is that it, then?”
“Well, that, and having my mother killed,” Namjoon says, which Yoongi had already known. “My guess is it has something to do with killing one’s mate. He’d agreed to mate her whether he knew of his True Mate or not; for all intents and purposes, she was his legally mated. Killing her creates disorder.”
“Not to mention, an affair for all these years,” Yoongi mutters, rubbing his face. It somehow gets worse—the tendrils of one man’s pure evil. “I’m sure he has something to do with my father dying as well.”
“The timing does seem too similar to be a coincidence,” Namjoon admits. He rubs his hands, opening another book. “Okay, then. Assuming he is Feral—we have to find a way to get rid of him with that.”
“Anything your research has found so far?”
“I reached out to my contact at the Royal Library. They were quite reluctant,” Namjoon says, biting his lip. “The Monarchy is not lenient when it comes to Feral cases. Supposedly if a Feral wolf bites you—you’d be considered contaminated. It would be dormant, but they take you in, so you’re not a threat.”
“And letting Joonjae walk around like that…”
“That’s why he hid. For a year or so, after Eomma’s death, he disappeared. He was there, but not really; Jin-hyung kept the camp running. I suppose that’s when things felt relaxed for the first time in years,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. “Research is scarce—but my contact said that a Feral wolf can only die in its feral form.”
“Meaning?”
“They have to be…triggered” Namjoon shuffles some papers around, checking his notes. “Yes, our original plan was right. We’d have to expose him to others—for that he needs to be triggered. They’re impossible to kill in their human self. They’re both strong and weak in their Feral form—at the Royal Prison, they supposedly trigger such wolves to come out in their feral selves—before ending them.”
Yoongi looks at the picture of the Moon’s light striking the wolf again. “Ah. Delivering the Moon’s punishment, are they?”
“They do believe they’re her most blessed wolves,” Namjoon says, snorting into his fist. “I’m not sure what could trigger Abbeoji enough to do that. I guess we’ll have to keep searching.”
Yoongi gets up, brushing off his back. “I would say we did a good revision together, didn’t we Namjoon-ssi?”
“I thoroughly enjoyed it,” Namjoon says, inclining his head in a bow. He rises, and his eyes are filled with something, a knowing. “Though you didn’t come for that, did you?”
“Sorry?”
“You didn’t come for a history lesson.” He stands, putting together the material. “I can take you to him.”
Yoongi’s heart begins racing. “Who?”
Namjoon levels him with an unimpressed look. “I was wondering if you’re avoiding, but now it’s clear you are.” He stacks the books on top of each other. “Hoseok-ssi is doing well. He’s recovered from the dry heat, in his senses now. It would be a good time.”
“I’m not sure…” Yoongi says, but he shuts up at Namjoon’s raised eyebrow. The truth is—Yoongi’s not sure if he is or will ever be ready to face Hoseok. If he can look into Hoseok’s eyes and see disdain for Yoongi’s lies, so many of them stacked one on top of the other over the years. “Isn’t it dangerous?”
“It is, but anything’s possible if one is careful enough,” Namjoon says, crossing his arms. “You never told him a thing, did you?”
Somehow, Yoongi feels his wolf rising to an unprovoked challenge—it’s stupid because Namjoon is not an alpha. He’s curious, but Yoongi’s ashamed of his actions and his past. Of how they’ve dragged Hoseok into a world he was never supposed to know. “I did what I had to so I could live the life I wanted to.”
Namjoon raises his hands. “I didn’t mean any offence, Yoongi-ssi. It’s not my place to, anyway.” He rolls his shoulders back, tall and powerful—Yoongi wonders how much of it has to do with the drugs. “It’s not something any of us ever saw happening.”
“Destiny is a funny thing,” Yoongi says, nails biting into his palms. Namjoon nods, an understanding falling in. “I’m glad it made us meet, at least. Take care, Namjoon-ssi.”
The beta bows—and Yoongi leaves before he can see that calmness in Namjoon’s eyes, and how it asks him to break.
🖤⚔🖤
The office is a stain on his life, one that he’s come to accept as his home above all else.
Mounts of paperwork lie on the table, but Seokjin sits in his chair, staring out the window. It’s a bleak winter afternoon—grey skies with thin trails of sunlight. The campgrounds are barren, the trainees huddled inside while the world promises ice.
Streams of workers loiter in the gardens below, following orders and running off for the next set of tasks. Mating ceremony. Once, a dream Seokjin used to look forward to but now—dread builds in his gut, at the thought of mating Yoongi, even as a plan, even though his omega trashes at the thought. Don’t betray him. Don’t
He twirls listlessly in his chair again, mind utterly blank. Faint notes of cedar come through every time he moves; it’s been a while since he’s smelled anything other than scent blockers. Seokjin itches at his neck again, loosening his collar just a bit—he can’t help it, fingers tracing the burning memory of Jungkook’s mouth on his, the trails of his lips and teeth—
A new scent interferes, and Seokjin stiffens. He inhales, and pine comes in—
Seokjin faces the door, heart racing as a knock sounds. He clears his throat, and the handle twists—revealing Min Yoongi in all his glory.
It’s been some weeks since he saw him last—but there is a strange relief at his presence. They hadn’t spoken outside of that dinner save for the odd phone call—but when Seokjin faces him, his wolf is calm. “Yoongi-ssi. Hello.”
He bows, and Yoongi bows back. The alpha enters, whistling low at the size of Seokjin’s office—and raising an eyebrow at the makeshift bed. “Are you one of those people who sleeps in the office because they love work?”
Seokjin blushes. The tone is decidedly teasing—it’s different from the Yoongi at the dinner. Same features, but completely different personalities. Here, he can see how they are related—and maybe that’s why the comfort.
“I...had some disturbing elements in my room,” Seokjin says quietly, and Yoongi’s eyes light up. “This is convenient.”
“So it seems.” Yoongi turns in a circle, hands in his pockets. “Impressive office.”
“I designed it.”
“Clearly. A leader’s touch,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin feels pride again. “Care for a walk, Seokjin-ssi? I’ve been told the gardens are magnificent.”
Seokjin doesn’t waste a moment, closing his file and buttoning his suit jacket. He doesn’t ask how Yoongi found his way—there are plenty of simpering servants ready to earn favours any which way. Instead, he leads the way out, and Yoongi follows.
The gardens lost their allure the day Seokjin learnt of the true nature of his mother’s death; after all, it was for her that it had been built so carefully. The trimmed hedges, the rows of various roses to represent her scent—Seokjin shudders as he takes a deep breath, letting them flow in. Only now—the roses also remind him of someone else, a young, hot-tempered alpha with a bratty mouth.
He shakes his head before his mind goes down a dangerous maze.
“This is beautiful,” Yoongi says, hands clasped behind his back as he walks along, a keen eye hovering. “The gardens live up to its praise.”
“They were built for my mother.” He stops, fingers lingering over a white winter rose in full bloom—his favourite. “After her passing, there was a dedicated effort to keep it running.”
“Her passing, right,” Yoongi says dryly, head tilting. Pine makes its way through, and though it’s a pleasant enough scent, Seokjin’s omega bristles away from it. Foreign scent. A different alpha. Where is ours? “Is it safe here?”
Seokjin understands. He waves off the guards, who disappear. “If we keep walking, yes. Besides—this is a walk with my mate-to-be. I will be granted secrecy.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to have his ways to find out,” Yoongi says. He walks ahead, before turning around. Fox eyes lined with wilful determination—Seokjin is captured in a way that he sometimes is when he fights with Taehyung, or when Namjoon refuses a drug shot. A bit of awe, and a lot of envy. Perhaps that is their shared traits as siblings—teeth set on edge and blood on their knuckles. Seokjin isn’t sure if he’s the same—but looking at all of them…
“What’s the plan then?” Seokjin asks once they’re in one of the inner sanctums of the maze—a place devoid of guards or spies. There wouldn’t be, anyway, all trained by him—and loyal too. “You’re here. The preparations are underway.”
“Yes. I did as we discussed.” Yoongi takes out a silver strip from his pocket, his hands shaking. It smells faintly of nicotine, as Yoongi pops one into his mouth. “He was ecstatic. So was Eommonim. Namjoon-ssi’s guess was right.”
“So he is desperate.” A rock settles inside his belly and Seokjin shifts. “Have you met, then?”
“A while back. We understood some things about the disease,” Yoongi says, letting out a sigh. “There is history, but the disease is a result of a Curse by the Moon Goddess herself. The gist is: when a person makes too many fucked up decisions and choices that cause disorder—their wolf gets fractured, making them more and more unstable. They will eventually succumb to the Curse, but the only way that happens is if they’re triggered into the Feral state.”
The rock is now a pendulum in his belly, swinging back and forth. Seokjin curls his hands into fists, nails biting into his skin even as they shake. “So he needs to come out as a feral wolf—in front of others. Correct?”
“Yep. Given that he’s been hiding so well so far…I’m not sure what that something could be.”
But Seokjin does. The night flashes in his mind again—his father’s shaking eyes bleeding red, teeth bared to give an illusion of elongated canines—or maybe that hadn’t been an illusion after all. The nails growing into claws even as the skin of his hand seemed to shift, twisting underneath.
All because Seokjin had finally broken—and rebelled.
“I think I know,” he admits, the words like nails in his throat, his final betrayal. “It has to be me.”
Yoongi frowns. “You?”
“Yes.” Seokjin exhales, ice-like splinters forming in the warmth of his lungs. You are my most prized possession. “The one he has loved to own the most.”
“Are you sure, Seokjin-ssi?” Yoongi asks, concern bleeding out. It’s warm, the kind Seokjin finds himself hanging on to. “Would that be enough?”
“What other option is there?” Seokjin asks, stopping—and finding himself back at his mother’s shrine again, her warm gaze like a beacon of hope. Yoongi stops with him, his gaze locked on the picture. “Who else could Joonjae care about?”
Yoongi keeps quiet, eyes hovering over the frame, the words embedded in memorium. Loving daughter, mate, and mother. Seokjin only ever knew her as a mother, and even then, hardly knew her—he only realised the void she’d left once she’d gone—but felt like he had no right to mourn her, given how much he’d chased after Joonjae instead. He wonders what Yoongi thinks of all this—of the Kim Clan, and their secrets, the love fraught between them.
He clears his throat, fingers tracing over the worn letters. “His True Mate, perhaps.”
Seokjin stands still. “Son Heeyeon-ssi?”
“Who else, indeed?” Yoongi smiles rather ruefully, lips quirked in a secretive smile. “Isn’t that what he cares about? His son from his True Mate should ascend his throne, merging the clans once and for all.” He shrugs, rotating his shoulder. “Everything he’s done has been because of her.”
“That’s…” Seokjin trails off, short of words. Where is the lie? Joonjae had met Heeyeon shortly after conceiving Seokjin; this sordid tale of theirs had been set long, long ago. “You would do that?”
What he means: Would you harm your own mother? The one who birthed you, brought you into this world? Is it that easy?
Some days, Seokjin can’t believe he feels anything but loyalty towards Joonjae, even though the thought of betrayal pierces him and hooks into the ragged edges of his soul.
Yoongi shrugs, though his body is lined with anger. “She was never a mother to me.” His eyes stray towards Sora’s portrait again, something like sorrow lining them. “And she took the one good thing I did have.”
Seokjin must seem confused because Yoongi sighs. “My father. Or, well, the person I believed was my father. She killed him, I’m sure of it. They both did. Min Yungcheol wasn’t easy to kill.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “So, yeah. They can go to hell.”
The conviction stuns Seokjin, having never been able to express how he feels about Joonjae now. Even with all this evidence—there is hope, pesky and fickle. Hope that he won’t have to take extreme measures and that his father will turn over a new leaf. It’s a futile wish, but one Seokjin can’t let go of yet.
He’s not brave enough to face the idea that his father is an irredeemable person cursed with a horrible disease proving his evilness. There’s no other word for it—but Seokjin’s heart is like rotten fruit, sour yet sweet.
He thinks of the other person that makes him feel that way—like his heart is heavy with rot, but he’d eat it anyway. Morbid, but that’s the only way he’s ever known love and care to be. “Tell me about Jungkook.”
Yoongi startles, narrowing his eyes before smirking. “So suddenly?”
“I can’t—I don’t think I can speak of Abbeoji right now,” Seokjin admits, and gratefully, Yoongi nods. As if he understands, beyond assassination plans or sibling bonds. “Something unrelated would be easier.”
“Jungkook’s related, you can bet on it,” Yoongi says dryly, walking away from the shrine. Seokjin scrambles to follow. “What would you like to know of him?”
“I don’t know—anything. Everything.”
The alpha hums, his pine getting stronger. Seokjin’s wolf bristles, marking him as unfamiliar—though it cautions him to wait. There are traces of Jungkook lingering in that scent, marking Yoongi as safe. “He’s a sweet kid. Kind, forgiving. Possessive, but he’s working on it.”
It sounds like a Jungkook he hasn’t met yet—but then again, he’d caught glimpses of him, and wondered. “Forgiving?”
“He likes to give chances. Curious little thing, always wants to know. Used to be a bit rigid, but he’s growing up.” He looks Seokjin up and down. “Comes from that island town east of Jeju.”
Seokjin’s heard of it, though Jungkook’s never shared. “The one under Japanese occupation? Having royal immunity?”
“That would be it.” Yoongi doesn’t share after, and Seokjin doesn’t ask. “Why do you want to know?”
Why, indeed. He isn’t sure what prompted him, save that they shared a cycle and Seokjin has been thinking about it. He shouldn’t, he’s not weak like that—but something about the earnest way Jungkook had yielded…
But Jungkook is a cop, and Seokjin will do well to remember that. He thinks of the other person so far who doesn’t belong, locked in a prison cell underground. How he’d frozen when Yoongi’s identity had been revealed—how do outsiders cope with the knowledge of Seokjin’s reality?
“What do you plan to do about Hoseok-ssi?” Seokjin asks, with no preamble whatsoever. Something tells him Yoongi’s the sort of person who appreciates that directness. “He knows now.”
Yoongi, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised, though his expression is troubled. He shrugs, though his hands tremble again. “Hoseok is…one of the easiest people I’ve ever been with. But that ease was based on lies.” That sorrow lines up again. “We won’t ever be the same again.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“He would never accept this way of life,” Yoongi says, simple yet confident. “Jungkook, he’s had his fair share of strangeness. Ask him sometime.”
He leaves it at that, and Seokjin senses that the questions are over. He respects the boundary, pocketing his hands as they reach the end of the garden trail. “I might.” He exhales, shoulders tight with anticipation. “So…we go ahead with it then?”
“I’ll touch base with you again. We can figure out what the trigger is going to be, and how to time it.”
Seokjin shakes in it and watches as Yoongi walks away, small yet determined in a way that soothes his wolf.
He turns back towards the estate—an idea already brewing in his mind on the trigger. But first—he’ll have to speak with Joonjae about the upcoming mating ceremony.
🖤⚔🖤
Jimin wakes up alone.
The other half of his bed to the left is neatly kept, but more than that—nearly unscented by now, smelling of plain old laundry detergent.
It’s been a while since Taehyung slept next to him—and his omega feels the void deep within.
The ache makes itself known the moment he wakes up, a strange gnawing feeling that furrows itself deeper into Jimin’s soul. It’s not painful, like what Taehyung said—Jimin’s omega knows the alpha is around somewhere. Just not close to Jimin, within reachable distance.
It’s a kind of yearning Jimin’s never experienced before—or rather, couldn’t get himself to name, all those years ago.
Wearing his bathing robe, he walks towards the large bay windows; below, a massive tent is being erected on the estate gardens—streams of paper trails and fairy lights adorn its surface. Servants scurry back and forth—yet so far above, Jimin can still pick out their furrowed faces, the fear in their steps.
The mating ceremony of Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi can be nothing less than perfect.
The news still has him dumb, though it’s all part of their plan. Yoongi had let them know that he’d spoken with Joonjae, and expressed his interest, as planned. As soon as he was on the estate, Jimin and Taehyung had to be prepared. As the preparations get busier, let’s find our in—and rescue Hoseok.
All of Jimin is keyed up for that signal, and then for his one final mission—to end Kim Joonjae once and for all.
Jimin would know even more if it weren’t for Kim Taehyung’s penchant for secrecy.
The alpha has been notoriously absent—refusing to come to their room, having seemingly taken away his belongings. When he comes, if he does—it’s when Jimin is away, and he only knows of the visit from the bare traces of lavender left behind.
He’s avoiding Jimin, and it makes sense—except it doesn’t. The stakes are too high now for Taehyung to be keeping his distance—and making it obvious that he’s giving this differential treatment to Jimin alone.
It hurts to be rejected so thoroughly—and not for the first time, Jimin thinks about how Taehyung must have fared all these years. If Jimin can’t handle even a couple of days—how had the alpha managed a decade?
The hot and cold treatment is something he can’t quite wrap his head around—then again, it is how they’ve always been. Close one moment, near strangers the next. Hating each other, then fucking after hours, close in a way rivals had no right to be.
He draws the curtains close, wanting to give in to the warmth of his bed—when he catches lavender outside the door. He almost runs away—before he stops. Why is he escaping, when he’s done nothing wrong? He’s been waiting to catch Taehyung alone. Since that meeting, and what he said in the room after, the alpha doesn’t stay put or turns away whenever he catches Jimin’s eyes.
No, this time Jimin is going to make Taehyung stay—he’d promised to give him space, but this is ridiculous.
The door opens—and Taehyung enters slowly like he doesn’t want to be caught. He freezes when he sees Jimin standing at the centre. “Jimin.”
“Taehyung.” He crosses his arms. His body runs both hot and cold, as if pleased yet scared of facing their mate. That’s something Jimin’s yet to come to terms with, yet another one of those unsaid things they’ve been walking around—even though right now, his heart races, his omega clamouring to get closer to the alpha. To his scent, inhaling it until he drowns. “Funny catching you here.”
Jimin can see the conflict playing out in Taehyung’s eyes—the urge to shut the door and vanish, to pretend as if Jimin isn’t there. But maybe mercy and shame wins, because Taehyung sighs, entering the room in defeat. His nose flares slightly at Jimin’s scent that he’s left uncovered for days—anything to get the alpha close to him.
“It is my room,” Taehyung says, walking to the closet and riffling through whatever he’s kept in there. Nothing, in Jimin’s opinion, but let him pretend. Jimin wants to see how long he can. “It shouldn’t be a surprise at all.”
“It is. Since I haven’t seen you in a while.” Jimin walks towards him, determination boiling inside. “I guess that can happen when you’re avoiding me.”
Taehyung stiffens, his shoulders tense. “I’m not.”
“No?” He stands right behind, aching to—do something, maybe get even closer, touch him. His mating gland throbs and his chest is a hollow cave. “So you’re not sleeping somewhere else? You don’t run away whenever we’re in the same room?”
“Jimin. Don’t start.”
“That’s all you ever say to me,” Jimin says, and it sounds pathetic even to him. It sounds like he’s begging, not for answers but for attention. “Don’t start this, leave me alone that. I’m tired, Taehyung.”
The alpha turns around. “Tired? Doing what, exactly?”
“Just talk to me, asshole,” Jimin snaps, digging into the familiar annoyance in Taehyung’s eyes. “You’ve barely said a word since we came back.”
Taehyung’s eyes shutter. “My bad. I’m so sorry I haven’t had time to talk my heart out to you. It’s not like we’re trapped in a time sensitive situation at all.”
“You keep avoiding me and I’m left in the dark!” Jimin exclaims, throwing his hands up. He wants to do something—strangle him, maybe pull him closer. It’s always a war when it comes to Taehyung. “We need to. About everything, and what it means because it’s—it’s getting in the way.” He gulps, tasting the words, the vulnerability. “It’s killing me, Taehyung.”
Taehyung stands still before turning to the closet again, resuming his packing. As if Jimin hadn’t spoken at all. As if he isn’t there. “Yoongi-hyung’s here, which means we have to be ready to get Hoseok-ssi out. Once he’s gone we have to assume someone will know, so we’ll have to be ready to fight—and this time, I can’t be distracted by you, Jimin. So leave it alone.”
Jimin gapes at him, his brain a scramble. He’d known all this, but seeing Taehyung act again as if both of their lives hadn’t changed, and isn’t changing right this minute—anger bubbles in his throat. “Distracted by me?”
“You said you’d give me time,” Taehyung rattles off, and this time Jimin catches traces of fear and anger in his scent. Rotten lavender, and burning sage. “Which you aren’t. Looks like you still can’t keep promises.”
White noise rushes in his ears, and for a moment, Jimin can’t see. Something clicks, the beginnings of a memory—like his brain is getting a reset. The anger hovers, flicking its tongue for a taste of a fight.
Taehyung takes his silence as defeat, and pushes past him—but he’s barely made a step before Jimin catches hold of his sleeve and turns him around. The alpha seems to have been anticipating that, because he fights off Jimin easily—one moment Jimin has the upper ground, and the next—he’s pushed against the closet door, Taehyung in his face, eyes golden and lips curled in a snarl.
It’s a miracle that he doesn’t succumb to the soft command immediately, even as his omega cowers. “Pretty defensive there, Taehyung.”
“There’s no telling with you, Jimin,” Taehyung says, eyes hard—Jimin struggles and the alpha slams him back, wrists in his palm. “Enough.”
“Or what?”
“I’ll lock you up.” Taehyung’s grip around his wrist is painful. “Since you’re insisting on behaving like a brat.”
“It’s you who can’t handle me,” Jimin says, words hot and burning. Lavender burns bitter in his nose, and Jimin is willing to partake even in that. “Getting distracted by me, how pathetic.”
Taehyung’s eyes darken. “Jimin. Don’t.”
“Why not, Taehyung? Let’s talk about it. How distracted you are.”
“It’s not that.”
“What about our past is so bad for you, anyway?” Jimin asks, tearing and digging now that he’s begun. "I was there too. I lived it with you.”
Taehyung presses his lips into a thin line before scoffing. “Classic Park Jimin. Sure, you’re right, it wasn’t that bad. Can you leave me alone, now?”
Jimin holds him by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in. “No. We’re going to talk, and we’re going to talk now.”
“Goddess, what is there to talk about? We used to fuck, and then you left to live your glorious life. That’s it! I already told you why I kept quiet—”
“You’re not telling me what’s going on!” Jimin yells back, jamming a finger into the alpha’s chest. “You were all cute and crying before, but since we came back, you’ve been pissed off, with a stick up your ass. You’re not telling me anything.” Jimin leans back, crossing his arms. “You don’t want to talk about the past? Fine. But about the plan? About what’s to come?”
Taehyung bites his lips. “You know the plan.”
“From others! And vague texts! I’m so grateful, Taehyung.”
“It’s not an issue if it’s working out—”
“It’s an issue if your dumb feelings put us in danger!” Jimin snaps, wolf roiling inside. “You know this plan will work out perfectly well if you just trust me!”
The word seems to echo between them, in the silence left behind. Jimin’s breathing heavily, but Taehyung’s breathing equally hard, his nose flared. His scent begins turning acrid—full of betrayal and anger.
“Trust you? After what you did?” Taehyung asks, voice quiet but laced with a threat. Somehow, it sings to Jimin’s blood, the void filling with something other than that horrid nothingness. “Really, Jimin-ah?”
Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “There you go again. Vague passive-aggressive bullshit that I’m somehow supposed to be making sense of.” He crosses his arms. “Sure, I did something.”
“You were there—”
“What about what you did? Hmm?” Jimin cuts him off, and meets Taehyung’s eyes, which look like pinprick points of anger. “You picked me out of all the others. You and your little Elite friends, jealous that an orphan boy was actually better than all of you. What of that? Do you really want to compare notes, Taehyung?”
Taehyung’s eyes flash gold, and for a moment Jimin’s wolf begs caution—but it’s too late. The only way he’s ever connected with Taehyung is through hate, and it’s all sorts of wrong but—
“You lied to me about our cycles, sabotaged my missions, and then used me like the pathetic alpha pup you were. You don’t see me throwing a pissy fit about it. If anything—I’m the wronged one here and I still tolerate you—"
Taehyung snaps.
He pushes Jimin back, hard enough that his head hits the door and it rings through his skull. Jimin barely recovers before Taehyung presses in, pinned so close and his scent so acrid he chokes on it—but there is no reprieve. No space.
“Wronged?” Taehyung chuckles then, so dark and derisive it curdles in Jimin’s belly. His fingers curl behind Jimin’s neck, forcing him to look up—his eyes flicker gold, unstable. They hover over Jimin’s lips, licking his own as he looks away. “You never will stop acting like you’re the only goddamn victim here, Jimin, will you?”
“What are you—?”
“I said this before, and I’ll say it again—everything I have ever done, I did it for you.” Taehyung digs a finger into Jimin’s wrist, breath shuddering hot on his face. “You were the one who broke your end of the deal.”
Still can’t keep promises.
Maybe the words felt strong for a reason—because they are the key to the truth Jimin’s been running away from for ten years.
“I didn’t—what are you talking about?”
“I lied to you, right? I didn’t tell you about the stupid Bond. Big fucking deal,” Taehyung continues, voice so harsh yet hot. “I’m so sorry for giving you a chance to get the fuck out when I had no hope to. Because you took it away from me.”
The memories rush in. The last few weeks before Jimin left. The dread in his bones, the weight of the betrayal hanging over him, the whispers that followed. The grave being lowered onto unmarked land, the stale scent of lemongrass haunting him—
“I betrayed you, huh?” Taehyung scoffs, so close Jimin can’t breathe. “Sure, I asked to share the cycles. But you fucked me outside of it.” Taehyung lets out a dry chuckle. “You begged me to talk to Abbeoji so you could have better missions. I even gave you a cut of what I earned.” The alpha swallows rage. “And you used that to run away.”
Tears smart his eyes, and show up in his scent; betrayal has never tasted so bad.
“I was an idiot—I let it happen until it was too late. I lied to you? I should trust you? When you’ve broken mine this whole time?”
His voice sounds broken now—still angry, but under that—a well of hurt, so deep Jimin will drown. The images in his mind don’t help either. Just as fast, Taehyung takes his hand and pushes it under his shirt—his skin is fever-hot, and for once, touching the hard planes of his abdomen does nothing to him. Taehyung guides his hand towards his left rib area—making Jimin caress it, and it’s too much for him to focus—
Jimin stops when he feels raised, bumpy skin—paper thin, but different from the rest of it. He can’t see it, but it’s there.
“You feel that, Jimin-ah? That’s what Abbeoji did to me when you didn’t show up.”
He keeps looking as he untucks his shirt and lifts it up, as he forces Jimin to look—and he finally does. He’d never noticed, but under scrutiny—there are lines of scarred tissue—faded now, but distinct enough that Jimin can tell what the scars are.
Burns.
“He took a hot iron rod to my skin,” Taehyung hisses, his voice low. “For five days, over and over. He asked me where you were, and he’d burn me every time I said I didn’t know.” He takes a shaky breath. “Do you know how that feels, Jimin-ah? Do you know the scent of your flesh burning?”
Something like a gasp slips out of Jimin as he stares. Too close, they’re too close and yet so far. Still, he tries. “What did you do—?”
“I killed Yuri, you know.”
Jimin gulps. It’s here at last, hovering and waiting to strike him. The memories trash. The dark, empty office of Kim Joonjae, Jimin all of seventeen as he waited for yet another mission. His last one.
“He didn’t know that, of course. You didn’t either. But he thought I did, and told me he wouldn’t punish me if I told him who did. He’d gotten a tip, but he needed me to confirm it.”
Jimin closes his eyes, his body trembling from the weight of everything. The final deal he’d struck to get away. He can’t will the memories away.
“The way he was speaking, it was like he already knew. He was probably lying—but I couldn’t call his bluff, you know? I couldn’t make that gamble. You weren’t at camp and I didn’t want him to pin it on you. What tip could anyone give, anyway?
He opens his eyes then, facing the alpha—Taehyung’s looking at Jimin carefully, eyes still angry but searching, a silent plea in them, like before. Come with me, Jimin. Let’s leave this all behind.
Jimin is going to refuse him once again
“I knew.”
Taehyung’s scent turns rotten, and maybe he sees something in Jimin’s eyes—because he stumbles back, his eyes wide. “You what?”
“I’m sorry.”
The alpha squeezes Jimin’s shoulders, so tight he can feel the imprints forming on his skin. Burning him, but nothing would ever compare to Taehyung’s.
“Abbeoji was lying. Right, Jimin-ah? He was just—just being a sick bastard, so I could tell him who—who it was—” Taehyung’s hands squeeze tighter, nails digging through the robe. “Jimin?”
Jimin keeps quiet—what else can he say? How does he even begin to say it, or tell the truth—without hurting himself too?
Maybe Taehyung smells the guilt and the shame, his hands shaking as he wipes his mouth. A tear falls when he blinks—his scent is a dance of betrayal and rage. “Jimin. What did you do?”
He’s not talking about now. No, he’s talking about ten years ago, when Jimin did whatever he could to leave—uncaring of anything and anyone, and avoid making one more mistake—the one of love.
The one they should never have made in the first place.
Taehyung scoffs. And then he laughs, a deep, dry soulless sound that grates on Jimin’s nerves and drives the hate deeper. It had never been as simple as love and hate, had it? Jimin had made himself believe a story—had to, if he had to survive the world outside camp, and create a new one for himself.
“You told him, and you still ask me to trust you.” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes hard with hate and anger—and sadness, the kind Jimin is weak to. Always has been. “Unbelievable, Park Jimin.”
Jimin doesn’t stop Taehyung when he walks away this time.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
WHAT A FKN BEAST god. I haven't written ch 25 btw- I broke my rule because I wanted this ch out for the bday (lol) but also- as I mentioned above, I'm recovering from burn out and I'll take frequent breaks from this work so I can refresh my love for it. Most likely I won't be able to complete it by the end of this year- and that's okay. It's just fic. I don't have to take the pressure.
There are 5 chapters left + a letter (old readers know this is my Thing).
Now: gaaaaahhhhhh the jinkook the namgi the vmin i am cCURLING. Jinkook my babies- I ADORE writing seokjin so much. I'm so grateful I did, because I can't wait to write more. He's just so. Well fleshed out & interesting. And the jinkook smut is just so hot to write I love it I LOVE IT. And NAMGI my bros...the nerds working together, coming up w theories...namjoon finally talking about HIS trauma in HIS words. "I wonder if I stop taking the words will my body reject me" when I tell you I cried. The recovery journey for him will be so intense. and the YOONJIN god my babies my ult...my favourite line is seokjin looking at yoongi & seeing the similarities "awe and a lot of envy. maybe it's something they all share- teeth set on edge and blood on their knuckles" GOOD GOD what have I done. don't mind me just swooning over myself.
and lastly- VMIN aaaahhh. I struggled for so long in this ch because their scene just wasn't coming out the way I wanted. I'm not sure if it still has but yeah...the first of their pasts showing up in the present. Has taehyung been the only villain or...gasp, has jimin played a part too? :D it's not too mysterious honestly it's good old angst but their past story is hella angsty ugh i cannot wait. Jimin u annoying shit be accountable too!!! (i love u tho <3)
I'll see you soon w an update idk when but pray for recovery (both viral and burn out). LOVE YOU ALL!
Important : Also, not part of my updates but I just wanted to acknowledge that what's happening in Palestine is gut-wrenchingly heartbreaking. It's even worse with the propaganda that's floating around, not to mention the videos by Israeli influencers mocking the conflict. I've been in a numb state watching this unfold. To any Muslim and Palestinian readers- I'm so sorry. Please find the appropriate, ethical organisations to donate as much as possible. I haven't found anything from India, for some reason, INR is being blocked- but it's important we do our part. To those doomscrolling & reading the news- take care. Spread awareness, but ground yourself too. This is a horrible thing to watch happening in real-time. And fuck all those celebrities sharing for the sake of sharing or choosing a neutral route. This isn't a fair "conflict" at all. This is real-time genocide. You don't cut off basic fkn resources and then claim it's war, wtf. Insane how they raised themselves on the ashes of the Holocaust only to do the same 78 years later. #FreePalestine
Chapter 25: Showdown
Notes:
Your eyes are not lying. Yes, this is an update. HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I will explain more in my end notes. For now, enjoy this glorious 17k update that had me tearing my hair out- it's here. I am so tired and exhausted and I'm not even sure if the proof reading is fool-proof but please excuse any mistakes.
Because it's been two months- here is a recap of the previous chapter:
RECAP:
1) In ch 24, Seokjin and Jungkook carry on the events of ch 23 and are sharing their heat/rut cycles for the first time. It's all very hot and spicy oooh, but it ends and seokjin is like, 'oh shit, i was way too slutty.' He's also confronted by his father, and scented against his will- jungkook gets angry and possessive, and scents him. Seokjin pushes him away, and things are awkward.2) Yoongi comes to camp to "visit", and comes upon namjoon. Together, they research and discuss the myths/legends about Feral wolves- and come to some conclusions about how they can kill Joonjae. He shares this with seokjin, who comments that he will have to be the one to trigger joonjae.
3) Taehyung is avoiding Jimin and that begins to piss him off. Eventually. he catches up and confronts Tae about it- they have a hasty conversation, until taehyung accuses jimin of betraying him (and not the other way round). jimin doesn't deny it, which shocks taehyung (because he'd thought it was a lie). we get the first hints of what the ACTUAL truth of their past could have been- and what jimin has been hiding.
There you have it. I hope it helps bring you guys up to speed. Now, the important part:
CONTENT WARNING: Discussions on killing, murder and immoral thoughts are liberal. THE SECOND HALF OF THE CHAPTER HAS DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, BLOOD, AND GRAPHIC IMAGERY SO PROCEED WITH CAUTION. Pause if it gets too much.
ENJOYYYYYYY <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Seasons changed, hormones tempered—and they settled into their rhythms.
They never spoke about or referred to it. An unsaid understanding that, for better or for worse, Jimin and Taehyung slept with each other outside of their cycles, the pull between them like the rush of a drug. Words weren’t needed when just a touch would do—it was Jimin’s hands brushing against Taehyung when they passed each other in the hallways, or the tip of the blade that Taehyung dug a little deeper into Jimin’s throat, lips wet at the prick of blood.
The understanding that it could only ever be the two of them.
Jimin didn’t choose it to be that way—but no one else compared. Something about Taehyung hooked him in—his scent, that devastating boyish charm, his ability to get under Jimin’s skin in more ways than one—when he tried sleeping with anyone else, it felt wrong. Like a betrayal, which didn’t make sense.
Rather than ponder over that, he figured fucking Taehyung was much easier. It didn’t hurt that Taehyung was so good, turning Jimin’s world upside down and his guts inside out. So be it.
In the hellhole of a camp, being desired by Kim Taehyung managed to make up for it all.
The stakes began to get higher as they progressed further in camp.
It was deadlier than ever. Over the years, several of Jimin’s classmates had left—either thrown out (read: sold into another division) or killed, the need for secrecy paramount to their pathetic lives. The camp promised the best of assassins in all of South Korea—and Joonjae was ruthless in reaching the goal.
Most days, it felt like Jimin was racing against a giant clock running at his heels.
He’d kept up, one of the few of the non-Elites to rise up so high. He was already the All-Kill-All-Star, the highest number of kills in camp—and far, far ahead for most to catch up. He wasn’t sure what drove him. Perhaps a sense of purpose, to make use of being sold to the camp—and to earn as much as he could and earn all their respect.
At sixteen, Jimin was one of the few assassins to go out on missions alone—a risk for someone so young, but Joonjae himself had cleared them and the pay had been obnoxiously high. Of course, the camp accounts would hold most of it—but he was rich. At least by his definition.
Yet, he wanted more. His achievements never felt enough. Killing was easy—Jimin knew a hundred ways to end a life, and the victims were anyway so pathetic. He knew how to sneak in and out, to change his appearance, to drop a fake story at the drop of a hat—it had gotten all so boring. The only interesting thing was fucking Taehyung and finding spots to get fucked in, to avoid being found out so the rumours remained dead. It wasn’t forbidden— but no one dared talked to them about it. Jimin had no issues making an already miserable life at camp worse.
It was so mundane that it had begun to feel meaningless after a point—until purpose came knocking on his door one spring morning.
It was as if the Goddess had somehow heard his pleas. During post-lunch training, they’d been told to come to the main hall for an announcement. The camp—an offshoot of the larger Kim jopok—was collaborating with a company of assassins under the Yamaguchi-gumi of the yakuza in Japan.
It wasn’t unheard of—assassins worked with other assassins or crime organisations all the time, sometimes even with government officials to get the dirty work done. Honour meant differently in the underbelly of crime, so it didn’t matter. But with the yakuza, a foreign group, well…
Jimin was intrigued.
The idea was to introduce young assassins to the cream of the crop, to learn from each other so that there was variety. Jimin had heard so much about the ruthlessness of the yakuza groups. He was hungry to learn more, to bring some change to this routine.
On the day of the arrival, Jimin was allowed to be part of the welcoming group, along with Taehyung—to receive their guests.
He wasn’t sure what to expect or how to fit in, to make sure he was noticed. To prove that he was good enough. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the other Elite children, but he didn’t let that get to him. He had to be strong, to show no weakness.
It was for nought, for all the worries flew out of his mind the moment the camp gates opened, and he laid his eyes on the boy at the front, tall and imposing, with eyes sharp and golden as a falcon’s.
The boy who would later be introduced as Hirai Yuri.
Jimin smiled. Life had purpose again.
🖤⚔🖤
It’s strange to be alert once again.
For as long as Hoseok can remember, his omega had always been present. A warm, comforting weight he carried with him, helping him make his decisions and live his life with as much honesty as he could muster. It was a simple life—go to school, dance, make friends, fool around sometimes, and study. It was a life he enjoyed.
His biggest dream had been to make it big as a dancer in Seoul—which he had, after begging his parents to give him a chance, to make that journey alone to a big city college. To audition and get in, and learn the ropes of being a small town boy in a shiny city. The journey itself had been so full of struggles—but the one constant Hoseok had was his omega.
Until it vanished.
He doesn’t remember much of the past month. Brief flashes here and there, but it still feels like he’s trapped in a fish tank watching the world through water. He can see it—but nothing about it makes sense, and everything is distorted.
Coming back to the surface is not the relief he’d thought it would be.
Now, his omega is aware of the world he’s trapped in—and desperately wants to get out.
He’s learnt a lot more than he’d anticipated so far—about dry heats, assassin camps and mafia lords. Of Yoongi maybe being involved, and that one still locks his throat up, his chest a sludge of horror, anger and sadness.
His dry heat got better because all of his pack is back—Jimin, Jungkook and Yoongi, lingering and aware, ready to catch Hoseok if he falls. He’s just not sure if he wants that sort of safety net anymore.
If he wants only that when Namjoon exists too, quiet and safe and warm.
“Well, that should do it,” Namjoon says, picking up the chains and depositing them into a bag. The rattling sound still sends shivers down Hoseok’s spine, despite being chained for so long. “No more ugly chains.”
“Thank you,” Hoseok murmurs, rubbing his wrists and ankles, tracing the red lines left behind. Earlier, some guards had done an inspection—Namjoon hadn’t been there, and they’d taken the opportunity to be less than gentle. His heart still hasn’t calmed down—though Namjoon’s presence helps. “Won’t they notice them gone the next time, though?”
“They won’t come this way again,” Namjoon says, eyes gentle and firm. It’s a look Hoseok’s begun craving now, the only balm to his hell. “I apologise for the earlier oversight. I’ll be more alert until you break out.”
Right, the break-out. He’d been told, in a rushed sort of way, that things were under motion and breaking Hoseok out of prison was a part of it. He still doesn’t know what these ‘things’ are— but he does want out of this hell hole.
Hoseok hasn’t been brave in asking for the truth, though a part of him seethes at the ignorance. His omega feels safe now that pack is close—but it’s not enough. Pack is no longer a good enough reason for him to forget or forgive—but if he wants to do either of those things, then he will have to ask.
“Joonie?”
Namjoon startles, nearly dropping one of the chains before hastily picking them up. His cheeks are bright red, and it’s a youthful colour on him. “Yes?”
“What’s going on, exactly?” Hoseok asks, heart racing at the mere thought of the truth. The possibility of facing the reality of his situation: of death, mayhem and injuries. “Why this—sudden change?”
Namjoon doesn’t reply immediately—he hums, scratching his chin before meeting Hoseok’s eyes. “I’m not sure if they’d want you to know—”
“I want to, though,” Hoseok cuts in, tongue paper dry. “I know I asked you to hide it but I—I don’t think I can go on secrecy any longer. What happened? Why is everyone involved? Why is—?” He stops there, as the facts settle in. “Why is Jungkook here? And who are they breaking me out for?”
He looks up, and Namjoon’s eyes are warm though full of pity. And maybe heartbreak, but Hoseok doesn’t want to read into it just now. Instead, Namjoon walks forward and kneels down, taking Hoseok’s hand into his. The contrast is striking—large to Hoseok’s slender, and a comforting weight.
“Are you sure?” Namjoon asks, the question a mere whisper of a breath yet loud enough to stir Hoseok’s heart. “You don’t have to. You can walk away from all of this without ever knowing.”
Hoseok smiles, tracing the rough edges of Namjoon’s palm. The act feels more sacred than it should. You have Yoongi. Don’t be so fickle. “I think it’s a little too late for that.”
“Not at all. It’s not a bad thing to want ignorance.”
“And what good would that do?”
“You’d be sane,” Namjoon says, face serious. His eyes never change colour—a steady brown, yet deep and demanding. “You deserve that.”
Does he? He’s not so sure anymore. Dragged against his will but left behind in a world he couldn’t forget even if he tried. That’s not who he is, or ever been. “Well, I can still walk away while knowing it.”
Namjoon searches his face—perhaps for a hidden appeal—but maybe finds none. He clears his throat—and speaks.
Hoseok feels his knees tremble from the weight of it—but he doesn’t fall like he’d thought he would.
What a sordid tale, in the end. A tyrannical maniac for a father, his three sons and an unquenched thirst for power. A father willing to break a law for it, and mate two brothers to each other—Yoongi’s trapped with them. Yoongi’s related to them, and he will forever be a part of this world. There is no respite.
He doesn’t fall, but he does break into sobs—deep, wracked from the depths of his stomach, chest cleaving apart on the magnitude of it all. Grief, for such rotten people to have such a tragic life. Grief, for his Jimin to be sent to this hell so young, and to grow up this way.
Grief for himself, for somehow falling for a man and sealing his fate.
Namjoon rubs his arms, a warm strength—and eventually wraps Hoseok into an embrace. Even so close, he doesn’t smell like anything—faint sandalwood, but his omega whines, furrowing at the inconsistency of his scent. It feels wrong yet right, but Hoseok can’t complain. Not now, when little makes sense.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon murmurs, voice full of sorrow. “No one should have to face so much this way.”
“All of you did,” Hoseok says, wiping his eyes. They burn, but the pain is welcome now.
“We grew up with it,” Namjoon counters, still kneeling, still caressing Hoseok’s hand. “I expected my father to be this way. I know my siblings kill and so have I, reluctant as I am.” He traces mindless shapes into Hoseok’s knee, and the touch is new. “We digested it better.”
“I suppose so,” Hoseok says. He swings his legs slightly, careful not to hit Namjoon. “The mating…it’s consensual?”
Namjoon winces. “It’s part of the plan, to lure him into a sense of normalcy.” A beat, then a sigh. “I will ensure the mating won’t actually happen.”
Hoseok snorts weakly. “Patrol duty, is it?”
“Yoongi-ssi won’t be mating anyone but you,” Namjoon says primly, and Hoseok can’t help it, flinching hard enough that Namjoon notices. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment. “We’ll keep you safe, okay?”
“Mm, okay.” Somehow, the idea of mating Yoongi doesn’t sit right with him now—so much has happened for him to just go back to his old life, even if he does come out unharmed. “Can you distract me a bit?”
Namjoon doesn’t ask why or how—he leans back against the bed leg, skinning an apple and offering a slice, the gesture so familiar Hoseok breaks into a smile again. “Sure. I haven’t told you my status, have I?”
Hoseok shakes his head. He has an inkling, but respects Namjoon enough not to guess it.
“Well. I am a beta.” The slice of a knife, the ripple of the skin.
“You don’t smell like one, though.”
Namjoon nods. “I don’t. Because my father…he tried his best to make me an alpha.”
He keeps his knife aside then, and pulls back his sleeve. Hoseok drops his slice when he sees the track marks, pulling the arm towards him. “What—what is this?”
“Transition drugs,” Namjoon says, voice cool and collected for someone admitting something so gruesome. “Have been on them since I presented at fourteen.”
“Oh, Goddess above…” Hoseok traces the marks, some old and scabbed over, some fresh that make Namjoon wince when he presses in. All of them ugly, spelling out a story of betrayal and grief. “Just because you were a beta?”
“Useless in an assassin camp,” Namjoon says ruefully, as if he’s amused. Perhaps he is, after years of growing up the way he has. But a new grief collects in Hoseok’s heart, now soft with rot. “It was either that or being killed. My brother decided the former was worth it.”
“Your brother…” Hoseok trails off, scratching lightly. “Your father asked him to choose?”
“Yes.”
Tears spring to his eyes then, the horridness of it all. The hopelessness, really. Even if he does leave safely—how will he ever move past this?
Namjoon scrambles again, concern and panic bleeding into his eyes. “I’m sorry—did I say I something wrong? Didn’t you want to know—?”
“No, no, I’m fine, thank you for trusting me,” Hoseok says, sniffling as he wipes his eyes. Pathetic of him to cry over this when he’s in a camp with murderous fathers and broken children. “I just—I guess I wasn’t expecting my distraction to be, well. That.”
“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon starts, mouth turned down. “I just…I don’t know sometimes. What is normal and what isn’t.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’s your fault here,” Hoseok says, taking Namjoon’s hands again. It makes sense. Hoseok’s world will never be normal to someone like Namjoon—no matter how nice he seems. “I guess normal can look different for the two of us.”
Namjoon smiles tentatively. “I suppose it can.”
They fall into a comfortable silence—until Hoseok lies down, hands clutching Namjoon’s until he drifts off.
In the dead of the night, Hoseok is gently roused.
There is no fanfare. Namjoon is dressed in black, carrying a similar set for Hoseok—and a backpack. He gives him privacy to change—and once done, checks him head to toe before nodding.
“Well. This is it, then,” he says, hands hesitating around Hoseok’s shoulders before pressing in, a warm and grounding presence. “Your last night in this room.”
“Good riddance,” Hoseok murmurs, looking forward to getting out at last. “I won’t miss it.”
Namjoon chuckles at that, and the sound warms his chilled bones. It’s so much different than the first time when he’d met Namjoon—he’s grateful that his omega trusted him. That Namjoon, inspite of his history—is a good person at heart.
“They’ll be coming at 2:45 am,” Namjoon says, checking and tightening the straps of the bag. “The guard rotations are shifting and are timed at five minutes each until 3 a.m., so we have to move smooth and fast.”
Hoseok hums—before he catches on. “Hold on. They?”
“Hmm?”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“Oh. They are—” Suddenly the doors creak open, and Namjoon instinctively shoves Hoseok behind him. He faces the potential intruder with a protective stance, and Hoseok’s heart begins racing. Namjoon feels so big and warm and present in a way that—
The doors open, and in walks Jimin.
Hoseok lets out a sigh of relief—there is his Soul Mate, the familiar scent of orange blossoms following in a moment later. Comforting, fun and stable all at once. Jimin runs towards Hoseok and checks him for injuries, frowning at the red welts on his wrists.
“Hoseokie-hyung…” Jimin murmurs, his tone laced with quiet anger. “Goddess, I will kill them.”
“Maybe declarations of war can be done later,” Namjoon says, hugging Jimin briefly before passing on Hoseok’s belongings. “About time you guys made it. How’s it like so far?”
“Lousy, honestly,” Jimin mutters, wearing the bag over his chest. He stretches, and a knife glints from his sock. “Most of them are distracted by the guest staff and having their, ah, fun.”
“I knew the mating would be a good distraction,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. “You know the route from here?”
“Yep, hyung and I mapped it out—the exit leading to the safe-house is unmanned only for five minutes. So we need to make the most of it.”
Jimin shoulders the bags, gently guiding Hoseok towards the door. This is it—the last time he’ll ever have to be here, to watch these florescent lights till they burned into his eyeballs or run laps around the room. Once he’s out—he’ll be free.
He pauses at the door, suddenly feeling tight—there’s something on the other end, and his omega stands alert, restless. No, not something—but someone, and they’re familiar. They’re—
Jimin opens the door, and Hoseok faces—Yoongi.
For a moment, the world reduces to the two of them, just like it had the first time Hoseok had run into Yoongi and splashed his coffee all over him. That sudden hit of pine mixed with rich coffee, the fox-like eyes growing wide as his pink lips parted. The moment Hoseok’s omega had halted, entranced by the small alpha.
Hoseok’s heart drops into his gut, but for different reasons this time.
He hasn’t seen Yoongi so clearly since before Jimin’s birthday dinner. Remembers only flashes, of worry and grief and rage, of helplessness as he held Hoseok and wiped down the sweat. But none of it matters when he looks at Yoongi now, because all he sees is—
A stranger.
Yoongi is frozen too, face the exact same surprise like their first meet—and he moves, as if to somehow reach out to Hoseok, his hand outstretched—but Hoseok flinches.
“Hyung, don’t just stand there,” Jimin chides from behind, gently pushing past Hoseok. “We don’t have time as it is.”
At that, Hoseok looks at Yoongi again. He’s dressed in all black—slick leather, a beanie and fingerless gloves. Around his waist is a holster—carrying a pistol, and when he moves—there is silence.
He’d heard the truth from Namjoon, gotten most of the details out—but now, as he sees his…partner? Soon-to-be-mate? — It hits him all over again in visceral detail.
Somehow, the resentment grows another branch inside.
More than anything, Hoseok had wanted that it had all been a lie. That somehow, Yoongi was just like him—a helpless, normal man trapped in a hellish nightmare, collateral damage with no part to play. And yet, here he is, dressed exactly as a man who not only played a part—but was born into such a world.
He hates that it had to come to this. He hates that he had to ever know the truth and choose the right thing. He hates that he has no choice now.
“Hoseok-hyung, shall we?” Jimin asks, still hopeful, still guilty. Him, Hoseok can’t do anything about. Soul Mates, destined by the Goddess herself. But Yoongi…Hoseok looks at him, and shakes his head, taking a step back.
“I’m not going with him.”
In all his years of being with Yoongi, he can count on one hand how often Yoongi has looked visibly distressed or upset. It had infuriated Hoseok no end, how stoic the alpha could be—though his feelings inside were a raging storm. It had taken him time to accept and understand that Yoongi didn’t show much—but he felt a depth few could understand.
Yoongi’s face falls, and his lips tremble ever so slightly in a way only Hoseok can decipher.
“It’s true,” Hoseok says, looking Yoongi in the eye, knowing how much he hates it. “Isn’t it? You’re a part of this. You always have been.”
“Hoseok-hyung, c’mon,” Jimin whispers, eyes frantic and looking at his watch. He should keep quiet and move along, take out his anger later. Yet, it doesn’t come to him. “We can do this later.”
“Tell me, hyung,” Hoseok says, begs, pathetic and angry. “You have been. You’re…you’re in the mafia. Aren’t you?”
Jimin inhales sharply. “Hyung, this isn’t—”
“I need to hear it from him, Jimin-ah,” Hoseok says. “I need to know if he lied to me since we met.”
Yoongi’s eyes shake with fear—it’s a peculiar look, difficult to tell apart. Hoseok knew him inside out—except for this blot in their perfect life. The alpha’s scent turns sour—pinewood rotten from wet snow. It itches at Hoseok, his omega begging him to let go, to take their alpha in—but he stands steadfast, refusing. It was one of the qualities Yoongi loved about him.
The alpha nods, resigned—and Hoseok’s heart fractures a little bit more.
It hurts, in the end. No matter how much he thought about it and spun in circles around it, the truth hurts. He hadn’t realised, until this moment, how much he’d wanted Yoongi’s story to be a lie.
Hoseok stumbles back—into Namjoon, and holds onto him—his anchor, the only grounding presence in this hellhole. There’s a sharp increase in the pine—Yoongi’s gaze narrows at the familiarity with which Namjoon is touching Hoseok.
“I don’t trust him,” Hoseok says, driving the nail deeper, a part of him wanting Yoongi to hurt. To pay for lying to him, for bringing him here and making him face this. “No. I’ll stay behind.”
“Hoseok-hyung, I know—I know things are a mess but please,” Jimin begs, lips trembling as his eyes widen. “I can’t have you here while things fall apart. It’s a ticking time bomb and I—I can’t—” Jimin shudders, head bowed as he clutches Hoseok’s hands. Somehow, they don’t bring the warmth as usual—all of him feels numb. “I just want you to be safe, hyung.”
“I’m not sure if I even know what safe is anymore after—after everything, and I’m not—” He looks at Yoongi, sees the plea reflected in his eyes. “I’ll be much—much safer in here, away from everything—”
“Hoseok-ssi, please,” Namjoon says, stepping around and holding Hoseok by the shoulders. The pine rots, and his omega trashes, wanting to prove their loyalty to their alpha—but Hoseok derives some small pleasure out of the act. He turns away, facing Namjoon. “I understand all of this has been extremely distressing and difficult for you and it’s not—it’s not correct of us to treat this as normal when it’s not for you. But trust me—you’ll be much safer in a safe-house than here. You’re Joonjae’s wild card if Yoongi-hyung…doesn’t behave.”
Right, that’s what he was and still is. Mere collateral in the grand scheme of things, and if he hadn’t been with Yoongi, he wouldn’t have been here. The ball of rage, betrayal and grief travels up his chest into his throat and—
“Seok-ah,” Yoongi says then, soft and calm, ever so understanding. “It’s not fair. I know.”
Tears spring up. How is it that despite the anger, Yoongi’s voice still plucks the strings of his heart? “I’m here because of you.”
“I know.”
“Because I loved you,” Hoseok adds, desperate to hurt, ashamed that he has to go so low. Yoongi flinches. “That’s all I did. And I’m paying for it.”
They’re in the same room, but it feels like they’re a world apart, just the two of them once again—but with too much in between. Yoongi’s biting his lips as he does when he’s holding back tears, and Hoseok hates how well he knows him still.
He wishes he never had to.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi finally says, looking at him with that blank expression—yet his eyes hold the storm inside. “I could never be sorry enough. I’m sorry I got you into my world, when all you ever did was love me with your heart.”
The tears drip steadily, his heart racing, fracturing, so, so fragile. Yoongi gulps, looking down at his feet. He takes a deep breath, throwing his shoulders back—the posture he takes when he has to be the Pack Alpha, the sensible one with rational and cold truth. The face of an alpha that will break hearts with it.
“But right now we’re running out of time. You need to be out of here before the wedding happens.”
Hoseok wishes he could hate Yoongi—but that doesn’t come as easily. So he will do what he can to hurt him instead.
He looks away, towards Namjoon, whose face is ever open and welcome. Maybe it is fickle of him, some rotten, angry part of him that wants revenge. The anger that he never shows because that’s not what Jung Hoseok does. He focuses on Namjoon, his hands pressing into his shoulders, the warmth emanating off of him—the steadiness of a promise in his eyes.
“I’m going only if you come with me.”
Namjoon blinks. “I…uh…”
“I won’t otherwise,” Hoseok says, gnashing his teeth and making to remove his boots. “I don’t care. I don’t feel safe—my omega doesn’t feel safe.”
“I was—I mean—I was supposed to stay back and—”
“Oh, for Goddess’s sake, just come along and get this over with,” Jimin snaps, dragging Namjoon out and slapping Hoseok’s hands away from his boots. “I don’t know what is going on in that head of yours but over my dead body if you cost your life because of it.”
There is the familiar sass, though Hoseok doesn’t appreciate the context of it. “I have the right to ask.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, lifting Hoseok up and keeping a tight hold on him. Yoongi’s eyes glance to Hoseok and Namjoon, nose flaring before looking away, walking down the hallway. His omega clamours and berates him for the betrayal—but Hoseok ignores it in favour of holding Namjoon’s hand.
🖤⚔🖤
Jungkook is sick of this room.
Not only because it’s his prison. Or not a prison, really, but more of a safety net so that Seokjin’s father won’t know about him living right under his nose.
Still, he’s sick of it. He knows every inch of the surface, so much so he can navigate it blindfolded. He’s sick of not being able to open the windows and peak out, of the walls he’s spent hours staring at until his eyes roll back.
Mostly, he’s sick of living and breathing the scent of patchouli oil and warm, wet earth—and not have the owner of the scent around.
Seokjin has left him with enough clothes, food and supplies to occupy himself. There are books, and some art supplies, along with a set of DVDs—no internet because he’s a tad too paranoid. But they’re good movies. And Jungkook knows them by heart now.
He just…wishes he could see Seokjin again. He hardly ever does—barely has since they shared their cycle, and that’s not something he wants to think about a lot. But it happened, and fuck it, he’d enjoyed it. He’d liked it a lot, even if it should have been strange. It should have been, but it wasn’t—because the moment he’d given into the pull had felt like the rightest decision of his life. So singularly attuned, the perfect merge of his alpha and himself—and Jungkook already has a good relationship with his wolf.
It wasn’t simply because it was sex with a stranger—it wasn’t unheard of anyway, and Jungkook had visited rut clinics in the past. But this was…
Seokjin is his True Mate. And that had made the experience both the rightest thing in the world yet the strangest, his two parts at war with each other. The omega wasn’t just any stranger at a clinic that Jungkook was supposed to fuck and move on—it was his destined mate, the one chosen by the Goddess herself.
And an assassin on top of it, but semantics.
Jungkook groans as he falls into the bed again, pressing into his eyes. The room smells of them, though Seokjin’s scent is fainter than usual. Perhaps because the omega might be avoiding him, and they’re not close enough for Jungkook to confront that. Even though he wants to—especially after he’d been scented by his father.
The memory still evokes a hot flush in his chest. Seokjin, trembling in a way Jungkook hadn’t expected, not from such a proud omega—but that fear had tasted so acrid, so visceral he’d nearly choked on it. Fear, and disgust, his scent all over the place, covered by that horrid, rotten thing—even now, he shudders, has his gums aching to bite something. For daring to claim his omega, and it’s all so ridiculous because Seokjin…doesn’t belong to him.
He never will. He can’t.
A whoosh of air makes its way through, and by now, Jungkook can tell apart Seokjin’s entry into the room. It’s ever so quiet— like a cat padding across, and the first few times it had scared him out of his skin. But now it’s familiar—the soft press of feet on the carpet, followed by the rush of patchouli oil and warm earth, overwhelmingly calm. Jungkook inhales, letting it all crush him until it’s all he can smell.
“You’re awake.”
Ever since the scenting, Seokjin has tried to be careful around him. Emphasis on tried, because here’s the truth—neither Jungkook nor Seokjin have been able to avoid each other successfully. He can feel the pull, like a taut string that gets tighter with each step Seokjin takes. A pull that asks him to follow, to keep his mate safe—it’s all Jungkook can do to tamp down on his alpha and stay back like the good prisoner he is.
However Seokjin wants to frame it, that is what Jungkook is, even if the lines are heavily blurred.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Jungkook keeps looking at the ceiling. It’s a fascinating pattern—he’d never expected someone like Seokjin to have an interest in interior décor, but here they are. He looks away. “Surprise.”
“Hardly ever is.” In the dark, he can make out the silhouette of Seokjin’s frame—broad shoulders, a tapered waist. When he turns, his eyes stand out cobalt blue. “Scoot.”
Here’s the other thing they don’t admit to but indulge in—sleeping in the same bed.
After Seokjin had pushed him away, Jungkook had maintained the line. Every part of him had been screaming at him to claim the omega, to keep him close—but if there’s one thing he’s prided himself over, it’s his control over his basest instincts. His mothers had driven it into his head growing up—you’re an alpha, not a wild animal. Too many of the alphas out there thought their status gave them the right to cross lines—but Jungkook isn’t one of them.
He didn’t want to accidentally do it either, and thought of sleeping away, on the floor, but Seokjin had snorted and told him to stop being silly—if Jungkook did try anything, he was more than capable in severing limbs from the arteries.
That had sobered up Jungkook—both to the threat and to the reality of Seokjin.
So they’d sleep in the same bed, and Seokjin would come late—sometimes too late, almost as if he didn’t want to see Jungkook awake—and that would happen. But his scent would always rouse him, and his heart would race in a way that he knew Seokjin would know. But they both pretended he didn’t.
Tonight is one of those nights. Seokjin smells of home and paper and a bit of stress, but none of that horrid, rotten stench. That’s one more day away from his deadbeat father, and Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief.
They lay side by side, both awake, both pretending. This is the second thing they never speak about—how sometimes, the voices of their wolves gets too much and their hands brush, just to ease that need and ache. At first it had been an accident—and now, it’s just another thing.
Seokjin makes the move this time, hand slipping under the cover and tangling with Jungkook’s, cold and rough, but broad and big. It’s not much—but it drives his alpha insane.
The rule is that they’re not supposed to talk about it.
Sometimes Seokjin scuttles closer. Sometimes he’ll press Jungkook’s wrist to release a bit of his scent. Sometimes he’ll rub circles into the back of Jungkook’s hands, and the motion is enough to lull Jungkook to sleep.
It’s all so wrong yet so right. It’s too large for Jungkook’s body sometimes.
He doesn’t refuse, however. He never does, too hooked onto the little things to put an end to it.
Seokjin turns to his side, and Jungkook follows, their hands nestled in between like a secret. The omega’s eyes are a brighter blue tonight—Jungkook’s learnt the different shades of them, and what it means about Seokjin’s day. Bright blue means excitement—whether from joy or fear, he’s not sure if he wants to ask.
The silence leads way to the pull, and it settles under Jungkook’s skin like the crackle of electricity—his cells buzzing, his teeth set on edge. All they need is one move, one switch—and it can go either way.
“You smell bored,” Seokjin murmurs, and Jungkook snorts. More of a chatty mood than usual. “How was your day?”
“It was fine. The same usual. Staring at your walls and contemplating how the interior would be if I bash my head against it enough.”
“Graphic.” Seokjin leans into his pillow, his scent getting deeper, thicker. “Only for a bit. It’s all going to be over soon.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“No, really. The plan is in motion.” His thumb scratches lightly into Jungkook’s palm. “How are you holding up?”
“C’mon, don’t do that,” Jungkook says, turning over their interlinked hands and tracing the wrinkles on them.
“What?”
“Hold small talk before you drop a bomb on me.” He smiles just thinking about it, then frowns when he feels how rough Seokjin’s hands really are. Almost worn off, like he’s practiced holding weapons his whole life. “Why don’t you just get to the point?”
Seokjin’s scent turns irritated. It’s both frustrating and a handy trick, to know how one’s mate feels from scent alone. Neither of them can escape from the other, and maybe that’s good thing, for now at least. “There’s no reason. I was just asking.”
“You never just ask though, please,” Jungkook snorts, the irritation adding to the electricity, the taste sharp on his tongue. “You’re not so simple. Always a step ahead, thinking and stewing and—”
Seokjin leans over and crosses the gap, lips warm and wet and heavy. Jungkook’s heart seizes for a moment—Seokjin never initiates—but it’s even more surprising, perhaps pathetically so, how quickly he falls into it, meeting the omega midway.
Our mate, our mate, our perfect mate, his alpha sighs, and a part of Jungkook wants to rebel. The greater part of him wants to stay there, as Seokjin parts his lips and slips his tongue in. It’s addictive, the way he kisses—or maybe it’s the knowledge of Seokjin being his True Mate that does him in.
All at once, his mind goes hazy—his heart is loud in his chest, in his ears, but he’s full of Seokjin and the way he tastes, like sugar and strangely enough, ink. Maybe from all that paperwork he does? Doesn’t matter. Jungkook is a gone man.
The omega pushes deeper, toppling over him—for all the coldness he shows Jungkook, his weight is a warm press, igniting his skin. Seokjin kisses him like he never will again—sucks on Jungkook’s tongue so thoroughly it goes straight to his cock, already semi-hard from smelling his scent. Any further and he’ll start leaking like a pathetic teenager.
This is all he wants to do. Wait like a puppy until his mate deigns to give him attention, and kneel at the click of his fingers—mouth open, cock hard, ready to receive him as and when he wants, letting Seokjin know how much Jungkook wants—
No.
This isn’t like Seokjin at all, human Jungkook thinks, a meek protest against the cloud of patchouli in his senses. This isn’t like us at all.
Sharing their cycle had ultimately been a matter of convenience, one they couldn’t help. And yes, after that things had been better. They had been cordial, more familial if careful of their wolves, so this…
Seokjin grinds helplessly against him—he can smell how aroused he is, how sweet his scent has become—that his slit must be so wet, perhaps leaking through his clothes. It’s enough to have his alpha salivating, to stop this infernal thinking and give in. Drown in Seokjin until the end of time.
But he can’t.
Jungkook begins pulling away, placing a hand in between their chests and pushing gently. He can feel the omega resist, the claw-like grip he has on Jungkook—and he tries again, more firmly this time—until he shoves hard, and Seokjin falls back, chest heaving and lips bitten red. His eyes are glowing blue, so bright they’ve swallowed up the pupils.
“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, and Seokjin looks dazed for a moment, as if he’s not sure what happened either. “Seokjin-ssi?”
The omega snaps at that, gaze clearing until eventually, he comes back. He looks down, cheeks and ears turning bright red when he catches the wet patch on his pants. Jungkook is equally hard and throbbing, and he gently shifts to hide himself.
“I—nothing. I’m not sure.”
He just had his tongue down Jungkook’s throat, but sure. Jungkook tries meeting his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“N-nothing. Nothing’s going on.”
“Bullshit.” He raises himself up on his elbow, over Seokjin. His sweet, warm scent fucks with him, but he holds steady. “What, you just felt particularly horny?”
Seokjin flushes. “Of course, not!”
“Ah, got it. Must be my irresistible charms.”
“It was no such thing,” Seokjin says coldly—or tries to, but his neck is still flushed, his eyes haywire. “Maybe just our wolves. Who knows with them?”
A perfectly reasonable explanation—for people who don’t have the strength and resolve Seokjin carries. He’s sure the only reason they haven’t been jumping into each other’s pants is because the omega refuses to yield to his basest instincts—a feat in itself.
“Don’t give me that,” Jungkook tries again, softly this time. He’s learnt, over his time here, that Seokjin understands the language of violence oh too easily. He has his defences against it, a wall built around him. It’s the softness that brings it down. “Tell me. What’s going on?”
Seokjin bites his lips, still plump and red. The flush is rapidly reducing, but he still looks guilty. Ashamed. Jungkook wants to get rid of them, but it’s not his place. The omega goes through an internal war—before he sighs.
“I’ve been thinking about the mating,” Seokjin begins, and immediately, Jungkook feels his wolf get on edge—the idea of Seokjin going to another alpha, even one for the sake of the plot—feels unbearable. Seokjin scoffs, reaching out and squeezing Jungkook’s hand again while sending out a burst of his scent. “Relax. It’s not going to happen.”
“What do I care,” Jungkook grumbles, and neither of them believe it—but Seokjin is graceful sometimes. “What about it?”
Over the past few days, Seokjin’s been getting him up to speed with the plan—how Seokjin’s mating ceremony will be used as a distraction, and Jimin and Yoongi plan to break Hoseok out of the prison. That his beloved father is Feral, and their plan is mutiny—by exposing the truth to the guests, staff, and trainees alike.
“Remember when I told you about triggering my father?” Seokjin asks, and Jungkook nods. According to the myths, feral wolves can only be killed in their feral forms—and so, Joonjae needs to be triggered. It still sends shivers down his spine—the thought of all of them facing a threat they don’t know. “Well. I think I know how. And I…I need your help for it.”
Jungkook looks up. Points at himself. “My help?”
“Yes.” Seokjin takes Jungkook’s hands and plays with his fingers. It’s strangely intimate but soothes his alpha like nothing else. “It’s only possible with you. And no one can know.”
That doesn’t sound so good. “And how am I supposed to do that? I hardly think my police training is going to come in handy with assassins.”
“I agree. Which is why you won’t be fighting,” Seokjin quips, his tone and scent turning amused. Then it changes—darker, bitterer, like warm earth overturned by maggots—and tinged with fear. “It’s not going to be fool proof.”
Jungkook understands. “You mean I could die.”
“We all could,” Seokjin tries, but his voice trembles slightly. “I don’t know how he is when he’s Feral. I don’t know what we’ll face.”
“I see.” Seokjin’s scent changes ever so slightly, and Jungkook is attuned to it. “Would this be the only way?”
Seokjin nods, his breaths shaky. “It’s the only way Abbeoji can be taken down.” He lowers his head. His scent turns sorrowful. “I must be the one to break his heart.”
Jungkook frowns, unsure of the dots connecting. It sounds ominous, as if the moment he takes a step he would sign a death sentence. Then again, every day in this camp is one sure-shot way to die, so same difference.
He can refuse. He knows now that Seokjin wouldn’t force him. The omega is smart enough to come up with an alternative solution. Jungkook could stay back and wait for the bloodbath to be over—and walk out of here unharmed. It’s none of his business to involve himself. And yet.
Seokjin asked.
The omega is proud, far more than any other Jungkook has ever met, and he was raised by two strong omegas. Seokjin would never reduce himself to this if he didn’t think it to be the best possible way to break the cycle once and for all.
“You could have just asked,” Jungkook says, searching across Seokjin’s face. “Much easier than getting in my pants.”
Seokjin’s cheeks turn a delicious apple-red. His eyes widen, and his lips part. “I didn’t know I could…” he trails off, tracing Jungkook’s bicep absent-mindedly. “I thought I had to earn that favour.”
Jungkook knows then, what made Seokjin assume that. With it comes the familiar surge of anger at Joonjae, for the way he raised the omega.
“I’m not your father, you know,” Jungkook murmurs, and Seokjin flinches, scent rotting with guilt. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“It’s nothing to do with that,” Seokjin snaps, but his voice wobbles and his scent rises with shame, suffocating yet welcome. “I don’t want to prove anything to—”
His voice breaks, breath hitching as he chokes on the words. The lie. They both know it, but Seokjin can’t say it. His scent does, so full of sorrow that his wolf hears the silent distress, the plea. It’s mostly that which has Jungkook hovering over him, pushing him back against the pillows. Seokjin looks so forlorn, and yet, he’s the prettiest omega Jungkook’s ever seen. Devastatingly beautiful, the kind that breaks heart simply by existing.
He gives into his instincts and leans in, scenting him gently, leaving a trail of cedarwood. So close to the mating gland makes him want to bite, but he holds back—and then gives in again, curious little licks that has Seokjin jumping before he relaxes, his neck falling to the side and giving more access.
Jungkook pulls up, tracing every line on the beatific face—and fuck it, maybe he can’t claim Seokjin—but when have they ever strictly played by the rules anyway?
He kisses the omega, softer and slower, more to reassure than to excite. Seokjin is just as helpless, mouth falling open and kissing back, hands tugging gently at Jungkook’s hair. It does send tingles down his spine—but not tonight.
Not ever.
Seokjin pulls back, chest heaving as he collects himself. What wouldn’t Jungkook do to ruin him, and be ruined in turn? “All my life, he made it seem like there was a price to his love, and if I paid the right amount, I could have whatever I wanted.”
The anger is white hot in his chest, but Seokjin caresses his hair, eyes dazed. Tomorrow, they’ll go back to their roles and pretend this didn’t happen. But tonight, Jungkook will have this.
“It’s cost me everything,” Seokjin continues, voice like a baby’s breath. “My mother. My brother’s freedom, and their respect. My choices,” he hisses, blue eyes burning bright for a moment. “And still, it’s not enough. It will never be.”
“It’s something you can change.”
“Yes, but it will always be there, won’t it?” Seokjin muses, though his eyes carry his grief loudly. “I’m always going to think of ways to earn my choices and favours. Until someone like you will come along and tell me I can ‘just ask’.”
He hates what Seokjin has been reduced to—an omega to be bred and mated off, and nothing more. He has his reservations about Seokjin’s ‘career’—it’s not something he can be okay with. But whoever Seokjin has shown himself to be, regardless of that—is a formidable person with command and ingenuity.
Vulnerability, in its dearest moments, tastes strangely bitter. Ashy, like it has no space—but it will make itself known anyway. Seokjin’s feels like it has fought tooth and nail to make itself heard. Jungkook suspects only he gets to see that. It is his to be tender with.
“Fine,” Jungkook says at last, falling back and melting into the pillows. “I’ll do it.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“I’m all about conquering my fears.”
“It could be dangerous.”
Jungkook smiles. “And I trust that you wouldn’t want me dead, now, do you?”
Seokjin laughs, and it sounds like something he could bottle up and get drunk on for the rest of his life. Sheesh, get it together, Romeo. “Sometimes I’m tempted.” He pauses. His scent changes, serious. “You’re not going to die. I will make sure of it.”
That determination is addictive to behold. Jungkook thinks about asking how, when Seokjin leans over, and traces his face, down to his mating gland—where he pokes the Soul Mark. He jolts slightly, shivers running down his spine. He meets Seokjin’s cobalt blue eyes—and understands.
Whether they like each other or not, they’re soul bound to protect each other. If nothing else—Seokjin takes his duties seriously.
He shuffles back, back against the headrest. Seokjin can’t see it, but he hopes the support is present in his scent. He hopes Seokjin knows that he’s not alone.
“So, spill. What’s the plan?”
🖤⚔🖤
In twenty-seven years, Jimin has learnt a lot of things—but the most important is this: eventually, time passes.
Somehow, once he made sense of where he’d been placed, he’d made it through until he left camp. Over the next ten years, he’d slowly, painstakingly, built a life from the ground up. Until the fateful night when it ended in cake and blood and screams, destroyed in seconds.
Time passed even then. For here they are, two months after—ready to snuff out the evil in their lives.
Today is the day they kill Kim Joonjae. By the end of the day, the head of the Kim Clan needs to be exposed for the feral wolf he is, and Jimin needs to be the one to kill him—as he’d agreed to once before it became such a mess. He won’t be alone, and it’s not just his responsibility anymore, but—
Well, none of them have ever faced a Feral before. For all the research Namjoon and Yoongi have done, or the glimpses they’ve had—they’re going in blind.
They’ll still try, though. For their past, present—and mostly, their future.
Jimin tightens his holster and weapons belt as he loops them through, hiding the worst of it with the overshirt. It creates a stunning picture—he looks good, not a surprise, there—but it does bother him that he doesn’t feel good.
Their plans have gone as expected—and it’s a miracle that nothing has gone wrong. Jimin doesn’t trust his luck—rotten as it is, but perhaps this time, it will be fine—because this time, he’s not alone.
Still, he’s not one to rest on his laurels. Until Joonjae is truly gone—none of them can rest, not even for a moment.
Hoseok was now at a safe-house Seokjin had recommended and prepared—and Yoongi himself had taken him, though that journey had been awkward as hell. The tension between the two had been so palpable Jimin could almost taste it—but it was made even worse by Namjoon’s presence.
Every time Hoseok would lean into the beta’s space, Yoongi would steal glances, his lips turning down and his eyes getting the kind of stormy they do when he gets angry. Namjoon would squirm each time, shifting in his seat while Hoseok ignored it all—all in all, it had been the longest ride of Jimin’s life. And he’s been in way too many uncomfortable car journeys these past two months.
But getting Hoseok out and away from everything had been the priority—and something that soothed his omega instantly. He’d thoroughly scented him once they’d reached, and Jimin’s wolf had sighed in relief at the healthy freesias, though it had been muted and distant. Perhaps owed to the truth of Yoongi’s identity, and the guilt had hit like a truck again—I’m here because of you. Because I loved you.
Jimin was also one of those people, but he hadn’t wanted to get in Hoseok’s line of fire. They didn’t have the time, anyway, and so they’d left—leaving Namjoon behind when Hoseok protested again.
Yoongi’s mood had soured immediately after.
He supposes the alpha can’t afford to process this new development, not when he is the main player—the alpha groom, Seokjin’s perfect mate chosen by Joonjae. Yoongi had thrown himself into the mating preparations with gusto—but Jimin has known him long enough. Work, of any sort, is the way Yoongi distracts himself from pain before he’s ready to feel anything.
Seokjin, on the other hand, had proven to be easier—it’s not like Jimin knows him well enough, and to trust him is taking a giant leap—but the older omega has been efficient, playing the role of a simpering, perfect omega well enough that no one suspects a thing. He and Yoongi have been working out a plan between themselves, and though they don’t know it, he’s been told that Seokjin will create a scene—and when the time comes, Jimin will know.
It’s too vague for Jimin to trust, but he has no choice now—this is a group effort, and Jimin can’t go solo. If he wants to come out of this alive—he will need to give in.
The lump in his throat gets tighter the more he thinks about it.
There’s also the one other loose end that he’s had to trust Seokjin with—Jungkook.
He hasn’t met the alpha since he last saw him in Seokjin’s room and had been subsequently attacked for it—and it drives his omega insane. Seokjin had refused to send Jungkook to the safe-house along with Hoseok. I need him for something, is all he’d said, when Jimin had protested—and it was so uncharacteristically gentle, Jimin could only keep quiet.
Something had changed between Jungkook and Seokjin—between all of them. Going by Seokjin’s reactions last time, something tells him Jungkook will be the safest with Seokjin, loathe as he is to admit it.
He clasps the last button on his hanbok jacket, fluffing the bow prettily. It’s dainty, silky material, perfect for an omega—delivered quietly on his doorstep, and though it had no note—it smelled lightly of lavender.
They haven’t spoken in over a week.
Jimin tries not to let that get to him, or the memories teetering at the brink of awareness, threatening to overwhelm him. For all his eagerness to talk and clear out the mess—Jimin had forgotten to account for an important part—the truth he’d run away from.
It’s tragically funny, how, in the end—he’d done exactly what he told Jungkook. He’d made a story, and run with it so thoroughly that eventually, he’d come to believe it as the only version of the truth. Somewhere between his present and his past shaking hands, he’d forgotten.
The mirror shows the final image—beautiful and deathly, the sort of beauty Jimin has always been before his missions—and he hates it. The disgust is all-consuming, so singular that he almost misses the soft knock on the door, until the mirror shows the door opening.
Lavender enters first, and Jimin’s heart races.
It’s only been a week, but the relief that captures him is like nothing else, as if it’s been months. Jimin holds his breath as Taehyung enters. He’s dressed in a modern hanbok, the shades of white with a deep blue sash bringing out his features. It’s a soft colour on him, so different from the darker shades the alpha prefers—and Jimin traces all of it until his eyes rest on Taehyung’s face. Beautiful as always, but so much more subdued than before. It’s neutral, but Jimin tastes the anger— no, the indifference—and that somehow hurts more.
He misses him. They’re in the same room, but Jimin misses him even as he sees him—and he can’t even hate himself for it anymore.
The Taehyung he’s come to know is so vastly different from their past—no, from Jimin’s version of reality. A gentle, mature and patient alpha. Or maybe he’d always been that way, but in a deadly assassin camp with no room for vulnerability, he’d hidden it. As any smart person would have done, but somewhere, Jimin wonders if he’s the one who slipped into his past self too easily. The shrewd, mistrustful and selfish assassin he’d tried so hard to run from.
Jimin clears his throat. “Taehyung.”
“Jimin.” The alpha looks around, as if it isn’t his room—looking everywhere but at him. Once, Jimin would have loved that, but now, it feels like a punishment—if not to Jimin, then his wolf, whining in distress. It’s loud enough that he can see Taehyung stiffen, resisting the call—but not before his eyes fill with helpless resentment. He curls his lips, barely giving a once over before looking away. “I brought these along.”
In his hand is a package that holds the outer jacket to Jimin’s hanbok set, baby pink and mauve complementary to Taehyung’s. A wave of lavender and sage strikes him when he opens it, and Taehyung’s cheeks flush. A wild part of Jimin hopes, but he holds himself back. “Why is this…?”
“Alpha’s present to their chosen omega,” Taehyung replies mechanically, and the wild part dies. Right. Taehyung isn’t giving him a second chance; that ship has long sailed. They’re still playing their roles—Taehyung the omega bride’s brother, and Jimin, his consort. “Nothing much.”
“Right.” Jimin gulps, clutching the fabric tightly before smoothening out the wrinkles. A role, it’s just a role. It’ll all be over soon. The chant isn’t as soothing as he’d hoped it would be—somewhere, his omega scrambles in muted distress. Do you want it to end this way?
No, but what other way is there?
He wears the jacket swiftly, enveloped in a cloud of sage that has his head spinning. It’s the perfect set—then again, Jimin doesn’t doubt Taehyung’s fashion sense. He twirls, letting the fabric flow, and faces the mirror again, and Taehyung’s lips are parted in awe.
Jimin stops himself from buying into the hope. He doesn’t deserve it.
“Thank you. It fits well,” he says instead, smiling tightly. Taehyung nods, then takes a box out of his pocket.
He opens it to show a pair of white sapphire earrings and a pearl clasp. “The final part.”
“What’s it for?”
“Traditionally, the alpha buys the omega something they can wear outwardly, that shows they’ve been claimed,” Taehyung murmurs, and it all sounds so wrong—so forced, even though his heart twists at the words. “As a way to ward off other alphas before the omega can support a Bite.”
“I see.” All too clearly, the line Taehyung is drawing by playing pretend, by cutting through Jimin line by serrated line. The world will believe them fools in love—but they’re not fooling each other. “Go on, then. All yours.”
He freezes, wolf and his inner monologue wincing. Jimin holds fast, standing absolutely still as Taehyung takes the necklace and places it around. It rests delicately against Jimin’s skin—light, despite the richness. It’s also scented—lavender presses against him, his mating gland swelling slightly at the close proximity. His omega whines again, wanting more than that—wanting Taehyung on him, in him—and he’s sure Taehyung can smell the change, if he goes by the slight flare of his nose.
The alpha ignores it—phenomenal self-control right there—and goes about the task. His touch is gentle, fingers barely grazing and yet, it’s enough to drive Jimin insane. He bites his tongue, refusing to look.
“There. Done.” Jimin cranes his neck, and he watches as Taehyung’s hands form into fists. He looks down, face blank but his scent letting out a storm. Jimin revels in it even as he shies away, to stop the torture of their wolves. “Suits you.”
“Thanks.” It’s so bland, like ash in his mouth. Taehyung nods, and turns around without a word. He walks away—and Jimin is going to let him.
His chest caves from the pressure, wolf howling within to beg for forgiveness—something. Anything but this blasted silence, but his mouth is dry and shame runs hot in his blood.
Taehyung’s at the door when Jimin lurches, noisily enough that the alpha pauses. Waits. And Jimin decided to throw shame to the wind, just for a moment.
“Be safe out there today,” Jimin whispers. It stands heavy in the gap between them, a gap Jimin can’t ever hope to cross. You were supposed to deny it, Taehyung had said, and Jimin still can’t forget the heartbreak in his eyes. The eyes he’d convinced himself he hated because they would do just that—hold all the emotion Jimin could never allow himself to feel.
Taehyung inhales—and nods. “I always am.”
He walks out, and the door clicks shut softly—but to Jimin, it is the loudest sound of them all.
One thing is for certain—when it comes down to it, Joonjae leaves no stone unturned for the mating of his eldest son.
The hall is decked to the nines—gossamer strings of yellow, white and blue along with luscious flower arrangements that would put the King to shame. Then again, Joonjae has never behaved any less—in their world, he is the royalty, the one ruling with an iron fist.
The décor is splendid, leaving the usually drab and morose camp setting full of joy and happiness. If Jimin hadn’t known any better, he would have thoroughly enjoyed himself.
He makes a quick once over, keeping an eye out for exit points as well as the parts of the upholstery that can be used as makeshift weapons. The event did say none were allowed—but who were they kidding? They cannot take any chances today.
People had already begun appearing—important contacts, friends and colleagues in Joonjae’s life, some that are familiar even to a no-name assassin like Jimin. Some he’d had the unfortunate entanglement during the auction, and some he recognises from his missions. Whether because he killed someone for them or slept with them…
He takes his first drink of the day, gulping down the sour taste in his mouth from the memories. He’d gone above and beyond back then, anything to earn his keep and quit as soon as he could. He expects them to be friendly, and some do recognise him, walking towards—until the last moment when they stall, noses flaring briefly before they change routes.
One of them glares at his throat, and Jimin understands. Taehyung’s clasp taking care of the worst of it. Gratitude joins the sourness—how often had Taehyung taken care of him from afar, without letting Jimin know? The times he would take the burden of chores or assignments so Jimin didn’t have to? He holds the pearl, the lightness suddenly unbearable.
He’s standing next to one of the giant flower bouquet arrangements when a strange scent arrives, unfamiliar enough that his wolf rises on its haunches. Jimin turns, and finds the owner of the overbearing scent standing a little too close.
“Nice choker you got there,” the person says—alpha, if he goes by the scent of wood fire, a little too strong for Jimin’s liking. “Pity the owner isn’t around, huh?”
Always, some random asshole alpha who thinks they’re bigger than Jimin, than bonds and systems. Shoving their way in places they don’t belong—and outside camp, Jimin had to put up with a lot of this since violence isn’t permitted so easily. He could take the alpha on—but maybe he shouldn’t make a scene on such an important day, and disrupt their plan.
“Pity for you. Wouldn’t want to meet him,” Jimin says, crossing his arms and looking forward. “Don’t even bother.”
“Oh, come on now—I could show you a better time than your lousy alpha,” the man simpers, scent getting progressively stronger as he tries to posture his apparent alphaness. “Leaving you by yourself like this; doesn’t seem like he knows your value.”
Jimin opens his mouth to tell him to politely fuck off, but then, there is a warm hand on his waist and a flood of lavender on his tongue. “Given that he’s a person, I’m afraid he can’t be valued anyway.”
Alpha! Alpha is here! His wolf crows, happy and giddy. Jimin bites his tongue, leaning back into Taehyung’s touch; they’re together for the world to see. He can enjoy it just this once. “How sweet of you, babe.”
“You’re priceless and you know it,” Taehyung murmurs with so much sincerity that Jimin’s heart races again. This is horrible. The worst. “So if you could move away from my omega, that would be great.”
He says it graciously, but Jimin can taste the underlying threat, the danger laced in Taehyung’s tone. He’d always had a chilling way of speaking—soft and blunt, and a man of few words.
The alpha curls his lips, looking between the two of them before his gaze lies on Taehyung’s possessive hold over Jimin’s waist. He grumbles, walking away, though he doesn’t stop looking, enough that Taehyung growls lightly once—and the man scurries off, lost in the throng of people.
He doesn’t move away from Jimin, though, and it has his mind spinning circles again. Stop hoping. Stop being such an idiot. But how can he, when it feels so real? It doesn’t make sense to Jimin either, the reason for this change. And something has—there is an undercurrent of tension constantly, but over it is this thick blanket of calm he can’t move away from. It feels like it should be a role but it doesn’t—not with the way Taehyung plays with his earrings, fingers brushing over the nape of his neck. Jimin is aware of every touch—he hopes his scent doesn’t betray his emotions.
“Thank you,” Jimin says, just for something to do—a distraction, so he doesn’t have to go down the path of imagining Taehyung as his actual mate. “Good foresight, preparing these. I do not want to be considered available right now.”
“Mm.” Taehyung is still standing close, and Jimin feels greedy, wanting him closer. Merge with him in ways that would embarrass his fierce omegan nature. There is a steady stream of lavender and sage that swirls in his head, enmeshing his mind and body into one. “It wasn’t only for you.”
Jimin’s mind comes to a jilting stop—he doesn’t understand what Taehyung wants anymore—whether he hates Jimin or is just playing along—but the alpha doesn’t give him a chance, lightly pressing his thumb against Jimin’s mating gland before walking off, chatting with one of the guests, his smile blinding to watch. Jimin is frozen, his gland throbbing with need to close the distance and fuse himself with Taehyung. He shakes his head, looking away—and catching Namjoon’s eye across the room.
The best distraction if he ever had once.
The beta is also dressed in his finest, in an emerald and ink blue hanbok set that brings out the gold tones of his skin. If Jimin hadn’t been so lost in Taehyung, he would have appreciated the sight a lot more—but oh well. “Wow, hyung. Looking chipper.”
“Thank you. I do clean up well, don’t I?” Namjoon says, winking—the edges of his hair are shorn close to his scalp, and it brings out the sharpness of his features. Who in their right mind would have ever thought him to be anything other than alpha? “Jin-hyung chose these.”
Jimin raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know he was gifted in the fashion department too.”
“All of us,” Namjoon says, chuckling. “I do like a good set. Taehyung’s more eccentric, and Jin-hyung says he’s not into it but his suits are handpicked. He insisted he choose this too.”
Meaning: let’s have a chat in your private wing about the plan.
Jimin nods, standing next to him. It’s a bit dwarfing, but he enjoys the comfort Namjoon naturally emanates. “I have to admit he’s gifted.”
“I’ll be sure to pass on the compliments.”
“I’ll do it myself at the end.”
Namjoon smiles lightly. They stand together, surveying the hall. Jimin takes two flutes of champagne, and some poppers to chew. Most people never talk about how boring events are before they start. Namjoon seems to share the sentiment, sipping lightly. “Quite the full house, isn’t it?”
“A well-established man’s legacy.” He nods at some of the guests, an eye on Taehyung as he merges in and out, guiding some of the older guests to their seats. It’s a side of him Jimin’s never known, and it’s one more weight in the void of his heart. “It’s going to be a riot, isn’t it?”
“A spectacle like never before,” Namjoon comments lightly, neither of them speaking of the plan. In a room full of other assassins and criminals hungry for Joonjae’s favour, they have to keep a lookout for ears wide open. “Hard to believe sometimes. My elder brother is getting mated in less than an hour.”
Be prepared and alert. An hour of peace is all we have.
“A big milestone, I’m sure,” Jimin replies, craning his neck slightly as he watches the people assemble. A good amount of people, more or less trained. From what Yoongi had said, despite the low information, most people knew enough to be wary of Feral wolves, so support should not be an issue. He just hopes Seokjin’s scene would get the right response. “Jin-hyung must be so excited.”
“Which omega wouldn’t want such a grand celebration of their important day?” Namjoon asks dryly, and Jimin holds back laughter. “Nice necklace, by the way. Is this an indication of your special day in the future?”
Immediately, Jimin’s mood falls, and even though Namjoon can’t smell him, he picks up on it. Jimin shrugs, scratching the corner of his thumb. “Maybe. Who knows with Taehyung, right?”
Namjoon purses his lips, before taking a sip. “He needs time, Jimin.”
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“No, but I know my brother,” Namjoon says softly. “You need to understand—the way he’s grown up, he could never trust anybody. At most our mother, and even that comfort has been snatched from him now.”
The reminder hits hard. He looks around, unsure if they can discuss this—but there is too much context for people to make sense of. Jimin gulps, his hands trembling enough that he curls them into a fist. “I know…I just. I don’t know how to get through to him.”
“None of us do. Only Taehyung allows that, so,” Namjoon clinks his glass against Jimin’s, nodding meaningfully. “Whatever it is that happened between the two of you—remember this about him. He’s so lost in his hurt sometimes, I don’t think he knows how to let anyone in. Just—be there, when the time comes, okay? You’re the only one who has the highest chance.”
He nods at Jimin’s mating gland then, before saluting and walking away. Jimin scratches at it again—it’s still swollen, even though Taehyung is across the room, running around. Right, Namjoon had usually been kept away from events or interactions—he’d been Joonjae’s son only in name. Seokjin and Taehyung had been the showrunners, and the unfairness unleashes as a hot flash within.
He crosses the room to where he is, taking Taehyung by the elbow before he can think twice about it. The alpha stiffens—before relaxing into Jimin’s touch. It’s not enough. He’d been kidding himself before. It’ll never be enough for Jimin, not when he knows now.
“We should take our seats, alpha,” Jimin murmurs, enjoying the slow reddening of Taehyung’s neck. “Ceremony’s about to begin.”
They move towards the front. The guests begin settling down, the staff in full flurry as they pass around rice wine and snacks. Taehyung leads him to the seating reserved for the family, tucking Jimin close. It’s right in front of the raised podium, where Seokjin and Yoongi will exchange their vows and commitment to mate. The actual Bites will be exchanged in the privacy of their rooms—but the union will be acknowledged in public.
It’s a beautiful podium, similar to the night of the auction, with a wide stage, an altar and curtains behind decorated with flowers and vines. In the cold winter chill, it looks like something out of a fairy tale— exactly the kind of wedding someone like Seokjin would have, but who knows?
The staff begins ushering as music begins filling the hall. Everyone sits down as the first note of the groom’s wedding march plays—and the doors open to reveal Son Heeyeon with her arm tucked in Yoongi’s, walking alongside her son. She’s dressed in an eyesore of a red hanbok—attention seeking, and he smells the way Taehyung’s scent changes to one of irritation. Yoongi’s dressed in a pastel green hanbok with a gold sash. His face belays no emotion, and if Jimin didn’t know him so well—he’d be fooled into thinking Yoongi was calm.
Heeyeon leads Yoongi to the stage, before patting the edges of her sleeve against her eyes. There is glee on her face, the manic kind—they may look similar, but Yoongi’s character is far different than hers.
Time seems to pass in a blur—for how important the event is in Jimin’s head, it works out like clockwork. There is a break between the alpha and omega’s entries, until they receive a signal that the omega bride is ready. The omega wedding March begins this time, and the doors part to reveal a slew of young omegas dressed in their prettiest hanboks, showering the aisle with flowers. Jimin nearly snorts at the obnoxiousness of it all, but Taehyung pinches the inside of his arm, though his lips twitch. That makes two of them suffering through this display.
Once done, the aisle clears again, making way for the main show—Kim Seokjin.
Everyone inhales in unison as he enters, his beauty too overwhelming to bear. From his perfectly symmetrical features to his bright blue eyes, to his scent—left exposed for the ceremony and leaving behind a rich scent of patchouli oil— he is the pride of the Kim Clan. Pride that is now reflected on Kim Joonjae’s face too.
He’s on Seokjin’s arm, dressed like a king, and his scarred face still handsome. The scent of rotting flowers is missing however—the spray of artificial perfume is telling, though Jimin can still pick up on the scent of disease somewhere. He chooses to focus on the omega instead, a strange sense of pride flickering within him as well.
They reach the stage, where Yoongi reaches out and Joonjae passes Seokjin’s hand. Heeyeon leans forward, greed alighting her features. Jimin’s stomach roils at the sight—no maternal love, only possession and hunger. It’s a wonder both Yoongi and Seokjin turned out half-way decent—perhaps because of their other, much saner parents.
Both killed by Joonjae and Heeyeon. So many deaths to avenge, his wolf murmurs, and Jimin is in agreement for once. He’s going to relish this—terrified as he is, but at least there will be some satisfaction.
The Moon Priestess ushers them to the altar, where Yoongi and Seokjin hold hands. Tension lines both their bodies, and Jimin admires their bravery and commitment to the role. The ceremony begins immediately—the Priestess chants the hymns for a Blessed union, asking the two to go through a number of rituals—which they do rather mechanically. It’s when they have to rub their wrists together that Jimin sees them stiffen again, a mild look of contempt on Yoongi’s face as well as muted anger on Seokjin’s. Thankfully, in a room of criminals, such looks are permissible, even for a supposedly happy occasion.
He can feel the way Joonjae and Heeyeon get more and more excited as they reach the end. They’re supposed to wear rings and scent in public—a deeply intimate process. Jimin doesn’t want to see it, and he can smell the slight disgust in Taehyung’s scent as well as see the wariness on Namjoon’s face. Taehyung holds his hand then, squeezing twice—and Jimin knows. It’s time.
The Moon Priestess raises her hand, protesting before the idol of the Moon Goddess. “With the power vested in me, I ask the Luna to witness this union and give her blessing.” She takes a silver bowl that carries the blessed water from a Moon Temple spring, and sprinkles some drops on the two. “If there are any objections to this union, they may speak up now.”
No one does, and Jimin frowns. This was supposed to the sign, wasn’t it? That’s what Yoongi had said. Around then, Seokjin is going to create a scene, which will be our distraction and trigger. Yoongi’s lips turn down but Seokjin remains quiet. Taehyung tenses as well, so Jimin knows he’s not alone.
The Priestess continues. “Then the mates may exchange their vows, and be blessed at last.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen, clearly not having anticipated reaching here. He’s squeezing Seokjin’s hand, but no response. “I, um, well—”
Seokjin clears his throat then. “Would it be okay if I say my vows first?”
The Priestess raises her eyebrows. “Well, usually the alpha groom goes first.” Then she assesses Seokjin head to toe, as if she knows how different the omega is. “But I’m sure the Luna will not mind.”
Jimin smells the sharp increase in rotting flowers and holds his nose. He’s practically clawing Taehyung’s hand at this point, though the alpha isn’t complaining.
“I am pleased to be here, in front of you all,” Seokjin begins, his tone soft and demure. “It’s an honour to share my special day amidst such esteemed company.”
Seokjin blushes, and Jimin lets out a sigh, as does Joonjae. Seokjin smiles at them all, before clearing his throat again. “Ever since I was a child, I dreamt of mating someone I loved. When I presented an omega, I knew what I wanted. Someone who would take care of me, and lead me well.” He turns to Yoongi, and his smile drops. “Someone who would be my true love.”
Sweet words, except Yoongi frowns—and Jimin knows this is not what they’ve planned. He thinks about asking Taehyung what the trigger is supposed to be when he smells cedarwood.
Cedar…
“Jimin, quit moving around,” Taehyung hisses, but Jimin digs his nails, twisting to look behind. The scent is everywhere, but that can’t be right. Maybe Jimin is mistaken, maybe someone else has the exact same scent, unless—
The podium curtains shift, and reminiscent of the auction night—Jeon Jungkook steps through.
People gasp, as does Yoongi, dropping Seokjin’s hands like hot potatoes. Seokjin, however, seems unbothered—he brings Jungkook right next to him. “It’s an honour to mate the person I love.”
A menacing growl sounds out as Joonjae rises, trembling. If Death were a person, they would be carrying Joonjae’s face. “Seokjin. What is the meaning of this?”
Seokjin brings Jungkook forward and faces him—his face is soft and mellow, eyes fond. He tucks Jungkook’s hair and straightens his hanbok—also a wedding set—in a way that shows how in love he is. Jungkook looks equally dazed, his eyes wide with hope.
“We’re here finally, my love,” Seokjin says, holding Jungkook’s hands and rubbing their wrists together. There is a heady bloom of patchouli and cedar—much stronger than the pine had been. True mates. Of course. “I promised you, didn’t I?”
“I’m grateful, hyung-nim,” Jungkook murmurs, looking stupid in love—what the hell had Seokjin done? Who was that, and why couldn’t Jimin recognise him? “You always follow through.”
Joonjae growls again, kicking aside the chair he’d been sitting on. “Seokjin! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Why, I just told you, Abbeoji,” Seokjin says coolly, facing Joonjae with a blank look. “I’m marrying my true love. You’d understand, won’t you?”
“Seokjin—”
“Considering you’re making me mate so you can be closer to Heeyeon-ssi,” Seokjin says, and Joonjae freezes. “You’d understand the things one does for love, no?”
Whispers begin as people shuffle, pointing towards Joonjae and Heeyeon.
“My father is so loving, he wanted to keep it within the family,” Seokjin says, his eyes bright blue and ready for a fight—as they’ve always been. “Kim Joonjae has been in love with Heeyeon-ssi my whole life. And Min Yoongi, my half-brother, is the testament to that love.”
The hall explodes with noise as the guests gasp, breaking into furious conversation and shock accentuated by the flurry of scents all around. That’s disgusting and between his own children and where is the sanity and tradition? Some make to move, chairs scrapping back and din of the hall rising ever so slowly, some alphas growling and their omegas hissing, looking at Joonjae with utter disgust.
The alpha is trembling, his clothes shifting and a vein in his forehead throbbing, face purple with rage. Seokjin stands still, holding Jungkook tightly. “I refuse to marry my brother when I have the love of my life right here. I’m sure you’d understand that.”
The people move towards the door when guards stand in front of the exits, blocking them. Some of them fight, pushing through the crowd but a guard fires in the air, and people scream. Jimin turns towards Joonjae, who cracks his neck side to side, his eyes going black as pin-prick points of red begin taking over. He holds Taehyung’s hand, opening his jacket and keeping the position ready for his daggers. This is it—the moment they had waited for.
“Could I have your blessings, Abbeoji?”
Joonjae growls, practically vibrating. Seokjin tilts his head—before smiling.
That seems to be the last straw, because Joonjae explodes into action. His jacket rips as he begins shifting—gnarly hands, with what looks like fur on the backs of them.
“You have some nerve, boy,” Joonjae continues growling, walking towards the podium. One of Seokjin’s omega guards comes in between, determined—but Joonjae huffs, grabbing him by the throat. “You have a lot of nerve getting in my way.”
And then he crushes the guard’s neck.
Jimin watches in horror as Joonjae’s nails grow into claws, piercing right through muscle, sinew and blood. The guests scream while the alpha flings the guard aside, his head nearly separated from his body. He checks his hand, giving it a curious sniff—before licking it heel to finger tips.
“I’ve always been curious,” Joonjae says, lips and teeth—wolfish canines on full display, and growing— carrying traces of blood. “Delicious. Our ancestors were right to feast on other wolves.”
He keeps sucking his fingers one by one, as the shift happens—the clothes tear, and Joonjae twists, back and shoulders popping in slow jerks. When it pauses—he’s an ugly looking thing, half-transformed and smelling like rot.
“Keep the doors locked,” Joonjae says, but his voice is distorted, more animal than human. “We have some clean up to do.”
And then he jumps on the podium in a blur. Jungkook is there, and Joonjae barely looks as he strikes him aside, right off the podium on the floor, where he falls with a sickening thud. Seokjin cries instinctively, and Jimin makes to run for him—but Taehyung holds him back by his jacket, shaking his head. Jimin resists, but Taehyung’s eyes flicker gold—and he swears he hears him in his head. Don’t do it. Don’t bring the attention now.
He wants to scream, to fight him off and check on Jungkook—but something makes Jimin trust again. This is not his battle to fight alone.
“There you are, my little dove,” Joonjae says, walking leisurely—he seems to be limping. “What a brave little gem you’ve been, hmm?”
He takes a step forward, but Yoongi steps in between, a knife in his hand. They shake, but his face is determined and protective.
“Not on my watch,” Yoongi spits, which would be a courageous thing to say, except Jimin can see how he trembles. Untested, unlike Jimin and Taehyung. “You want him—you go through me.”
“Is that right,” Joonjae drawls, somehow calm—he looks taller already, half of him twitching as his eyes keep shifting colours. It’s unnerving to watch. “The alpha brother to protect my dove, are you?”
“He’s not yours, Joonjae-ssi.” Yoongi shifts his stance, ready to strike—to create a distraction perhaps. Seokjin, remains behind him, face stony. “About time you learnt the fucking difference between your sons and objects.”
Joonjae growls again, raising his hand. “You insolent brat—”
Jimin looks for an entry point, dagger in his hand and looking to distract Joonjae—when Son Heeyeon steps in front of him, smiling as she brings a finger to her lips—before she turns around, and clicks her fingers.
“Joonjae, darling, not like that,” she chides, her voice dulcet and soft. Joonjae tilts his head, looking akin to a wolf. “We discussed this, remember? There are better ways to make out sons behave.”
She claps her hands, and one of the doors next to the podium opens, where a lump is thrown onto the stage. A lump that smells…like freesias.
The dagger falls from his hands.
No. No. It can’t be him. Not him…he was safe, you saw him, he was safe— his omega trashes inside, frantic with worry as the lump struggles and Hoseok comes into view, one eye shut and his lip split bloody. Yoongi cries out, lurching towards him—but the guards push him back.
He’d been in the safe-house. Jimin had seen him in the safe-house, and no one knew about it save them. No one knew apart from Namjoon, Taehyung, Yoongi and him. Seokjin had selected it himself—
Jimin’s blood runs cold.
The guards push Yoongi back, right into Joonjae’s hands—and Seokjin doesn’t intervene. His face is frighteningly blank, and he crosses his hands when Joonjae wrenches Yoongi back by his hair.
Taehyung curses, faster to catch on as he unleashes his weapons belt, removing the dagger and twirling it, looking for an angle to throw. It’s gone out of control so fast because—
Well. No one should have known about the safe-house—unless someone on the inside opened the doors wide open.
“Not on your watch, huh?” Joonjae says harshly, tugging Yoongi back and dragging a clawed finger across chin. “Whose, then? Theirs?”
Joonjae turns towards Jimin, and grins, canines now digging into his lips. He tilts his head, letting out more of the rotten stench—it reaches them much too fast in this form, and Jimin’s head spins.
The pheromones, shit. Jimin struggles against the pull, the Imposition potent even from so far away—and Taehyung growls, flinging his dagger to distract him—but Joonjae anticipates it, because he turns around swiftly and places Yoongi’s body as a shield.
Yoongi howls as the dagger strikes him in the thigh. Joonjae looks disgusted, and discards him, looking at Jimin and Taehyung instead, waggling his fingers between them. “You really thought I wouldn’t get to know your little scheme, hmm?”
Jimin can only stare as Yoongi groans, curled in a foetal position as he holds his thigh close, though the blood still leaks in rivulets. The alpha, however, is only looking at Hoseok, who seems half-awake. He tries to crawl towards him—but Heeyeon crouches down and holds Hoseok against her, setting a knife against the omega’s throat.
“Maybe we should have killed him the first time around,” Heeyeon sings, digging the point into Hoseok, wide awake now and whimpering, shaking like a leaf. “He made you so pathetic while you were out there.”
“Eomma, no,” Yoongi begs, on his belly as he holds his hands together. “Please. Not him. He has nothing to do with this.”
“He has everything to do with you and your nature,” Heeyeon hisses. “All I asked was for you to behave and this is how you treat your father? Treat me?”
She makes a small cut and Hoseok sobs. The unmistakable scent of piss fills the room, and she wrinkles her nose.
It’s gone completely out of hand so, so fast. Jimin’s gaze shifts as Seokjin kicks aside a broken chair piece—and walks over to Joonjae’s side. Hate burns through him as he realises—he should have never trusted an omega so lost in his need for his father’s love. He was a fool, and so is Taehyung. His scent is stormy, and his eyes hold utter disgust and betrayal as they appraise Seokjin.
“I wish I could say I wasn’t surprised when Seokjin told me, you know,” Joonjae says, stretching his limbs out—the half-transformed state doesn’t help, and according to the legends, it should be the full form. Not that it matters now, because it’s all gone to shit. “But I was. Said you two weren’t even together. That it was all part of the plan to kill me.”
Taehyung shifts ahead then, pushing Jimin behind him. “So you couldn’t even figure it out on your own, huh?” He smirks, but Jimin can taste the fear and anger. “Still useless without your pretty prince, aren’t you, Abbeoji?”
“Shut your mouth,” Joonjae snaps, but Taehyung laughs, a mean and derisive sound. He moves to the side slightly—and instinctively, Jimin knows. He’s taking Joonjae away from the other side. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yoongi crawl away, while Heeyeon is lost in watching her lover in adoration, though her hand doesn’t lose its hold over Hoseok. Namjoon—who’d he’d forgotten about—moves closer to where Heeyeon and Hoseok are—and Yoongi nods at him.
“That’s all you can say, isn’t it? Shut this. Kill that. Just commands, no real power of your own now that you’re a— well.” Taehyung gives a disgusted once-over. “Whatever rotten monstrosity that’s crawled out from within you.”
“Monstrosity? I am more powerful than you could ever imagine, boy.”
“Can’t even transform fully,” Taehyung goads, and Joonjae snarls. “Only words, no real action. What kind of a leader are you, hmm? Relying on Seokjin-hyung or my kills—”
“You barely did anything for the Clan.”
“Hmm. How could I? It’s not like I am a ‘real’ Kim, now, am I, Abbeoji?” Taehyung says, grinning as he steps aside, and Joonjae keeps turning with him, away from his True Mate—who is now exposed.
Yoongi makes a clucking sound then, and Jimin turns to him. He takes one look—and understands. Slowly, he removes one of his earrings, and flings it, where it flicks against Heeyeon’s wrist. She yelps, loosening her hold. Yoongi rises with Herculean effort as he barrels towards them—and shoves Hoseok back.
Straight into Namjoon’s waiting arms.
Heeyeon cries—but his hyung is a blur, falling upon her and forcing her to face Joonjae, who snarls, stalking forward—until Yoongi holds Heeyeon against him, and removes the dagger still lodged in his thigh.
“Hyung, no!” Taehyung cries, but Yoongi is a furious alpha, disregarding the spurt of blood gushing out. He shakes as he holds the bloody blade up in the air. He looks unrecognisable—cold and manic—and points the blade at Joonjae.
“Looks like she’s lived long enough, old man,” Yoongi spits, looking crazed. “Consider this my mating gift.”
Heeyeon gives a gasping jerk as Yoongi stabs her in the gut.
All of Joonjae shakes—he rushes towards Heeyeon as she falls, and barely catches her in his arms. She coughs up blood, eyes bloodshot and unseeing as Joonjae holds her, the gentlest he’s ever been.
“No, no, Heeyeon-ah, no,” Joonjae whispers, pushing her sweaty hair back, scenting her wildly—but Heeyeon doesn’t respond. She tries to hold on, clawing at Joonjae’s face—before her hand falls, and her breaths stop.
A blinding light strikes against Joonjae’s mating gland—and he cries, scratching at it with his claws and ripping into his skin. He’s convulsing, growling and screaming—Taehyung jumps onto the podium to drag Yoongi out, and Jimin rushes to help, taking him a safe distance away. Taehyung hastily undoes his belt, and Jimin makes a makeshift tourniquet out of that, using to stop the blood from flowing to Yoongi’s gaping thigh wound.
“Gather everything you have and get ready,” Yoongi wheezes, biting his lip through the pain. “Shit’s about to go down.”
“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” Taehyung murmurs, removing his outer layer to wrap around the wound. He keeps checking the podium—Joonjae is wailing over Heeyeon’s dead body, begging her to come back and sniffing at her—and Seokjin, strangely enough, is still watching the scene unfold—he’s not moved from his spot at all, which Jimin finds odd. “You good to go, hyung?”
“No, but I’ll manage,” Yoongi says, gritting his teeth. “This hurts like a bitch. Make sure they don’t get to Jungkookie or Hoseok.”
“Already kept away,” Namjoon says, out of breath and sweat running down his temples. “Guards have been indisposed.”
“Good, because we need them out of the fucking way,” Taehyung snarls. He takes out his gun while Jimin gets out his trusty blades. Yoongi takes one of the spears of a fallen guard, and uses it to support himself. Namjoon sighs as he takes out an unsuspecting weapon—a pair of spiked nun-chucks. Taehyung whistles.
“What?”
“You sure you can handle that without impaling yourself?”
“I know I’m a beta, but I did train the same as you did.”
“Just saying. Be careful.”
Namjoon gives him the middle finger—when a bellow rises from the podium. They all stiffen as Joonjae arches his back, convulsing and shaking until the sounds of popping and cracking bones is so loud Jimin can’t hear for a moment. Joonjae screams, and when he comes to—it’s no longer the human they all recognise.
Someone amongst the huddled guests screams. “A—a Feral! A Feral wolf! They’re real!”
Yeah, no shit, Jimin thinks blankly as he faces the nightmare they’ve been theorising for the past few weeks.
Nothing could have prepared him for the reality of a Feral.
A hulking, monstrous figure jumps from the podium—and the floor cracks under its paws. It walks on two feet—elongated ones with curved claws that are brittle and yellow. The stench is overwhelming, of rotten earth, flowers and decomposed bodies, like sulphur. It’s pungent enough to burn his nose hair, and Jimin’s eyes smart from the intensity.
The body is tall, much taller than they expected a shifted wolf to be. He towers over them, shirt in tatters and barely hanging onto the frame. Mottled grey skin ripples and shifts, as if something is growing deep inside. The limbs are twisted at odd angles, and he looks deformed—limping as he strikes forward.
Where there should be a face is a wolf-like snout merged with a human’s lips, and canines longer than Jimin’s hand. Drool drips from them thick and bloody, and his eyes—oh, his eyes are a bright, fuming red.
Jimin’s blood is terrified inside him.
Joonjae unleashes himself like a storm.
He slashes left, right and centre without care—blood sprays in the air as his claws get caught on those unfortunate enough to be close, and he rips apart bodies like nothing—a torso falls somewhere close to Jimin’s foot, and he gags. He tightens his hold on his daggers, flinging them—but they’re like toothpicks, bouncing off his skin.
Fuck. They can’t do this.
“He’s too strong,” Namjoon echoes his thoughts, focused on clearing a path and dragging people out of the way. “Even if all of us band together—we need another strategy.”
“A little busy trying to keep myself alive for that!” Taehyung yells, as he fights off a guard—for some reason, they’re loyal to Joonjae even when he’s revealed to be a literal monster. Delusional freaks. “Wasn’t exposing him supposed to help us?”
Yoongi barely manages to knock a guard to the ground, heaving even as blood drips from his thigh to the ground. “Maybe we underestimated how big a Feral is. Or how people will be scared of it.”
“Great fucking planning, really,” Taehyung snarls. He ducks as the guard throws his empty gun at him—and it falls at Seokjin’s feet, who is fighting his way through the guards as well. Jimin doesn’t know what’s going on anymore. “Namjoon-hyung, you got anything?”
“Seems like he’s coming for Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says, gritting his teeth before slamming his elbow into his attacker’s nose. “Probably sees him as the guy who killed his mate?”
“Great timing for that too, hyung,” Jimin yells, twirling as he slashes his knife up, splitting stomach to chest and stepping aside as the man’s guts spill out. “You couldn’t have waited to kill your mom after?”
“Taehyung was talking too much,” Yoongi wheezes, falling behind a table and leaning against it. Jimin shuffles close, cleaning his blade before holding it between his teeth. “Got him triggered, didn’t I?”
“That plan made sense before Seokjin-hyung betrayed us,” Jimin snarls, taking off the next layer and tying it around Yoongi’s thigh. “Keep pressure on that, okay? And hide. We don’t want him noticing you.”
“What if I want to heroically save you guys by becoming the distraction?”
“I will end you before the Feral does,” Jimin mutters darkly, handing Yoongi one of the fallen water bottles. “Keep yourself alive. Bye.”
He gets out before Yoongi can reply, stabbing one of the assassin guests in the guts—it seems the crowd had become more and more unruly, every one striving to save themselves and get out. Some seem to remain loyal to Joonjae, which they should have planned for. One of the doors bursts open, and quite a few of them leave—but most are trying to drag away hurt relatives or friends, cowering as Joonjae walks.
It’s an odd posture, like he himself doesn’t know what to do with his body. Maybe if they all gathered around, they could find the weak spots—anything that could bring him down.
Jimin can’t believe that shapeshifting was possible once upon a time, because whoever Joonjae is now is pathetic. Strong, yes, but pathetic to look at, no better than a diseased mongrel. Patches of fur fall off, and his skin is dry and bloody—Jimin gags as he closes in.
But Joonjae doesn’t seem to care, his eyes crazed with bloodlust as he sniffs, looking towards where Yoongi is hidden. Someone shoots him—and it barely fazes him, the bullet lodged into the muscular chest. Instead, he picks up the limb of a chair—and throws that in the direction of the shooter, impaling him.
They circle around, and Joonjae growls at them. His mouth doesn’t seem to be forming words—but Jimin can see the rapid shifts. The fracture shines clearly in Joonjae’s eyes—neither here nor there, his body unable to decide between wolf and human. There is no harmony, so maybe they need to find a way to tire Joonjae out, get his human side front and centre so they can capitalise on its weaker state.
Jimin attacks first—backing away when Joonjae swipes his hand across, slashing his arm. It stings, but Jimin shrugs it off, the adrenaline keeping the pain away.
They keep taking turns to no avails—until Joonjae’s snout turns sharply, to where Yoongi has limped out, shaking his hands. “Yah, you pathetic fuck! Come and bark here, why don’t you?”
Taehyung curses, and Jimin agrees. “Yoongi-hyung, what the fuck!”
“Attack him while he’s distracted, asshole!” Yoongi says, but he doesn’t move fast enough, because Joonjae moves in a blur—and raises a clawed hand. Taehyung yells in fear, his eyes blazing golden—until a champagne flute smashes against the back of Joonjae’s head.
He turns—they all do—and finds a shaking Hoseok barely hanging onto the flutes, afraid but determined. “Yoongi-hyung, get away from him!”
“Seok-ah, what the fuck are you doing!?” Yoongi roars, but Joonjae is already distracted, and snarls, jaws snapping as he runs towards him. Hoseok throws more glasses—fruitless, because they crash and do nothing. He screams as Joonjae leaps— and Jimin shouts with him, closing his eyes.
But something stops him.
Jimin opens his eyes as he watches Namjoon hold Joonjae back by the chains of his nun-chucks, keeping his snapping jaw away. “Hoseok, get the fuck away!”
Hoseok barely crawls out from under him, shuffling back onto his elbows. Yoongi limps towards him, where the omega curls into the alpha’s throat and they hold each other. Jimin breathes a sigh of relief—when he notes that Jungkook isn’t there either.
Jungkook isn’t there.
He looks around frantically until he sees Seokjin dragging Jungkook to the centre of the podium, face blank. Hate draws to a pulsing point and overcomes him—he forgets the actual battle, leaving Taehyung and Namjoon behind as he jumps on the podium, flinging one of his pointed stars at the omega—but he deftly catches them mid-air.
“You fucking bitch,” Jimin sneers, slashing forward with the dagger but Seokjin blocks him easily, his blue eyes burning bright blue in warning. Jimin is about to answer when he halts—his wolf, which had been working seamlessly with him till now—cautions him. It seems to be communicating with Seokjin’s wolf, and there is a pull. Listen. See. Watch.
Jimin doesn’t want to, though. Tired, bloody and sweaty, confused and so fucking angry. They had a plan, and Seokjin’s bullshit daddy issues ruined everything. Changed their fates, put them all in danger—including his brothers. All that work, all that trust— and for what?
“I’m going to kill you,” Jimin promises, chucking his dagger aside and grabbing a gun instead. Seokjin is still calm when Jimin points and clicks the safety off—until Jungkook comes between them, his hands raised. “Jungkook, what the fuck—”
“Don’t do it,” Jungkook whispers, his head bleeding from a cut, his big eyes pleading. “Don’t. Trust me.”
“Move aside, Jungkook, this is not the time to be horny for your mate.”
“Shut the fuck up, it’s not about that!” Jungkook hisses, moving every time Jimin does. “Hyung, put that down! This isn’t what it looks like!”
“What the fuck are you on about—”
“Don’t worry, okay? We know what we’re doing.”
“I know what he’s doing! Fucking spineless piece of shit—” Jimin’s speech is cut off by a distressed whine—and turns to find Joonjae snapping the chains in half, and grabbing Namjoon by the throat, nails piercing the skin. “No! Namjoon-hyung!”
Joonjae laughs, squeezing Namjoon’s throat until he is purple in the face, and even then, Seokjin doesn’t move. Jimin looks for something, anything—but there’s nothing.
They’re fighting a petty battle against a wolf that can’t be stopped, and they won’t make it out of here alive.
Hoseok’s wails sound loud, and Yoongi holds him close, turning away from the scene and shielding him. Namjoon chokes, eyes fluttering from the pressure—and Taehyung throws strategy and caution to the wind, throwing himself at Joonjae.
Just then—Joonjae drops Namjoon, kicking him aside—and whirls, his form shifting to a wolf as he grabs Taehyung.
And bites down on his neck.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
(still recovering from new year's hangover as I type this but I refuse to delay this update any longer) SO HI THERE!
I know, I know. It's been a stinking long time, and it's not the first time I'm doing this- but it is the first time I was actively bothered for procrastinating so much. There are all sorts of reasons for this, which I will explain:
1) In October I'd reached peak burnout and as I said, it impacted all areas of my life including creativity. I got burnout from this AU too, but I persevered until Jimin's birthday. Had my best friend's wedding, wanted a break- I got bored of staying in the same AU, and wanted to write something else. It worked briefly- but something else began impacting me.
2) As we all know, the massacre and genocide of the Palestinian people are still still-ongoing. We're all complicit somehow, and it's been hard to digest watching real-time genocide and not just read about it in history books. November was soul-crushing and mind-numbing- I was in intense despair watching this enfold, and I think a part of me felt extreme guilt for still living my life or having this privilege. I feltlike I was committing a crime, writing my fic when I wasn't even sure what the purpose of humanity was anymore. I was pessimistic and cynical, and lowkey depressed, leading to executive dysfunction in a lot of areas of my life- including this fic (and any other WIPs). I'm still not sure what's going on- eventually, I HAD to come to terms with the reality that life will keep going on and there is no way out of this guilt. None. It's going to be there- so either I put my life on hold and stay so miserable I don't talk about it- or I hold space for my everyday life and little joys, AND use that to foster my spirit. I know it's not enough- but even if one person talks, their voices are given space. I have to believe that. So- gradually, I've been coming back to coexistence- sharing my personal joys and victories AND holding space for sharing information, calling for ceasefire, boycotting whatever I can. As a result, this fic just took a backseat in the list of priorities.
3) Just ADHD nonsense- I've come to realise a pattern in my fic journey, especially for long haul fics- the planning, plotting gives me immense dopamine and joy, and revealing them to all of you is also a massive reward- but when all the juicy parts are out, and it's just plot plot plot which means write write write- it becomes a chore, and that's painful. I guess that's where I'm at with this fic; in my head it's already complete- but now I have to put it in words. And sometimes brain doesn't cooperate, so I get irritated even more and procrastinate. It took me nearly a month to write this chapter. And I REALLY, REALLY want to finish this au fast so i can MOVE ON, you know? I have way too many WIPs and just one brain. Unfair.
Anyway, that's the reason why I just fucked off for 2 months. Thank you for waiting patiently, and welcome new readers! I appreciate the love hehe.
And ooh, yes, about the chapter- mwahahaha. Yeah, I'm evil enough to leave it at a cliffhanger. You're right, who knows when the next update will be :D spoiler alert: NO ONE DIES IN THIS FIC FYI, I would never do that to any of you. But yes- writing this chapter was so hard, and a huge mental task. I'm telling myself it's okay I took so long bc the amount of WORK i put into this fic is...yeah. But anyway-- we're getting to the action part! This and ch 26 will be action-heavy, and we still have 5 more chapters to go. i am TIRED. But I can DO THIS
Thank you for reading this note, and for enjoying my work. I hopefully shall see you sooner than 2 months bc I'm sick of this delay oh my god. Okay. Bye. Love you all.
#FreePalestine
Chapter 26: Rest, O Weary Heart
Notes:
I am one week behind schedule because procrastination and my inability to stop coming up with plot points that keep increasing the chapter counts honestly whyyyy but here it is!!
I was super tired and I just wanted the chapter out instead of me delaying once more so please excuse any typos and grammatical errors I'm very sleepy and I just!! want this done!!!!
Have fun!!
content warning: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, GORE AND WOUNDS. VISUAL DESCRIPTION OF SCENES. If any of you get the ick easily then be careful! Also derogatory language used.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The missions got more intense as he began touching seventeen, but he enjoyed it far more. He knew that he was missing out by rotting away in this hunk of metal, brick and rock that carried the persistent stench of copper and iron.
When he got a chance, he’d leave—but sometimes, even that wasn’t enough. He already knew he was good, the top of his class no matter what Taehyung would claim. He didn’t need to prove himself anymore, but keeping up was the only way he would get the more lucrative opportunities.
Something to provide a nice break from his boring, mundane life at camp otherwise.
The only thing interesting about the camp was Taehyung and the ways he tried to claim Jimin without claiming him.
Despite their tangles in the dark, the rivalry had only grown more. As they got older, they clashed—vying for the best missions, the highest kills and the best pay. The competition was fierce and would result in both of them seeking each other out, fucking away the frustration of a loss or the celebration of a victory.
Sometimes they’d pair up, and it would be both. Jimin didn’t want to share a joint mission with Kim Taehyung, the youngest son of the head Boss—but his blood would sing at the thought of having Taehyung away from the confines of the camp. They would clash even then, but a part of him thrived when working with Taehyung. The ease and flow, the way they matched. Jimin would never confess, but sometimes, he thought Taehyung and he were made to be together.
It was a disturbing thought, even as Jimin ignored the warmth in his belly.
The inclusion of Japanese assassins had revitalised them. At least Jimin thought so when he saw the way the yakuza boys fought.
There was a rhythmic cleanliness to their kills that appealed to Jimin. A dance, and the best dancer amongst them was Hirai Yuri.
A handsome alpha, if Jimin ever saw one, tall for his age and built sturdily. When he looked down at his opponents his eyes would narrow in, and even as an observer Jimin would feel the threat. Once he’d bested them, barely breaking a sweat—he’d smile, and his face would lose that seriousness.
He smelled like lemongrass, and there was a lightness to his steps and demeanour that Jimin envied. Mostly, he envied the experiences and achievements Yuri’s masters would boast about, though the alpha himself was sweet and humble.
Jimin wanted to hate him, but admiration fought tooth and nail for its spot.
He told Taehyung as much, one evening before they separated for dinner. The alpha scoffed as he wiped his slick-covered fingers on his shirt. “He’s not that special.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jimin asked, wiping away the worst of the cum and slick before pulling up his trousers. “His roster’s always full. The masters are in full awe, and there are even news reports of some of his kills!”
“Ah, yes. Because a good assassin is someone who is exposed.”
“Shut up, he wasn’t exposed. Just that his methods got attention, but are still unsolved cases.” Jimin flapped his arms to dry the sweat. He applied the roll-on scent blockers simultaneously. He couldn’t walk into the mess hall smelling like a used whore, as some of their classmates lovingly called him. “I’m going to ask him to teach me.”
An acrid smell reached him, and Jimin turned. Taehyung was leaning against the wall, checking his nails but his neck was inflamed pink. The edge of a purple hickey showed under his collar. “Like he’s going to take interest in a runt like you.”
“I am the best this camp has ever seen,” Jimin said sweetly, tucking in his blade. “You can be in denial all you want. Mediocre students often are.”
“Wasn’t so mediocre five minutes ago, was I?”
“If your dick is the only sword you can swing decently, then you have much to learn,” Jimin said, revelling in the way Taehyung snarled. “Enter ten minutes after from the southern entrance. Goodbye.”
Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Why do you even bother? Everyone knows.”
“But no one talks, and I prefer it be that way.” Jimin turned, paused—and then walked back, pecking Taehyung once. The alpha’s skin heated up lightly, and his eyes remained down. Cute. “Maybe tone down on the jealousy while you wait, hmm?”
Jimin left before Taehyung’s scent could turn to one of annoyance.
As the weeks passed, Jimin wasn’t the only one with an infatuation with Yuri.
For such a gifted assassin, Yuri was…kind. Helpful, patient and a brilliant teacher. He could have been haughty, but Yuri was far from it. He’d lend his blades without worry, and would play around with the younger trainees all the while making sure their classes were the toughest Jimin had ever withstood.
He realised that their camp was rudimentary and wild compared to the discipline of the yakuza. There was order, and then there was order, with Yuri teaching them all the latter. It was the best opportunity for any of them to dream of their potential as assassins.
Despite his initial resistance, Taehyung seemed to recognise it too.
And before Jimin knew it, their rivalry followed them into Yuri’s classes, licking at their heels as they vied for his attention.
It was a stupid thing because there was no competition. Kind Yuri found it amusing and tolerated their antics, but no one would understand.
No one would understand that the only way Jimin and Taehyung could exist together is if they killed or they fucked.
If they could pretend that everything was a game they had to win.
🖤⚔🖤
The last time he’d screamed at camp was when all the boys had been taken to the ground and made to assemble in uniform lines.
Thick winter fog curled around their feet, and all Jimin wanted was to go back to the warmth of his bed. And his mom, but mostly the safety of his room.
Until a taller boy was brought onto the stage, struggling against his bonds—and shot right there.
His blood had frozen in his veins even as a scream burst out, his pants warm with piss as his legs shook. He’d screamed until he was dragged away, as many other boys were, and given a beating that made sure he wouldn’t be so loud again. Assassins had to be invisible, after all.
Jimin forgets that lesson as Taehyung’s body goes limp, and a scream rips itself out of his body.
Joonjae throws his head back, snout bloody as he licks his lips, the unnaturally long tongue cleaning his wolfish canines. His eyes glow bright red.
“Delicious, for a bastard,” he says, dropping Taehyung, where he crumples. Joonjae kicks him aside. “Now, who’s next?”
Taehyung stays still, something black leaking out with the blood—and Jimin’s neck flares in pain.
He jumps off the podium, Seokjin forgotten as he runs to Taehyung, turning him to his side—his shoulder and neck are a ravished mess of teeth and flesh, a gaping wound greeting Jimin’s eyes. Blood streams out along with a blackish sludge, and spider web trails begin spreading outward.
A Feral bite.
The alpha is unconscious, eyes fluttering gold underneath.
His mating gland burns. It’s an indescribable itch, the pain worsening with each breath. Breaths that seem more laboured in Taehyung’s chest as each minute passes. Jimin’s chest is the same—shallow, like he can’t get enough air inside it. There isn’t any space to, and he can’t breathe—
The sight blurs as tears fill his vision.
Why isn’t alpha waking up? Jimin blinks through the tears, but his body feels like it’s on lockdown; nothing moves well enough. His blood which had been boiling mere moments ago seems sluggish, the ice-cold fear of losing Taehyung freezing it. Alpha? Alpha, wake up! Wake up, please!
There is no response to the distress call. The sounds of the hall disappear as Jimin looks down, hand grazing the alpha’s face. His skin is fire-hot already, his mating gland is red under the pain patch, and Jimin’s own responds in kind, burning as if there’s a fire within.
White noise drowns out all else as Jimin’s fingers come close to the wound— he flinches when that same black pus-like liquid leaks out of the bite.
Is alpha dying? Is he going away?
Jimin doesn’t have enough breath to answer that either.
Someone chokes, and he looks up—he can see everything, but nothing makes sense. He’s not sure where he is or what’s happening, but the sight and sounds still make it through. Namjoon coughs as he raises himself on his elbow, red in the face and scratching the handprints on his throat—there are punctures from the claws leaking blood, but he’s alive.
Until Joonjae comes in between, and places a paw—a paw— on Namjoon’s calf, pressing in. Namjoon screams but Joonjae is relentless, a hacking growl falling out of his snout.
“What a heart-warming scene, isn’t this? Both my sons wanting to kill me. How unfortunate it didn’t work out, hmm?” Joonjae says, pressing in again until the unmistakable sound of bone crunching sounds through, and Namjoon collapses. A sob sounds through—Hoseok in the corner, peeking through Yoongi’s arms trying to shield him. Joonjae tuts, baring his teeth slightly as Namjoon gasps. “Is that how you found out about Yoongi, my dove?”
The screams die out as Joonjae looks towards Seokjin, still on the stage and looking down at them impassively. He raises his eyebrows and shuffles to the side—the only sign of his nervousness. “Abbeoji?”
“This one did the research. Head in the books, never present in the right way.” Joonjae kicks against Namjoon’s injured leg again, and Namjoon sobs. Joonjae shudders, skin shifting momentarily and looking vaguely human. “And rushed to tell you, hmm?”
Seokjin gulps. “Abbeoji…I…”
“You two were always close,” Joonjae muses, before smiling—though it looks like baring teeth. “And yet, you couldn’t even fix him right, Seokjin-ah. Rebellious and stupid, just like your mother was.”
He shakes his head, the look of utter disappointment and contempt sickening to bear. Joonjae spits in Seokjin’s direction, before cracking his shoulders back. “I’ll deal with you later. I have some cleanup to do.” He steps in Yoongi and Hoseok’s direction, claws clicking as he walks—and Seokjin steps forward.
“I did fix things! I told you about their plans—”
“And? That fixes it all?” Joonjae halts in the middle, before twirling in his half-transformed form. He spreads his arms. “Look at what you did, dove. You think you can tell me what your brothers are up to and that’s ENOUGH?”
Seokjin shakes, his eyes blazing blue; Jungkook hovers close by, still seemingly lovesick, though his eyes flicker gold. Seokjin wipes his face, raising his chin. “But I am loyal to you. I always have been. I told you and saved your life—”
“SAVED MY LIFE?!” Joonjae bellows, taking a chair and crushing it into splinters. Namjoon whimpers as some rain down upon him. “You, save my life? You’re nothing but a pathetic omega! I knew they’d be killing me from the moment they came back.”
Jimin turns at that. Cold dread climbs its way into his chest, and he looks back at Seokjin—who meets his eyes before moving. He clears his throat. “Abbeoji… you couldn’t have…”
“Why? Because I was sick?” Joonjae laughs, throwing his head back. “Ah, my children. So wilfully ignorant. Did you think I wouldn’t know why Taehyung had gone to the city? Or why he’d come back with Park Jimin, of all people?” He casts a baleful look towards Jimin, but his red eyes don’t seem directed anywhere. “This one, loving Taehyung? How believable.” Joonjae snorts, picking off dead matter from his chest. “As if Taehyung is someone that can be loved.”
His chest joins his gland, burning at the insult of his mate. Jimin bites his tongue even as his wolf bares its teeth, choosing to look away. The bite looks worse now—and his wolf forgets the insult, panicking at the sight. It looks disgusting, a strange putrid scent coming out of it. Can feral bites progress so fast?
Joonjae keeps speaking, his hacking growls cutting through the haze. “But you…I told you what would happen if you stood in my way, dove,” he says, snapping his fingers at Seokjin. “Told you to be a good omega, didn’t I? Couldn’t even manage that. A stupid whore. Useless, like your mother the day she died.”
Seokjin breaks into a sob then, and Jimin’s omega hones onto that sound. Pain, they’re in pain… it doesn’t make sense, but Jimin feels a rage that isn’t his own. He shifts anyway, looking at Seokjin’s every move.
Joonjae shakes his head, before turning back towards Yoongi. “And you. You were supposed to be the best of Heeyeon and me, but here you are. Spoilt goods of Yungcheol.” He reaches them, and sniffs, tilting his head. Yoongi crouches back against the wall. “You smell so scared. Just like he did when he crawled out of that car. Begged me to spare your life. Little did he know.” He laughs again. “He begged for the wrong thing. But you can right them because you’ll be joining him in the underworld.”
Yoongi stops shivering, pushing Hoseok behind him as he faces Joonjae. His eyes flash golden and he bares his teeth, the strong scent of pine bursting out as a challenge to Joonjae’s pheromones. It’s painful enough that even Jimin can feel it, and Hoseok’s distress is overwhelming through their Soul Mate bond. His mating gland is a pinpoint of pain, so swollen he can’t even touch it. Hate begins crowding his heart as he looks at the scene in front.
This wouldn’t be the worst way to go down.
Where he began is where he’ll end, and he supposes this is his curse. His gift from the Goddess, a lifetime of running and fighting, surviving only for a small taste of freedom before being reeled back. He never had hope, to begin with, but choosing to let go of the little he’d felt now feels almost liberating. If he has to die taking Joonjae down then so be it.
He removes one of his other weapons, and is about to click the button when—
“Hey, asshole! Maybe stop monologuing and do something instead of wagging your stupid tail!”
Silence descends like the first snow of the season.
Jungkook stands on the edge of the stage with a gun in his hands—the one Jimin had dropped. His arms shake, but his face is that same determined, wilful stubborn Jimin adores.
Joonjae turns around slowly, his gaze incredulous. He drops Yoongi, red eyes blazing and skin shifting. “This can wait. That one—that’s the one you screwed everything up for, isn’t it?”
Jungkook raises his chin in defiance, but not a moment later Joonjae is on the stage—and before Jungkook can react, the wolf slashes at him. Blood flies, and Jungkook falls, his face a ragged mess. He spits blood, but Joonjae picks him up again and drops him to his knees.
It’s much too fast for Jimin to make sense of. He steps closer, twiddling with the weapon, ready to make his stand once and for all. Joonjae holds Jungkook’s head between his palms, his claws digging into the sides. Blood leaks out of his cuts, but his eyes flash golden through them. His collar falls open as Joonjae adjusts his head—and the Mark comes into view.
“What’s this now?” Joonjae asks softly, so different from his bellows and growls. An edge of his claw brushes against the Mark, and Seokjin jolts where he stands. “True Mates, hmm? Very, very clever, Jin-ah.”
He presses one of the claws into the swollen edge of Jungkook’s gland, and Seokjin whimpers, clutching his gland, his eyes wide and blue. Joonjae chuckles, pulling Jungkook back by his hair. He holds his head again.
“Oh, this will be fun. You’ll know what it’s like to have your other half taken from you, my dove.”
He presses both his palms together, and Jungkook begins screaming.
“Abbeoji, don’t!”
Seokjin jumps in and slaps Joonjae’s hands away, standing in between as Joonjae stumbles back. Jungkook curves into a foetal position, holding his head; blood drips steadily on the floor beneath. Yet, Jimin is captured by the power in Seokjin’s eyes.
This is it. Seokjin’s finally woken out of his weird disassociation and it going to do something. Jimin stands back, ready.
Joonjae snarls, reaching out with a clawed hand. “Seokjin—”
Seokjin holds that hand, however, gently and with care. “Abbeoji, stop.” His face drops into a frigid zone, the blue in his eyes dimming. “Let me be the one to do it.”
Jimin’s stomach curls cold.
The omega looks down at Jungkook, lip curling in disgust. He drops Joonjae’s hands, and his eyes seem hazy. Rotten earth and sulphur bloom again, and Jimin chokes. “I’ll never make a mistake again, Abbeoji. Let me.”
Joonjae stands on his gross paws, sniffing. “You would do that to your True Mate?”
“Some mate he is if he can’t even fight,” Seokjin scoffs, smirking. “I am loyal to the Code. My mistakes have made you question that. Let me reclaim my honour, Abbeoji.”
No, no, no, this isn’t—this wasn’t how it was supposed to end, or even begin. Jimin scrambles for his weapon, hands shaking as he finds the right end—to—
To what? What can he do, when Jungkook is there bleeding and defenceless on the stage?
Joonjae begins to laugh, a mix of cackles and growls all at once. In his shifted phase he’s still quite human, different than what the texts had claimed shapeshifting to be. His eyes glow red with bloodlust, even as drool drips from his snout-like mouth. A diseased mongrel to the end, the bane of Jimin’s life. Of all of theirs.
Seokjin brings a dagger out from beneath his rope, clean and shiny—yet to draw first blood. He turns around and faces Jungkook, who rises to his knees again. His cuts are thick with clots and his eyes droop, one of them barely open but flickering gold still. Even then, there is no fear on his face. Instead, he looks at Jimin—and nods. He mouths something, and maybe it’s a testament to how well Jimin has known him over the years but—
Trust him.
He’s tired of hearing that, of giving in. It’s the last thing he wishes to do—but his omega wakens, latching onto the words. Trust him, it echoes, and perhaps it’s the ridiculousness of the situation—but it all comes together. A unification of his omega and he, the kind of understanding he’s been chasing for years but never accepted. Yet, at this moment, Jimin takes the leap.
Seokjin suddenly flings the dagger high in the air—and Jimin throws the weapon in the same direction. It’s a moment of intense precision, an answer to Seokjin’s wolf that Jimin’s never heard before but can now see clear as day.
The weapon flies, and Seokjin turns as he catches it out of the air, pressing a button at the top which opens it into a double-ended spear.
One end pierces into Joonjae’s stomach.
Seokjin moves with the precision and training of the camp’s best assassin, the unbeatable omega prince who’d worked harder than anyone. He pushes until the spear pins Joonjae into the wall.
“That’s for Taehyung,” Seokjin growls, eyes a deep cobalt blue, so bright they swallow up his pupils. Swifter than water, he whips out two more daggers. He stabs one in the side right between Joonjae’s heart and rib. “This is for Namjoon.”
Joonjae howls, struggling and growling, eyes crazed red with bloodlust—but there is power in Seokjin’s form, trembling from the strain. Tears stream down his face the whole time as he gets the next dagger out—and strikes it deep into Joonjae’s heart.
“This is for Eomma,” Seokjin hisses, his lips trembling as he cries. Joonjae snaps his teeth, pushing back and slipping. Seokjin raises his hand, feeling around for his ring finger which he places under Joonjae’s chin.
“And this, Abbeoji,” he says calmly, looking straight into Joonjae’s eyes, “, this is for me.”
A knife shoots out from beneath Seokjin’s sleeve—and pierces straight through Joonjae’s neck to his tongue past the roof of his mouth—through his nose.
Black blood spurts out as Joonjae chokes. Seokjin lets go of the spear and steps back, streaks of dried tears on his face. Joonjae doesn’t die immediately—he convulses, a thick cloud of rotten earth, sulphur and death bursting out as he falls, ripping the spear out. He tries to crawl towards Seokjin but can’t, body jerking and cracking and heaving between wolf and human. He screams as a light begins burning beneath his body, turning it a translucent orange-red.
A clean, fresh scent flows around—and Jimin feels a lightness that’s so otherworldly he knows it’s not human.
You’ve done well, little one. You chose to see.
Jimin can’t help the gasp that turns into a sob as She begins to envelope him, as Joonjae screams and screams until the light gets too bright and it vanishes just as fast as it began, and he’s nothing but a human. Twisted inside out, his insides rotten and black with the disease. His eyes are a glazed milky red and unseeing, mouth slack open.
He’s barely even a body. Seokjin spits at it, and Jimin collapses.
Kim Joonjae is dead.
For a long while, Jimin can only stare at the corpse.
The lightness is present still, but his mind is heavy now. He’d been so prepared to die, to end his miserable existence with the glory of taking down his worst nightmare and now—
A rattling breath brings him back.
Taehyung moans, twisting and trashing where he lies. The bite is black with rot, smelling so putrid Jimin can taste Death. Spittle flies out of the alpha’s mouth, something like froth collecting at the edges. His eyes roll back, milky whites mixing with dull gold and brown.
His mating gland burns with dread, his omega trashing inside at the sight, as he sees the way the infection spreads right in front of his eyes. It crawls towards Taehyung’s heart—and Jimin knows that once it reaches, Taehyung will die.
“No, no, no, Taehyung,” Jimin cries, gathering him in his arms. He burns through Jimin’s clothes, so hot and clammy, his face drained of blood and lips pale blue. He can feel their bond fraying, the threads snapping one by one. “No, baby, stay with me. Please, stay—”
But the rattling breaths get shallower, and jerks begin taking over even as the lavender weakens, the sage long gone. Some raw part of Jimin comes to the surface and screams inside, echoing how he feels, how he doesn’t want to lose Taehyung now that he has him.
Someone groans, but Jimin ignores it all. To lose when they’ve just won feels like a cruel fate, the repetition of Jimin’s pattern. Happy, but not for long and never forever.
“Jimin. Jimin-ah.” He looks up and finds Namjoon struggling, Seokjin supporting his frame. The beta's face twists in agony, his mangled leg twisted away. He smiles anyway, full of fear as he faces Taehyung. “Bite him.”
White noises rush in again, but Jimin shakes himself out. “What?”
“He’s your—he’s your Mate, isn’t he? A True one.” Namjoon coughs, wheezing as he wipes his mouth. He tries crawling, and his forehead breaks out into a sweat. “The Goddess will…will protect the bond. Bite…him.”
Jimin stares for a good moment before he looks down. Taehyung’s breaths have slowed down, and when Jimin rests a palm over his chest—he can’t feel his heartbeat. He’s passed out now—no flickering eyes, no sweat. Cold, where he’d been warm.
It boils down to this choice. This choice to give in or push back, to fight against destiny and carve his own path. But that has only ever brought Jimin misery so far.
He pulls away Taehyung’s hair, revealing the bright red mating gland that still pulsates somewhat, scent weak and losing its strength. Taehyung, who’d only ever been strong in the face of his many tragedies. Taehyung, who’d chosen to let Jimin go and be free—until he couldn’t help it.
Is it right to Bite him, when he doesn’t even know where he and Taehyung stand?
You do know. You’ve always known. You just never saw it.
He thinks about the past two months. The Taehyung he’d seen—kind and charming towards the staff, to the little kids training. Taehyung, who had time and again put aside his grief so he could do right by his brothers, by his family. Taehyung, who’d been cast aside and still did his duty.
Taehyung, who’d broken down in the middle of reed fields for the first time. How Jimin had looked him in the eye and promised to stay.
Ten years ago, he’d chosen himself over the alpha, over the future he’d lied to Taehyung about. Ten years later—the choice is present again.
Open your eyes, and see.
Jimin does. And he understands.
It doesn’t matter if it’s love or not, if it would ever be enough. Out of all of them—Taehyung deserves to live a life free of Joonjae the most.
His wolf calms down first, taking a seat back as Jimin settles Taehyung into his lap, close to his scent gland. He traces his face, his pale cracked lips. Alpha, I choose you.
Jimin throws caution to the wind—and Bites.
||
One Week Later
||
White is a colour that has always looked good on him.
It brings out the hidden pink in his skin and paints the picture of the perfect omega. Yet, as he looks at his reflection—Seokjin sees none of the demureness he’d been praised for his whole life
He wears his cufflinks, the ones that carry the emblem of his clan. In the olden days of his grandfather, clans had power and meaning. Now, only the secret world of the underworld understands their value. A rose with a thorn through it—a perfect symbol for his life thus far.
Today is the funeral of Kim Joonjae.
Seokjin didn’t want to. None of them did, but with two of his brothers still healing and a procession of shareholders and colleagues demanding answers, he decided to go ahead. After all, appearances had to be kept up.
And Seokjin is the eldest son who has to show up.
He moves robotically, tightening his tie before moving out.
The walk to the grounds is lonely. It’s not anything new—as the eldest omega son, he’d made peace with walking his path alone. Joonjae had told him he couldn’t rely on anyone as he made the journey towards becoming the heir, least of all his brothers.
He kept us away from each other and the world. But we need people, hyung.
Seokjin swallows as he enters the grounds, and holds his chin up high.
Word of Joonjae’s Feral disease and the subsequent outburst had spread, and though no one had said a word, Seokjin knew what the rumours whispered. A Feral father. His sons could be next. Overnight, Kim Joonjae’s name had been trampled upon—and Seokjin was left to pick up the pieces.
The crowd parts before him, and he avoids their gazes as he walks. Once, he would have thrived at that display of power, to have such command and fear. But now…
Joonjae’s corpse lies on a pyre wrapped in cloth. Seokjin had overseen the preparations—the mangled, twisted remains, the burn in his chest where the Goddess’ light had struck. Nothing had been left of the father he’d known and loved—all gone when Seokjin had struck the final knife.
He bows at Joonjae’s feet for a moment, lighting an incense stick. The Moon bless him. He stays for a moment before he steps behind the podium, and faces the audience.
Their judgement and disgust. Their greed for all they see is an omega ripe for the taking. Poor, defenceless Seokjin without an alpha mate to guide him. He clears his throat and begins his sermon as directed by the High Priest.
He’s far away even as he speaks. My father was a great man and an even better leader. People scoff, some nodding and some shaking their heads. But in his last years, he was struck by the Moon’s curse.
Namjoon had cautioned him to be tactful. We don’t want to seem like a weak clan. Whether it stands or not is an internal matter. But Abbeoji had enemies, and they’ve passed down to us now.
He’d fought until he saw the reason. To praise the man who’d been ready to sell Seokjin like common fodder was an insult in itself, but Namjoon was wise, more than Seokjin would ever be. And he trusted him with his life.
He was too proud to tell us of his suffering, and perhaps that’s why he made the choices he did. Seokjin looks up, catching the eyes of his mother’s clan in the crowd. The Lees would be furious to know how Joonjae had her killed, and so Namjoon had told him to keep it a secret. In the haze of this curse, he thought marrying me to my half-brother was wise. We couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore and hence, we took measures.
Some in the crowd nod while some spit on the ground. He doesn’t take offence—this isn’t a regular funeral. Seokjin is going to have a lot to answer for, moving forward. It is my deepest regret to have ended his life. But it was a dignified death at the hands of an assassin. Abbeoji wouldn’t have liked anything else. In the end, it was mercy over honour.
Honour. The one thing assassins had, the only thing because morals were not theirs to keep.
Hail Kim Joonjae! The Moon be with him. The crowd clamours, stamping their feet in unison as they bow their heads. The Priest hands Seokjin the torch, and he lights the pyre, bidding his father goodbye—forever.
It’s worse afterwards. Guests come and go, lighting their incense sticks in front of his father’s picture, and offering their condolences. Some cry in front of him, some lament his fate as they hold onto his hands. Some let him know their alpha children are of age—and Seokjin smiles plainly, thanking them and retreating.
It seems like no one blames him for his crime—they all agree that a Feral is dangerous, and Seokjin did a son’s duty. It must have been heartbreaking to make such a choice, and they mourn. He accepts it all—but his wolf remains quiet for once.
His whole life, Seokjin had aspired for his father’s love. Anything, even the barest crumb of it was better than the silence he wielded Namjoon with, or the contempt towards Taehyung. It’s gone now, never to exist again. He doesn’t know what else to do when the person he strived to be is a burning corpse in the field.
Namjoon is in his room, his leg being set as the healers fret over his ability to walk again. And Taehyung…he’s in his wing, still recovering from the Feral bite. Seokjin hasn’t seen him in a week. He’s not sure how to face him.
How can he, when he’s responsible for him almost dying?
Seokjin shakes numerous hands until the faces blur, the voices melding into one. Some ask where Taehyung and Namjoon are—many of the spectators had escaped before the worst of Joonjae had struck. He informs them of the injuries and recoveries and promises to pass their well wishes.
During the funeral feast, Seokjin stands at the edge of the grounds, staring out into the surrounding fields. The cold slithers under his skin, and he grits his teeth. He hates the cold, but today is exceptionally hard.
He doesn’t think he’d ever feel warm again.
His mind is a swirl. There are thoughts, but they fly past—he’s not ready to receive them just yet. There is no time to wind down—that is a luxury, one that Seokjin is too poor to afford.
Someone coughs behind him, and Seokjin turns. It’s a man—tall and well-built, but aged, a bit older than Joonjae had been, the greys liberally spread through the thick mop of dark hair. And unlike the other attendees he’s dressed in a deep purple suit, the gold symbol of the King’s Guard pinned to his chest.
A guest of the royal family.
He looks familiar—but Seokjin chalks it up to one of those faces that feel that way. The man leans forward, a twinkle in his eyes. “Seokjin-ssi.”
“Yes?”
“I am Han Sungho. An old friend of Joonjae’s.” Seokjin frowns, running through an internal list. Joonjae had a wide network, and Seokjin knew most of them. Sungho smiles, catching on. “We have not met before. Apologies for the ambush.”
“That’s alright. I am happy to meet a friend of Abbeoji’s.” Seokjin shakes his hand. “How may I help?”
“Oh, nothing much. I wished to personally offer my condolences, away from everyone else. It becomes burdensome after a while, no doubt.” Sungho stands on his cane, leaning his weight forward. “It was heartbreaking to know of Joonjae’s affliction.”
Seokjin doesn’t know what to say. A part of him wants to take the old man by the shoulders and scream. It’s not heartbreaking, it’s vicious. He was a horrible father and man and he deserved a dog’s death. And yet, I grieve him. Instead, he smiles, like he’s been trained to. “It was a heavy burden to bear. Did you know Abbeoji for long?”
“Since we were in the army. He was my partner in the cadet.” Again, from a certain angle, Sungho looks like someone Seokjin should know. “I stayed back to serve our King, while he returned to his roots. But we’ve kept in touch over the years.”
“I see.” Seokjin turns away again. “I apologise for the confusion. My father never told us.”
“At my behest, I’m sure. I’m in the King's Guard, after all,” Sungho says, winking. “Less than acceptable to remain friends with him.”
Right. The unspoken rule in the assassin camp was to never acknowledge the collaborations they had with the Royal Family. “Of course. I hope your journey here was comfortable.”
“More than. Thank you for your concern, dear. Joonjae raised you well.” Seokjin looks away. Sungho stands by his side, and his scent hits him. It’s a strong one—something like black pepper, spicy and commanding. It itches. “When Joonjae invited me for the mating, I couldn’t believe it. Little Seokjin so grown up. Unfortunate what it ended as.”
“Indeed.”
“But I thought to acquaint myself with you. Perhaps, if you need any aid or a liaison for the King. I could even offer some insight on your father if needed. He was a brilliant man.”
“He was.” Seokjin wants to leave suddenly, the itch building some more. He wants to get away, to stop caring—just for once, stop thinking about other people and their perception of him. And yet. “I’m not sure I could live up to him.”
“I can imagine the pressure. He couldn’t be pleased easily.” Sungho pats his coat and takes out a cigar. Seokjin sidesteps a little, but the man doesn’t seem to notice. “But I don’t think that needs to be your burden, dear.”
“I appreciate your concern, but—”
“Joonjae had his faults. I believe you can right them.” He blows out a ring of smoke. “You carry your mother’s ingenuity. It was a rare but wonderful quality.”
Seokjin stops short. “You knew Eomma?”
“Who didn’t know Lee Sora?” Sungho chuckles, eyes twinkling again. “Formidable woman. Joonjae never admitted it, but she made an alpha out of him.”
A part of him wants to refute—he remembers the words, the disgust with which Joonjae had spoken of her. The pretence after her death and the truth. Another part, however, clings to the hope that his father did care. That it was only the disease that ruined him.
“Did you know her well?” Seokjin asks, curious. He’d had an abrasive relationship—Joonjae was all that had mattered, and anyway, she’d been closer to Namjoon and Taehyung.
“Not as much as I would have liked. But enough to see some of her in you.” Sungho squeezes Seokjin’s shoulder then, and he feels some kinship. This man holds the last piece of both his parents. “Which is why I’m sure you will do well.”
“What, no offers of an alpha mate waiting in the line?” Seokjin snorts, dropping his shoulders, the weight on them as the relief sweeps in. He’d needed to hear that. Even if it was from a stranger.
Sungho laughs. “Oh, no, that would be archaic.” He looks at Seokjin again, an assessing look from head to toe. Frowns. “I don’t remember much after he…transformed, but I do recall a…fellow? On the stage?”
His blood feels cold even as his wolf awakens, buzzing under his skin. “What of him?”
“Ah, I didn’t mean to pry. I assumed that he was…your lover.” Sungho takes a step back, clipping his cigar off and placing it back in the case. “Since you mentioned alpha mates.”
“Oh.” Right. It doesn’t mean anything. “Just a fling. Nothing more.”
He’s not sure why he doesn’t confirm it—something about another person knowing about Jungkook has him on his haunches. Sungho seems to be observing Seokjin before he shrugs. “My apologies. I got too familiar in such a trying time.”
“I appreciate the help, Sungho-ssi.” The itch settles uncomfortably in his chest, and he wants to move away from it all. “If you’d excuse me. I might be getting called soon.”
“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Sungho replies, a fond twinkle in his eyes. “Your brothers are recovering?”
“Yes. They were too weak to make it today.”
“I hope they’re all recovering well. Difficult to hear about the repercussions of Joonjae’s disease.” Sungho looks sad for a moment before shaking his head. “You hear a lot about it at the Palace, you know. I just never expected Joonjae to be struck by it.”
Seokjin is tempted to offer the explanation he knows—that the disease isn’t caused by some microbe but by the inner fracture of the wolf, and how particular immoral acts could rupture the bond. But he doesn’t want to get into it with someone claiming to be his father’s closest friend—but a stranger nonetheless.
“It was a surprise to us all. I wish it never came down to what it did.”
Sungho meets his eyes then. For a moment, there is pity, and some disappointment—or maybe Seokjin’s imagining it because that’s what he’d trained to look for. To make sure he’s always perfect, and no one has complaints. But the moment disappears—Sungho smiles and pats Seokjin’s shoulder.
“You mustn’t blame yourself, son. What you did was a tough decision—especially with how advanced it had been. Joonjae could not have been saved.” He sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I hope that helps you sleep a little bit easier. Now, I won’t keep you any longer. The Moon be with you.”
“And you.”
Sungho hobbles away—and Seokjin is left staring at the cold, winter-kissed fields again.
🖤⚔🖤
In the aftermath, the halls are surprisingly bleak.
Yoongi hasn’t spent a lot of time in this camp, but the air is pregnant with nerves as they all wait for the next move. Processing the reality of Kim Joonjae’s illness and subsequent death has taken a toll on everyone.
He doesn’t care for that, however. As he walks down the hallways to Kim Namjoon’s wing— Yoongi cares only focuses on one thing.
The faint scent of freesias curls under his nose, and he takes a deep breath before he opens the door.
It’s the scent of sickness and healing herbs that hit him first. His eyes go to the figure on the bed—a leg wrapped in a cast is at an incline, held by strings. Said figure is unconscious to the world, breathing peacefully.
The person next to the figure fretting over him captures Yoongi’s interest instead. He clears his throat, though he knows the person is aware of him. “Hoseok.”
No response. He’d expected it to be that way—from the moment in the cell to now, Yoongi had known to cut his losses. It was a consequence of his past life showing up.
Yoongi steps forward. “Seok-ah. Please.” Perhaps there should be shame in having to beg, but Yoongi is beyond that. He’d beg Hoseok a thousand times over if the omega would allow it. “C’mon. Don’t be like that.”
“What do you want?” Hoseok asks, and it would be a snap but he sounds so tired. Yoongi’s heart aches. What has he gotten him into? “I’m busy.”
“He’s sleeping.” Yoongi takes another step but halts at a distance. They’re not True Mates but he’s known Hoseok long enough to tell his moods apart by sound alone. The tilt of his head, the twitch in his leg. If Yoongi wants to continue the conversation, he shouldn’t come any closer. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Seok, please,” Yoongi whispers. People praised Hoseok for his goodwill but few knew the nature of his anger. Peculiar, like a thorn catching one unaware. Small, but stinging. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Hoseok snaps then, holding the washcloth tightly. His leg shakes, but his torso is rigid. “Take space? Try to process—everything?”
“Ice me out,” Yoongi says, and Hoseok turns. The withering glare could bring strong men to their knees, and Yoongi’s willing to. “Just—give me a chance. Please.”
Hoseok keeps glaring, nostrils flaring and face turning red. He goes back to his task, fixing Namjoon’s shirt and aligning the leg again. There are no words for a long time, enough that Yoongi thinks he won’t get the chance today. Then Hoseok lets out a shaky exhale, flexing his hand.
“There’s no point talking when I don’t trust you,” he begins, and even though he’s speaking each word pierces Yoongi through. “I don’t think I will. I don’t trust anyone.”
“Hoseok—”
The omega holds up a hand. “Let me finish.” He twists the cloth into knots before unravelling it. “All of you change your mind when convenient. Someone is a friend and the next day they’re the enemy. And everyone thinks this is okay.”
“It’s not their fault.”
“Whose is it, then? Mine?” Hoseok scoffs, looking down. He refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes and that’s devastating of a different kind. “I missed some kind of Introduction to Fucked Up Morality class when I was born?”
Yoongi gulps. “No. I worded that poorly. I meant that—”
“It doesn’t matter, Yoongi,” Hoseok says, dropping the honorific. It shows just how disturbed Hoseok is, always the stickler for etiquette. “None of this matters. There isn’t a good enough explanation for this. It’s not fair that I had to know, okay? It’s not.”
There’s nothing to say, and they stay like that for a moment. Once, the silence between Hoseok and him was sacred. Now, they feel like a brand, a train hurtling to its crash.
“I pity you,” Hoseok murmurs, fiddling with some of the herbal pastes. “All of you. That you think this is normal. That a good reason will ease all of it. It’s sad.”
The worst part is how much Hoseok means it. There is no mockery in his tone. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Exactly. Because your ‘talk’ relies on pleading with my empathy,” Hoseok says, too cruelly even, and Yoongi’s heart shrinks some more. “Well, there is none. Maybe this is okay for all of you but it’s no place for me.”
Yoongi hears what Hoseok’s asking for, and it’s fair but the part of him that was and will always be in love with him hurts. Anger licks its wounds, and it burns mellow. “I suppose that won’t extend to Namjoon, will it?”
Another pause. A moment where Yoongi wishes he didn’t have the quicksilver tongue after all, the one Hoseok said could mend and break hearts at will. Hoseok’s however, seems to turn to stone as he levies Yoongi with a cold look.
“He was the only one in this Goddess-forsaken place who cared about what I was going through,” Hoseok says, eyes sharp but lips trembling, holding the entire weight of his disappointment. “Perhaps that’s not important in your world of scheming and planning. But it was important to me.”
“I was doing that to save you!” Yoongi hisses, losing whatever little composure he had. “Every single moment that I was away, every breath I thought about you, and how I hated that you had to know.”
“Do you want applause for that?” Hoseok asks, and Yoongi knows then, that he’s lost Hoseok. No amount of begging will get the omega back, or even get Yoongi back in his good graces. This is it. “I told you, hyung. I’m here because I loved you.”
Tears spring to his eyes. He knows what’s coming next, he can tell just from how Hoseok’s torso shifts. “I know, I know.”
“Then you also know I will be free when I don’t.”
There it is, the final sentence. The brand Yoongi had been fearing since the day Hoseok had been taken. His happy life, all seven years of it—gone in a sentence, and with no one to blame by himself.
He wipes the tears that have fallen, all the fight within him leaving with an exhale. Seven years ago he’d come to the city to be free from his life and had discovered that in Hoseok. In a coffee shop watching the omega bloom in front of him, laughing as the sun shined through his brown tresses.
Seven years later, he’s choosing to let Hoseok go and find his freedom.
“This is it then, isn’t it?” Yoongi murmurs and Hoseok turns to look. His lips fall again, but his eyes are wide and wet. “We’ve run our course.”
Staying back in the city and building a life with Hoseok, settling down and learning about a different world were the only reasons he lasted so long despite the horrors he’d grown up with. But now…
He’s right, though. He’s here because you loved him and that became your biggest weakness.
“It was a good time, Jung Hoseok.” Yoongi bows once, formal, pretends to not see the tears that fall or how Hoseok’s freesias sour. “I’m sorry this happened.”
“Hyung—”
“But I’m not sorry I loved you. I never will be.” Yoongi rises, and takes one daring step, allowing himself to cup Hoseok’s face one last time. Warm and lean, fitting the curve of Yoongi’s bony, large hand too well. “I always will. Nothing will change my mind about that.”
Hoseok’s lips tremble. Yoongi caresses the apple of his cheek once, twice. His alpha is screaming at him to hold on, to never let go—but that’s the only way Hoseok can live a life free of resentment.
“Take care, Seok-ah. Okay? Hyung will always be there.” He nods at Namjoon then. He should be a better brother, ask after his health…but some other day. “Take care of you for me.”
He turns before he can see Hoseok cry and give in to his alpha’s struggle to reach him.
When the door clicks shut behind him, it sounds like the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. Only when he reaches his room does Yoongi collapse against the door.
And allows himself to break.
🖤⚔🖤
Jungkook opens his eyes—to the ceiling of the same damn room again.
The same patterns, the intricate designs showing the personal touch of the room’s resident. Each line is etched into his mind—but he looks away, already knowing that he’s alone.
The scent of patchouli oil is heavy, however, and there is a fresh pitcher on the bedside table. Jungkook reaches for the glass, gulping down the water until he can think straight.
His head throbs, his scalp itching under the bandage that’s slightly sweat-soaked. When he shifts, his face doesn’t burn in agony anymore.
It’s only a faint memory, but he remembers passing out on the stage, blood dripping into his vision and painting Seokjin red. Remembers being gathered up in someone’s arms—carried through various halls and doors.
Being settled onto the bed, a flurry of healers. The growls Seokjin made when they neared, as he rolled his sleeves and took the washcloth himself. Jungkook was in and out of consciousness, but he remembers.
Mostly, he remembers Seokjin sitting close to him in the quiet of the night. The hitch of a breath when Jungkook moaned in pain from the slashes across his face. The growing headiness of patchouli and then—
The curious licks across his wounds, just as he’d done for the omega a while back.
He’d tried not to react, to pass it off as discomfort and restlessness from his injuries. Here he was again, helpless and in pain, with Seokjin tending to him once again.
He held out as much as he could—but opened his eyes, catching the hazy sheen over Seokjin's bright blues, the incessant, instinctual way he went about the task until Jungkook could feel them closing, leaving behind an itchy sensation.
Seokjin had been thorough, lost in the act—until Jungkook coughed. He snapped out of it, catching Jungkook’s gaze—and rushed out, the trace of embarrassment sharp in his scent.
He’d only come in when Jungkook had been resting—at least, that was his guess. Even now, he can tell that there had been a visit and a restock of supplies. Jungkook’s sheets are different, and so are his clothes.
His head throbs again— as does his mating gland.
The call sits tight in his chest, a steady drip in his stomach. A hollow void, incessant enough that Jungkook decides to answer it. He rubs at his heart once, before wearing one of the cardigans on the dressing table.
For so long he’d been a prisoner, he’s not sure if he can actually do this. But the door opens when he tries, and the hallway outside is empty of the guards he used to hear. The décor is strange—on the day of the ceremony, he’d gone through the dreadful catacomb structures. The world outside of this room is unfamiliar.
Jungkook follows the call, letting it guide him as he walks through empty halls. Some servants pass him, and none pay attention to him—at least, not for long, nodding hastily before moving on. As if they already know him.
Thankfully, apart from the gash in his head, he didn’t sustain any other injury. He remembers all of it. The way Seokjin had looked in his mating outfit, the contentment in his scent. The slight shift when he announced Jungkook as his mate, and how his father began shifting, triggered just as Seokjin had said. It’s a sight he will never forget—the skin twisting underneath, the canines growing wolf-like and his hands forming claws, until it was something between animal and human.
Jungkook shakes his head off the memories. He needs to get to Seokjin first, and the call gets tighter—there is sadness in there somewhere, and it’s not Jungkook’s.
He bursts through one of the doors into a large garden maze. It’s full of winter roses dusted with light frost, and the scent overwhelms his senses. He moves through, taking turns and twists as if he’s lived here his whole life until he comes upon a shrine at the centre of the maze.
There’s a picture of a woman who looks strikingly like Seokjin, and a marble slab beneath her reading:
Lee Sora
Beloved Daughter, Mate and Mother
Beneath it, kneeling on the ground is Seokjin.
His shoulders shake as his forehead stays to the ground. It feels too sacred to intrude upon, and Jungkook holds himself back from rushing in like his alpha is urging him to. Seokjin isn’t just any other omega, after all. The kind that asks for help or verbally expresses distress even if he can feel it through their bond.
Jungkook waits—until Seokjin rises, his posture straight. “You can come in.”
The permission unlocks his body, and even then, Jungkook moves slowly. Instinct tells him to sit close by, and when he does, he catches the tear tracts drying on Seokjin’s beautiful face. He doesn’t wipe them off—just sits there, letting the winter breeze envelop them.
“I never thought it would feel so empty.”
Jungkook looks up. Seokjin is looking at the ground listlessly, with no movement. He looks to the side once. “You’d think after getting rid of him, I’d be happier. But I don’t know what to feel.”
He’s not sure what to say. He knows nothing of being raised by a tyrannical father and the ways he’d ruined his children, something they will perhaps recover from the rest of their lives.
It looks like Seokjin isn’t looking for a response, though.
“They hate me, you know,” he says, rubbing and squeezing his knees. “All of them. They hate me for what I did. For how I went about the plan.”
Ah, the plan.
Jungkook watches as Seokjin paces, wearing down his fancy carpet. This is a side to him that he’s not seen yet. He clears his throat again.
“So you want me to…show up? At your mating?”
“Yes. I’m supposed to create a scene, one that will trigger Abbeoji into shifting.”
“Okay, not to prick your bubble but that sounds like a bad idea already,” Jungkook says, and Seokjin rolls his eyes. “I’ll be directly in his line of sight.”
“We don’t know yet how he will transform.”
“Even worse, then?” The nerves are catching up to him already. He’d said yes, but now the regret creeps in. “What if he just goes full Wolverine and slashes me up right there and then?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Right, because you’re the sudden authority on Feral wolves,” Jungkook snarks, crossing his arms.
“Because I won’t let it, okay?” Seokjin says, his tone too soft for it to be irritated. “I told you. I’m soul-bound to protect you.”
He wants to retort, to question the accuracy of such a bond but keeps quiet. “Okay. Fine. What then?”
“His shift will start. And then, we move on to the next part.”
Jungkook frowns. “Start?”
“Yes. I don’t think Abbeoji’s idiotic enough to get triggered into a full form because I decided to get a mate of my own.”
“Wait, so I’m just the spark?” Jungkook asks, and Seokjin nods, gaze serious. “What the hell? I’m sacrificing myself for that?”
“You’re not sacrificing yourself, Moon above,” Seokjin mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re the trigger. But Yoongi-ssi and I had agreed that it won’t be enough.”
“So Yoongi-hyung in on this too?”
“No. But I’m…borrowing the idea from him,” Seokjin says, lips twitching. It’s not a bad look on him. Seokjin kneels in front of him, hands on either side. “Listen to me now, Jungkook, okay? I need you to know all of it because I’m counting on you to not disrupt it once it’s in motion.”
Jungkook nods, and Seokjin begins. “I’m going to tell Abbeoji that Jimin and Taehyung are at camp to assassinate him.”
“Wait, what?”
“Let me finish, please.” Jungkook gulps, clutching the bed sheets. They don’t soak up the sweat building. “Abbeoji will be furious, but he’ll be suspicious of why I’m telling him. I’m sure of it. For which, I’ll have to tell him about…Hoseok-ssi.”
The silence is deafening. Once the meaning of the statement settles in, he can only stare in shock.
“You’re going to…you’re going to expose Hobi-hyung’s hideout?”
Seokjin looks away. “Yes. As a way to gain Abbeoji’s trust. Knowing that Yoongi’s entrusted me with Hoseok-ssi’s location means he’s with Jimin. He’ll bring Hoseok-ssi too.”
Jungkook doesn’t get it. “What makes you so sure?”
“Abbeoji’s been making sure nothing gets in the way of this mating. Hoseok-ssi’s here as an incentive to make Yoongi comply.” Seokjin grimaces, biting his lip. “Knowing that Yoongi went against him anyway, that he used trickery, is going to anger him. So he’s going to punish Yoongi in the most dramatic fashion possible. That is something all of us have a penchant for.”
It’s still weird and too vague, but something tells Jungkook he won’t understand even if he tries. “Right. And why is Hobi-hyung required?”
“Because we want Yoongi’s mom nearby in case of any…right opportunities.”
The meaning sinks in. “Right opportunity as in…he can kill her?” Jungkook whispers, and Seokjin nods again. Jungkook’s heart grows cold. “That’s fucked.”
“You haven’t met her yet.” Seokjin begins pacing again. “We want her dead so that my father is triggered fully and shifts completely. According to the myths, only then we’d have a chance to kill him.”
He’s still not coming to terms with it. This world and how fast it moves. “But what if…what if something happens to Hobi-hyung?”
Seokjin opens his mouth— and then shuts it. He looks away, and though Jungkook hates that look he appreciates the honesty of the gesture.
“I’m trusting that either Yoongi or Namjoon will cover that,” Seokjin says. He sounds confident and despite his rationale— Jungkook’s instincts don’t flare up. Something in Seokjin’s tone…he’s hiding something. Someone with such a meticulous plan wouldn’t be so vague. “I’m sorry. But this is the only way.”
Jungkook crosses his arms, his head spinning with the information. “What, pretend to betray Jimin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung, put Hoseok-hyung in danger only to go like oops I’m not actually the bad guy?” He scoffs, especially when the tips of Seokjin’s ears turn bright red. “Why is this the only way? You guys are trained…assassins. It can’t be that hard.”
Seokjin bites his lips. “I know my father. He’s been planning this for years, and he’s not built this clan up from nothing without some intelligence and perseverance.” The omega sits next to Jungkook though some distance away. “He may have the illness now but I’ve grown up with him…I’ve held this camp together when he’s not there. I know how he works.”
The conviction yet bitterness in Seokjin’s voice is jarring, and Jungkook realises how difficult this must be for him. He takes Seokjin’s hand—this time, there is no resistance.
“Fine. Say this works out the way you’re hoping. What then? What am I supposed to do?”
“Just…be there,” Seokjin says, a tremble in his voice. “Everyone is going to think I’m crossing over, that I’m betraying them. And they should, so that Abbeoji keeps believing my loyalty.” Seokjin gulps then. “This is the dangerous part I mentioned. It’ll be a mess, I assume, but eventually, he’ll come for you.”
“Finally, my superior police training, at your service.”
Seokjin smiles then, and it’s a sight to behold. Life must be a grim one here if it’s so captivating. “It’s cute that you think that will be sufficient. But no. You don’t fight him. Or do anything stupid. Just stay out of sight until…”
Jungkook holds his breath. “Until?”
“Towards the end, I will get you back out again. He’ll try to harm you for sure once he sees you. I’m counting on that.” Jungkook probably looks concerned, because Seokjin takes both his hands. “But don’t panic. I’ll be there. I’ll tell him I’ll do it. He won’t be expecting it.” He gulps, squeezing his hands. “That’s when I’ll—I’ll kill him.”
The silence that follows feels like Death’s shroud. Jungkook puts aside the uneasiness from the thought of murder and focuses on how scared Seokjin’s scent smells. “Do you—do you want to?”
“Do I have a choice?” Seokjin retorts, shrinking slightly. “I would love to imagine a world where I could heal him and get him help. But there is no cure for Feralness. I have checked.”
Jungkook can’t imagine why anyone would want to save someone so vile…but perhaps the relationship Seokjin and his father have is far too complicated for simple black and white. He caresses the back of his hand again, running a thumb along the edges of his rough, scarred skin.
“There’s no guarantee that it’ll go exactly as you planned, you know,” Jungkook tries instead, but Seokjin is already nodding. “What’s the fail-safe?”
Seokjin purses his lips into a thin line, and Jungkook knows what it means. Either this or succumbing to a maniac. They were facing an unknown and Seokjin was trying the best possible strategy, aware of the consequences.
“What’s the guarantee?” Jungkook asks, and Seokjin frowns. “That everyone will be safe? That at the end you won’t turn on my hyungs and me?”
Seokjin opens and closes his mouth. “I just told you my plan with full honesty. You’re the only person who knows.”
“It’s not the honour you think it is,” Jungkook snorts, and the scent changes to familiar annoyance again. “You’re proposing turning on us to gain your father’s trust. You’re telling me so that people who know me will question why I’m not reacting as shit goes down. Isn’t it?”
“I…” Seokjin trails off, then nods. Chuckles. “You’re astute.”
“You’re hoping they will get some idea from that,” Jungkook continues, heart still calm. There’s a feeling inside telling him all will be well anyway. “But you could end up betraying me.”
“I told you, the Bond—”
“The Bond will stop you from physically harming me,” Jungkook cuts in relentlessly. “It says nothing about emotional brain damage.”
“Talking to you is like receiving one,” Seokjin mutters, but Jungkook can tell the reluctance in his tone. “You’re right. There is none.”
“And yet you want me to trust you.”
“It’s all I have,” Seokjin whispers, and the silence visits again. The omega looks up, his blue eyes moist. “I’ve fought for everything my whole life and done things on my own. I’m…asking now, like you said. I’m trusting that you’ll find that enough.”
Jungkook stares into his eyes—and his shoulders drop. There’s no point squabbling when they don’t have anything else.
“So, tell me—how will I get there?”
Jungkook looks at Seokjin now, at the doubt in his eyes which are always so sure. He shuffles closer. “What makes you think that?”
“Why won’t they? Namjoon’s leg is broken, and the healers are unsure if he can walk properly again. All his life he had to be…I had to lock his true nature, and now this…” Seokjin shudders again. “Taehyung got bitten, Jungkook. We don’t know yet how he’ll survive if he does.”
“It’s still not your fault.” Seokjin shakes his head, and Jungkook comes in front of him, foregoing his reservations and holding his face in his hand. Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t slap them away. “No. Listen to me. We knew when we went ahead that there would be consequences.”
“Not consequences like this—”
“That’s the nature of them, though. No one could have predicted this.” Jungkook rests on his heels, not leaving Seokjin’s face just yet. “I’m surprised it even went according to what you planned, despite what happened.”
“Dumb luck.”
“Or your superior planning skills,” Jungkook says, and there it is again, that breathtaking smile. “Only you could have seen it through.”
Seokjin looks up, tears collecting in his eyes. Dim blue today, but Jungkook’s alpha can feel the omega’s wolf anyway. He’s destined to, after all, the Call ringing gently in his chest, his gland swollen from the proximity.
He clears his throat, unsure if he would even make sense. But he’s alive right now in a beautiful memorial garden and not dead like he’d thought he would be. “I haven’t known you long. I haven’t seen you work. But I just know that only you could have done this.” The compliments feel strange. “You know, since you’re sociopathic enough.”
Seokjin huffs. “How kind.”
“What I mean is…the others would have been too emotional,” Jungkook tries again, feeling like a fool. “It takes guts to be the bad guy. To decide to do something that is ultimately good but will make people dislike you. I don’t think most people would willingly choose that.”
They stay like that, the cold biting through his trousers but Jungkook keeps holding him anyway. Hopes that his scent or maybe—maybe his bond can convey what he thinks of Seokjin and the pains he took to get the job done.
Tears fall down Seokjin’s cheeks, and Jungkook catches them. Warm, on such a cold face.
“And yet it’s not enough,” Seokjin murmurs, closing his eyes and letting them pour, face falling in Jungkook’s hands. It breaks something inside him, to watch someone so formidable hurt like this. Jungkook watches for a moment—before pulling him in, close to his scent gland. “It’s never fucking enough.”
“Hyung—”
“It’s so fucking empty,” Seokjin cries, clawing at his chest, his throat. “I could do all the right things and still have this space. I killed him and—and he’s still there, Jungkook. His voice. I’m not enough and I never will be.”
Jungkook strokes his hair, just letting Seokjin be. Give him the space to let it out. He’s not sure if anyone’s ever given the omega that, or if the omega ever asked. He tucks him in and bends down, nosing along Seokjin’s neck, inhaling the steady stream of patchouli oil, the faint notes of wet earth underneath.
Seokjin pulls back a little, eyes wide and blue before he leans in and kisses him, soft and warm. Jungkook tastes the salt from his tears, but he pushes all of that aside as he gives in, a helpless ball of fire burning in his belly. His blood sings from doing as his Bond demands—taking care of his omega, comforting and letting him have a home in Jungkook.
He leans in too much, and Jungkook falls back, the snow melting through his back but his skin is so heated he doesn’t care. All he can think of is the omega and patchouli and the heady, subtle waft of wet earth, promising things anew. Jungkook licks inside his mouth, tasting the salt and the persistent sweet Seokjin carries with him, addictive in a way that makes his head spin.
Seokjin keeps kissing until he bites a little too hard and Jungkook tastes blood—enough that it has him gasping. The omega opens his eyes—and then jerks, falling back on his back. They both lay side by side, chests heaving as they face the cloudy white skies. Inevitably, Jungkook reaches for Seokjin’s hand, and the omega doesn’t waste a moment.
“This is my mother’s shrine,” Seokjin whispers after a while, and Jungkook can’t help it—he laughs, rubbing a hand down his face. “What a way to pay my respect.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind her son being comforted,” Jungkook says, and Seokjin takes a fist of snow, throwing it blindly. He hisses as the cold flakes melt instantly on his face. “You’ll be okay, you know that right?”
Seokjin turns to face him. His nose and ears are both bright red, and it somehow makes him younger, and more innocent. His eyes still look sad—but all in a day’s work. He smiles, reaching up to pinch Jungkook’s nose.
“How could I not? You’re only so obnoxiously loud about it.”
Jungkook throws the snow this time, cackling as Seokjin yells in offence. The victory doesn’t last for long—Seokjin gets the upper hand, shoving handfuls of snow down Jungkook’s sweater, pressing in until they’re nose to nose. Suddenly—Jungkook is all too aware—of the distance, or the lack of it, and the heat of Seokjin’s body burning through his clothes. He gulps, his heart beating loudly in his ears.
Bright blue eyes shift between his lips and up, and Jungkook takes a chance again, the pull addictive, the call persistent. He cups Seokjin’s face, rising to peck once, twice. Somehow, the moment feels larger than all the times before. Sacred, like they’re building a temple to it.
Seokjin gives in this time, kissing back gently—letting himself be handled, and Jungkook admires it even as he pushes Seokjin onto his back, instinct guiding him once more. Their combined scents swirl all around; the spiced tones of cedar merging with the woody patchouli—unusual but complementary.
His heart beats through his ribs, almost as if it wants to clash and merge with Seokjin’s. His head is too full of them, especially when Seokjin holds him gently, scratching at the back of his neck in a way that tingles down his spine. The world could end right now and Jungkook wouldn’t care.
Seokjin licks at the bite on his lip and Jungkook feels it heal shut instantly. He pulls himself up, tracing the symmetrical lines of the omega’s face.
He’s not sure if they can speak about this, but something has changed. The Call sits lighter like all is right in the world.
“You should meet him,” Jungkook says, holding Seokjin’s gaze when his eyes snap up. “Though this garden is lovely and I’m so glad your mother is getting a free show.”
Something sharp pinches him on his waist and Jungkook winces, but Seokjin doesn’t seem too pissed. “I have met Namjoon.”
“You know who I mean,” Jungkook whispers, raising himself on one hand. “Talk to him. Apologise or whatever it is you feel guilty for, even though he is alive because of you.”
“Because of Jimin, not me,” Seokjin grumbles, his scent still carrying shame. “I don’t know…”
“C’mon, it’s just talking. How hard can that be?”
“You have no idea,” Seokjin snorts, and Jungkook takes it as a cue to lay off, but to the side, staring at Seokjin the whole time. The pink flutter of his mating gland. “We don’t talk.”
Jungkook frowns. “Sorry?”
“We never talked. Perhaps that’s why it took so long.” Seokjin takes Jungkook’s hand again. “Abbeoji would tell us that brothers betrayed each other the most so we had to look out for ourselves.”
“Hyung…”
“But I get it now. He simply didn’t want us to ever think we could team up against him. Get a better life than what we had.” Tears leak down his sides again. “Taehyung told me that. How we needed people, and how he kept us away…I didn’t even know my mother. And now she’s gone. I’ll never get the chance again.”
The omega squeezes his eyes shut as he cries. Jungkook stays, the cold long forgotten. “Running away from your brothers isn’t going to bring her back.”
“I—I know that—”
“But speaking with them could preserve whatever little memories you had of her,” Jungkook continues, rubbing circles again. “Learn about her more through their eyes. Isn’t that what siblings do? Hate and forgive each other, over and over again?”
Seokjin sniffles. “I guess. I don’t know.” Then he gets up, wiping his face and throwing his shoulders back. “No, you’re right. I’ve done worse and Taehyung has always come back.”
“There. See? Now go and talk.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, now.” Jungkook rolls his eyes when he sees Seokjin shrink in reluctance. “Don’t tell me the big scary assassin is scared, is he?”
“No.”
“Feelings are too scary, are they, Seokjin-ssi?”
“Moon, shut up,” Seokjin hisses, pinching Jungkook’s lips together. “For how wise you sounded just now, you always manage to ruin it.”
“Figured if I annoyed you enough you’d get on with it.” Jungkook raises his hands when Seokjin’s eyes narrow, but his scent still smells playful. Less miserable. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”
Seokjin presses his lips before nodding, and Jungkook knows he’s understood. Whatever comes next—at least he’ll be there, answering the call as and when needed.
🖤⚔🖤
He hadn’t expected them to work—but Seokjin walks down the hallway to Taehyung’s wing, hope simmering under his skin.
Jungkook and he had sat around for a while at the shrine, neither speaking as they watched the snow fall around her picture. They didn’t need to—not with the way their Bond thrummed between them, quiet yet potent, letting Seokjin know that he was safe.
Something about Jungkook’s gentle words had struck him—it had seemed so simple. It probably was, unlike in Seokjin’s world where each sentence had a double meaning that his life depended upon. It’s been a week, and he hasn’t met Taehyung yet because he’s not sure what will greet his eyes.
If he can even look at his baby brother after what he did.
Jungkook may have agreed to participate and Seokjin knows it was the best way forward—but it still doesn’t make it forgivable.
A heavy smell of herbs and sickness makes its way through the closer he gets, different from the rot in Joonjae’s scent. Seokjin gulps, a different kind of terror breeding inside. He almost turns away—but perhaps the Moon shines her light, and he’s right there.
He presses the door handle when he’s shoved hard, and before he knows it, Seokjin’s pinned to the wall, a dagger lining his eye. He takes his dagger out—facing bright blue eyes.
Something clicks.
A strange call flutters deep inside. Somehow, his omega remains calm, trusting the man who’s ambushed him, trusting the man who smells like orange blossoms—
“Jimin.” Seokjin remains still, not moving as he stares the dagger down. He’s good, but Park Jimin has always had a forte for weaving in. “A pleasant surprise.”
“I should be the one saying that,” Jimin says calmly. There’s something in his eyes that Seokjin feels drawn to and no, it’s not the call for murder. Deeper, more ancient than either of them. “But I sensed you coming here so it wouldn’t work.”
“You sensed me?” Seokjin asks, pocketing the dagger and crossing his arms. Jimin sniffs, wrinkling his nose before putting away his dagger too. “Developed Spidey-senses while nursing Taehyung?”
“Still dropping those Marvel references I see,” Jimin snorts, still uncomfortably close. His scent gets stronger, edging hostility. “Aren’t you, like, super old?”
“I’m not removed from pop culture,” Seokjin grumbles. His throat gets tighter the longer Jimin stands. “Could you move?”
“No.”
“Right.” He dares to meet the omega’s eyes again, almost wincing at the Death in them. A wronged Mate, his mating gland tinged raw pink. There’s a small mark there somewhere that Seokjin can swear wasn’t there the day of—
Jimin shifts his collar. “What brings you here?”
“I came to see Taehyung.”
“How kind of you. One week, that must be a record.”
Growing up, Seokjin had never liked Jimin much—something about a no-name orphan rising through ranks grated on his nerves. It had also been Jimin’s personality—snarky, ambitious and insufferable, worse than Taehyung’s—at least Jimin was talented, a near equal match for Seokjin.
It gets to him now even though he understands. His wolf cautions him—has been since the day of the wedding. They haven’t spoken of it—the way Seokjin had instinctively thrown the blade and Jimin had somehow replaced it with a better one. A kill that should have originally been Jimin’s—after all, that was what Taehyung had brought him in for—but gifted to Seokjin.
The strange call he’d sent out, and the answer he’d received from none other than Jimin’s wolf.
Seokjin’s never been an ardent believer of myths and legends, not like Namjoon or Taehyung—but he’s afraid to name what has transpired since. He’d rather focus on getting past Jimin to see Taehyung.
Jimin, however, has other plans. “I’m not letting you near him.”
“Excuse me?” Seokjin asks, and when he tries to move Jimin shoves him back again. “What in the Moon?”
“You almost killed him. I’m not taking the chance again.”
Ah. Maybe he should have clarified this with Jungkook and gotten some insight. How to face the wrath of a grieving Mate, and one named Park Jimin. But no, he’d given in again, allowed himself to be cared for and kissed and wanted like any other weak, pathetic omega whore—
No. No. That’s Joonjae’s voice. Let him go, Seokjin-ah.
“I didn’t plan for him to get bit, Jimin,” Seokjin says then, trying not to get pulled in by everything. “You know that.”
“Do I? Because all I know is that you’ve hated Taehyung since he was born. It would be convenient for you if he died, wouldn’t it?”
Seokjin gulps. He doesn’t blame Jimin for thinking this way—but he remembers the day Taehyung was born, and how Sora had allowed Seokjin to watch him in his cradle. It had been a surprise—he can’t recall if Sora had ever been pregnant, though now he knows Taehyung wasn’t hers. But she’d loved him anyway and had told Seokjin as much.
He’s the youngest, little one. Protect him well. He’ll be alone otherwise.
Seokjin had failed many times over the years, as Joonjae had put the brothers against each other. Namjoon had checked out early on, and it got worse once Taehyung had presented as an alpha—a threat brimming in his bones.
But even in his worst moments, he’d never wished Taehyung dead.
“You shouldn’t speak about things you don’t know much about,” Seokjin whispers, meeting Jimin’s eyes. “I didn’t see him because I didn’t know how to. But I am here now.”
Jimin presses his lips into a thin line. Then he shrugs, some reluctant acceptance in his eyes. “Well. He’s still unconscious.”
“And?”
He can see the way Jimin fights to keep the suspense before kindness wins out. “He’ll be okay.”
“The healers said that?”
“My…Bond did,” Jimin says, fingers fluttering towards his mating gland again. “At least, it’s not fraying anymore.” He doesn’t explain further, and Seokjin doesn’t pry. “But I have a bone to pick with you still.”
“What now?”
“Jungkook,” Jimin starts, and Seokjin’s heart races against his will. It’s silly; he doesn’t have to be scared. Jimin sniffs then, edging close to Seokjin’s gland. “Wait, why do you smell like him?”
Seokjin looks down. Still feels the traces of heat all over his body. “I was…we were…he met me at my mother’s shrine.”
“Met, right,” Jimin snarls, eyes bright blue again and the oranges getting bitterer. “You don’t get to do that.”
“I can visit the shrine as I like—”
“Not that. Jungkook.” Jimin inhales. “You two can’t be a thing.”
Familiar irritation curls under his skin, his wolf taking it as a challenge. “Sure I can. Last I checked, he is my True Mate.”
“And what a tragedy that is,” Jimin snarks, before stepping close. He’s short, but his fury makes up for his height. “You put him in danger. Have you no shame?”
Anger begins licking its hot tongue down Seokjin’s spine. “Danger?” His hands curl into fists, suppressing the urge to hold Jimin by the throat. “Shame? Whatever for? I had his full consent.”
Jimin stares for a moment before scoffing. “Consent? Now that’s refined, Seokjin-ssi.” He tilts his head. “Was that before or after you scent-dazed him?”
“I didn’t—I didn’t scent-daze him!” Seokjin claims though Jimin is already shaking his head. “I really didn’t.”
“What would he know? He never realised when I did it either,” Jimin continues, and Seokjin’s blood runs both hot and cold, the wolf perceiving a threat but also holding itself back. “You know why, Seokjin-ssi?”
He has an idea, but like his deepest feelings doesn’t want to name it. Jimin pursues it relentlessly anyway.
“Because he doesn’t belong to this world. Your world.” Jimin jabs a finger in Seokjin’s chest. “He’s never going to be safe as long as he’s with you.”
“I did protect him. I made sure he knew so he wouldn’t do anything stupid and he agreed—”
“Of course, he would! You’re his True Mate!” Jimin exclaims. He gets close again, right in Seokjin’s face. “You have hurt him from the start. You got him here, tortured him, put him in a fancy prison and then used him as a distraction!”
“It was the only way to create a scene!”
“No, that wasn’t the plan but I’m not getting into that with you right now,” Jimin hisses, the two of them circling each other slightly. It’s an instinctive dance as old as time. “You’re damn lucky it worked out the way it did.”
“I knew it would. You would have ruined it if you’d known.”
“I’m sure that helps you sleep at night,” Jimin retorts sweetly, his eyes shifting to dark blue. It’s all omega between them now. “I don’t care. This is not the place for Jungkook.”
Seokjin’s always known that but a part of him desperately clings to the other belief. The belief that had formed when Jungkook had been there to greet him each night, had caressed his head and comforted him, whose hand Seokjin reached for in the days leading up to the mating. An unspoken agreement to not destroy the forbidden dream.
“He’s seen us work. We’re organised and powerful.”
Jimin begins laughing, awful chuckles that grate on Seokjin’s nerves. Absolute sounds of derision. “You really think Jungkook is going to be okay with what you do? A cop?”
And there it is.
The difference that Seokjin’s been running away from since the day the Mark had burned between them, and he’d carried Jungkook through the catacombs into his chambers. Tended to him, the guilt clashing with the hatred like oil with water. How eventually it had become less about that and more about two people reaching for each other without anyone knowing.
It seems like Jimin understands because the fight drops and pity floods his eyes. The blue reduces ever so slowly, and Seokjin feels too seen.
“Scratch that, actually,” Jimin begins softly like he knows how much Seokjin will break. “Are you okay with asking that of him?”
In his dream, he had been. He’d thought he could hold onto Jungkook or at least his care a little while longer, just until he regained control and became perfect Seokjin again. Indulge his dirty little secret, his one chance to give in to the weakness before having to become strong again.
The dream splinters deafeningly, and Seokjin knows.
He’s never going to be enough. Not for his father, and not for Jungkook—who will never see him as an equal. Neither will Seokjin. After all, what can a cop and an assassin ever achieve as mates?
“I need to…I’m sorry. I need to go,” Seokjin murmurs. Jimin stays for a moment before he steps aside. “If Taehyung wakes up…tell him I came. Or send someone for me.”
He doesn’t wait as he walks away, closing the top button of his shirt as he does.
It’s time for them to wake up.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
oh my goddddd i just want this story to be overrrrrr (okay jk I still love this story very very much) but I am TIRED of staying in this au because I have so many other WIPS!!! And yet I won't stop coming up with plot points that keep dramatising this saga smh
BUT!!! HELLO!!!
Totally took the classic a/b/o "the Mates bite to protect life hehe it's a mark of their true love" trope hehehe of course I had to do this. Taehyung will live. But before that. Drumroll please!!!KIM MFING JOONJAE IS DEAD! THE SLIMY ASSHOLE IS A STEAMING PILE OF ROTTEN GOO HELL YES I will never have to write him and his stupid interactions again and he's not touching my babies!! They're safe (apart from the mental trauma lol). The scene may have felt rushed but IDC I wanted him GONE and I always wanted Seokjin to be the one to do it. Felt like poetic justice.
Hints about the jinkook sequel in this chapter btw :D
totally sobbing about the yoonseok scene why am I like this GODthe Jinkook scenes had me in a chokehold!!! I loved writing the plan out (wow Seokjin so smart) i love the faith and trust, the tenderness gah jinkook I am feral for you!!! The little kisses and playing in the snow like lil puppies :( jungkook is where seokjin's innocence revives okay???
but hmmm what was that end scene with jinmin lololol it was an extra scene that wasn't there originally but I put it in for dramatic effect so I can put my babies through hell. Maybe this why this story doesn't get over because I'm not over with it.
My hope is to have the next update faster pls moon don't let me procrastinate!!! thank you!!! see you soon!!!
Chapter 27: Rebinding
Notes:
holy fuck it's been a whole month, hasn't it? honest to god this was not my plan but my god procrastination is a dumb bitch I'll explain it in the end notes but anyway hi!!!! i hope you're doing well and healthy.
not going to say much here for now get to this update!!! ENJOY <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The yakuza extended their visit as the trainees and masters welcomed their skills. What was meant to be a short stay grew as Yuri and his companions awed them all with the vast reserves of knowledge they possessed.
Jimin was among them, honoured and desperate to learn as much as he could. In the world of distinction, of Elite versus non-Elites, he stuck out like a sore thumb—and if he had to maintain his presence, he had to be the best of the best.
He wasn’t the only one who wanted to excel.
Taehyung might have mocked Yuri earlier, but with the improvements they saw with the yakuza’s inclusion, the alpha changed his stance quickly enough.
Their rivalry carried over to Yuri’s classes as they vied for his attention. Jimin’s hunger grew the more Taehyung’s competence shone, and he was willing to do anything to be at the top of the class.
Jimin couldn’t admit it to anyone, but he began admiring Yuri in more ways than one.
He’d thought it was mere respect—the skill and gracefulness with which Yuri killed and fought was enough to have him swooning. Jimin wasn’t sure if he wanted to become like Yuri, or be him—or worse, be with him.
It was all so confusing, and Yuri was so kind.
There was comfort in the way Yuri would speak with them all, but especially Jimin. He didn’t have many friends but Yuri came close. He would go out of his way to check on Jimin, to make sure he didn’t hurt himself during practice or that he hadn’t hurt Jimin during the one-on-one trainings. Always with a smile, so unbecoming of assassins.
It was everything Jimin had wanted but had been too scared to ask for. Camp never acknowledged the void he felt deep within, and any reminders of it were swiftly punished.
Jimin didn’t want to, but after a while, whenever Hirai Yuri entered the training room or sat down at Jimin’s lunch table—his heart would skip a beat, his skin a happy flush.
He could feel the heat of someone’s gaze on him—but Jimin ignored it, too happy with the attention he got.
He prided himself on hiding his feelings—but somehow Taehyung would always know.
His trysts with the alpha didn’t stop—if anything, the training with Yuri was so brutal that Jimin began seeking the alpha out more. It seemed to be the same for Taehyung—who would always give in, ever ready to sink himself in Jimin’s tight heat.
In those moments, Jimin would forget Yuri as Taehyung fucked his brains out, legs trembling from the pleasure only Taehyung could give.
Jimin moaned as Taehyung thrusted in, parting his legs and jerking off his cock at the same time. They were in the weapons room after dark. The rest of the camp was asleep while their bodies were awake.
His slit clenched around the alpha’s cock, and Taehyung moaned into Jimin’s neck. Suddenly, his hole was empty, until Jimin found himself twisted around, facing the alpha and his dazed golden eyes. Sweat ran down Taehyung’s face. He looked gorgeous—such a pretty, pretty boy—and Jimin leaned in, kissing him as Taehyung resumed his thrusts.
They grew frantic as Taehyung groaned into Jimin’s scent gland and came. Jimin’s leg shook, and it was only Taehyung keeping him upright through the shallow thrusts.
“Fucking hell,” Taehyung moaned, mouthing at Jimin’s throat, fevered kisses through the sweat and muck. “You’re always tight, huh?”
“Maybe my cunt’s moulded for your cock, alpha,” Jimin simpered, and Taehyung growled again. Jimin laughed, catching his breath. “That can’t be your only compliment each time.”
“Like I want to,” Taehyung grumbled, but he sounded so raw. He pulled away, eyes still dazed and lips bitten red. He held Jimin’s face between his palms and kissed him again. It was too tender, but Jimin latched onto it anyway, breathing him in, tasting the salt of the sweat. “Aren’t you getting enough of them from Yuri-san?”
Jimin snorted, though Taehyung didn’t seem amused. Lavender floated between, carrying a tinge of…was that irritation? It seemed more sour than usual.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but this time, Jimin thought of bringing it to attention.
“Jealous, Taehyung?” Jimin teased, still trembling, both from exertion and now—thrill. “Afraid you can’t match up?”
“I’m not in a competition.”
“No, you’re not. You’d have to be….good, to even be considered, hmm?” Jimin said, relishing the anger, the growing arousal in Taehyung’s scent. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was fun to be the object of Taehyung’s desire, to hold him in the palm of his hand. “But I suppose you’re not that bad. Good enough to settle for.”
Taehyung growled, but it did not affect Jimin—his wolf had been silenced after years, no longer susceptible to alphas. But his slit pulsed, and Taehyung began growing hard inside. Jimin licked his lips.
Once was never enough in his world.
Taehyung caged him in, pulling his legs around his waist. He pushed in just a little deeper, digging his thumb into Jimin’s cock in between. He moaned from the friction, the pain, and the pleasure.
“Whores like you don’t have a choice either way.”
It wasn’t anything new. Jimin was used to it, and he especially liked it when Taehyung degraded him.
Jimin pulled him in, biting at his ear. “That’s your problem, Taehyung. You think I fuck you because I don’t have options.” He wrapped his legs around him again, hissing at the drag of Taehyung’s cock against his hole. “But I do. You’re just so easy, so pathetic. How could I not?”
Taehyung growled again. His scent burnt bitter. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what? You’ll fuck it shut?” Jimin said, and Taehyung’s nails dug into his shoulders. “Do your worst. I’ve already made it, with or without getting into your pants.”
There wasn’t a response; instead, Taehyung’s grip turned painful as he drove himself in. One thing was clear—Jimin could run his mouth, but Taehyung would fuck the words right out of him.
He should have paid more attention, though. To the tone, and especially his scent. The desperation in it, the burning anger.
But he was too lost as Taehyung fucked him again, content with the attention he had.
All his years at the camp, Jimin had learnt one important lesson.
Good things weren’t meant to last, and one should always be on alert before the fall.
All assassins were taught this, but it took a while for Jimin to catch up.
Life at camp continued as it was—trainings, shared cycles, becoming the best and staying that way. Fucking when needed and hating otherwise, revelling in the rivalry that drove his blood hot every time.
It was the best he could hope for in a life he’d come to detest but couldn’t run away from.
Until it fell apart.
Or rather, the cracks grew larger. Jimin couldn’t name it, but something had changed with Yuri’s arrival in their lives.
The more Jimin would best Taehyung at their classes or the more Yuri would shower Jimin with praises, the more resentful the alpha became. His scent was always sour and he’d begun fucking Jimin a little harder, like he wanted to imprint himself into him. Almost like he’d hurt him if he could get away with it.
It didn’t deter Jimin from performing his best. He had a reputation to maintain and a silly, jealous alpha wasn’t going to ruin it. It did make for an unpleasant demeanour with Taehyung, though. They never really spoke, but they’d become amicable over the years. There was respect within the rivalry.
Taehyung’s resentment was suffocating. Jimin tried avoiding him—but one whiff of his scent, a brush of fingers in the hallways and he would be back, begging for more. It was pathetic. Yet they couldn’t stop.
He enjoyed the way Taehyung needed him after a class. The way he would fuck harder, faster, an almost frantic claim on Jimin. For so long Jimin had clawed his way to the top, fighting for the right to be in the spotlight. It was so easy as a non-Elite to lose it, and Jimin thrived in having Taehyung wrapped around his fingers.
If that meant flirting a little with Yuri, hanging on his every word—at times ignoring Taehyung—all so he could get the just reward at the end?
Who was he to deny himself that?
It helped that Yuri was a sight for sore eyes. His scent of lemongrass was pleasant enough—nowhere near Taehyung’s lavender, but it would do.
It was a matter of time before Jimin’s heart began fluttering towards Yuri too.
It was a joint assignment with the yakuza faction, and Jimin was the only non-Elite who cleared the rounds. So close to accomplishing his dream assignment, it was a matter of pride—he couldn’t lose.
He’d been teamed with Taehyung and Yuri, and it was thrilling to work with the man. To glean his knowledge in real-time, to show how good he was, how well he’d received his training. Taehyung didn’t matter as much because Jimin knew he’d come if Jimin asked.
It was going well, and Jimin was so close to getting the task done.
Then he went down.
At the very last moment, he fumbled. The target had been within sight—and his daggers missed the mark, killing the bodyguard instead—and raising hell as the police got on high alert. They’d barely escaped with the skin on their bones, somehow making it back to camp.
Someone had messed with them, and the mistake had cost them the assignment, the offer rejected and worse, the yakuza unit’s name maligned.
It was a matter of shame, and Park Jimin had finally lost.
“Don’t listen to them,” Yuri had said, squeezing Jimin’s shoulder though there was pity swimming in his eyes. Just like that, all the admiration had gone. The mocking stares of his classmates, the disappointed glares of his masters. The glee, because perfect Park Jimin had cracked. “It wasn’t your fault.”
A flush of lemongrass flushed in, but the words rang in Jimin’s ears. Yuri wouldn’t get it—in this camp, it didn’t matter if things were his fault or not. Mistakes were not forgivable.
Two days in the dungeons, hands tied up as his skin was sliced with his daggers. Blood ran down his arms and thighs, but Jimin could only grit his teeth in pain as he held back his screams.
On the second day, Taehyung visited him. He watched silently from the shadows, but Jimin could smell him anywhere.
Could smell the tell-tale concoction of satisfaction and resentment in it.
He didn’t know how or why, but he knew Taehyung had sabotaged Jimin’s performance on purpose, uncaring of assignment or duty. After thirteen years of fighting and competing, Taehyung had stooped to such a low. Crossed the unsaid line they’d set for themselves.
They could hate and hurt each other but they would do so with respect. And Taehyung had taken that away from him.
Jimin spat in the direction of the shadows as the guards ran their blades over his chest again.
Daebonim often emphasised using their mind more than their bodies to accomplish success in their missions. It was a method Jimin preferred to the mess of a sudden kill.
He took a week to recover from his wounds, and even that brought forth mockery. Everywhere he went, the Elites would snicker, their eyes gleaming with mirth as they spoke of him. The rumours were no longer about who he fucked or how friendless he was, but about his incompetence.
That, he couldn’t turn a deaf ear to.
Tensions were running high. Jimin took care of some of the more obvious trainees, but he couldn’t harm them without severe punishment. Taehyung studiously avoided him, as if he could taste Jimin’s anger, and knew better than to goad it further.
Jimin knew just the thing to get back at him.
His heat was getting closer, and the urgency burned in his blood. In two years of sharing their cycles, they had come to an arrangement. Taehyung’s presence would help the wave of pre-heat horniness, pain and weakness, and Jimin would shamelessly seek him to edge it out until the heat hit.
He entered the weapons room on the third day of his pre-heat, blockers off and his scent in full bloom. Every alpha stiffened, noses flaring and pupils going black with need. Jimin ignored them all, walking towards Yuri. A light sheen of sweat was the only sign of a response to Jimin’s pre-heat scent.
Jimin could sense Taehyung’s burning gaze, the growing arousal in his scent as he faced Yuri. His fingers played with Yuri’s shirt, trailing over his firm biceps, as he pumped his scent out, enough to muddle the alpha’s senses.
Great assassin or not, all alphas were dumb for an omega in heat.
He caught Taehyung’s eyes as Yuri slung an arm around Jimin. He held Taehyung’s eyes before taking Yuri’s wrist and placing it against his scent gland.
Taehyung’s eyes blazed golden, skin a splotchy red and scent bitter with envy. Jimin smiled as he turned towards Yuri, taking in the poorly concealed need in his eyes. He played with the hair at the back of the alpha’s nape and stood on his toes, reaching for the alpha’s ears.
“Yuri-san, I was thinking,” Jimin purred, his voice intentionally honey-sweet. Soft, but loud enough for his audience. They could want him, but only Jimin would choose, just as he’d promised Taehyung. “You’ve been so good to me, haven’t you?”
The lemongrass burned, cutting through bitter lavender and travelling down Jimin’s spine. “Y-yes, Jimin-san.”
Jimin giggled. Pulled back, biting his lip as he stared into Yuri’s eyes. The alpha’s gaze zeroed in on them, eyes glazing over, his throat pink. “My heat is approaching soon.”
“I—I can sense that,” Yuri said, voice hoarse with want. Poor alphas. They never stood a chance with Jimin, no matter their age. “You have—your scent is lovely.”
“Isn’t it?” Jimin asked coyly, looking under his eyes. “And yet no one’s there to share my heat with me….”
“Oh? With you?” Yuri scratched the back of his neck. “But you’re the prettiest omega here…”
Jimin giggled. “That’s so kind of you, Yuri-san. If only someone was there…” He toyed with the edge of Yuri’s shirt before halting. Tilting his head just enough, have his scent pour out. Someone in the back moaned out loud, and Jimin held back a grin. “Unless…you want to?”
Yuri’s eyes blew wide. Interesting, that for an alpha so well established and skilled, he looked so awed.
“You’re sure? There isn’t anyone else?”
Kind, gracious Yuri. So honourable, so considerate. In another time, when he was not so rotten with pride and revenge, Jimin would have backed down and done the right thing.
But it wasn’t another time, and the moment was now.
Jimin curled himself into the alpha and looked Taehyung straight in the eye as he said the damning words.
“No. There isn’t anyone else. Not anymore.”
Jimin glowed with a vengeance as the hope in Taehyung’s eyes broke.
🖤⚔🖤
Taehyung’s breaths are slow and silent. Jimin feels each one.
He squeezes out the excess water from the washcloth before placing it on Taehyung’s forehead. It’s been a week of battling the infection from the feral bite, and the fever is yet to break.
Sweat dots his pale skin, and Jimin wipes it away. There’s a force guiding him so seamlessly that he doesn’t have to even think about what Taehyung needs. There’s only a moment, and then Jimin is there, ready to serve.
The force emanates from the tiny, swollen Bite over Taehyung’s mating gland.
The Bond flutters with each breath.
Jimin doesn’t think about it. Not now when so much is unknown. So far Taehyung’s survived—barely, but he lived—and Namjoon’s theory had been right. But whether it would lead to aftereffects…
He’s not sure if he wants the answer right now.
So he focuses on taking care of Taehyung as his wolf sees fit—and leaves the rest to the Moon.
It’s another week before Taehyung wakes up.
Jimin is in the bathroom when he senses it. An odd flutter around his throat, and a pulsating call in his chest. He drops the towel before the thought can even form, and rushes out.
Taehyung’s awake, still and pale as a statue but alive. He blinks, looking to his side, but before he can open his mouth, Jimin is there.
He can’t help it. He collapses right then, over him as the tears he’d held in burst out. He burrows himself into Taehyung’s scent gland where the traces of sickness still carry, and the lavender remains weak.
“Shit, Jimin, hey,” Taehyung whispers, voice hoarse from disuse, and Jimin cries some more. It should be embarrassing but it hits him all over again, now that Taehyung is awake. How close he’d been to losing him forever, to being in a world where Taehyung wouldn’t exist. “Jimin, babe, you’re, uh, crushing me.”
Jimin jumps back out, rubbing his eyes as fast as he can. “S-sorry. Just wasn’t expecting it.”
“You didn’t expect me to wake up?” Taehyung asks, though his eyes glint with mischief. “Some faith you have in me.”
“Figured you’d be more dramatic about it.” Jimin leans in again, fiddling with Taehyung’s collar. He’ll probably want to freshen up, change his bindings and eat something solid before sleeping again. “Do you think you can get up just yet? I have the bath ready, we can get you cleaned up. I’ll ask the cook to make something light—”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the five-star treatment but wanna slow down?” Taehyung asks, before coughing, and then wincing, fingers going towards the wound. “Fuck. What the fuck happened?”
“Exactly why the five-star treatment,” Jimin snarks, taking Taehyung’s hand gently and holding it. “Sounds good now, doesn’t it?”
“Heck yeah. Everything hurts like a bitch.”
“Mm, thought so. First bath, then clean clothes and then food. We can…talk after.”
“I mean, I’m good to talk for sure—”
“Once you’re well-rested,” Jimin cuts in, sliding his arms under Taehyung’s back and lifting him up. The move is familiar to him after days of getting Taehyung out and cleaning him up when needed; he tucks his chin over the alpha’s shoulder—and then waits. “Just taking you to the bath.”
“Always wanted to be carried princess style,” Taehyung drawls, and Jimin smiles into his shoulder. He’s close to Taehyung’s mating gland this way, and he traces the Bite once again. Right beneath the Soul Mark, faded but permanent. Yet, it gives a sense of relief Jimin hadn’t known he’d needed. “You smell different.”
Jimin doesn’t react, instead helping Taehyung slip out of his clothes. Despite the playful banter, there is silence now, none of Taehyung’s penchant for crude jokes showing up as Jimin helps him in. In two weeks, the alpha has grown weaker—his bones show, and his skin is tinged pale yellow, the blue veins prominent under his eyes.
His hair hangs long and greasy, and Jimin gently scrubs his scalp clean, mindfully wiping away the suds from the wound. Still inflamed but at least the rotten appearance has gone, though it muddles Taehyung’s scent. He also avoids the mating gland, unsure if Taehyung has connected the dots yet.
It feels right to tend to Taehyung somehow, even though all of it seems a bit too tender. Taehyung mercifully keeps silent, as if he knows somehow that things are different.
Jimin helps him into a fresh linen night suit, covering up the exposed parts to prevent a cold. He gently rubs the towel along Taehyung’s hair, guiding him to the bed after. It all happens on autopilot, just like before—feeding Taehyung some of the gruel the staff had prepared, but avoiding his eyes the whole time.
He tucks him in after, swaddling him like a baby in the blanket—and turns to leave when Taehyung clears his throat. “Jimin-ah.”
Soft and low, like when he wants to appeal to Jimin’s humanity. A voice Jimin used to resent, because it shouldn’t belong to someone just as ruthless as him.
He doesn’t say anything, because he knows. He can’t smell Taehyung properly—his scent is all over the place, and his emotions aren’t settling—but he knows. Despite all his insults, he’s always known how smart Taehyung is.
“Jimin-ah. What happened?”
Jimin turns. “What do you mean?”
Taehyung’s eyes glint knowingly, but he presses his lips into a thin line. “I appreciate the service, but I want to know what’s going on.”
“You should rest a bit. You look exhausted.”
“No need to worry about my good looks,” Taehyung says, and Jimin grimaces. “C’mon, now. I deserve to be let in on the action.”
“I think you’ve had enough action for a lifetime,” Jimin mutters, and Taehyung tuts. “Why can’t you just be a good patient?”
“Guess I’m not built for that,” Taehyung drawls, shrugging his left shoulder—and cursing as the bandages shift, a small dot of blood appears. Jimin rushes, omega frantic as he checks the site again. “Holy fuck, what is that?”
“Just a cut, nothing to worry about—”
“Jimin-ah?”
“Mm?”
“Stop fucking lying,” Taehyung says sweetly, and Jimin flinches back. Whatever’s left of Taehyung’s scent grows a bit darker, and there’s a flash of gold in his eyes. “Can you just tell me? I’m not going to fucking break.”
“No, but I might,” Jimin whispers, but he sits down. Maybe that’s his problem. He runs away too easily, too scared to face the truth. “Fine. What do you remember?”
“I remember the fucker choking the living Moon out of Namjoon-hyung. Then I thought fuck it and jumped.” Taehyung frowns, biting his lip. “His face changed. And then there was…this horrible pain around my scent gland.” He tilts his head again and winces. “Kind of like now. But worse.”
“Yeah.” Jimin squeezes the edge of the bed, shoulders tight with fear. “He bit you.”
The revelation is received with silence. Jimin looks up after a couple of moments, catching Taehyung’s eyes which are…calm.
“Bit me.”
“Yeah. You passed out.”
“I figured.” Taehyung looks down at his side as if trying to catch sight of his wound. “And then?”
It feels so wrong, how calmly Taehyung’s taking the news. Then again, assassins were trained to weather the storm—it’s the good news that shocked them more than anything. Still, Jimin’s not sure how Taehyung’s going to take in the end of the events.
He tries anyway. Every part of his human, logical self wants to run—to put some distance between them and pretend that nothing’s changed. But his omega has its claws sunk in, grounding him with nowhere to go.
So he tells Taehyung everything. The battle, Seokjin double-crossing them to fool Joonjae. Jungkook distracting him which seemed to have been a part of Seokjin’s plan and in the end, Seokjin turning on Joonjae—the one to wield the final strike.
“Seems like he’d planned it that way. Only Jungkook knew,” Jimin finishes, wringing his hands together. Maybe he doesn’t have to tell Taehyung about what happened after just yet. “Joonjae took his time dying. It was gross. Apparently, Feral wolves have black blood.”
He tries not to think of that same black blood travelling down Taehyung’s vein, nearly capturing his heart before Jimin bit him.
Taehyung doesn’t say anything. He lies there, mulling over the information, long enough that Jimin decides it’s time to give him some space. He heaves himself up, tucking the sheets in again, leaning over Taehyung to fluff up his pillows—when Taehyung sniffs.
It’s calculative. Contemplative. Jimin flinches back, but it’s too late.
“You sure you told me everything, Jimin-ah?” Taehyung asks quietly, and Jimin shakes in his boots. “Something you forgot?”
“No, nothing. That’s about what happened.” Jimin steels himself, pulling back. “You should really rest now. Good night.”
He turns away, but something holds him back. Taehyung’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Jimin looks back. The alpha’s eyes glint golden through his dark tresses.
“Why does the Bond feel different, then?”
He can feel his heart climb up his throat. “What?”
“The Bond. It’s different.”
“What Bond?” Jimin asks and then winces inside. Taehyung raises an eyebrow, and Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. He’s an idiot for thinking he can stay one step ahead of Kim Taehyung. “How long have you known?”
“Since the moment I woke up,” Taehyung whispers, fingers tightening around Jimin’s wrist. He pulls him in harshly, causing Jimin to stumble. The sudden weight doesn’t seem to bother him, however, as Taehyung pulls down Jimin’s collar and runs a finger along his mating gland. Jimin shivers. “It’s pretty.”
Reverence bleeds through his voice, lulling Jimin’s wolf to near sleep. The Mark in question isn’t anything grand—a faded half-new-moon complementary to Taehyung’s full moon, complete only if Taehyung bites him back. Jimin had noticed it the first night of tending to Taehyung.
The alpha scratches the edge of a nail against it before pulling away. His eyes are reproachful as they meet Jimin’s again. “Still sure you told me everything?”
Jimin looks down, twisting his hands. “I don’t know where to begin.” It’s so simple and yet…Jimin takes a deep breath. “The Feral bite was fatal. It was…going to kill you. Namjoon-hyung made an educated guess…told me to bite you. Since we’re…True Mates. He figured the Bond would act as a stopper, maybe connect you…to me.”
“Huh.” Taehyung lies back down, eyes on Jimin’s gland. “And how did Namjoon-hyung know about it?”
Right. He’d never told Taehyung he’d told Namjoon because they hadn’t been talking then. But Jimin doesn’t have anything to lose now. He doesn’t regret what he did. “I told him.”
“When?”
“Couple of weeks ago. When we were planning the coup.” Taehyung’s gaze pierces through his soul, and he’s not sure why it’s hitting him so much. Perhaps it’s the first time he’s letting himself be seen by him, and feel all of it. “I was going nuts holding onto it and I just…I wanted to tell someone. I’ve always trusted him.”
“Don’t have an issue with that.” Taehyung frowns, then snuggles in, mindful of his shoulder. “So I’m alive right now because you bit me.”
Jimin nods. “Yeah. I guess.”
“And the Mark…is it like a half-bond?”
“I think so.” Jimin tilts his head. “What did you mean? That it’s different?”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything for a long time before he shrugs again. “Richer, somehow. Like a path that’s got street lights on one side. Brighter? I can feel it if that helps.”
“But you never had a Bite. How can you tell the difference, and I couldn’t for so long?”
They haven’t spoken about it, and Jimin’s not sure if it’s the right time…but fuck it, there never was a right time for them. Waiting had ruined so much, and Jimin’s tired now.
“I always knew. Maybe that’s why?” Taehyung blinks his eyes sleepily, and it paints an endearing picture of a Boy. “Can you feel it now?”
“Yeah…it’s like you said.” Jimin rubs at his mating gland, though he can’t trace the shape. Taehyung’s is still covered, though once they remove it there will be a Bite there the shape of Jimin’s mouth. “A bright path. Not fully, but it’s there. A bit strange.”
“You get used to it.” Taehyung hums lightly, lost in deep thought. He doesn’t seem upset like Jimin had thought he would. He’s yet to look into half-bonds and what it means for the two of them. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out.”
Jimin looks up. “What?”
Taehyung yawns, snuggling deeper. Another yawn. “You still planning to leave or you’re open to giving me some company?”
He’s still confused about what Taehyung’s said…but he frowns. “Company? What kind?”
“Moon, relax. I’m not gonna try anything on you.” Taehyung shifts with a wince. “Not in a state to, anyway.”
The meeting settles in, and Jimin feels his cheeks heat up. “That’s not—not what I meant!”
“No? How proper of you,” Taehyung teases, scooting a little to the side and making space. “I’m sure we could have managed something, but oh well. Come save me from the big bad dreams, Jimin-ah?”
It’s uncharacteristically soft and Taehyung’s eyes are uncharacteristically kind. Jimin shouldn’t give in—should stay with the words, talk everything out, go over it all and speak the truth. That would be the right thing to do but…
Taehyung smiles, and Jimin is weak.
He climbs in, careful not to jostle the bed or Taehyung too much as he does. “Sure. But don’t cuddle.”
“On my honour, darling. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Jimin doesn’t push him away when his leg drapes over his hip in the middle of the night.
🖤⚔🖤
The din of the crowded conference room builds with each passing moment.
Seokjin stays seated, tapping his foot lightly. The shareholders argue amongst each other as sheaths of paper are shuffled around, passed to Seokjin and then taken, like clockwork.
It’s been yet another week, and the question of Joonjae’s inheritance hangs in the air.
The fate of the camp is yet to be finalised. After the reveal of Joonjae’s transgressions and the subsequent death, news of the assassin king’s empty seat has been making the rounds. Amongst themselves Joonjae had always played favourites with his children—but the shareholders don’t possess that same patience.
Though not as archaic as Joonjae had been, the world at large still prefers alphas to omegas. Despite Seokjin’s formidable reputation, people are halted by his omega status. By now, he’s not fazed— just tired.
He rises, and silence falls. He buttons his suit jacket, nodding at them before taking his leave. Whispers burst almost immediately, but Seokjin ignores them.
Somehow, the taste of the throne being so near doesn’t appeal to him anymore.
It had been his only goal his whole life, and now that it’s right there in the palm of his hands, he wants nothing but to fling it far, far away. Sure, the shareholders will debate till their last breath. With Namjoon’s permission, he’d informed them of his true status as well as his wish to back out—which left Taehyung and him as contenders. Of course, they’re waiting for Taehyung—the only alpha son.
Some phantom part twinges from the familiar irritation, but most of him is numb.
It’s been that way for a week, now. Going about the motions, waiting for Taehyung to wake up, and tending to Namjoon whenever he has time. Running a camp never stops—whether or not he’s the chosen new heir, Seokjin still knows the ins and outs of the organisation. It’s all he can do to not drown because this work is a welcome break from the person living in Seokjin’s room.
He’s done his best to avoid Jungkook ever since their meeting at the shrine.
It hadn’t started that way. At first, Seokjin did have a lot of work. And then it turned to staying back at his office longer and longer until he stumbled into his wing late at night to a snoring Jungkook. Even then, Seokjin had decided not to disturb him—and took to sleeping at the office.
The call stretches taut between them constantly, a maddening hum to give in. It would be so easy to fall—and that’s exactly why Seokjin stays away.
There were a lot of things he disliked about Jimin, but he’d been right about one thing—someone like Jungkook could never fit with someone like Seokjin.
He’d wanted to deny it, but the voice of reason had taken over. None of it matters when Jungkook is a cop who should be arresting someone like Seokjin, who’s killed people like him before.
Avoidance is in their best interest, even if earnest little Jungkook doesn’t know yet.
Seokjin walks down the hallways to Namjoon’s wing, wanting a distraction before his thoughts consume him again. The path is a muscle memory by now, taking turns mindlessly before ending up at the door. Seokjin clears his throat before entering, visiting a familiar scene.
Namjoon on the bed, his injured leg wrapped in a cast to his knee and resting on a pillow. His neck is wrapped in a brace—Joonjae’s claws had strained some muscles along with the punctures left by his nails, and there are bandages left still.
There’s a lump in his throat as he approaches Namjoon’s sleeping figure.
Namjoon doesn’t need check-ins anymore. He’s safe. Seokjin’s just been using Namjoon’s room and presence to hide.
Despite his transgressions with the alpha drugs, Namjoon has never held a grudge against Seokjin. It’s a shameful thing to admit, but Seokjin feels safe here and really—he doesn’t want to face all the things that hold a mirror to his feelings.
He sits down at the edge of the bed, pushing back Namjoon’s hair, checking on the staleness of the bandages. He gently takes Namjoon’s arm, and checks for the marks—there is a tell-tale sign of when Namjoon’s going into withdrawal and when he needs his next dose. Usually the darkening of his veins, and they’re often lost in the bruises left behind. Seokjin is an expert in finding them. It’s nothing to be proud of, but there is some relief about knowing what works for Namjoon.
He traces over the patch, fingers pressing over the inner elbow when a sickly sweet smell assaults his nose. Seokjin moves to unclip his knife—but there is a derisive snort almost immediately, and he freezes.
It’s a sound he’s a grown up with, as familiar to him as his blood.
“Getting back to drugging our brother again, hyung?”
Seokjin turns. Taehyung’s smirk greets his eyes, though he’s worse for wear. “I was checking for the withdrawal.”
“Always the dutiful one,” Taehyung drawls, limping into the room. He’s alone; there are no weapons, and the scent is all over the place, a strange bitter-sweetness to it covering weak lavender. “Get me a chair while you’re at it? Since you’re being so helpful.”
“I see nearly dying didn’t get rid of the attitude,” Seokjin mutters, though he grabs one of the chairs, placing it close to Namjoon. He hadn’t seen Taehyung in two weeks; the last had been when he’d gone into a seizure in a pool of his blood and Jimin had bitten him in desperation. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I’m sick of it. Decided to take a stroll for productivity.”
“And realised Namjoon’s room was the first stop?”
“Oh, I didn’t want to procrastinate on meeting my brother who also almost died, you know,” Taehyung says, and Seokjin flushes. Damn him. “My priorities are quite straight.”
“Fuck right off,” Seokjin snaps, but Taehyung grins—and Seokjin wilts. He can’t do this. He doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. He twirls the knife in his hands, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “I was busy.”
“Running a camp does that. Couldn’t wait, I suppose.”
“Give me a break,” Seokjin says, though he doesn’t deserve it. For so long he’d been chasing a dream, and it tastes like ash now that he’s woken up. “There was chaos. People wanted answers, shareholders were ready to rip us apart and the funeral—”
“Moon, relax, hyung. I was just playing,” Taehyung says, Seokjin looks up this time and sees something new in his eyes—compassion. It’s never been. He looks away, nodding at Namjoon. “How he’s doing?”
Seokjin waits for a moment before he clears his throat. “He’s fine. Broken leg. Healers said he’ll be able to walk after all but with a limp maybe.” He thinks about returning the favour, asking after Taehyung. The lump in his throat grows larger. “He’s come in and out of consciousness.”
“Sounds good.” Taehyung doesn’t move, leaning on his right to avoid putting pressure on the wound. Neither seems to want to address the elephant in the room—that Namjoon is where he is because Taehyung had intervened.
If he hadn’t, Namjoon would have been the one on the pyre.
Or if Jimin hadn’t bitten him, Seokjin would have been burning three bodies.
The thought of it is so atrocious that it lurches out of him, dislodging the lump. If Seokjin’s plan hadn’t gone the way it had, if Joonjae hadn’t bought into his bluff then he would have truly been alone. That he would have lost both of them—
“I’m sorry,” Seokjin gasps, eyes smarting from the guilt. The horror. “I’m so, so sorry, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung turns to him, his eyes wide—and Seokjin breaks.
In another lifetime, he would have chastised himself for being so weak. That’s what Joonjae had told them—only weaklings cried and mourned. True warriors kept themselves in check. He’d said it when Seokjin had lost his first pet, right up to when he’d seen his mother’s burning pyre. He’d punish them often for showing anything, and not surprisingly, Taehyung had been punished the most.
As they’d grown up, they began telling it to each other. Namjoon would keep out of it, and he knows that over the years, both of them would seek the middle brother out for comfort. But they’d never tell each other about it.
He’d meant what he’d told Jungkook. We never talk. It’s not something we do. Every fibre of his being wants to run away, to pretend like there’s nothing to speak.
But that would be giving into Joonjae’s memory, and Seokjin wants to carve that man out.
“I’m sorry. For everything.” Seokjin takes a wheezing breath in, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know how much you know or what Jimin told you but I didn’t see any other way of getting things done and I—I didn’t want you to be in danger but I had no idea—”
“Hyung, hyung, calm down,” Taehyung says, leaning forward and sounding so concerned. “Hyung-nim, it’s fine. It’s okay. I know. Okay? I know.”
“You and Namjoon became collateral but you have to know, I never planned it that way. I just wanted to—I wanted to make sure this would be the end—”
“And it was. It is. It’s ended, hyung. He is dead,” Taehyung whispers, holding Seokjin by the shoulders. “Hyung, I get it. I really do.”
Seokjin wants to apologise, to confess everything—to have Taehyung screaming at him as he used to. He’s not deserving of the gentleness he’s receiving.
“I would have done the same if I were in your shoes,” Taehyung starts after a while, squeezing Seokjin gently. “I get it. You wanted to reduce the variable factors. Make sure it’s as tight as possible.”
“Emotions would have run high,” Seokjin states blankly, and Taehyung nods. “Jimin wasn’t happy.”
“Jimin has raging control issues that take over logic,” Taehyung snorts and Seokjin smiles. “He tries so hard to be rational but always loses the plot. It’s adorable.”
“Only because you get to come swooping in like a knight,” Seokjin says, and Taehyung winks at him. “If you’d known, I don’t think Abbeoji would have believed me.”
“I agree. You were right in keeping this to yourself.” Taehyung leans back. “Things worked out anyway. So it’s chill.”
“Easy to say that when you’re alive.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t be saying it if I was dead, would I?”
Seokjin huffs, but a weight’s lifted off his chest. Taehyung, always finding a way to get on his last nerve. Seokjin’s glad it’ll continue to be that way. “You wouldn’t. Destiny’s a funny thing.”
He can sense the way Taehyung turns guarded, as Seokjin's eyes hover over his mating gland. He hadn’t been able to process it when Namjoon had told Jimin to bite, or even when Namjoon had told him the reason later on. Yet, it wasn’t as much of a shock as he’d thought it would be.
“You don’t believe in destiny.”
“No, but it’s been rather convenient in this case, hasn’t it?” Seokjin retorts, and Taehyung pouts. “Namjoon told me before you ask.”
“What happened to our honourable brother who keeps all our secrets,” Taehyung mutters.
“Honour is questionable when you’re drugged to the Moon’s heaven,” Seokjin says, crossing his legs. “How long have you known?”
“Fourteen. Hid it.”
“Ah, so Jimin didn’t…?”
“No. Wouldn’t have been able to leave if I did,” Taehyung says, his voice slightly clipped. There’s something here that Seokjin knows he shouldn’t push just yet, despite the questions that bloom. “Were you avoiding me because you felt sorry?”
“That, and Jimin threatened to impale me with his pretty daggers if I came any closer.”
“I did not miss that possessiveness,” Taehyung remarks, and Seokjin snorts. “For what it’s worth, I forgive you. And also admire you for the decision you made. It must not have been easy.”
“Didn’t matter when so much was at stake.” Seokjin picks at a thread on the bed. “I wanted to do the right thing for once.”
“I can’t keep giving you so many compliments, hyung-nim, my acid reflux’s gonna act up,” Taehyung whines and Seokjin almost shoves a leg against him before he remembers. Taehyung grins. “Getting soft there, hyung.”
“Maybe we should find another reason to hate each other. I can’t tolerate you like this.”
“Shut up, you missed me,” Taehyung sings, getting that mischievous look in his eyes that does not bode well. “Crying and everything, my, my, hyung.—”
“Taehyung, I will shove you to the floor, and I don’t care which wound opens,” Seokjin says quietly. Taehyung raises his hands, though his cheeks are pink with mirth. “The shareholders are waiting, by the way.”
“Whatever for?”
“For you to provide input. Take over. You’re the surviving alpha, after all.” Seokjin’s heart thunders though he keeps his voice calm. Joonjae had never wanted Seokjin at the head, and perhaps Seokjin’s efforts had been in futility. Dead or alive, Joonjae’s beliefs would carry anyway.
Taehyung, however, laughs, cutting off as soon as it begins. The movement makes his shoulder jerk, and he winces. Seokjin raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to calm down.
“I never realised this before, hyung, but you’re funny,” Taehyung says after taking some water, leaning back carefully. “They said that and you accepted?”
Seokjin bristles. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Fucking fight back like you always have,” Taehyung snaps, both disappointed and playful. “When have you ever let status stop you from the seat?”
“That was before I found out how Abbeoji would do anything but have an omega on it,” Seokjin says, nails curving into his thighs. “It’s not wrong of me to think that way.”
“No. But it’s weak.” Taehyung shifts again, leaning forward as his eyes turn imploring. “Hyung. No one has wanted this seat more than you. It’s always been that way.”
“I know, but—”
“You and I both know some puny shareholders can’t stop you,” Taehyung scoffs. He’d always had that rather irritating quality of getting under people’s skin, chipping away at their defences. “So what gives?”
Seokjin wants to snap. He wants Taehyung to back off, to take the stupid seat and fuck off, and forget about all this. That inheritance has been the bane of his life, and really—how does any of this matter anymore?
He wants to snap, but something grasps his tongue. Think. Pause. Be free.
But it’s Taehyung.
Exactly. It’s Taehyung.
“I’m tired,” Seokjin confesses. The moment he says it, his shoulders shudder, the weight lifting off them. “Okay? I’m fucking tired. It’s been too long.”
Taehyung stays quiet, which is unnatural for him. His eyes, however, burn with compassion. Somehow, that gives Seokjin the spirit to continue.
“I wanted it because I…I wanted him to know that I could do what other alphas can. That I can do it better. I would be good not because I squashed my omega but because of it
“Since the day I presented….it’s all I wanted. Not for myself, but for him to see. Like I could change his mind somehow,” Seokjin says, eyes blurring. Tears slip out and he doesn’t bother wiping them. “But it didn’t matter, in the end. I could be the best, run it for him, deal with all his problems and do everything he asked for…and my value was only ever reduced to which alpha would breed me like a good bitch.”
Tears fall down Taehyung’s face, and there is a call for shame but Seokjin allows himself to feel this. To let his brother witness him.
“He’s dead now. He’s gone, and he’ll never…he’ll never see how capable I am. If I ever was. What even is the point? People look at me and only see an omega.” His wolf stays silent, letting him speak out his deepest fears. “Do I even want this? Or was it because I had to prove something to Abbeoji? What if I take this up and I’m not good?”
“You’ll never know it unless you do,” Taehyung murmurs, pressing a warm hand on Seokjin’s knee. It’s the first time they’ve ever initiated such familiarity. “All these questions…these what ifs…they’ll always remain.” He hums before his lips quirk up. Seokjin knows that look too well. “Funnily enough, I happen to have just the right solution.”
Seokjin huffs, pouring himself a glass of water. “I’m surprised you even have the ability to think.”
Taehyung beams. “I don’t, which is why I’m not thinking! I’m backing out.”
He chokes, spraying it with such force some of it gets on Taehyung, who curses. “Aish, hyung!”
Seokjin coughs, thumping at his chest as he bends over. He quickly grabs some linen and wipes his mouth, refusing to look away from Taehyung. “What the fuck?”
“You spit all over me, aish, hyung—”
“What the fuck do you mean,” Seokjin gasps, reaching out and grabbing Taehyung by his collar, shoulder injury be damned. “Backing out?”
Taehyung meets his eyes, much too calm. “Yeah. Seat’s yours.”
“Taehyung—”
“Before you ask, this was always my plan,” Taehyung says, gently holding Seokjin’s wrist and pulling away. “I even told you about it.”
“When did you—?”
“When I came with Jimin, remember? I told you I’m backing out.”
“That was—that was just a joke! A plot to confuse me!” Seokjin splutters, but Taehyung grins. Moon above, so fucking infuriating. “You were saying that to piss me off!”
“Still working, isn’t it?” Taehyung sings, dodging when Seokjin makes a move. “Hyung, I meant it. No one deserves this more than you.”
“But you always…we used to fight about this—”
“Yeah. We did. I thought I wanted it too because I thought I could show Abbeoji how strong I was. I guess both of us wanted to prove ourselves to a thankless man.” Taehyung scoffs then, shaking his head. “Until I found out about Namjoon-hyung. Then Eomma. I just didn’t…I wanted him gone. And then I wanted to go somewhere far away.”
Taehyung huffs in amusement. “Now that I know I’m a bastard son…it feels even more like an insult. And unfair. I can’t take that away from you. Running the camp…you’ve always been the most accomplished between the three of us.”
“Neither of us has had a chance to know that, though.”
“No, but Abbeoji relied on you. You did everything, like you said. And anyway, it was his trust in you that worked against him. Because he did make you do all of it.” Taehyung shrugs, then curses again. “Fuck this bite. Anyway. There’s no other proof we need.”
Seokjin can’t believe it. He’s still scared, still hopeless in a lot of ways…but the faith and trust Taehyung has. He can honour that.
He kneels, clasping Taehyung’s hands in his own. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me know that.” He pulls Taehyung in for a hug. The alpha squeaks in surprise, but then returns it back with as much warmth—and it feels like a new beginning.
“Glad I could finally see this,” a voice says behind them, and both spring apart to find Namjoon grinning at them, tears in his eyes. “Look at that. The Moon didn’t freeze over after all.”
Seokjin and Taehyung look at each other—and then laugh, as they sit around Namjoon’s bed and initiate an awkward hug. It’s not the best, and it’s not familiar—but it’s a start.
Without the presence of a tyrannical father— they can finally be a family at last.
🖤⚔🖤
Eventually, the camp begins returning to normalcy.
There is still a hush over speaking about the fallen assassin king, but as it is, the servants work, the trainees continue their training and business resumes as usual.
Jimin can’t stop thinking about what Taehyung had said.
Things have been normal between them too. Taehyung began recovering rapidly after waking up, able to walk and move, talking when needed. He’s gentle with Jimin—careful, but not as if Jimin is fragile. They sleep side by side— though it’s all innocent. Neither of them had made any moves or indications, and Jimin isn’t sure what it all means.
What being Half-Bonded implies.
Taehyung’s words resound now and then. We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t reassure him—he worries and worries hard. Something is going on here, yet one more layer between them that he has to peel at with cracked skin and brittle nails. A wall Kim Taehyung puts up behind his easy-going smiles and boyish charm.
He tucks his shirt into his pants, getting ready for the council meeting Seokjin has called for. That had been strange too, especially after the last time Jimin had seen him. The jerk he’d felt, his omega rising up as it met Seokjin’s—the recognition had hit him ice-cold. He’s ours. He’s pack.
It’s difficult to swallow, because if Seokjin is his Soul Mate then it means…
It means Destiny was at play all along.
Despite the overwhelming evidence, it’s the one thing Jimin can’t accept. It seems almost…too cruel to be the truth. And yet…every moment of his life, every interaction has led him to people who were somehow motivated to protect each other.
The bathroom door opens, and Jimin turns. Taehyung shuffles out, still limping. He sits on the bed, and Jimin walks towards him, helping him silently—there is a connection, a silent dance in the bond set between them. An otherworldly understanding of his needs that Jimin doesn’t even have to think about.
He brushes back the wet strands of his hair, curling them carefully around his neck. His mating gland is pulsing pink around the bandages, and on the other end the feral bite is recovering too—though it seems to cover Taehyung’s natural scent with a strange sickly sweetness. It’s one more worry that festers away inside Jimin, threatening to consume him—
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” Taehyung murmurs as Jimin puts in his boots and laces them up. “I can do it myself.”
“I’m not doing it because you’re incapable,” Jimin says, brushing off the dust. This position, where he kneels in front of Taehyung, would invite a lot of crass jokes—but both know it’s not the right time for it. He leans forward, and unbuttons the shirt next—Taehyung had gotten them mixed up. “It’s not the worst thing to help someone.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You never would have.” Jimin focuses on the task, refusing to look Taehyung in the eye. He moves to the sweater vest, pulling it over Taehyung’s head gently. This is the tricky part—if he moves his shoulder too much, the wound can open again. It’s happened twice, and it’s been a bitch to treat every time. “Stay still.”
He’s much closer to Taehyung this way, and yet all of him is calm. His hormones are under control, his wolf is content. Once, such closeness would have driven him insane. It still would in another time—but over his head body is he going to let his horniness get in the way.
Taehyung’s well-behaved when he has to be. Jimin manages to shift his arms easily, tucking it in. The alpha looks at him the whole time, his eyes wide and soft—and Jimin’s heart aches. He pushes back his hair again, curling his shirt’s collar over the neck of the sweater, tracing Taehyung’s mating gland by accident. He jerks, and his pupils grow darker.
“You don’t want to do that just now,” Taehyung warns, and Jimin gulps. There is tenderness, yes, but the need isn’t far behind. Bonded or not, there is always a part of him that wants Taehyung desperately.
“It was unintentional,” Jimin says, but there’s so much conflict about destiny and intent in his head these days that he can’t even believe himself. Taehyung doesn’t either—he pulls Jimin closer by his good arm, holding his face. He gently traces a thumb over Jimin’s cheeks. It’s enough to make the blood rush to the surface. “Taehyung.”
“So warm,” Taehyung murmurs, heat and wonder trapped in his eyes. “It would be fun to skip this stupid meeting and sleep in, hmm?”
“Like he’s going to be okay with that,” Jimin says, wanting and leaving. He wants to give in, make a mess of Taehyung—but for those damn words. We’ll figure something out. “He’d come in barging and demand why we’d ignore him.”
“Mm, he might just leave if you and I give him a show,” Taehyung whispers, fingers trailing down to Jimin’s mating gland. “What do you say?”
His skin is warm, and his gland is inflamed; he wants to do just that—but he’s not sure how much of it is Taehyung and how much is the Bond. It’s close, pulsating under his skin, flushing him in and out. Complete it. Give in.
Jimin pulls back hastily, straightening his shirt. “I’m not interested in Seokjin being part of the entertainment.”
“Such a prude now, Jimin darling. How disappointing,” Taehyung says, lips quirking in a familiar smirk. “Since you’re so sure I’ll fall apart on my own—help me to the meeting room?”
He pouts, and Jimin rolls his eyes. He offers an arm anyway—neither addressing the lack of Taehyung’s natural scent nor the fact that Jimin is still attracted to him.
The meeting room is the same one as the one they’d used when plotting the coup. Namjoon is already there when Jimin and Taehyung arrive, along with Yoongi—who stands at the window, staring at the grounds ahead.
Hoseok sits next to Namjoon, holding his hand. He’s looking at the table, lips turned down and eyes swollen red. Namjoon bites his lips as he looks between the two, and Jimin feels despair and anger pierce through another Bond.
Something’s happened between Hoseok and Yoongi.
He doesn’t ask, helping Taehyung sit first. He looks around again, noticing the two people missing. “Where’s Jungkook?”
“Coming with Jin-hyung, I think,” Namjoon says, shifting uncomfortably. He’s in a wheelchair contraption of sorts—his leg is still healing and likely will for the next couple of weeks as it sets. “How are you, Jimin-ah?”
“Better. Exhausted.” He sits down, leaning back. “Just so fucking done.”
“I’m also doing splendid, thanks for asking, hyung,” Taehyung says, pouting. Jimin rolls his eyes. “In case you forgot.”
Namjoon laughs, his expression fond. “How could I ever? My baby brother, my saviour.”
Taehyung blushes. “Aish, hyung, not that way.”
“Why? It’s true. My baby brother stepped in front of the big giant wolf—”
“Lalalala stopppp,” Taehyung whines, his hands over his ears. “Don’t make this weird.”
“You’re the one who wanted praise—”
“It’s called good manners—”
“Actually, it’s called patience. You’ll get it, eventually.”
“Hyung, that’s cold—”
“Do you two never stop,” Yoongi drawls, still looking out. “This is exhausting.”
Namjoon and Taehyung exchange a look. Hoseok looks miserable as if hearing Yoongi’s voice itself is painful. “Well. It’s not like you’ve ever had siblings.”
“How wonderful I now have three,” Yoongi snorts. “You’re just learning.”
“I think what Yoongi-hyung’s saying is that he wants to be bullied too,” Taehyung says, and Namjoon laughs. “Our hyung feels ignored.”
“Aish, you brats—”
“As your oldest hyung, I want this infernal conversation to be over,” another voice says, and Jimin straightens up as Seokjin enters. Behind him is Jungkook, small and nervous. Yet his eyes are wide open in awe as he looks around. “We need to get back to business.”
“You’re no fun,” Taehyung says, though there is a lightness to the siblings that Jimin’s never seen before. “You’d think after his death you’d relax a bit.”
Seokjin grimaces before taking the head seat. Jungkook takes the one next to Jimin and nods cutely. He looks healthy and recovered—just a nasty scar on his forehead, but otherwise perfect. Jimin squeezes his hand, hoping it shows his love and relief.
“I invited you to this meeting because I wanted clarity on how we’re moving forward here on,” Seokjin says, hands on the table. It suits him—despite his jabs over the years, Jimin can see now that Seokjin was meant to be a leader in some way. “Since you’re residing on the campgrounds. There is no hurry, but I want the information just the same.”
It’s not a surprise, though the question still adds to the turmoil he’s been feeling lately. About the After, now that his quest is over. The proverbial question—where does Jimin go now? Can anything be salvaged from his life in Seoul?
Where do Taehyung and he stand?
His mating gland throbs, wanting its answers.
No one responds, checking and reading the room at their pace. There is something in the air between them all, a call they can’t name just yet—it tingles, raising the hair at the back of Jimin’s neck. His wolf stands alert, yet safe—pack. We are with pack.
It seems to be including all of them.
Jimin shakes his head away from the possibility of that just as Namjoon clears his throat, raising his hands sheepishly. “Well. I’ll start if no one else will.” Seokjin nods. “I was thinking…this is a long shot, and a lot of clarity is needed still but. I was thinking of looking for the lost Lunar Temple.”
Yoongi’s head snaps towards Namjoon at the same time as Hoseok. Seokjin leans forward. “Go on.”
Namjoon wipes the sweat off his upper lip, adjusting his seat. “I’ve been researching it for a while now, way before all of this happened. It was because…well…” He trails off, cheeks blooming pink with shame. “Well, you all know that I was put on… alpha-stimulant drugs. Since the day I presented.
“I never really got to know what a beta is. The drugs numbed any connection I felt to my wolf.” Namjoon rubs at his chest, grief welling up in his eyes. “I always wanted to know, though. But I couldn’t stay away from the drugs long enough before I needed them again.”
“Namjoon-ah…” Yoongi whispers, sorrow on his face. Tears stream down Hoseok’s eyes, and Jimin isn’t far behind either.
“I believe that the Lunar Monks will help me discover that bond, and establish a connection once more.” Namjoon gulps. “That’s the only way I have hope of breaking the dependency.”
Seokjin carries the most heartbreak—his eyes swim with regret and guilt, and he nods. “Okay. I trust you; you’ve never been wrong with your research.” He clasps his hands together, fingertips turning white from the force of it. “These Lunar Monks…where are they?”
“The Temple has been lost for ages. It’s supposedly the last foothold to the Moon Goddess. Most think it’s a myth but I’m inclined to believe it’s real.” Namjoon smiles to himself, in his element of providing the information. “Lunar Monks are the Moon’s guardians, the last of her sentinels. They carry knowledge directly from the source. I think they’d know a way of weening me off the drugs without causing permanent damage to my wolf or myself.”
“I see.” Seokjin seems to be mulling over it, before nodding. “Okay. Do you have an idea of where to begin? What you’d need as aid?”
It’s surprising to see how calmly Seokjin is taking the news…then again, Jimin had never known how Seokjin was with Namjoon. Gentle, with respect. Namjoon smiles and the dimples pop out.
“I’ll research some more just to be sure but I think I know where I’d like to start. Legends say the trails are somewhere in the Jirisan Mountains. I’ll let you know.”
It feels good to know that maybe there is some hope for Namjoon out there, that he won’t have to spend the rest of his life on those horrible drugs, yearning for his true identity. Yoongi looks relieved while Hoseok seems…heartbroken all over again. Jimin needs to speak with him soon because their Soulmate bond feels all over the place right now.
Taehyung clears his throat then, tapping the desk in front. Everyone looks towards them. “I have some news too.” He grins at Seokjin, who rolls his eyes. “I’m quitting the force.”
Jimin turns towards him while Yoongi raises his eyebrows. Namjoon and Seokjin don’t seem surprised and really…it’s news mostly for Jimin.
Taehyung doesn’t meet his eyes.
“I’ve spoken with Jin-hyung but I’m out of the running for the camp seat so…that’s effectively hyung’s now. I’m out of that. And I’m quitting camp because…well.” Taehyung licks his lips, smacking them once. His scent has no emotion. “It’s boring. I don’t want to do this my whole life. And I don’t want Jin-hyung to be my boss, so. That’s that.”
Jimin can’t believe it. His wolf is more confused than ever, but Taehyung keeps looking ahead.
“What will you be doing, then?” Yoongi asks, bless his soul, though his eyes briefly meet Jimin’s and so, it feels like a favour. “You’ve only ever been here.”
“Exactly! Maybe it’s time to broaden my horizons, see what’s out there for me” Taehyung says, smiling ruefully. “Got inspired by you, hyung-nim. Quitting the mafia so you could be a university boy.”
Hoseok flinches at that, and Yoongi shrinks at the reaction. Taehyung winces before biting his lips. Too much has happened for them to be casual—or at least, this casual in front of Hoseok or Jungkook. The latter, however, is lost in his world, twiddling with the strings of his hoodie.
“Anyway. I’m still figuring it out but I definitely don’t want to stay stuck here. Maybe tend to the more legal businesses in the city and country, if Jin-hyung’s okay with that.”
Seokjin shrugs. “We can look at the logistics later. But good call.”
“Of course, it is. Look at you, glowing from winning at last,” Taehyung purrs, and Seokjin scoffs, though he looks fond. “What about you, Yoongi-hyung?”
“Going back to Daegu for a bit. Have to close some accounts, hold a funeral for my mother,” Yoongi says without a hint of emotion in his voice. “Apparently appearances need to be maintained even if one kills—” Yoongi cuts off, looking at Hoseok. “Anyway. That. Duty calls.”
“It’ll be a while before that happens. But for now, we’re clear on where each of you is placed,” Seokjin says, glancing swiftly at Jungkook and pausing for a bit. His eyes shudder for a moment before sliding over to Jimin. Weird. “Well, not all of you.”
Jimin shrinks back with a huff. “I’ll be back in the city. I guess.” Taehyung looks down, arms crossed. Jimin’s wolf whines in distress, and he catches the way the alpha stiffens. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”
Seokjin nods, looking between Jungkook and Hoseok—the only two non-assassins amongst them. Hoseok looks withdrawn, holding Namjoon’s hand tightly. Jungkook looks back, raising an eyebrow. Seokjin looks away, ears reddening.
The Bond pricks, picking up some discomfort from a pack member. Jimin’s still not sure what it means or this feeling about a pack when all of them are so different from each other, and with differing goals—but he lets it be for now.
He’s more concerned about Taehyung’s evasiveness, and what it means for them. If Taehyung quits the camp, then where does he go? Does he have plans, or will he come with Jimin to the city?
Does Jimin want him to come with, or is that just the Bond?
Their wolves are silent between them, and Seokjin clears his throat.
“Then, if no one opposes—I’ll put my name forward as the next leader of the Kim Clan.”
Namjoon thumps the table in support, as does Taehyung. Yoongi nods—and Jimin allows himself to feel the flicker of pride at Seokjin finally getting what he wanted.
Taehyung goes over to Namjoon and wheels him out. Jungkook says something—but Jimin’s eyes stay on Taehyung as he walks out.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
gaaaaaaaaaahhhh
I'm having so many mixed feelings at this point but the prime one is of annoyance because I swear I had an update plan and then I...became my own worst enemy. I've had this chapter in the drafts for over 2 weeks. Weeks! I just didn't bother and I don't know why. my therapist-y brain, after much self-psychoanalysis, figured it was the deadline itself perhaps. like a weird sort of creative self-sabotage. I even made google calendar tasks for this; there were supposed to be 2 updates but my ass was like 'eh fuck it take your time' WHY?? WHYYYYYYY
(I just really want this story to get over but at the same time I'm attached to it and don't want to let it go hah take that psychoanalysis)
However, I'm working on not being so critical about things I love. As many readers told me last time-- the sheer effort of writing so many words, of conveying the details of the plot I have built WILL take time and it's okay. I want to look at my work and myself with grace. There's no race. There's no achievement or fanfic corporate ladder to climb. Real life is crazy hectic, exhausting; capitalism is draining and sometimes at the end of the day fanfic feels like a task instead of fun so I wanna go to sleep. So yeah. Thank you SO so much for always waiting and being patient for these updates. I love you all.
Back to the update!!!! Ah, nothing much to say. These last couple of chapters will tie up loose ends, give closure to the past story arc and lead to the end of the first part. I LOVED writing the sibling bond part-- it felt so right. I've always liked the idea that had it not been for mfing rotten hell face Joonjae the Kim siblings would have been so fiercely protective and fond of each other. And now they can be that way! :") And uh oh Taehyung what's going on in that pretty little head of yours? How are we planning on giving Jimin anxiety again? Hehe. (Also ho ho ho with that past snippet)
Thank you for waiting. See you soon (can be anywhere from 2 weeks to a month at this point I cannot make promises). Comment your thoughts and love as always!!!
Chapter 28: These Shattered Edges Glisten
Notes:
Yet another month- but this one was warranted! 20k holy shit- this has to be the largest chapter of this fic ever? I'm so close to passing out right now I can barely see the screen but I HAD to upload. More on this update and life in general in the end notes.
ALSO THIS IS NOT WELL EDITED PLEASE EXCUSE GRAMMATICAL ERRORS.
warnings: This chapter is NOT Ramadan-friendly! In case you want to skip explicit smut I would suggest skipping the end of the vmin sections in this chapter. So if you want to wait, please skip this update. If you don't, this is roughly the guide:
1. Vmin Part 1: when Jimin says, "Breaking the bond will ruin me-" YOU CAN STOP READING THAT, right until Taehyung pulls away/canines are mentioned. "It never happens." The dialogues are relevant for plot progression.
2. Vmin Part 2: Important segment, read until Jimin saying, "I will I promise", skip till the italicised "mine, he's all mine".
I'm hoping that would be a sufficient cue for avoiding the smut. Apart from that- ENJOYYYYYY this feast.
UPDATE (2nd May 2024): PLEASE check the end notes for information on updates of ch 29 and ch 30. It’ll be a while before they’re up. Thank you for understanding!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There were moments in Jimin’s life till then where change felt abrasive against his soul.
Much of being an assassin was about routine—death was unpredictable, so everything else had to be an easy-to-follow structure. Shaken, and trouble stirred.
Sharing his heat with somebody else was one such shake.
After two years of Taehyung as his heat partner, Yuri felt…wrong. There was no other way to describe the sensation—like oil over water, and Jimin caught in the middle. It wasn’t bad—Yuri was just as accomplished in bed as he had been on the field. Respectful, gentle and willing to do as Jimin plead.
Yet every moment, despite being caught in the throes of heat, Jimin yearned for someone familiar. Someone who smelt like lavender on a warm spring day, nudging him to let go. Yuri’s lemon-grass scent was alright—but it held nothing to Taehyung’s lavender.
Betrayer. You’re betraying him.
Jimin closed his eyes as the last of the heat slipped away, and Yuri fell on top of him into an exhausted heap.
When Yuri didn’t stir, Jimin slipped away, scrubbing his skin raw pink until the traces of a foreign alpha left him. He slapped on a couple of scent-blockers on him before leaving—hiding himself from anyone looking.
It didn’t matter. As Jimin climbed into his dorm bed, the stain of what he’d done lingered anyway.
Everywhere he went, whispers followed.
The mess, the weapons room and the training grounds—after hours in his dorm—other assassins looked and whispered. For years, Taehyung and Jimin’s rivalry had captured attention. Then their poorly hidden ‘relationship’—no one spoke, but there were only so many threats Jimin could give. People always talked, and the camp knew of the way he and Taehyung tangled in the dark.
Jimin choosing Yuri for his heat over Taehyung was too good to pass up on.
It meant nothing. At least, that’s what Jimin wanted—for this change to mean nothing. He’d slept around before, and liked the power of choosing—but it had been Taehyung for so long…and now it was unsettling.
The whole camp believed that.
Except for Yuri, who took to being around Jimin, almost as if his alpha had claimed him after the shared heat— and Jimin could imagine nothing worse.
He’d always been kind and friendly, perhaps one of the few decent assassins who didn’t treat Jimin like dirt—but after the heat, he was everywhere. In the same classes, at the same table in the mess hall. Jimin couldn’t even blame him; alphas couldn’t keep away, especially once they’d had a taste of him. He held pride over it once—but now it felt like a brand.
It was as if the heat had lifted the veil, and cleared the haze. Yuri was just…another alpha.
Yuri, devastatingly enough, wasn’t Kim Taehyung.
And he was nowhere to be found.
Jimin had checked the public roster, and it had said that Taehyung had gone into a rut— as he usually did around Jimin’s heat. That had been the whole point of sharing their cycles— close enough, so they could ride it out together. It felt so abrasive when the alpha had first proposed— but two years later, it was the only thing that made sense.
Betrayer. You betrayed him.
Taehyung had to have spent his rut alone. Right? He’d told Jimin he couldn’t be with anyone else, how he couldn’t bear it— and that he only wanted Jimin. The whole point of choosing Yuri was to put Taehyung in his place, to show how easily Jimin could turn the tables, and move on. That he had no dearth of admirers— he may be non-Elite trash, but he was pretty and had a willing cunt waiting to be claimed. He wasn’t like Taehyung, who stuck to one person.
Jimin couldn’t be so wrong in his assessment. Taehyung wouldn’t share his rut with any other omega just to spite Jimin. He wasn’t the sort to do so, an unflinching loyalty that annoyed Jimin no end.
But the alpha had gone missing—so it wasn’t like Jimin could drag the answer out of him anyway.
It was all he could think about. Taehyung’s missing presence, and how hollow it felt.
Nothing seemed to hold his attention, as he chewed on the pathetic excuse for a chicken, and Yuri yapped his ears off. Jimin kept looking around the hallway, waiting for the alpha to show up. He sniffed, hoping the lavender would show what he couldn’t see—but there was only lemon grass and scent-blockers.
The seat at the table Taehyung usually sat at was empty, his cronies laughing and playing. One of them noticed Jimin staring and wiggled his tongue out between two fingers. Jimin rolled his eyes and held up a middle finger, going back to his meal.
“Why do you let them do that?” Jimin turned and found Yuri glaring at the boys. His face was splotchy red.
“They’re just being stupid,” Jimin said, tearing the flesh apart. “Not very bright. Can’t be bothered.”
“Perhaps no one’s taught them a lesson yet,” Yuri said, standing up. “A respectable omega such as yourself doesn’t deserve this.”
“It’s alright, Yuri-san. I’ve handled it before, I can do it again. They’re not worth the trouble,” Jimin said, but Yuri got up anyway, crossing over in a quick stride. The boys huddled close before one of them stood up in Yuri’s face— and the hall fell into silence. They could all taste a brawl in the air and hungered for it.
The first blows came about, and the poor thing wasn’t a match for Yuri. Cheers rang out through the hall, but Jimin kept quiet. And stayed that way when Yuri had the boy pinned down, and grinned at Jimin as if he had won for him.
Jimin picked up his plate and dumped it in the dustbin, walking away from the scene. He could hear Yuri calling for him, the envious whispers of the omegas who hated him for bagging yet another alpha.
It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t the alpha Jimin was looking for. The one who, come what may— would have never dishonoured Jimin by fighting a battle for him.
The whispers kept ringing, the hateful glares grew hotter. Yuri had apologised, but it was clear now that the alpha was trying to court Jimin.
It was only meant to be a game, and Jimin entertained him for a bit— Yuri was his friend, after all, someone he’d come to care for— but the attention was too…easy. Yuri gave it without a fight— it felt wrong to accept when Jimin hadn’t fought tooth and nail for it. Grappled in the middle, squeezing every inch of it until it was bone dry. Circling it, facing another wolf who wanted the same.
It didn’t have the same delicious sting the way Taehyung’s attention did, present but precarious. He took it anyway because he would be a fool to reject the yakuza. He knew the masters were looking, making sure nothing ruined their partnership.
He kept looking for Taehyung.
The mission roster didn’t have his name either— until Jimin bumped into Namjoon at the library. He told him of a secret mission, and nothing more— ruffling Jimin’s hair as usual. His head spun from the information. Something Jimin didn’t know, and he would have if he’d kept to their arrangement. Maybe cajoled himself into the plan. He would never beg Taehyung for favours— but sometimes, the alpha would have a soft spot, and let loose just enough hints for Jimin to pick up on.
So he wasn’t in the camp.
Somehow, that made him feel more alone than ever— without Taehyung’s familiar, irritating presence, his beautiful scent, his cocky smirk and the way he’d sometimes widen his eyes just to become a Boy— and have Jimin’s chest squeeze just a little bit.
His long, pretty fingers winding down Jimin’s waist to beneath his pants and—
“Jimin-san? Are you here with me?”
Jimin flinched as he came back to the room— in the middle of a training ring facing Yuri. They were both carrying samurai swords, his least favourite weapon to fight with. Too long and flashy, nothing like his darling knives. But Yuri had suggested, and though his word was not law— his aura had captured the whole camp, masters and students alike.
He nodded, getting into position. Sweat ran down his body, as it did Yuri’s— lemon grass burned pleasant with slight notes of arousal, and Jimin almost rolled his eyes. Alphas and trainings were always so predictable. Such excitable creatures— and they called omegas sluts for their legs falling open.
Some of it was for Jimin— he knew it. He used it. The attention was wrong, but it didn’t hurt to have it anyway. To know he’d somehow wrapped Hirai Yuri around his little finger. Older and wiser but the same as every other alpha— except Taehyung, who could withstand Jimin’s games and charms easily, playing along just for fun.
They commenced their training, and Yuri won naturally, toppling over Jimin. It was playful— until he ran a finger down Jimin’s scent gland and nipped at it.
Jimin went lax, as omegas often did when alphas would ask for a submission that way. It had been a while since an alpha had even attempted it— Taehyung never did, not even during heats when Jimin misbehaved. And yet…
Out of sight, something like burnt sage flooded in— revolting enough that it shook Jimin out of the submission, and had him looking all around the room— but there was no one to whom that scent belonged.
The spectators cheered, some cackling at Jimin and commenting on him losing his touch— and he swallowed it all down— because somehow, none of it mattered.
Only the absence of an alpha did.
It hit much later, that Yuri had made him submit without asking his consent. Assassin camps were a lawless land, but there were rules. Trainings were meant to be equal— neither side could use their status gifts unless mentioned otherwise.
Somehow, the knowledge curdled deep inside, and Jimin kept away from Yuri the rest of the week—no matter how hard the alpha tried to reach for him.
“Jimin-san, it was just play,” Yuri insisted as Jimin chopped a block of wood. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You did. Let’s not fool ourselves,” Jimin replied. Anger formed a thick cloud in his lungs. “Submission was never a part of it.”
“I made an overestimation,” Yuri said, standing tall and proud. Not very apologetic. “I couldn’t resist.”
Jimin halted. “What?”
“You were there on the ground…It was wrong of me, I know. But the way they speak of you…I wanted them to know I wasn’t ashamed.”
“Why? Is sleeping with me such a blot on your decorated career?” Jimin asked, leaning on the axe. “I don’t care what they say about me. So why do you?”
Yuri scratched his head. “I…it felt right. I thought it would help.”
Jimin scoffed. Yet another alpha who thought he meant well. But Jimin had been an omega long enough to know what it was— an alpha who couldn’t bear the slight of being with a loose omega.
He didn’t respond— Jimin refused to break first. Let Yuri think of him how he wanted. A good, solid alpha— but ultimately one who was more in love with his reputation than he liked to think.
He thought about the other alpha in his life who didn’t care— who kept quiet about Jimin because he’d asked. Not out of shame, even though he’d joke otherwise.
Yuri walked away when he kept chopping— and once he was out, Jimin let out a sigh.
The relief didn’t last for a long time. New whispers took root in the grapevines.
Hirai Yuri had vanished.
Jimin hadn’t even noticed, too lost in his latest mission to give a damn. When it wasn’t the assignment, it was the lack of Taehyung and the strange void he could not name.
The masters seemed worried. Yuri’s rosters were booked, but he hadn’t shown to any of the classes. His group members had no idea, though some had claimed he’d last been seen loitering outside the campgrounds. It was quickly ruled out— leaving camp unaware was simply unheard of.
He wasn’t sure what the discomfort was about. Secret missions happened sometimes; they could go days without seeing some of the students. And yet…
Daebonim’s youngest missing, and now the star student from the yakuza— there was fear too. Two of the best assassins the camp had ever seen— just gone.
Some even asked Jimin, since he’d been “claimed” by Yuri— surely he knew where he’d disappeared. And if not Yuri, then what about Taehyung? That wasn’t far-fetched.
“For the last fucking time— I don’t fucking know where any of them are,” Jimin snarled when one of the senior campers stopped him, post-spear class. “I’m not their mom.”
“No, but you did fuck them,” the person said, looking far too smug. “Maybe got passed between the two of them, led to a fight?”
Jimin whipped out his dagger, placing it under their chin all in ten seconds. “Wanna say that again, smarty?”
They gulped, shaking their head. Jimin stepped back, walking away— but not before he caught the tail end of “whore” whispered viciously.
He flung his dagger without looking— relishing in the screams left behind. It was short-lived— the words rang too close to him, bitter on his tongue. He didn’t belong to anyone— abhorred the idea that anyone could own him. Not even Daebonim did, though he liked to make a show of it. Jimin was his person no matter what.
The incident kept the rumours at bay— until the night at the mess hall.
They’d all finished dinner early, retiring for the evening for a small road trip the next day. One of those insufferable activities to build team harmony— yet another thing Jimin hated. But rules were rules, and this was the first one with the yakuza group.
Jimin was sleeping— when someone screamed. It was shrill enough to shiver down his spine and set his teeth on edge— all of them woke up, rushing out. The alarms rang soon after— and he followed the crowd as they surged towards the mess.
A crowd had formed around the doors to the hall. Sobs began somewhere, followed by whispers. Jimin pushed through until someone realised it was him, and then miraculously, the crowd parted before him.
Yuri’s soulless eyes were the first thing he saw.
Blank and unseeing, the whites ringed with burst veins. His head tilted to the left, a thin trail of blood and drool dripping onto his shirt. And the shirt itself, stained maroon around—
Around the hilt of a knife buried in his chest.
Jimin’s legs shook as he knelt. A crumpled ball of paper rolled out of Yuri’s outstretched hand. He smoothened it on autopilot and dropped it as if it was a hot brand.
Just one word.
Unclaimed.
🖤⚔🖤
Hoseok’s bones grow colder as winter stands its ground.
The last leaves of the willow outside sheds, and with it, he counts one more day in this prison. They don’t call it that, of course—it’s a nice room with walls shaded an olive green, an improvement from the cell—but Hoseok isn’t fooled.
Even if it all looks okay, danger lurks in these walls, waiting for him to give in.
It’s been a couple of weeks since that Day. If he thinks any further, he shuts down—the way those alphas burst into the safe house and the two guards that had been struck dead at his feet, or how he was dragged out after a punch. Waking up at a wedding venue facing Kim Seokjin and Yoongi in his wedding finery—
The speed at which it all unravelled. How his reality was broken, again, though they had promised him safety—and yet Hoseok had been forced to be a part of something he never wanted to.
He doesn’t want to think, but neither can he forget. The knife embedded in Yoongi’s thigh, or the way he pulled it out to…stab that woman. His mother. Viciously, eyes manic with rage. The way he’d crushed Hoseok close, hiding him from the chaos while pumping out familiar pine, was so comforting that Hoseok had allowed himself to indulge. One last time.
The way he’d stood in front of that horrid half-man, half-wolf, knees trembling but holding his own. When he’d rushed to Namjoon afterwards to support his crushed leg—despite the animosity he’d shown in the car ride before.
When Yoongi had shown up in Namjoon’s room, eyes pleading for a second chance—and crushed when Hoseok had denied him.
Hoseok closes his eyes, pressing his head to the window. The cold glass is a small relief against his flushed skin, and he counts to ten, gathering himself again. All alone, away from all of them. These people talk and laugh Death in the face with not a care in the world.
Even his darling Jimin, so similar yet different than who he’d grown with, and raised.
His only ray of hope in this madness is Namjoon. His chest twinges with the now familiar feeling of guilt—the betrayal, for clinging onto him. It’s not right, he knows—but he can’t help but reach for the beta anyway. The assurance in his voice, his smile, and how, despite being part of the same world—he seems so far away from it.
Even now, after the meeting in the council room. Hoseok didn’t want to go, but he didn’t want Namjoon to be alone either. Or rather—he didn’t want to be alone, not in the middle of this Moon forsaken place.
He hadn’t anticipated seeing Yoongi again—the dark moons under his sunken eyes, or his pursed lips when they landed on Hoseok’s hand through Namjoon’s. In true Yoongi fashion, however, he’d simply turned away, the vein jumping in his neck the only sign of his anger.
A knock sounds on his door, and Hoseok flinches out of the memories, wary. His wolf sits on its haunches—too much has happened for him to ever relax. He clears his throat, and the door opens an inch. Hoseok holds his breath.
Namjoon pokes his head in and smiles. “Hi. May I come in?”
His wolf lies back down, as does Hoseok, muscles loosening. He nods, gasping as Namjoon limps inside—he rushes to help, though the beta waves it off. He looks weaker, his usually golden skin sallow, and blue shadows painted under his eyes. His full lips are cracked dry, and his forehead has a light sheen of sweat. He doesn’t smell like anything—neither beta nor that manufactured sandalwood.
He collapses on one of the chairs, catching his breath as he leans into his walking stick. The leg is bulky with bandages. Hoseok hovers, unsure of what to do or say. He settles on scolding.
“What on earth made you walk from your wing to mine?” He asks, pouring a glass of water. Namjoon gulps it down. “You can barely walk!”
“I theorised it would make me feel better,” Namjoon replies, closing his eyes. “Lying down on your bed all day with nothing to do is not fun.”
Hoseok almost scoffs before holding his tongue. “And do you? Feel better?”
“Tired, more like,” Namjoon says, opening an eye and smiling. His dimples pop out and another forms in Hoseok’s belly. “A better distraction than a rotting mind.”
“You could have hurt yourself.”
“My leg is crushed. I’m sure one more injury wouldn’t make a difference,” Namjoon says dryly. “Though I suspect the fatigue has more to do with…my affliction.”
Hoseok’s eyes immediately fall to Namjoon’s elbow—it’s covered, but it makes sense. Are these signs of withdrawal? Perhaps it’s time for Namjoon’s…alpha drugs. Hoseok gulps at the reminder of the world he’s fallen into. He sits next to the beta, hands between his knees.
“Is it close?”
“The ingestion? Yeah. Though I never keep track.” Neither point out that his body does it for him perhaps, reminding him to take the thing that will keep him alive. “I’m sure Jin-hyung will come around soon with a batch. Taking them a bit earlier than usual.”
“Earlier?”
“Yes. I hate needing them…so I wait until I can’t. They have to fight to keep me down long enough to take them without the needle breaking inside me.” Namjoon picks at a seam along his trousers. “But since I’m going to the Moon Temple—I need to be as strong as possible while searching for it.”
Right. Namjoon’s leaving—to heal himself out of this dependency, and meet a wolf he’s never known.
“Makes sense.” He crosses his legs, twisted hands shoved between his knees reminiscent of the knots in his stomach. “How—how do you feel about that?”
“The Temple?” Namjoon confirms, and Hoseok nods. “I’m honestly excited. A little scared, but mostly hopeful. I’ve been reading a lot about it.” He smiles to himself. “It had always been a fantasy before. Abbeoji wouldn’t have let me leave his sights…but now, it’s possible to at least hope. I’d take that over this dependency any day.”
“I’m glad, then.” Hoseok clears his throat, scratching his knee. He thinks about home—his small apartment he’d built with Yoongi, now bereft of the alpha. All alone, a question mark on his future. “Maybe I could come along. Provide ground support on the quest.”
He means for it to be a joke, but the moment the words slip out, he knows they’re not. He wants to be anywhere but home—because home has lost meaning for him. It’s not this place, but neither is it Seoul. He chose to break up with Yoongi—but who is he without him?
What does he get back to, when home had been about pack with him?
Namjoon understands too—only he doesn’t smile. His eyes hang heavy with regret, and the knots sink lower in Hoseok’s belly.
“I appreciate the offer, Hoseok-ssi,” he begins, and the honorific sticks. “But Taehyung is already accompanying me.”
Hoseok frowns. The alpha who’d entered their lives and ruined it all. The alpha who saved Namjoon, and got bitten. His brother, and Jimin’s…True Mate. “Do they—does Jimin know?”
“I…don’t think so. No,” Namjoon decides, sighing. “Should be soon enough. About time they spoke directly with each other instead of at.” He turns to Hoseok, raising an eyebrow. “If you all did.”
It’s pretty clear what he’s implying. Hoseok keeping away from all of them, not even meeting Jimin and Jungkook. Yoongi had been hard enough; he can’t imagine having to face his Soul Mate knowing what he does. That he has no choice but to accept him.
“Maybe there’s something around here you need help with, then,” Hoseok says instead, ignoring the look Namjoon sends. “Packing? Medical aids? I’m pretty good with a first-aid pack. And if you sprain your foot while searching I can teach you some tricks—”
Suddenly Namjoon looms in front of him, hands clasped onto his shoulders, warm and comforting. The beta looks at him head to toe, a sad smile gracing his beautiful face.
“Hoseok-ah. Breathe.” He takes a few deep breaths, and Hoseok mirrors him. His eyes are swimming pools of warm honey, hypnotic in the sunlight. “Great. Are you good to listen right now?”
Hoseok nods. His wolf is calm, yet the sinking feeling grows—he’s safe, but he’s about to receive something devastating.
“I heard your conversation that day. With Yoongi-hyung.” Hoseok opens his mouth, but Namjoon holds up a finger. “I was awake when he came. I didn’t want to intrude so I kept quiet.
“I feel like I should clear some things up.” Namjoon takes a deep breath, hands tight. “I understand you liked my company. I enjoyed yours as well. I’ve never…connected with someone like that, and I’m honoured I got to share it with you.”
He grows sad again, tracing Hoseok’s face with a hand. It’s familial, patient and loving—just not the kind Hoseok had been dreaming of.
“I find you lovely, Hoseok. Incredible, and strong. What you’ve had to face here and how you’ve come out…I’m awed. In another world, I wouldn’t have thought twice, you know.”
Hoseok somehow manages to speak through the ball in his chest. “In another world?”
“Mm. One where I wasn’t the son of an assassin knee-deep in blood and mayhem,” Namjoon says, thumbing at the apple of Hoseok’s cheek. “Nothing can happen between us, Hoseok.”
He wants to fight. To push off Namjoon’s hold on him and hold him by the collar of his stupid shirt. Shake it into him that he’d be willing to start something even if there’s nothing. Anything but what he has to go back home to.
Yet, when he faces Namjoon—he wilts, the fight leaving him as soon as it arrives. Still, he asks. “Why?”
“Because my world—you don’t want to be part of it. Look at what it’s done to you already,” Namjoon says, tracing the moons under his eyes. “No matter how good you think I am.”
“But you are. You really are,” Hoseok insists, memories flashing to Namjoon visiting him every day, an apple in his hand as he sliced it into careful pieces. “You took care of me. And looked out for me when all of them—they just thought about their plans. I was mere collateral. But you cared, Joonie.”
“That doesn’t make me good,” Namjoon says gently as if he is a petulant child. Hoseok feels that way, too. “That’s a normal thing to do. It’s not something to be applauded for.”
“Still, none of them thought of it.”
“I would hardly call this place a representation of normalcy,” Namjoon says, snorting. “You can’t make such a big decision because of the decency I gave you while you were a prisoner.”
“I can decide as and when I please.”
Namjoon nods. “You’re right. You can. But the reasons you are accepting me…are the same reasons you’re rejecting Yoongi-hyung for.”
Hoseok flinches, but Namjoon holds fast. “N-no. I’m not doing that. I broke up with him because of other reasons.”
“Because he kept you away from this world,” Namjoon whispers, but Hoseok shakes his head. “Someone like you doesn’t belong here. And he intended to keep it that way.”
“I—he lied to me—”
“He left for good. He never meant to return to this side,” Namjoon presses. It would be cruel—except he speaks with so much gentleness. “Why would he speak about a past he never wanted?”
“It came back anyway.”
“Not by his choice. He did it so he could save you.” The reminder hits and echoes through his bones. Yoongi, desperate to save Hoseok, willing to bargain so he could have a chance. He shakes his head. “I’m not saying you have to choose him. But make your decisions out of want. Not—not helplessness. That’s not who you are, whatever little I’ve come to know you.”
“I am. I do want to be with you—” A sob chokes out, and Hoseok wipes his eyes. “Is it about our status? Do you think I wouldn’t like you because you’re a beta and I’m an omega?”
“Now you’re just stalling,” Namjoon says, chuckling. Hoseok wants to slap him and maybe kiss him a little. Just once, to know—but it’s so fickle. “No. I’m not so shallow.”
“So out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Because I’m not as good as you wish I was,” Namjoon says. Then he grimaces. “I knew about it, you know. The safe-house.”
Hoseok stills. “What?”
“I knew what Jin-hyung was planning to do. He came to me some nights before, and told me what he intended to do.”
Namjoon looks up at that, eyes steeled with determination, ready to face Hoseok’s reaction.
He stumbles back. “You…knew he’d expose the hide-out?”
“I did. I cautioned him—until I saw the benefits of his plan.” Namjoon sighs. “He told me so someone could look out for you. Yoongi-hyung couldn’t be trusted with the information.”
Hoseok’s brain buzzes even as his wolf sways. “You—but…how—why?”
“Because it made sense. It was the best way to create an emotional enough trigger.”
He pushes Namjoon back, his head spinning. “You…you used me? Too?”
Namjoon looks both ashamed and determined. “I suppose I did, in a way. I told him to be careful. He told me nothing would happen to you.” He smiles to himself, sad and somewhat hateful. “This is the world I am from Hoseok. I don’t kill actively. But I do make plans that involve killing. I study people and things that would make those people weak.
“I try to be good, to be mindful. But the truth is—I was born in this world, and raised in it. Even with the atrocities committed against me, I did my part to survive in it. I just believe that all of us must be treated with decency…and that’s what I gave you.”
“So you just…is this your way of telling me to move on? Because you’re ‘bad’ too?” Hoseok asks, crossing his arms. Betrayal curdles with the hope, a sour mix in his blood. “Why tell me at all?”
Namjoon sighs. “Because you deserve the truth. You’d hate it, but at least you’d know.” He pushes past towards the window. “You’ve been hurt the most amongst all of us. You never asked for this. I can’t, in good conscience, drag you further inside.”
It feels like he’s handed both an acceptance and a rejection all at once. It aches all the same. “So, what? I’m just supposed to move on?” Hoseok presses his nails into his biceps. “Trust no one?”
Namjoon opens his mouth—and then shuts it, helplessness lining his edges. Hoseok scoffs, though his eyes smart from tears. That’s all he can do. Face the ugly truth and then cry about it.
It’s exhausting.
“Well, I won’t hold you back then,” Hoseok says, the silence too thick to be comforting.
Namjoon’s pressed lips seem like a brand on their short-lived relationship—yet another end that Hoseok has to face somehow. The one good thing he’d thought he’d carved—snatched so cruelly. Alone, both by his choice and then some.
“It’s not the end, Hoseok-ah,” Namjoon, almost pleading. “I would like to know you in whatever capacity you see fit—”
“Except the way I see fit,” Hoseok cuts in. “Fine. You’re right. You’re a part of this world and I am…not. I don’t think I’ll ever be.” He clears his throat. “I wish you the best in your quest…Namjoon-ssi.”
He turns away when Namjoon reaches out—and the beta drops his hand, nodding in defeat before stepping away from Hoseok—forever.
🖤⚔🖤
A breeze ripples through the barley fields, caressing his skin into a cold flush.
One of the things that often went amiss during camp lessons was that for all their difficult, sometimes deathly missions— life went on, some people none the wiser of the seeding underbelly of crime.
The cold of wet earth bites through his jeans, though it doesn’t deter him from sitting anyway. The winter breeze picks up again, and Jimin shivers, grinding his teeth to stop the chattering. He could go inside—but there’s something mind-numbingly refreshing about sitting out in the cold that he doesn’t want to give up just yet.
Too much has happened inside the camp walls for him to slip right back into it. He just wants a break—from the walls and scents but mostly, his thoughts.
Nails bite through his sweater, but Jimin keeps staring out ahead.
“You’re going to freeze your ass off.”
Jimin scoffs, picking at the clod of dirt at his feet. Light trails of pine filter in as Yoongi stands next to him. He doesn’t bother looking up— he’d sensed him coming. Returning to this world had done wonders for his survival instincts.
“Better than sitting inside and doing nothing,” Jimin replies, wrapping his arms around his knees and digging his chin into them. “Sick of it.”
“Not a worthy cause to sacrifice your ass for.”
“Gotten me into enough trouble as it is,” Jimin says, finally looking up with a smile. “You’ve been a stranger, hyung.”
Yoongi sighs, hands in his pockets as he stares out. The alpha has grown thinner— face gaunt, blue shadows under his eyes more deep-set than usual. His skin is pale, a tad bit on the sickly side. Shoulders hunched from strain— Jimin knows it’s been a tough couple of weeks for him.
“Not every day you kill your mom, watch your dad get killed, and your half-brother slash Soul Mate almost die,” Yoongi says wryly. “It’s been a roller coaster.”
“It has. Wanna join me in butt-freezathon?”
“Don’t really have a butt but what the hell,” Yoongi says, straightening his pants before sitting. “Moon above, that is cold.”
“Shuts the brain off for a while,” Jimin murmurs, looking back at the swaying fields, the mist curling between the stalks. “Too cold to give a shit.”
They stay side by side in silence. It’s unusual—when Yoongi had first been introduced into his life, Jimin had only been slightly wary. Three years into a regular human life had weaned him off his trust issues just a bit, and in any case, Yoongi had proven to be stable. They’d developed a relationship of their own—no one kept him on his toes like Yoongi did, always ready with a quick-witted response and ready to knock the chip off Jimin’s shoulder without batting an eye.
Right now, that’s buried somewhere amongst the secrets and the truth. Yoongi’s always been the person who told the truth like it was—gentle yet firm. They both hid from each other— it had hurt to find out, but it would be hypocritical of Jimin to hold anger when he’d pretty much done the same.
They’d hurt the one person they’d both give their lives up for in a flash.
“He broke up with me,” Yoongi says after a while, tone too dry yet defeated. “Couple of days ago.”
Jimin hums. He’d known something had happened— and in hindsight, it’s not a surprise. Someone as pure and good as Hoseok…some sins could never be forgiven, no matter how hard Jimin and Yoongi had tried to redeem themselves.
Still, he asks, mostly for himself. “Did he say why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Look at what I dragged him into.” Yoongi digs into his pocket, bringing out a nicotine gum. “He said it wasn’t fair to expect him to accept this.”
It’s not, it’s never been. Jimin used to think that once, too, before his sense of morality and righteousness leeched away. “Can’t say I blame him.” He wonders if the same fate will be visited upon him. “So what now?”
“What I said at the meeting. Going back to the Estates, fixing the mess. Helping Geumjae-hyung get the affairs in order.”
Right, Yoongi had a life Jimin had never known about. “Your brother?”
“First cousin. Uncle’s son, died due to a cardiac arrest, shockingly enough,” Yoongi says. “Crazy, isn’t it? Seven years away from this life and I feel like I’m going to break.”
It’s a rare admission of vulnerability, but Jimin gets it. He’s gotten his survival instincts back, sure, but all of him feels like an exposed nerve, too raw to face this world the way he once could. “Too much’s happened, hyung.”
Yoongi sighs. There isn’t anything else to say or explain. It’ll be a while before they can even come to terms with how fast everything had happened. Couple of weeks ago they didn’t know the future. Now they’re left with secrets overturned and the dead buried.
“What about you, then?” Yoongi asks. He leans back, rolling his neck. “Back to Seoul?”
Jimin gulps. That had been the plan, yes…but Taehyung flashes across his mind again. What about them? The Half-Bond? Would the alpha be going with him…does Jimin even want him to?
Stop kidding yourself. You know you do.
“I guess, yeah,” Jimin says, chest tight with nerves. “I don’t know. I up and vanished for nearly three months. Not sure how to build my life again, or what’s left for me when I return.”
“You’re not a suspect or anything if that’s what you’re worried about,” Yoongi says, checking his wristwatch. “Looks like the beta at the hotel shut his trap.”
“Or I’d do it for him.” He shakes his head. If he’s returning, he can no longer be this way. “Probably fired from work.”
“You can make a good sob story up, I’ve seen you in action.” Yoongi snorts, and Jimin slaps his thigh. “You were on the road to partner. I don’t think you’re that replaceable.”
“I’m an omega at a law firm, they’re dying to get rid of me,” Jimin deadpans, though he knows it’s not fully true. He’d grovel a bit, as hurtful as it would be to his pride. “Fucking Kim Taehyung, I swear to the Moon…”
“That’s what you’re focused on?!”
“What? No—not that way!” Jimin exclaims as Yoongi leans back to avoid his punch. “Just…I want to know what he’s going to do.”
“Why?”
“Because I—well, I just—” Jimin shuts up. Yoongi looks at him imploringly, and he remembers once more that above all, he is one of his closest friends, even if he is yet another thing he ended up sharing with Taehyung. “He’s my Mate. I bit him. My life…isn’t just my own anymore.”
“Hmm. And that bothers you?”
“I—no. Yes. Maybe, I don’t know.” Jimin curls into his knees. “It doesn’t…but he never talks. I don’t know what’s on his mind and I’m tired of guessing.”
“Yeah, he’s an infuriating little shit,” Yoongi says. “Thinks he’s got all the angst in the world. Had that the first time we met too.” He looks at Jimin through his flicks. “So why are you guessing, then?”
“Sorry?”
“You’re tired of it—so why guess? Ask him, move on.”
“It’s not that easy, hyung—”
“Unless you’re the one who’s scared of his feelings?”
Jimin opens his mouth—and then shuts it. Bang on the nail, Yoongi always had the uncanny ability to hit the spot. “I’m—I’m not scared.”
“Jimin-ah.”
“Okay, maybe a bit,” Jimin admits, rubbing his arms for warmth. “He told me he’d figure out the Bond. What does that even mean?”
“Won’t know until you ask him.”
But Jimin’s afraid of the answer he could get. With Taehyung, nothing was predictable. Sweet one moment, cold the next. Charming before he became Jimin’s worst nightmare. He thinks about what Namjoon said the day of the wedding—he needs time, Jimin.
Time, the costliest of all commodities. “What if he doesn’t give me an answer?”
“Like you’re not annoying enough to claw it out of him,” Yoongi snorts and Jimin punches him lightly on his shoulder—causing him to wince. Oops, he forgot about the wound. “You’re avoidant as hell but when you want an answer…Moon save his soul.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Jimin whines, pouting. “Soul Mates doesn’t mean you forget the last seven years, hyung.”
“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Yoongi mutters, cheeks pink but lips fond. “I’m just saying. I haven’t ever seen you guys together but whatever little I did…major communication issues.”
“Like you’re any better.”
“At least I know Hoseok and I are done,” he replies without missing a beat. His voice trembles for only a moment. “I’ll grieve over what ifs and regret everything but at least we know where we stand.” Yoongi sighs then, looking up at the sky. “It’s not the worst thing, you know. The truth.”
Jimin scoffs. “The truth got us in such a mess.”
“The hiding got all of us in a mess. Now we’re left with double the pain,” Yoongi says, the wisdom peeking through. Jimin both hates and loves this version. “But such is our world. Lies seem better. But if we want to make a new one, if we want to be better…then repeating the same thing seems redundant.”
The words linger, the truth waiting to be swallowed. Jimin plays with his fingers—he’s afraid, more so than when he was in the wedding hall, more than facing Kim Joonjae. All of it is out now, and try as he might—he can’t avoid it anymore.
“You’re right,” Jimin admits, after a moment as the breezes picks up again. “Running away has got me too much grief. Good too, but it’s not enough anymore.”
“There’s the Jimin I know,” Yoongi says, reaching to wrap him—before wincing again. “Damn this shoulder. Anyway. If Taehyung acts like an ass send him my way. I’ll bully him.”
“Because you like me more?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of abusing my new sibling privileges,” Yoongi drawls, leaning away when Jimin raises his fists again. “But sure. I like you more.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I do,” Yoongi insists, tone soft and serious. “Before he came to your birthday, I’d cut ties off some three years before. Because you were in my Pack, and that was far more important than his favour.”
Jimin’s not sure what to say. He’s long past holding anger against Yoongi, but an explanation helps ease his nerves. “He was hurt, wasn’t it?”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow before shaking his head. “The way you both know each other…” He trails off, staring into the distance blankly. “Yeah. I don’t blame him—he was there first. But it felt wrong to break your trust like that.”
He thinks back to the moment he found out, and the café after they shared their cycle. He just wanted to know if you were happy. It’s one more infuriating hint into Taehyung’s mind and feelings. It makes sense now, with the Bond, but still. There’s a difference between asking about Jimin’s safety—and his happiness.
Only one of them made sense biologically.
“You know where he is?”
“Taehyung?” Jimin nods. “Yeah, I think I saw him with Seokjin-hyung a while back. Maybe something that looked like a healer’s unit?”
“I know it.” Jimin’s spent too much time there. “Thanks, hyung. When are you leaving?”
“About the same time as Namjoon. The first stop to the Temple is on the way.”
Jimin pats his shoulders before standing—and walking towards his last mission.
The healer’s section of the camp had been the most popular, despite how much Joonjae would look down upon it. It’s even better now, with state-of-the-art facilities and better medicines. It has Kim Seokjin’s hands all over it.
A sickly sweet scent reaches him first before he sees anyone, and Jimin freezes for a moment. He’s come to associate it with Taehyung—the lavender is there somewhere, the sage entirely suppressed. He’d waited for days, but the sweetness had only grown the longer Taehyung recovered. He can’t help but wonder if it’s related to the feral bite.
One at a time. Jimin takes a deep breath and moves inside, where he finds Taehyung and Seokjin checking the contents of a package. The labels hold the sign for transition drugs—and Jimin inhales sharply at the same time Taehyung whips his head around, hiding the box on instinct.
“Relax, he already knows,” Seokjin says, not even bothering to look up. They haven’t addressed the elephant in the room, about potentially being Soul Mates. Even now, he cringes at the thought. Seokjin, really? “Before you blast us with accusations—this is at Namjoon’s request before he leaves.”
“He wants to be drugged?” Jimin asks, hovering and aware of Taehyung’s every move. The way he breathes, how his hands flutter. How he’s just as aware of Jimin, but pretending not to be. “He hates them.”
“Yes, well, they’re the only thing that keeps him sane until further notice,” Taehyung says, lips pulled down. He’s still effortlessly handsome—his hair has grown too long, and Jimin itches to run a hand through it. “The journey will be exhausting so he wants to be in top shape.”
It makes sense, even though Jimin echoes the helplessness in Taehyung’s voice. His scent, marred as it is. “This is fucked.”
“Eloquently so,” Seokjin says dryly, pulling away. He looks Jimin up and down, then Taehyung. Snorts, blue eyes glinting. “I’ll be in my office. We can go over to Namjoon’s in the evening.”
Taehyung frowns. “Why not now?”
“Because I have work and debts to clear, and Jimin darling here is on a mission,” Seokjin drawls. Jimin’s cheeks warm as Taehyung looks at him. “Maybe this time both of you will speak and save us all a headache.”
Irritation flares under his skin, but Seokjin moves out before Jimin can get a word in. Losing his father and becoming the heir hasn’t deterred him from being the most annoying person.
Taehyung turns towards him. “What’s he on about?”
“Fuck if I know,” Jimin mutters, crossing his arms and legs, aware of Taehyung’s eyes on him. “Actually, I do know.” He takes a deep breath. “We need to talk.”
The alpha mimics his position, raising an eyebrow lazily. “Do we, now?”
His expression is stoic, though the tone is playful enough. Jimin can’t smell him well—something his wolf is anxious about— but the Bond lights up a bit, one of the lights flickering in response. It’s been days and he’s yet to understand the nature of it—present, lingering and aching, but vanishing sometimes as it comes up empty, receiving nothing from Taehyung.
“Always have,” Jimin says, going with the flow. “Let’s go on a walk.”
He’s done asking.
He doesn’t check to see if Taehyung’s following him, but the Bond stretches between them, tighter and brighter. He goes around the building, towards the empty grounds and the hillocks in the distance. When they were young, they’d make a game out of rolling down it—which is about where the innocence would stop. The next step had been to pick up the blades and have a go at it.
Older, and sometimes Taehyung would take him outside in the middle of the night, away from the dorms and the hallways, the nooks of fear. Open and far more dangerous—which made it all the more thrilling.
You won’t know until you ask. Yoongi’s words trail off, and Jimin is determined to make one more memory on these hills. Good or bad—he’s done stalling.
He can feel the Bond settle in again—Taehyung shuffles behind him, and once that position would have Jimin on his toes. Now, his bones feel gooey, like he can trust the alpha even with his back to him. His Bond says as much—tighter, but close now, hovering like a cloud. An itch builds at the base of his mating gland, one that he’s become familiar with over the past two weeks. Complete it.
Jimin swallows before he can think anymore.
They make it to the top, an old willow tree spreading its branches and rustling in the wind. Someone’s collected a bunch of rocks to make a seat, which is new. Jimin hasn’t been here in ten years, but the memories bubble under the veneer.
“Always liked the view from here,” Taehyung says after a while, slightly out of breath. A thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead; is fatigue an aftereffect of the bite? “Used to come here sometimes. When it got too much.”
Jimin eyes the rudimentary rock bench again. “Your handiwork?”
“Did the best I could,” Taehyung says, grinning while pushing his hair back. The healers had removed his left shoulder from the sling last week, but the movement is still restricted. “Not very romantic, I’m afraid. No love notes or secret confessions.”
“Not even in code?” Jimin teases, though it annoys him how easily he falls. He’s brought him here to talk but he just…gives in. Every time. “Losing your touch, there, Kim Taehyung.”
“Didn’t have room for practice,” Taehyung drawls, eyes glinting. “Happy to do it on you, though.”
There it is again. Charming smiles, mirth in his eyes. So easy to let go and fall, but Jimin needs to know. “What did you mean?”
“Hmm? Touching you? Nothing with that—”
“What did you mean? About going back to the city?” Jimin asks, going straight for the kill.
Taehyung freezes. He’s unpredictable and unreadable most of the time, especially now with his scent muddled—but he has a few tells. Whenever he’s about to lie his pupils widen just a fraction, and he tilts his head a bit. Jimin’s watching his every move, pockets of air locked in his chest.
But his eyes remain the same, and he relaxes. “What I said. I’m quitting camp, and exploring the city. Dear Abbeoji is no longer alive to dictate my every move now.” He leans against the tree, eyes far away. “See what the non-assassin world has to offer, hmm?”
He sounds playful. Jimin could trust that, except Taehyung hadn’t met his eyes in the room. He’s not avoiding Jimin, exactly, but neither is he all there. And it’s tiring, having to guess.
“And how are you going to do that without help?” Jimin asks, just as playful but sharp. Taehyung and Jimin, somehow match word for word eventually.
“Are you volunteering?” Taehyung teases. He thinks it’s a joke; it’s lined in the way he holds the question in his mouth like it’s ridiculous to even expect it of Jimin. He breaks a twig off a low branch and fiddles with it, walking towards the rock bench.
Jimin looks up. “I will.”
Taehyung pauses. Turns around, and his expression is…blank. “What?”
“I’ll help you. I do happen to know more about the non-assassin world.” Jimin holds himself, waiting for a response. He’s not sure what kind yet. “How to set up your legal life after a lifetime of debauchery. Easy.”
The alpha tilts his head, strangely silent. The lack of a scent is going to drive Jimin nuts—he’d never comprehended how much he’d been relying on that cue to judge the past conversations. Now he has to rely on words like a normal person. The Bond is useless here—just a warm bridge between them, a pulsating, primal call.
The blankness gives way to regret, and Jimin’s belly sinks. “Right. Of course, you can.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I…it’s actually going to be a while before I need that. In the city, I mean.”
“How come?”
“I’m going with Namjoon-hyung to the Moon Temple,” Taehyung continues, and the air vanishes from his lungs. “Help him search, I’m not sending him out there alone. But I figured it would make sense to get the bite checked out too.” He twirls the twig anxiously. “I haven’t told anyone, but it’s making me feel a bit wonky.”
Jimin can only stare. His mind is a cacophony of white noise and the shrill cries of his wolf. “I—wonky?”
“Nothing to worry about. I’m not going bat-shit crazy like Abbeoji or anything,” Taehyung says hastily as if that’s what Jimin’s worried about. “But my wolf feels off. Not fully present, and the pain too—it’s like a fog, y’know? I can see fine but it’s still an annoying layer. A disconnect and I want to know if there are bigger consequences to be worried about.”
Taehyung sits down on the seat. “Didn’t think about it until a couple of days ago. Spoke with Namjoon-hyung; he said it made sense to check it out if we find it. It’s not like I can go to a regular doctor or a healer…by royal decree, they’re obligated to inform the Crown about it.” Taehyung pushes his hair back in frustration. “I’m contaminated, according to the books on Feral Wolves. They could take me in so…”
“So you can’t go back to the city immediately, is that it?” Jimin asks quietly, crushing hope and quiet acceptance battling for a place.
“Well, yeah, that. I’ve spent my whole life keeping wary of a threat—I don’t want to add a new one to it.”
“Right.”
“Plus, I also think I can use this opportunity to look at the Bond. Figure it out, maybe see if they have a more professional Bond Breaker.” Taehyung leans back on his elbows. “That way you won’t have to be tied down with me forever.”
It should be getting old by this point—but Jimin’s world comes crashing down. “What?”
Taehyung takes it as a cue to keep speaking. “I’m super grateful for what you did. Takes guts to decide that. But being stuck because of it for the rest of your life. Maybe they’d have a better system for a clean-cut, huh?”
He wishes Taehyung was lying now—but every word seems so genuine, so thought out—this is not cruel Taehyung flinging his words to hurt Jimin deliberately. This is kind Taehyung who surprisingly thinks about others outside of himself. The Taehyung Jimin never got, not tangibly at least—and will probably never get.
“It’s a two-in-one solution. Figure out the bite, make sure nothing’s fucked with me, also find a way to break the Bond without dying—”
“Do you think saving your life was the only reason I bit you?”
Taehyung’s mouth is mid-speech, but Jimin’s done hearing him talk anyway. Once an annoying idiot, always an annoying one. The alpha seems to be short-circuiting—before his lips stretch thin, and a thin veneer of doubt shadows his eyes. “Isn’t it?”
“You’re a fucking idiot, Kim Taehyung,” Jimin hisses, looking down and towering over him. “Are you serious?”
“What? You shouldn’t feel obliged to stick around with me just because we’re bound to each other because of a stupid myth.” Taehyung takes a deep breath again. “So, thank you for saving my life, but you don’t need another burden.”
Cold, professional. Like they’re assassin colleagues ending a partnership and never meeting again. Fury burns in his blood as does the fear—that Taehyung will find a Bond Breaker, and end it. He’ll end things with Jimin, chuck him away just like his parents did and then he’d have no one again—
He grabs Taehyung by the collar and hauls him up, ignoring his wound. Fuck his shoulder, and the bite and the large feelings threatening to encapsulate Jimin. Taehyung cries out, hands trying to wrench Jimin’s away—but Yoongi was right. Jimin will claw the answers out if need be.
“Listen to me,” Jimin says, so close he can count Taehyung’s pretty eyelashes, the one mole at the tip of his upper lip. “You make a decision about us by yourself again, and I will kill you. Take away that life you’re so grateful for.”
Taehyung’s eyes snap wide open. “Jimin-ah—”
“No. No.” Jimin gnashes his teeth, knuckles white from the force of holding Taehyung upright. “You do not get to make that choice without asking me. You don’t.” There isn’t enough air. White spots dance at the edge of his vision. “You lied and hid and let me go. Fine. I’ll get over it. But not this.”
“Why the hell not?!” Taehyung snaps, struggling and shoving Jimin back hard enough he stumbles. “I’m doing you a favour! It’s not like you want to be stuck with me."
“Well, I do!” Jimin spits out, too angry, too scared. “Did you even ask me before deciding it’s a favour? Who gave you the right?”
Taehyung stares. “You want to what?”
“Do you really think I bit you to save only your life?” Jimin asks again, something desperate teetering on the edge. “Seriously?”
“What other reasons can there be, do enlighten me,” Taehyung snarks, and it’s so infuriating Jimin nearly screams. “What were the Ten Reasons to Bite Taehyung while I was dying in your arms apart from saving my life—?”
“Because I fucking like you!” Jimin yells. Taehyung stops short. He pushes through the air bubble in his mouth. “I bit you because I like you. I want to keep liking you, and I…I need you alive for that.”
His throat closes the bridge, but it doesn’t matter. It’s out there now, nowhere to hide and run. He promised Taehyung he’d stay—so here he is. Chest open and bleeding, bare.
It hurts like never before.
His eyes burn from the tears, and no amount of blinking helps. “Is that enough of a reason?”
Myriad emotions flit across Taehyung’s face as if he’s unsure which one to rely on. Doubt begins to stay more. “I…Jimin…”
“No. Don’t look at me like that.” He wipes his eyes furiously, rage and love blooming in his rib cage, spilling across his lips. “I thought about how we’ve never known each other the way we deserved to, we never had a chance and I just—I couldn’t lose you. Okay? I can’t lose you. I don’t want to.”
Taehyung bites his lips, eyes moist and threatening to break. Doubt spills its ink all over his face. His scent remains frustratingly sweet, but Jimin’s Bond pulses warm. The alpha rubs his face, hands trembling. “You’re just saying that. Like before.”
He knows what Taehyung’s referring to. Ten years ago, when Jimin had lied to him and slipped his way in. One last memory neither of them has ever addressed.
“And I can’t bear it again, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung whispers, looking away, tearing into his lips. “I won’t be able to take it if you do that to me again.”
“I won’t,” Jimin says, stumbling closer, grabbing Taehyung by the face; he half expects him to slap the hands away—but Taehyung waits. “I won’t.”
“No promises?”
“They don’t mean much between us, do they?” Jimin asks, earning a weak smile. “I meant it, Taehyung. I’m not running anymore. I want to stay.”
He closes his eyes, leaning in and pressing his forehead to Taehyung’s. His vision’s all blurry when he opens them again, and he’s too distraught to be embarrassed about it.
“So please….don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t break the Bond,” Jimin begs, fingers clammy as they grip at Taehyung’s neck. “Give me a chance. Please.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen. “Jimin-ah—”
“I know I don’t deserve it, and that you don’t trust me. But please. Just give me a chance to earn it back.” Jimin sniffles, freeing Taehyung to wipe his tears again. “I’m selfish and horrible and only think about myself and even now, I’m thinking about how much I need you. I’m going to ask anyway. If you break the Bond it will ruin me—”
Jimin doesn’t get to complete his sentence, because Taehyung swallows it.
If mouths could be a hungry vortex then Taehyung’s falls into that type. His lips press with bruising strength, heat bleeding into Jimin as he pries his mouth open with his tongue. The force of it winds him—he stumbles back, but Taehyung is there, holding him with one arm while tracing his jaw with the other.
It doesn’t matter. Jimin will always give in to Taehyung.
He falls, body lax yet wired up as Taehyung pushes him until his back meets the tree. The bark digs uncomfortably into his scalp but Jimin doesn’t care as he breathes in Taehyung like he’s the only air he’ll ever need.
Taehyung moves away, along his jaw down his neck, sucking into his skin over the scent gland. Jimin moans, hands flying up to Taehyung’s hair, his legs falling apart much too easily as his slit gushes. His Bond is no longer warm—it’s hotter than fire, burning through him towards Taehyung, where it meets a blank slate. It probes, waiting for an opening—and somehow, Jimin can tell that Taehyung feels it.
“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung growls into his ear as he takes the lobe between his teeth. “Fuck, you’ll ruin me.” Jimin moans, watching as their old memories are replaced with this new one. He’s so wet, that he’s certain his pants are stained. He takes Taehyung’s hands anyway, shoving them into his pants. Taehyung moans as he sinks into his tight, wet heat. “Fuck, Jimin.”
“Alpha,” Jimin begs, pulling Taehyung closer. He’s too far away. “M-more—”
“Shit, you’ve already ruined me,” Taehyung says as he curves his fingers just right, and Jimin leaks down his thighs. His cock remains unattended, and it hurts. It makes him wonder about Taehyung, and how hard he must be. How much Jimin wants him. “There’s no one else.”
The words are tinged with possession, and it sends a jolt up his spine. Like the first time, Jimin had kissed Taehyung outside of their cycle back then, and broken their careful set of rules. It’s a bit like that now, except this time there is no shame or regret. Pure desire, like he can never get enough.
Taehyung keeps fucking him with his fingers, occasionally stroking his cock—his mouth moves along his throat, edging closer to his mating gland. It throbs so painfully, so hot—close, he’s close. Complete it. Get bitten. Yours, he’s yours.
His tongue laves over it, a cooling effect— and Jimin sighs as Taehyung’s teeth graze against it, finally, finally claiming him—
It never happens.
Taehyung rips himself away, eyes wide with fear and lust as he covers his mouth. Jimin stands there, pants half down and so hard, leaking like a whore. Taehyung’s hand glistens with his slick, but the horror in his eyes is enough to temporarily pause his horniness. “Tae-Taehyung?”
The alpha heaves, neck red and splotchy, sweat running down his face. His pants tent obscenely and despite the change, Jimin’s mouth water. He’s never wanted Taehyung like he does now, so intensely and irrevocably.
He drops his hand—revealing two prick points of white canines, slightly elongated and receding with every moment. “I—I was about to Bite you.”
Oh. The Bond. That had been egging them on…suddenly, Jimin feels the shame, as he closes his legs, wincing at the slick cooling. His slit still throbs, as does his mating gland. “So you don’t…”
“No. No, baby, that’s not what I mean,” Taehyung says, stepping close, holding Jimin by his face. “We shouldn’t…” Jimin waits as Taehyung collects his thoughts and his breath. “Jimin-ah. Do you trust me?”
What a funny alpha. Jimin should be the one asking that. “I do.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “Just like that?”
“You’re not an asshole like me,” Jimin says, grinning as Taehyung smiles. He holds Taehyung’s wrist. “You wouldn’t ask me something like that without reason.”
“True.” Taehyung breathes out, pressing his forehead against Jimin’s. They were really about to go at it like rabbits in broad daylight. “You know why I stopped, right?”
“Yeah.” This is the tightrope they’ll struggle against until they’ve worked through their shit. The Bond versus the relationship Jimin hopes to build with Taehyung. “There’s still so much to talk about.”
“Without biting each other’s heads off,” Taehyung jokes, groaning when Jimin pinches his side. “Meanie. I was just trying to keep it light.”
“Not the moment,” Jimin mutters, the ever-present fear showing up again. “You’re still going to go?”
Taehyung looks regretful, so Jimin will take that. “The feral bite is a priority. I’m not going to hang around you or anyone else without knowing if there are consequences to being contaminated.”
“I could come with you—”
“No.” Taehyung nuzzles into his hair to soften the harshness of it. “Just—trust me? Please?”
Jimin wants to protest, to demand the answers and the plan. But he already knows—the Half-Bond is intense, demanding Jimin to complete it, enticing Taehyung to give in. And as sure as Jimin is that he wants nobody else but Taehyung—they need to learn about each other again.
He wraps his arms around the alpha, nuzzling into his neck. No scent, but at least he’s warm as ever. Jimin’s destined Mate.
“I do.” He looks over his shoulder at the view ahead. Taehyung wasn’t kidding. “There’s no one else for me, too.”
Hope blooms in his chest when Taehyung presses a smile into his skin.
🖤⚔🖤
Walking around in the camp is liberating.
Now that he’s no longer a prisoner, the world seems brighter, the colours sharp on his eyes. It’s opulent— built like a school, with classrooms and hallways, training grounds and weapons room, and a mansion upfront masking the grittiness of crime.
Children as young as ten walk in neat files with daggers attached to their belts, while some study inside quiet rooms. The air is rich with scents of presented and unpresented people alike, and his head spins.
He’d be awed if he wasn’t so disgusted.
It’s there, lingering, its jaws snappy whenever he admires anything, both suffocating and comforting. It’s disgusting that such a place exists at all. It’s comforting that he hasn’t lost his morals yet.
It’s confusing that he stays behind, unsure of where he fits in—or if he wants to.
He could report this entire unit. The intel alone would help bust so many drug and crime rings in the city—they must be keeping a ledger somewhere. The camp is organised to a T, a well-oiled machine.
His wolf rises, cautioning. No. It would put him in danger. You can’t.
Seokjin has been avoiding him.
For an assassin, his tells are painfully obvious. Or maybe it’s because Jungkook is so attuned to him now, after weeks of staying in his room and bathing in his scent, and facing Seokjin at his lowest. He can tell now when the omega plucks himself out of sight—his chest aches from it.
He’s busy, of course, bringing the camp back piece by piece after the mess his father’s death created. There are calls, cancellations, losses— Jungkook’s heard the servants whispering, and he can feel the pressure through the bond. He can do nothing but stay with it, and be there should Seokjin ask.
The hope confuses him like nothing else.
None of this makes sense. Destiny seems like a delightfully painful occurrence—had Jungkook not looked for Jimin, he’d have never come upon the phantom town, and gotten kidnapped. He’d have stumbled along unaware of True Mates, of Seokjin and their bond. A destiny handed by the Moon herself.
And yet. Jungkook can’t help but stay anyway, whether Seokjin asks or not. He hates this place the longer he remains free within its walls—but he’s not so sure about the new heir.
If he should protect him—or do his duty.
The call stretches like elastic, and Jungkook’s afraid of what will happen when it snaps. The pain it will bring.
Jimin has been busy tending to Taehyung, and Hoseok keeps to himself, away from all of them. Yoongi had been helping Seokjin—but he can’t reach out to his Pack Alpha, not with the shadows hanging under his eyes, the grief hovering above.
Jungkook kicks away the sheets, skin itching and hot. He scratches at his arms, but there’s no relief. The room doesn’t smell like Seokjin anymore.
It’s been days since the omega has come in.
Where is he? How is he? His wolf claws at his chest, anxious. Jungkook wants to snap at it—then thinks better of it. No, not anymore. Today—he’s going to find him.
He gets out of bed, shoving his head through the t-shirt and the windbreaker. He steps out, bowing when a servant bows at him. Another new addition to his generally fucked life.
Like before, Jungkook focuses on where the call takes him. This time, he ends up somewhere that looks like an office.
He stands before the closed door, unsure. He can smell Seokjin through the wood, the patchouli heady enough to make his head spin. His blood already feels calm, like he’s an addict taking a hit. Just as he is about to knock—the door swings wide open.
Somehow, he’d forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful Seokjin is.
For a moment, time stills.
He’d done a filming course back in his college days, a brief stint before going to Police University. In that, he’d been taught about slow motion— it wasn’t about the slowness of the person as much as it was about time arresting itself. The breeze was slow, the leaves fell with grace and the heartbeat felt so loud that it forced people to stay for a moment. Only a moment.
At this moment, he is arrested. Seokjin’s eyes widen only a fraction, lips parted for a second. His ears are loud with his heart, and he allows himself that.
Because when Seokjin’s face shifts, somewhere he knows it’s gone. The moment won’t come back again.
“Yes? How can I help?”
Formal. Professional and cold, reminiscent of the winter outside. As if they’ve not shared the warmth of each other to tide it out.
Jungkook frowns. “Huh?”
“Is there something you need help with?” Seokjin asks, polite and reserved. Jungkook searches for the one he’d gotten to know, and comes up empty. He’s utterly blank like there’s nothing to him more than a suit and a handful of weapons.
Seokjin looks like he’d expected him. Had he felt the distance closing through the bond? Or had he smelt Jungkook long before he’d arrived? It doesn’t matter—the look Seokjin has isn’t one of relief, but regret, like Jungkook is the last person he wants to see.
Jungkook swallows down the hurt. “Hi.”
Not your smartest moment. Seokjin echoes the same, raising an eyebrow. Jungkook gulps again as he takes in the omega. Broad and large, taking up space the way Jungkook still struggles to. Not the omega who had broken down in his arms, and curled into them at night. Unfamiliar, a stranger.
“I just wanted to…I wanted…” Sweat builds in his palms. “How are you?”
Seokjin crosses his arms. “I’ve been pleasant.” He tilts his head, eyes dark and amused. “Did you come to say hello?”
“I…no.” Jungkook’s leg shakes, and he tamps down on it. “Just…wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
He blinks. “Why not?”
Seokjin shakes a finger between them. “We’re not anything to each other. Why would you want to see me?”
His stomach swoops with dread. Cold drips into his veins, matching the wind outside. “Huh?”
The moment expands again—Jungkook outside, Seokjin at the entrance, blocking him. So large he could swallow Jungkook whole and leave nothing behind. It stretches, dark as a shadow.
The omega tuts, grin sharp as he appraises Jungkook. “Jungkook-ssi. Don’t tell me—you were thinking of staying?”
The honorific takes him aback, as does the demeanour. “I…no, not exactly….I wasn’t sure—”
“Then why are you still here?” Seokjin cuts in. “It’s not like we are going to work.” He tilts his head again. “Unless you were expecting that?”
His wolf jumps frantically, pawing at him as fear, anger, hopelessness and relief engage in a fierce dance. “N-no, I wasn’t—” He inhales. “I mean. I was hoping to stay in touch.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because we’re True Mates?”
“So?” Seokjin asks, checking his nails casually, face blank. Jungkook can’t get a read on him. “It’s not like we have to answer to it, do we?”
Jungkook had assumed he would. The Moon had said so, and his life is forever changed by its existence so shouldn’t they….?
“It’s destined by the Goddess herself. Of course, we have to,” Jungkook says, though his words sound weak even to him. “It’s the…right thing to do.”
“Right thing…” Seokjin chuckles then. “So you’ll give up your career?”
Jungkook’s brain freezes. “No? Why would I?”
Seokjin steps closer, nearly nose to nose. “How silly. I can’t have a cop living under my roof, can I?”
“So, what? You can’t stop being a killer?”
“Why in the world would I ever do that?” Seokjin asks, then turns back, and shuts his office door. His scent is incredibly controlled, leaking no emotion. It’s maddening. “I just got my inheritance, and I’m the heir of a great assassin legacy. It would be madness to give that up.”
He begins walking away, and Jungkook scrambles to keep pace. “You were only doing those things because of your father!”
Seokjin stops. He turns, face incredulous. “Is that what you believe?”
“It is what it is,” Jungkook says, crossing his arms stubbornly. “You had no choice but to do those things, because you had to grow up that way. Now you don’t have to. Your father’s gone, and you’re free.”
He remembers how Seokjin cried, the guilt in his scent from hurting his brothers. The way he cared for Jungkook, cleaning his wounds. There is a good person underneath who’s never had the chance to shine.
“And I can help you,” Jungkook continues. The winter sun shines weakly, the breeze picking up Seokjin’s loose tresses. They’ve made it to the gardens, and it brings out Seokjin’s cold beauty. “It’s not hard. The city’s nice—you can do something you actually care about.” He searches Seokjin’s eyes. “Let me help you, hyung. You don’t have to be stuck here anymore.”
The moment occurs, holding its breath. Waiting, hoping. He can imagine the two of them away from this debauchery, free of their pasts—discovering something new. Maybe Seokjin will like the brightness, and the sounds of Seoul as he drops his father’s shadow. Discover who he is, what he could be now that he doesn’t have to kill—
Seokjin stops a servant coming their way—and stabs a knife into the jugular.
Jungkook stumbles back as blood spurts in a red rain, Seokjin’s hand gleaming around the hilt. He leaves it in as he takes out a handkerchief from his inner pocket, wiping his hands with utter boredom.
“You know what I don’t like, Jungkook-ssi?” Seokjin asks quietly, wiping the worst of it and dropping it to the ground—another servant hurries, picking it up and backing out just as fast. Copper and iron join the patchouli in the worst way. “People assuming they know me and what’s best for me. I find it incredibly rude.”
White noise floods his ears. Jungkook scrambles towards the servant as he chokes on his blood, eyes unseeing. He tries to stop the flow—but it leaks anyway, and his hands come away red. He looks up. “You just—you killed him! He didn’t even do anything!”
“Did he have to?” Seokjin asks, amused, and dread gives way to hate, just as cold but licking his bones hot. “He’s a servant. He was in my way. Sooner or later he would have fucked up anyway.”
“You don’t know that!” Jungkook exclaims, standing up and close. His vision feels red. “He was innocent.”
Seokjin scoffs. “I’m sure you’re the authority on that, hmm?” He bends down and takes out the dagger, and Jungkook flinches. Seokjin catches that, eyes gleaming with mirth. “Look at that. Some respect at last.”
Jungkook gets right in his space. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Showing you how little I care for your lofty ideas,” Seokjin says, cleaning the blade and tucking it away. “I like being an assassin. I’ve always been one. And I’m going to be that way.”
“You—”
“My father had nothing to do with that,” Seokjin cuts in, harsh and firm, an unforgiving stranger. “He didn’t force me to kill. I was born into this. At my one-year ceremony, I chose the blade.”
“Because you didn’t know better—”
“I’ve had thirty years of knowing better, don’t mock me,” Seokjin scoffs. “So whatever little fantasy you’ve cooked up about me in there—” He taps on Jungkook’s noggin, barely flinching when Jungkook shoves him off. “Drop it. And while you’re at it, leave.”
“You can’t like being an assassin, that’s insane—”
“Why not? Killing someone is rewarding. Quicker too,” Seokjin says, walking away again. Jungkook wants to—scream, throw a rock at him—fight him, but he knows he will lose. He’s seen Seokjin fight. “You can stay if you give up your career. Maybe we’ll make something of you still.”
“Are you even hearing yourself?” Jungkook asks hotly, pulling Seokjin back by the shoulder; suddenly, a hand is around his throat, so fast he can swear the air didn’t even move. For a moment, his scent punches through—sad, miserable. It vanishes just as fast. “You can’t hand out justice as you wish. That’s not how society works.”
Seokjin doesn’t squeeze—and Jungkook doesn’t move. The Mark throbs under his collar, and he’s sure the same is true for Seokjin. They’re True Mates—they can’t hurt each other, even if Jungkook’s heart aches.
The omega steps back, straightening his collar. His hands are stained rust red, and Jungkook scratches at his throat, imagining stains. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jungkook-ssi. I’m not running this camp for justice. I’m here because this is what I do.”
Disgust overpowers whatever little admiration he’d built as he appraises Seokjin clearly. The person he’d come to know is gone. Or perhaps he was never there to begin with, using Jungkook to meet his goals.
What a fool he’s been.
“You’re killing innocent people.”
“That means nothing to me. Besides, no one’s innocent.” Seokjin looks at him again, a grin forming. “Not even you.”
“What?”
“You helped me kill my father,” Seokjin says, striking his heart—which falls into his stomach. “Where was your justice then?”
He can’t believe this. His gland and heart both throb, as does his head. “You can’t be serious—you asked me to help—”
“I’m a killer, hmm? I have no qualms in doing such things,” Seokjin sings, so much meaner and crueller. So much like the Seokjin in the dungeon cell, uncaring of Jungkook. Until that damn Bond. “But you on the other hand…”
“Stop it. Stop that,” Jungkook asks, begs, mind spinning. “Your father was bad, he had to be killed—”
“Tsk, now, now, Jungkook. We can’t hand out justice as we wish, right?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Jungkook yells, but Seokjin’s grinning. His scent bursts out again, why the fuck does it smell so sad? What’s going on? “That was different.”
“I could make the same argument. It’s all in your head, pretty,” Seokjin says, but the words slither under his skin like oil. “So unless you want to get into bed with crime…”
It sounds like the end. Seokjin doesn’t care and has never cared, and Jungkook’s the stupid one for hoping. “You’re just saying this. You feel—you are pressured by the sudden responsibility and you’re coping through the only way you’ve known—”
“Jungkook-ssi, don’t make me stab you,” Seokjin says quietly. “Because I will stop that insufferable nonsense.”
He doesn’t know why he feels so desperate—maybe it’s the bond, maybe he’s not sure how to get back his life knowing he has a mate out there. “Hyung, c’mon—”
“We won’t be happy with each other,” Seokjin continues, looking into the distance. His wolf feels so far away, and it’s wrong. All of this is wrong. “So we should end it. Before the Bond gets stronger and things get…harder for both of us.”
Jungkook looks up at him then. Is that it, then? Seokjin’s cutting things off because of the Bond, or their choices? He probably won’t know—the omega is closed off, neither amused nor sad. Just existing, and Jungkook should do the same if he wants to remain sane.
Seokjin doesn’t wait for a response—he pushes past Jungkook, not even turning back as he strolls, uncaring of the world.
Or the void he leaves in his departure.
Jungkook’s eyes blur as he faces the broad back of his mate—just like in his first dream. His mate, walking away from him. His heart cracks from the weight of it as the pain rips through him.
It’s the last time he sees Seokjin before the tears fall.
🖤⚔🖤
The thing about walking on eggshells is—one never knows which step would be the crack.
They’ve been good for the past couple of days, since the hill—Jimin minds his business while Taehyung attends to matters in camp. The departure of Kim Namjoon is evident in the air—servants scurry about, Seokjin barks orders and books upon books exit the library.
He’s not going to think about Taehyung leaving with him.
They haven’t touched upon it—hence the eggshells. Jimin’s afraid, especially after the way he begged Taehyung to not break the Bond.
Because I like you, and I want to keep liking you!
Try as he might, he can’t bring himself to regret it.
They’ve been good too—in part because of what they said, and perhaps the Bond itself—which has gotten headier, more addictive, with a constant call to entice Taehyung. He’s not sure how Taehyung’s experiencing it, but he can tell in the way his gaze turns dark with hunger, lingering over Jimin’s throat. It takes everything in him to not throw caution to the wind, and have the alpha’s teeth sink into him.
Baby steps—they need to be slow about this, even if Jimin can’t accept anyone but Taehyung as a mate now.
Despite it all, they’ve continued staying in the same room, sleeping in the same bed. The call gets worse at night when they’re nearly pressed against each other and oh-so-aware. The scents are muddled—he can see now why Taehyung wants to get his scent gland checked out. He’s healthy and moving, except for his scent and appetite. Sometimes, when the light hits him wrong—Jimin can swear he’s glimpsed at red eyes.
It doesn’t matter beyond that, because frankly scent or not—Jimin wants him. Desperately.
“I can still smell you,” Taehyung murmurs, shaking Jimin out of his thoughts—the alpha’s voice is strained, his nose flaring. Jimin comes back to himself—his slit feels slicked up, and his mating gland throbs. “Might want to hold back.”
“Should I?” Jimin asks, looking up through his eyes—Taehyung growls and a thrill goes down his spine. Careful, he asked to be careful. “But my mate is right here.”
Taehyung’s neck goes pink. “Not your mate.” Jimin hisses, and Taehyung clears his throat. “Yet. I said yet.”
“Better.” He removes his outerwear, climbing into the big bed that smells mostly of oranges and that intense sweetness. He misses the lavender and the sage. “I can’t help myself around such a big, strong alpha.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“What’s so bad about it? We can end the annoying suffering,” Jimin ventures carefully, even as Taehyung stiffens. “You can figure out the bite anyway, right?”
Taehyung’s eyes shutter, before regret fills in. “Jimin, baby. C’mon.”
“What? Just a thought.”
“Nothing’s just a thought with you,” Taehyung murmurs, climbing in. They have a wall of pillows in between; Taehyung somehow thought it would prevent him from biting Jimin in his sleep. What a silly man. “It’s just for a little while.”
Jimin blinks at him, suddenly sleepy. He can sense Taehyung’s gaze on him and only feels calm. Sleep calls to him, and Jimin smiles when Taehyung traces his face with a finger, smoothing out the frown.
“Jimin-ah?”
Hmm? Jimin closes his eyes, a familiar dreaming dream pulling him in. One where both of them have their Bites and flaunt it. Mine.
“Jiminie?” The rhythmic stroking goes on. “Baby, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
He wakes up.
It’s the fear that does, surging through his veins straight into his heart. He grabs Taehyung’s hand instinctively, rising out of his blanket. Somehow, Taehyung catches hold of him. “Jimin-ah, yah!”
“Leaving?” Jimin yells, hovering over Taehyung. “Tomorrow?”
“I got to know today!” Taehyung whines. Jimin punches him on his good shoulder, and he winces. “I’m injured!”
“Not on that one,” Jimin growls. “Explain. Now.”
Taehyung gulps. “Namjoon hyung got his shots, so he’s doing better today. Most of the travel stuff is packed. The sooner we leave, the more he can capitalise on the effects of the drug.”
“And he told you today?”
“Yes, as soon as the plan was cleared by Seokjin-hyung,” Taehyung says, still holding Jimin back. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“You could have been an asshole and left without telling me.”
“Mm, you’re right, I could have,” Taehyung says, grinning. “But you’re so lucky you’re cute.”
“Taehyung.”
“I wouldn’t have, of course. I don’t want drama at the departure or anything,” Taehyung says, gently placing Jimin on the side and tucking him close. “You’ll be okay.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
Taehyung knocks on his head with his knuckle. “Ass.” His eyes roam over Jimin’s face, lips parting slightly. “You should go back to the city.”
Jimin shuts his mouth. “No.”
“Baby, please,” Taehyung tries, but Jimin shakes his head, gnashing his teeth. “You need to settle your life.”
“I can do that after you come back.”
“We don’t know when,” Taehyung argues, annoyed. “You can’t put your life on hold till then.”
“I absolutely can. Watch me.”
“Okay, well, I don’t want you to do that,” Taehyung reasons, just as seriously. Jimin hates him…just a bit. “We’ve only identified part of the trail. We still have a long way to see if the Temple’s even a thing.”
“I’m sure it is. You’ll find it, and get yourself fixed. Then you’ll come back to me, and then we’ll leave. Together.”
“Jimin-ah—”
Tears spring to his eyes. “You promised.” Fear claws its way up his throat, nestling in the warmth of it. “You said you won’t leave me alone.”
“I meant it. I won’t.”
“So, why does it matter if I stay back or if I go to the city?”
“Because you don’t like this life any more than I do,” Taehyung explains patiently. “You left in a hurry. Didn’t get to tie any loose ends. For me to come back, shouldn’t that be done?”
His wolf panics. “So you won’t come back if don’t get my shit together?”
“Moon, no.” Taehyung groans, patience running thin. “You had a life before me, one you built with so much effort. I don’t want you to stop on my account. You should go live it whether or not I’m there.”
It all sounds like white noise, like Taehyung does plan to leave, and never come back. Just like his parents, promising him pretty toys and forgetting him. Is that what Taehyung’s doing? Promising him pretty things, distracting Jimin and leaving him behind—
“Jimin-ah, calm down,” Taehyung says, pressing cold palms to the side of his face. They ground him, though it all feels so shaky. “I’m not leaving you behind.”
“But you’re asking me to leave.”
“So that you can get back to your life,” Taehyung insists. “I’ve already stolen three months from it. Don’t throw away the rest. You made it with so much effort after running away.”
Tears spring up again. Running away. Moon, it will never leave him. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re not letting me come with you because of that. Because I ran away and left you behind.”
“Goddess above, I suck at this,” Taehyung mutters, sorrow filling his eyes. “Babe, for the last time. I’m not punishing you for something you did ten years ago.”
“You were holding a grudge all this while, though.”
“Yes, which is a feeling. I’m allowed to feel that way. But I promise I’m not taking an action because of it, okay?”
Jimin hears him, but none of it registers. He can only think of that fateful day—the cold winter night, the fog slithering between the barley fields. The barks of the camp guard dogs, the fallen bodies. Taehyung somewhere inside. More and more of his memories have been coming back up, and each time Jimin feels heavier.
Guilt and shame, his two enemies haunting him. A sob rips itself out of him. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Baby—”
“I’m sorry for being so—so selfish and asking you to stay when I didn’t. You should punish me because I deserve it.”
“And how would that happen?”
“You could promise me and then break it and never show up. And since you’re far away, I won’t be able to find you anyway.”
“My, my, you’ve really thought this through, huh?”
Jimin wipes his eyes, catching Taehyung’s amused stare. “Stop it. Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not. Just amused by how well you scheme,” Taehyung says. He pecks Jimin at the corner of his mouth suddenly. “Thank the Moon I’m not you, so I won’t do such horrid things.”
He moves out of the way when Jimin reaches to punch again, and captures his fist, kissing it. Jimin’s skin feels hot. “See? A much better way of using your fists.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Unless you prefer it wrapped around my—”
“I prefer nothing.” Jimin takes his hand away, too hot to focus. “Go back to sleep. Good night.”
His heart is beating too fast, loud in his ears and echoing through his pillow. Taehyung’s leaving tomorrow, and he’s expecting Jimin to go back to Seoul, and resume his regular life while he waits. The night ten years ago looms somewhere, the reason Jimin left. The Bond he had no idea about guiding them even then.
Taehyung sighs. “Your thoughts are too loud.”
“What, you’re a mind-reader too?”
“Your scent is all over the place,” Taehyung snarks back. “Go on. Spit it out.”
Jimin bites his lip, heart racing. The words are at the tip of his tongue—he wants so badly to clear it all, but a part of him is afraid still. Yet, if he doesn’t—if they don’t—then this fear will haunt Jimin for the rest of his life.
Taehyung deserves better than that.
“Just…everything. The Bond. The cycles. Whatever happened…?” Jimin starts, then sighs. It’s all caught in his chest—he’s never been a fan of dwelling in the past, but it insists on following him anyway. “It all went so out of hand. And instead of understanding, I've just been angry.”
“Can you blame yourself, though?” Taehyung asks softly, and he sounds so much more different now. Calmer, more accepting. “You found out a pretty big secret. Anyone would lose their minds.”
“If I’d never found out,” Jimin whispers, hands under his cheek as they lie side by side. He bites his lips and watches Taehyung’s gaze flutter down. “Would you have ever told me?”
“No,” Taehyung replies without hesitance, so confident it pinches. “It wasn’t my intention ever.”
“So, what? You’d have kept lying?”
“It’s hardly lying if you never knew and never asked, is it?” Taehyung says wryly. There’s a cut across his eyebrow, and Jimin itches to press over it. “I didn’t see what good it would do, telling you.”
“It’s a pretty big thing to hide,” Jimin ventures, though it’s in hindsight. If he’d known back then— he shudders. “It affects me too.”
“But it doesn’t put you in danger,” Taehyung shrugs, then tucks Jimin’s hair behind his ears— it’s entirely too domestic. His heart sings. “I told you. Suppose you’d known, and I did too. Then both of us would be in constant pain. And you’d never have been able to keep away from camp, because being close relieves the pain. So.”
He thinks back to their fights, Taehyung claiming hotly how he kept quiet to protect Jimin, to make sure Joonjae didn’t find out. You only left camp because I let you leave! It hadn’t made sense back then, but he gets it now. Taehyung may not have helped Jimin escape—but keeping quiet had allowed Jimin freedom.
“You wanted me to leave so badly?”
“Pardon me for sounding unromantic, but I just didn’t want to tie us down with that burden,” Taehyung snorts and Jimin slaps weakly at his chest. The alpha looks lost. “I don’t know. When I first found out, it freaked me out. Out of all people, you were my True Mate…it felt like the Moon was laughing at me.”
“Wow, you must have really hated me.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking Jimin’s nose. “Trying so hard to get praise is really unattractive, by the way,” he teases, and Jimin whines. Taehyung smiles, though his eyes are sad. “I didn’t hate you. You were annoying as shit but…I guess I admired you, weirdly. You know that.”
“Mm. Weird way to show it.”
“Excuse me while I try to process feelings in a fucking assassin camp,” Taehyung deadpans. “I’m not sure. Maybe because of the Bond, I couldn’t think of harming you. And I knew if Abbeoji found out, you’d have never walked out alive.”
Knowing what he does now about Joonjae, Jimin’s sure he’d have done something petty. He’d have killed you! It’s all coming together even with the gaping spaces.
“So you dealt with everything, then?”
“I had to. There was no choice—and it drove me nuts, the fact that I knew, and you didn’t.” Taehyung plays with his fingers. “It led to the—you know.”
There it is, at last. The truth they’ve been walking around, that Jimin could never bring himself to face. He gulps, allowing himself grace. “Is that what happened with Yuri?”
Even now, the name evokes a specific emotion Jimin can’t entangle. Grief, but also shame and anger. Taehyung’s eyes reflect the same—his scent is sweet-sour. “Yeah. I guess.” He rubs a hand across his face. “I don’t know. My wolf had claimed you so thoroughly, it lost its mind that you chose…someone else.”
He remembers now. It all seems so, so petty—Jimin punishing Taehyung through sex, leading to the Domino effect that is now their life. He chose Yuri because Taehyung liked him too, and it felt apt then. He’d never realised what a giant clusterfuck he’d walked into with such a harmless decision.
It’s his fault, in the end. Always him, rash and impulsive, wanting to hurt the way he’d been—the result of which is this pain. A sob escapes, and Jimin covers his mouth—but Taehyung is already alert, hovering and worried. He doesn’t deserve that, though. To think he’s the reason Taehyung carries so many scars, literal and physical. The guilt floods his lungs, and he gasps—but no air remains.
“Jimin-ah?”
“I’m so, so sorry,” he says again, practically begging. For whose forgiveness, he’s not sure anymore. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”
Taehyung understands. “I did. I killed a fair opponent simply because he slept with you. He didn’t know better.”
“We—we are assassins. We kill people who never know better.”
“This is different. Yuri was a—” Taehyung takes a deep breath. “He was a fair man. A talented one. I cared for him too, and so did you. He just had the unfortunate luck of being trapped between us.”
“I killed him,” Jimin gasps, the horror joining the guilt. Everything he’d buried was coming right up, taking his breath away. “I slept with him because I knew it would piss you off. He died because I’m a—” A sob wracks through his chest, and Taehyung pulls him close, towards his neck. “I was so petty, Moon above.”
The sobs escalate into cries, leaking down Taehyung’s neck. He’s warm, and he smells all wrong yet he gives Jimin a comfort he doesn’t deserve. Like this, he’s close to his mating gland that’s swollen bright red. They’re both such a mess—they can’t complete the Bite and call it a day. Jimin has so much to atone for, he doesn’t think he can catch up.
Taehyung strokes his back, humming under his breath until Jimin calms down. He hates that he’s like this before Taehyung leaves—but they need this too. To part with clarity, with all the answers.
“You know we were kids, right?”
“Taehyung—”
“Stupid, immoral, selfish kids who also didn’t know better,” Taehyung insists. “Somewhere, we still are. But we’re trying, yeah? That’s what we can do.”
“But I ran away.”
“Yeah, because I pushed you to.”
That’s putting it lightly. When Jimin had seen the body, and seen the message, he’d known it would be a matter of time before fingers pointed at him.
“I thought…I mean, I guess—”
“I made a mistake. I couldn’t help it. Especially when he claimed you in public. And you hated every moment of it, I could tell. But the masters told you to let it slide because he was yakuza.”
Jimin gulps. “So what? For my honour?”
“No. I was just a possessive, selfish dick,” Taehyung snorts, though he looks sad. “We both did things we thought would be good enough. Blaming you for running away…it’s not fair of me.”
He sounds like he’s made peace with it at last, as if he’d guessed why Jimin had made the choice he did. “Did you know…that I…?”
Taehyung understands, even if it’s ten years too late. “I had an idea. I hoped it wasn’t true. That you left because of some threat to your life or worse, and that leaving was the only choice.” He shrugs, smile painful. “But there’s only so much I could rationalise, you know? And ten years is a long time. I did wonder if you’d sold me out the way Abbeoji said. If the last few days were a lie.”
Jimin remembers all too well. “Taehyung…”
“That hurt the most, I think,” Taehyung murmurs, a tear slipping out the side and mixing with Jimin’s. “When you confirmed it, even though I’d known it. That broke me.” He sniffles, his strokes still rhythmic and grounding. Here they are, at last, two broken people hoping to mend each other. “You say you don’t deserve me, but I don’t care. I’d rather stay, and trust you to stay too.”
“I will. I promise.” Jimin sniffles, tears breaking loose into Taehyung’s neck. He licks at it tentatively, before kissing up his jaw; Taehyung tilts his neck to give more access. His scent is missing but Jimin wants him, to claim every part of him until they’re fused together.
It’s been ten years and so much has happened since then—neither of them is faultless. They did the best they could with what they knew— so why blame each other or themselves for it? What they had was now. They could do and be better. Starting tonight.
He kisses Taehyung, kicking off the sheets and climbing on top of him. He tastes like he usually does, and the familiarity drives him hotter. If tonight is their last night, then Jimin wants to make it worth it.
Taehyung reaches up to meet him halfway, kissing with the same hunger he’s been watching Jimin with. He’s mindful of keeping his mouth away from Jimin’s gland— as much as he wants to be bonded with Taehyung, he wants to respect the pace he’s asked for.
Slick begins leaking as he moves. Jimin sits close to his chest, Taehyung's stiff cock poking against his back. His mouth waters at the thought of it inside, painting his walls white, memory embedded into him till the next time they meet.
“You still leak like a whore, huh?” Taehyung whispers into his mouth, hoarse. “Messy baby.”
Jimin whines, but pushes Taehyung back— he looks surprised, as Jimin settles. “Sit back and watch me.”
Taehyung mouth parts, cheeks flushed and forehead dotted with sweat. Jimin wants to be fucked through and through— but there’s no rush. They have nothing to hide and no one to hide from, least of all themselves. They can take their time at last.
He reaches down into his boxers, past his cock into his folds, digging into his hole and scooping out the slick. His fingers glisten in the dim moonlight. Jimin sucks on them, watching as Taehyung’s pupils blow black with desire.
“So wet for you, alpha,” Jimin says, gasping when he hooks his fingers in just right. Taehyung’s nails dig into his thighs, his face flushed. “Only for you. You make me like this.”
He’s leaking through his boxers now, sure that Taehyung can feel it. He doesn’t care, leaning back and slowly swivelling his hips. It does something to him, pleasuring himself for the alpha to watch. He rises, shimming out of the boxers and leaving himself bare bottom, cock red and leaking. Taehyung’s barely breathing, his cock so hard Jimin’s concerned for the poor thing.
He wraps a fist around his cock, the same one Taehyung had kissed— and watches the way Taehyung’s eyes darken even more, his breath stuttering. Once, twice, before he comes, spurting all over Taehyung’s chest. Some of it lands on Taehyung’s lip and chin, and Jimin leans forward to lick it away, dropping pecks all over. Too tender, but it drives Taehyung wild.
“I’m gonna take care of Alpha,” Jimin whispers, shuffling back and pulling down Taehyung’s pyjamas, watching his cock spring out. It’s red and thick, beaded with pre-cum. He wants to do so much—suck on it, get fucked by it, ride it till he can’t—enough that his mind spins. He doesn’t know where to begin. “What does alpha want?”
“Thought I was just supposed to sit and watch you, pretty?” Taehyung asks, hands behind his head, eyebrow raised. “Go on, then. Please alpha.”
Jimin’s omega whines, his skin getting hotter. He settles over Taehyung’s cock, rubbing it between his folds and coating it in his slick. There’s no rush, even if he’s leaving tomorrow. They have time, once Taehyung comes back.
“Gonna give alpha something to remember,” Jimin gasps and Taehyung groans when he clenches his cock. “You’re not going to forget me right, alpha?”
“Depends on how well you take me, beautiful,” Taehyung murmurs, tone reverent, lips parting. He wonders how he looks, and what Taehyung gets to see. Maybe he’ll get a mirror installed one day. “Could never forget you, though. You have me.”
It breaks him, and Jimin lets the cock breach past, all the way to the hilt. They both groan in unison; Jimin digs his nails into Taehyung’s chest as he adjusts, warming it until he’s ready.
It doesn’t take long. He starts slow, small circles that have him spinning until he rides, over and over till they’re one. Sweat drips down his face into his chest; slick leaks past Taehyung’s cock, creating a mess. A delicious ache spreads from his hips to his thighs, and his knees—but Jimin will take it.
Taehyung holds his hips with bruising strength, fingers digging into the side as Jimin loses himself. Only the alpha’s cock connects him to the world; the rest of him is gone. It’s so much different this time—no longer teenagers trapped in the camp seeking out pleasure in any way, or angry adults fucking to numb the anger. Not the helplessness that came with sharing their cycles—this is Jimin and Taehyung as they are. Learning about each other and hoping to stay.
The heat gets too much eventually, with Jimin removing his shirt—it’s soaked with sweat, and he chucks it somewhere behind. His thighs burn and still he tries, hoping to weave himself into Taehyung’s flesh and blood and bones. The alpha reaches up, holding Jimin’s face with utter tenderness as he parts his lips with his tongue, sucking on it while Jimin fucks himself on his cock.
All too soon he quivers, and comes again, moaning into Taehyung’s mouth. He likes this too, how for all their banter and shit-talking, their nothing but sounds in this moment. Words could never be enough for how Jimin feels.
Taehyung is still hard, even as Jimin collapses against him. He turns him around gently while still inside—and kisses him all over, licking the sweat, nosing along his scent gland even if there’s no lavender yet.
“Can Alpha take care of you, now?” Taehyung murmurs and Jimin nods, tired yet turned on. Taehyung thrusts shallowly, gently, hovering above him and looking into his eyes. Somehow, the moment lingers. They’ve been like this so many times, but this time it feels different, raw.
He tries not to put pressure on his still injured shoulder, managing to hold himself up with one hand. The thrusts get deeper, slower—it seems like Taehyung caught the drift too. Time is theirs to keep.
Jimin throws his head back at a particularly deep one, clawing at Taehyung’s arm and back, wrapping his legs around his hips and dragging him deeper. He tries to kiss him, but they’re both out of breath; he can tell Taehyung’s close, and the call buzzes stronger when the alpha nears his gland. Canines glint white in the moonlight, but Jimin doesn’t feel afraid.
“Shit, I want to bite you so bad,” Taehyung groans, eyes black and frenzied. He claws at the pillow next to Jimin for restraint. “Fuck, Jimin.”
He wants it too, but they need to be strong. Jimin wouldn’t survive the distance if they were complete this way. “It’s okay. Come back to me and do it. I’ll be there.”
Taehyung groans again, guttural sounds driving heat into his gut. He’s so full he feels like he could choke on his cock, and he draws him in tighter, kissing him and keeping him away from his throat. He tugs at Taehyung’s hair at the same time the alpha comes, over and over until it leaks out of Jimin’s slit, down his thighs piling under his ass. He keeps coming, fucking it back into Jimin and claiming him, and all feels right in the world.
It’s you. It’s always been you.
Mine, he’s mine. All mine.
Jimin keeps kissing as Taehyung collapses on top, returning it with the same hunger he began with. They’re still closely intertwined, skins flushed and sticking with sweat, cum and slick. Jimin keeps sucking until he pushes Taehyung over, parting and dropping pecks all over his sweaty, red face.
“Such a pretty alpha,” he murmurs, rejoicing at the pink flush dotting Taehyung’s cheeks. “The prettiest.”
“Stop it. Not pretty.”
“Mm, like a pretty flower,” Jimin sings, biting playfully at his ear. “And all mine.”
Taehyung gaze softens, tucking Jimin’s hair behind. “Yes. All yours. From now till the end of time.”
Jimin tucks himself into his side, sleep catching him when he falls.
||
One Week Later
Seoul
||
The apartment smells stale.
A thin layer of dust covers every surface. Most of Jimin’s plants are dead, and it looks unlived.
Good to know what three months away does to a home.
It’s been a week since he left camp, and the journey has been nothing short of distressing. Starting from actually bidding Taehyung goodbye—his wolf had been frantic, leading to the dramatic departure Taehyung wanted to avoid. He doesn’t care, though.
Every part of him aches with the distance between them, the call stretching tighter. Jimin’s worried that one day, it’ll snap.
He’s talked to Taehyung every day since then. Texts, calls—the rare moment they get enough network for a video call thanks to Korea’s excellent internet connectivity—but the further he gets, the more sporadic their check-ins. He’d known this would happen—the Temple is deep within the mountain wilderness. He can only trust that Taehyung will come back.
For now, he’s doing what the alpha asked of him—go back to the city and settle in again. Recover the life he’d lost, and convinced himself he’d never get back.
Surprisingly, alarm bells hadn’t rung when he’d turned up. The apartment association had been shocked—he’d been presumed missing or lost. Jimin made up a story of going to the Lost Islands near Jeju, due to an urgent personal matter. They’d eaten it right up, letting him in.
It feels lonelier than ever. As he sets about making it home again—Jimin thinks about how empty it is, how it lacks a human touch. Ten years of being alone—but come one Kim Taehyung, and Jimin’s world was spinning on its axis again.
This time, he doesn’t regret it.
It doesn’t take long, the memories long and far. His chest aches sporadically, random flares of pain that travels all over his body. To think Taehyung had stayed with this for ten years—Jimin shudders. He’d severely underestimated the alpha his whole life.
He misses him.
Once done, he contacts his workplace—they’re both relieved and furious, threatening Jimin with lawsuits and unemployment. He’d expected that—as an omega in the field of finance law, it was tough, sometimes even more so than in an assassin camp. At least there he could fling a knife and end the misery. Here, he had to sweet talk and practically beg for forgiveness.
He uses the stalking ex story, claiming police protection and such. The fake documents are there as always—and eventually, the company decides to revive his name on the payroll, beginning from probation.
When he’d left three months ago, he’d assumed he’d never see any of this. So convinced he’d been about his life ending, of leaving to save his friends’ lives—and now here he is, negotiating to get back some of it—and hope for a better future.
The texts and calls get scattered, and not necessarily out-of-network issues. Despite the distance, he knows Taehyung. The alpha promised him, but he’s trying to help Jimin make a decision about them without the influence of the Bond. Some stupid sense of martyrdom—Jimin decides not to play along. Each time, he sends the same message.
I’m staying.
I’m waiting.
I love
He’s going to say that one when Taehyung comes back. Until then—he’s going to show Taehyung that he will stay, and earn his trust again. They both will.
Life begins resuming as normal, though it’s not the same anymore. They no longer have a Pack—Jungkook got reinstated as a detective but demoted, a punishment for his absence. He’d claimed a rogue mission—Jimin had helped collate some fake information without outing the camp, as per Jungkook’s request. He hadn’t explained what came of him and Seokjin—on the last day, when they’d said goodbye at the gates, Jungkook had stayed far away, avoiding Seokjin. The omega heir had been the same, though their Soul Mate bond had felt differently.
It’s for their good, for Jungkook’s, if they stay apart.
The alpha had to work his way up again. It sucks, and Jimin hurts for him, the monstrous guilt gnawing at his belly—but Jungkook waves it off.
“I left by my choice, hyung. I knew the consequences. Don’t worry about it.”
He’s changed too, scratching at his mating gland from time to time before his expression sours, sullen and angry. Jimin’s too afraid to pry. He’s still building his appetite for the truth.
Yoongi had stayed back, before leaving for Daegu—he’d always been terrible with texts, but now, it’s almost like he never existed. He’d removed himself from their group chat, and the void had felt unbearable for a moment. Even if life became normal—their bond would never be.
Jimin settles into Jungkook’s couch, popping open a beer. “You think he’s going to show up tonight?”
Jungkook shrugs. “I’ve stopped chasing him.”
Hoseok has been avoiding them.
Jimin hadn’t connected the dots at first, too lost in getting his life back together and settling in—until it had been some weeks, and he hadn’t seen Hoseok. On the last day, Hoseok seemed like a shell of his former self—frail, lost and hopeless. He didn’t look at Yoongi—and neither at Namjoon, who seemed regretful and guilty. Only when the beta had almost gotten into the car did Hoseok run to hug him.
Yoongi had seemed to break a little bit more, and Jimin’s heart had felt too heavy to bear witness.
He assumes Hoseok won’t show up again—Jimin’s been trying to mend things, to atone for his sins—Jungkook had been easy, forgiving with far too much grace. He’d somehow expected the same from Hoseok—and it hurts, selfish as it is.
Suddenly the doorbell rings. A moment later, faint freesias penetrate—Jungkook opens the door, and Hoseok is there.
Jimin doesn’t need a Soul Mate bond to tell how he’s doing.
“Hyung,” Jimin breathes. Hoseok’s hair is greasy and limp, his skin sallow—he seems to have lost twenty kilos, and his hunched shoulders make him look smaller than he is. “You came.”
“Your twenty-billion texts couldn’t be ignored anymore,” Hoseok says, but the playfulness is missing. “It’s been a while.”
Understatement. Once they were back, Hoseok had holed himself shut—he’d pulled out of the dance program he’d been recruited for in the States, and declined all invitations. Jimin had tried anyway but wanted to respect Hoseok too. Out of everyone, he felt the most guilt towards him.
It’s awkward. Jungkook offers him a beer, and Hoseok settles in, away from Jimin—he’s never done that, always choosing to fuse himself. He sits like he’ll leave any second, and doesn’t meet Jimin’s eyes.
He decides to get Hoseok out of his shell for him.
“Hyung. What’s going on?”
“Hmm?” Hoseok looks up, lost. He looks terrible, lips cracked, cheeks dry. “Nothing. All good. Why?”
Jimin wants to scream. So much has happened, and yet he’s pretending. His nerves are shot with anxiety, and his wolf paces anxiously. He’s already away from his True Mate—he can’t lose his Soul Mate too.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” Jimin says, going straight for the kill. Hoseok flinches and Jungkook whistles low. “You can’t just show up and pretend nothing happened.”
Hoseok’s chin juts out. “I’m happy to leave if it’s such a bother.”
“Stop that!” Jimin says, placing his bottle down and stepping forward, in front of him. “You’ve gone practically silent, hyung, it’s driving me insane!”
“You’re going insane, sure,” Hoseok mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re delightfully obtuse when you have to be, Jiminie.”
Jimin kneels. “Hyung, talk to me. I’m worried about you and now you’re not even looking at me—”
“What do you want me to say, Jimin-ah?” Hoseok says, too tired. The fight’s left him already. “I got back from hell. Life seems ridiculous compared to what I saw. What I know. How do I actually get back?”
Tears roll down then. Hoseok doesn’t bother wiping them. “I have zero connections to that life. None. At least Jungkook is a cop, so he knows crime. What do I have? I’m just a dancer. All I did was—” A sob escapes his lips. “All I did was fall in love. Two of the people I loved the most are from a life I know nothing about. Don’t you see what that can do to a person?”
He doesn’t know what to say. “Hyung…I….”
“You can move on. You’re used to this. Yoongi-hyung’s left. It’s easy for him, for all of you. What about me?” Hoseok pokes himself in the chest. “I have to live with this knowledge for the rest of my life. I have to look at you and think about how you’ve killed people. That Jungkookie isn’t free either—he’s bonded to an assassin. So are you, and your mate is the one who almost killed me.”
The guilt rises like the acid in his stomach. “I don’t—I can help—”
But Hoseok’s not done, gnashing his teeth and eyes flaring with resentment. It drives his wolf in circles as they meet nothing but a wall from Hoseok’s end. “My life will not be the same again. I won’t be free again. Fuck, I made my life with Yoongi—and he’s gone. I don’t know what to do, or where to start. And you’re asking me why I’m avoiding you?”
“I was worried about you.”
“You can afford to be! This is a normal Tuesday for you!” Hoseok snaps, and it’s an ugly emotion to unveil. Jungkook is caught between them, eyes wide with fear. “The only reason I’m even talking to you is because you’re my Soul Mate, Jimin-ah. That’s it.”
It’s the final blow, the one he’d been waiting for since he’d spoken to Yoongi. He’d hoped that their Bond would soften the blow—somehow, Hoseok using it this way wretches the air from his lungs.
Tears spring instantly. He can feel the feeble call between them, the bridge shaking in its resolve. How tragic, that Hoseok resents him but has no choice. That without Jimin, he’d become worse.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, vision blurring. “I don’t know what else to say.” He wipes his eyes furiously. “All I wanted was a normal life. That’s all. I never—I never meant for you to find out. Any of you. Or for this to happen.” His chest is so, so heavy. “I tried so hard to keep you away. I’m sorry I failed, hyung.”
The tears are harder to stop now. Jimin cries, all of it coming out. He feels a small, timid hand at the base of his neck before Jungkook’s comforting cedar floods his senses. When he looks up, Hoseok looks both angry and devastated.
None of them will be the same again.
“It’s been a tough couple of months,” Jungkook says, tucking Jimin in. “It would be ridiculous to expect ourselves to be the same people. We all need to heal and—and it will take time.” He reaches out to squeeze Hoseok’s knee. “It will be easier if we build a new support system. Without secrets, this time.”
He sounds too mature—another change Jimin had never expected, but perhaps it’s better to heed those words—and move on, new yet different. Hoseok probably feels the same, as he sighs.
“You’re—you’re right. I’m losing my mind handling this alone,” he says, some reluctance creeping up still. “I can try. I want to try. Even if it takes time.”
He doesn’t flinch when Jimin takes hold of his hand, squeezing it. “I promise I’ll be there for you, hyung. Fully, honestly. No more secrets.”
When Jimin smiles—Hoseok returns it tentatively, and hope blooms again.
||
Three Months Later
||
He learns to ignore the pain eventually.
The Bond flares up in his darkest moments, alone at night. But during the day, work takes care of most of it—and Jimin can ignore it. Sometimes it tightens, the only sign of Taehyung’s well-being.
It aches every day, every moment but he pushes through—for himself, for Taehyung. For the ten years Taehyung had to deal with the pain too.
It’s been three months, and life has only gotten harder.
Work is the usual alpha-omega bullshit, paperwork upon paperwork. Jimin works to bury his ties to the assassin's life again, though a part of him is reluctant still. He can’t just close that chapter of his life without Taehyung being there.
Contact with the alpha had dropped after a month. It had been some terrible days of panic—but he’d calmed down eventually. As long as Taehyung was alive, Jimin could cope.
It’s the least he can offer the alpha after all their sins. Time—the costliest commodity of them all.
He enters his apartment after a long, gruelling day at work—it’s nearly three in the morning, and Jimin is dead to the world. He drags his feet to the bathroom, washing up thoroughly. His stomach growls with hunger. He wants to sleep—but he’d skipped lunch and dinner, and his body will punish him, damn the Moon.
The cupboards are empty—time for a grocery run. He finds a ramen packet, and some vegetables—no meat, but he’ll add an egg and call it a day. Night. Whatever, none of it matters. He’s only keeping himself alive for the future.
As the water boils and he’s chopping the vegetables, the hair on the back of his neck rises—and without waiting, Jimin turns around and flings the knife into the dark.
It never meets its mark.
He waits with bated breath, all his senses on alert—when lavender makes its way through.
A figure steps out of the shadow, the knife deftly caught in a gloved hand. Jimin slaps a hand over his mouth to hold back the sob as Taehyung grins at him.
“Looks like you really missed me, huh?”
Some things will never change. Jimin is glad about it.
He runs, and Taehyung chucks the knife aside as he holds his arms out. Jimin jumps into them, squeezing him close as he takes in the full expanse of his natural scent. Lavender, with the undercurrent of sage. Just as it had always been.
“I always miss you,” Jimin says, pulling back and searching Taehyung's face. “I always have.” He leans in and kisses, deep and fulfilled. “Welcome home, alpha.”
All is right in the end.
Notes:
I'm not even lying my eyes are barely open this is hilarious.
My goodness. 20k for a chapter. But it makes sense because this is essentially the "last chapter" of the present storyline. Ch 29 is a closure chapter for the past storyline (10 years ago) and Ch 30 is the epilogue. So don't worry, still a LOT left but yeah.Ik this chapter might seem so heartbreaking and intense but everything has a purpose. I debated for a while if I wanted Namjoon to be aware of Seokjin's plan- and finally went ahead with it, because he's a strategist, he's good at compartmentalizing. It also allowed for someone on the inside to look out for Hoseok. I briefly contemplated Yoongi, but scrapped that because it would be too cruel. Namjoon's angle allows any potential stolckholm syndrome thing to be nullified in hoseok.
The jinkook...man I was like, "am I being too cruel? After serving them all that fluff?" But then again, you guys will be getting a jinkook spin off so this needs to happen. The whole reason I love jinkook in this fic is because of this reverse star-crossed lovers nonsense they have- their clashing morals and careers. The Moon has destined their bond and they're so perfect but can their human sides be okay with this? Love that crisis. Will explore it in the spin off yum. I'm genuinely so excited for them aaaahhhh. Poor jungkook tho :( seokjin's so mean i love him.
and VMIN AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH I'm so so so so psyched I've been dreaming about writing these two scenes since FOREVER. Where they finally TALK and TELL things to each other. Jimin dramatically confessing his feelings for Taehyung..."Don't. Don't break the bond." OOOHH THE BEGGING the tears this is my jam. Sweet smut to hit the spot.
And then the bedroom scene!!! I'd written this 2 years ago (with many edits of course) where they actually addressed the giant in the room that is Yuri. The past snippet gives a fair idea, and ch 29 will cover the rest of it, but yeah. The banter, the cuteness, the hotness mmmm, just vmin slow sex because they don't have to hurry anymore! Not in danger or competition or shameful rivalry! They're both in this now :"))))))
The ending segment :( hoseok and jimin will take time, I don't blame hoseok at all. Thank fuck he called jimin obtuse lmaoooo attack him! yes!! but also!!! The way taehyung came back is LIKE CHAPTER 3 when he first infiltrates and jimin hits him with a knife!!!! I LOVE ENDINGS LIKE THIS.
This is getting long but I'm so pumped and emotional and happy and sleepy. But short life update: I took 2 weeks off from work for burnout recovery, lazed around, bed rotted, had zero awareness of time. I resume next week, until mid july-- when my next break is scheduled. But hopefully this fic is over by May!!! SO SEE YOU GUYS LOVE YOU PLEASE LEAVE LOVE AND KUDOS AND COMMENTS, these keep me going. Looking forward. I hope you're keeping healthy and lovely :")
UPDATE (2nd May 2024): Hi, I’m leaving this here in case anyone is re-reading and wondering about the update. It’ll be a while before they’re up, and though I had originally hoped that this story will be over by May end, it’s getting harder and harder to consistently commit to it and update in a timely manner. DONT WORRY, this story WILL be completed but I need time. The last thing I want is to turn this story into a chore, and keep procrastinating because I don’t enjoy writing it.
I was feeling guilty because i know so many of you are waiting & have been so patient and CONSISTENT as readers, I can’t thank y’all enough. But I don’t want to finish this story out of obligation and put some garbage out there that I don’t enjoy writing. At the moment the words feel that way. I hope y’all understand 🥹🥹
Chapter 29: 10 Years Ago
Notes:
Your eyes are not lying. It's really here. The update.
I have never fought so hard to get a chapter out my god. I'll share more in the end notes but here, 16k of delicious past sequence vmin drama. This is NOT PROOFREAD. THERE WILL BE GRAMMATICAL ERRORS. I genuinely can't bros I just want this out. This is my "if he flings it then he flings it" moment. GET THIS UPDATE AWAY FROM ME. any comments on that will be deleted. I'll fix it later when I'm not a zombie.
Note: this chapter takes the story back to what happened 10 years ago. As such, I have written it in PRESENT TENSE instead of the past I had been using. This is mostly to really make it as close as possible. PLEASE remember that this is the PAST.
I'm adding this before the epilogue chapter to give it closure, since so many asked me what happened in the past between vmin.
As always warning for smut. It's there, can't point out when it begins or stops. Read at your own risk.ANYWAY, ENJOY!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Yuri’s body is still flushed pink when the alarms ring.
The crowd of curious students and anxious masters resurges again as they edge close to the body.
Jimin drops the note, before withdrawing away from all of it.
Nobody notices his departure. Sweat pours down his back like a cold river even as his neck heats up from his pumping heart. The hallways are empty and soulless, just like Yuri’s dead eyes—
Jimin bites his tongue as a wave of bile threatens to push past his throat.
Gone missing a week ago and turned up dead at one of the most secure camps in the underground. Who could have—?
He doesn’t need to wonder. He’d recognise the kill in a heartbeat.
Yuri’s death has Kim Taehyung written all over him.
And it had been for him.
If not for the position of the dagger—Jimin’s favourite weapon—then the note says it all.
Unclaimed.
But...why? What would Taehyung get out of killing Yuri? They’d been friends too, as much as an assassin camp would allow. Yuri had been kind and patient, honourable in an utterly endearing way, and he’d seen Taehyung bask in it as well. Envied it whenever the alpha got the attention Jimin so badly craved.
Why would Taehyung kill a friend? And for Jimin?
Unclaimed.
The note haunts him as he makes his way back to the dorm. Would the others connect it to Jimin? What sort of claim was Taehyung referring to? It can’t have been about the day Yuri had claimed Jimin against his will...
It’s not like Taehyung to care so much about this, is it?
It couldn’t have been because Jimin slept with Yuri. That would be ridiculous because he and Taehyung are nothing. Fucking out their cycles had only been a convenient deal, and sure, things got a little lost in translation—but it wasn’t like they were exclusive. Even if Taehyung is the only alpha Jimin had slept with for the last two years...
They couldn’t have gotten tangled so deeply. It was just fucking—a good way for Jimin to release his frustration, and it had to have been the same for Taehyung too. There was nothing else to it—there couldn’t be.
It hadn’t been something they were open about, though it captured the camp’s attention. If someone connected Jimin to the crime—it would be a matter of time before they turned their sights on him.
That can’t happen. There are no trials in an assassin camp—only death. They’d kill him before he’d have a chance to defend himself.
The only way to live is to run—before they hunt him.
Yuri’s death ripples through, bringing the camp to a standstill.
Jimin bites the edge of his thumb as they stand in the assembly hall. The air is deathly quiet, rank with sweat and nervous scents. Jimin lathered himself with scent blockers before arriving—but nerves wrack his body anyway.
He had nothing to do with this. He hadn’t spoken to Yuri in days. Even if they pointed fingers at him—Jimin had alibis. He’ll be fine.
His hands tremble when he wipes the sweat off his upper lip.
The masters ring the bell again, and the hall doors open. The air shifts as a layer of authority falls upon it. Usually, there are announcements when someone important comes by—but not now.
Kim Joonjae doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood for it.
Each step charges the fear growing in Jimin’s heart. He’s barely interacted with Daebonim—though he’s gotten personal missions before, thanks to Taehyung. It had been one of his nightmares when he began his fling with Taehyung—accidentally attracting his father’s attention.
Jimin looks straight ahead as Joonjae faces the assembly.
Behind him stands Kim Seokjin—beautiful and fierce, and the bane of Jimin’s life. Blue eyes shine brightly beneath a black fringe, and his face betrays no emotion—fitting for one of the best assassins in the camp. A title Jimin resents, because he’s a close second.
Joonjae’s eyes flit across the room. The scar across his face makes it even more menacing, his one eye monochromatic from the injury. He seems like a wolf hunting his prey, and cold sweat forms in Jimin’s lower back again.
“How primly you all stand.”
More than his looks, it had been his voice that haunted Jimin’s nightmares. Cold and slithering under his skin, working its way into his heart where it waited to halt out of fear. He’d had a personal audience only once, after a presentation—and that had been enough. Jimin never wanted to meet him again.
“Without fear. No shame in letting such a travesty occur.” Joonjae shifts, pacing slowly. “And you call yourself competent assassins?”
No one says a word, and it seems as if no one’s breathing either. Jimin’s are caught in his lung.
“It has been two days, and no one has stepped forward,” Joonjae whispers, though it rings through his bones. “Neither with information—nor a confession.”
Nervous glances bounce off each other, the scents a mix of blank and sour. Filed in their neat grey suits, the air pregnant with terror. Hope. Anger.
Unclaimed.
He looks ahead, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. He’s sure some of them are onto him—no matter how much he hopes. Yuri and Jimin were close too, and the alpha had begun courting him despite Jimin’s reluctance. He had heard the jealous whispers of the omegas; they’d be the first to throw him to the wolves. Eventually, someone will connect him to the kill.
Jimin has to run before they find him.
Joonjae paces the whole length of the stage, his eyes steady on them. Each step is controlled— once, Jimin had aspired to be like him. There is a rhythm to his movements that’s hypnotising and commanding, and Jimin’s throat runs dry when those eyes land briefly on him.
He can’t know. Not yet, not him. Jimin looks away first, back to the point at the wall opposite to his. It would be foolish of Jimin to assume Joonjae didn’t know about Taehyung and him—he had eyes everywhere, and the camp thrived on secrets. But would he have known about Yuri and him, and their entanglement?
He looks around—Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, either on the stage or in the room. It makes it even more obvious—or maybe Jimin knows Taehyung too well, and that shouldn’t have happened either.
Joonjae stops in the middle, tilting his neck left and right. Seokjin’s eyes narrow as he searches, grimacing when they land on Jimin—before moving on. Fuck you too, asshole, Jimin thinks, but keeps his expression in check. Avoid anything that brings attention to him, play possum, run. That’s the plan, and Jimin needs to be ready for it.
“It looks like no one will, either,” Joonjae says, clucking his tongue. He snaps his fingers, and one of the masters comes forward with a folder. “At least, not without incentive.”
He flips through a file and then passes it to Seokjin. “Looks like most of you are turning over a good profit. That’s wonderful. Such esteemed students, I couldn’t be prouder.”
It’s not meant to be a compliment; Joonjae never meant them—if a student was alive, they could take it as one. There was only punishment here—death, and sometimes a head spiked on the camp walls.
“Perhaps you will be, ah, inclined to bring me the killer with some motive,” Joonjae continues. He’s met with silence and shrugs. “Alright, then. All the missions are cancelled until the killer is caught.” When there’s still no response, Joonjae sighs. “That means no earnings. The accounts will be frozen.”
The assembly bursts into chaos. Joonjae holds a fist, and they shut down just as fast. He tuts again.
“How predictable. Is there no loyalty to the Code? I take away your money, and then you think of honour?”
It doesn’t matter. The frenzy is bursting under the seams. Being an assassin is hard work—deathly, with far too many consequences than gains—but the money is worth it. Especially if one is as good as Jimin—and that’s with the commission that gets cut. Most of the accounts are regulated—once they turn of legal age, they get full access to it, and if they prove themselves to be good enough, get a pick of their assignments.
That would mean at least one more year for Jimin—and he doesn’t have that long anymore.
He won’t have anything if the money is frozen.
“Some assassins you are,” Joonjae scoffs. “Bring me the killer, or the information—and your accounts will be restored again. Until then—no missions, and no one leaves.”
The masters call for a salute—and Joonjae leaves without a greeting, Seokjin scurrying after. Jimin’s left with cold dread beading in his chest.
He stumbles back, clawing at the buttons of his shirt as he turns on the cold water. It stings on his hot skin, a cold rain that burns.
They can’t leave camp until the culprit is caught.
It makes sense. If they want to control the environment, they’ll close it. And by taking away their earnings, there’s nowhere to go. It also means Jimin is stuck here, and it’s only a matter of time before some idiot spills the guts about how he publicly asked Yuri to share his heat—Moon, he’d been stupid with that one.
It doesn’t matter if Jimin didn’t kill Yuri. They’d torture the information out of him for soiling a good alpha anyway.
Grubby little nobody laying his dirty omega hands on the alpha, they’d say, because that’s what they always say about Jimin. A good, talented assassin, but refusing to act like an omega. Spreading your legs for alpha seed.
What rotten luck, to attract the attention of the two most virile alphas in this Moon forsaken place.
Trembles wrack his body as he stands. Why did Taehyung kill Yuri? It couldn’t have been anyone else; Jimin knows Taehyung cold—his moves, the way he angles his daggers and the strikes. Dragging, like he wants the other to hurt, leaving behind art.
Hirai Yuri did not die peacefully.
It’s all there— in the way the blood had leaked out, the dagger stuck in his heart, the nicks on his arms and collar. A dirty kill. Something Taehyung indulged in without care, because winning was more important than anything else. It’s the one thing he shares with Taehyung.
And now he’s stuck here in a camp where none of them would hesitate to pile on the other if they could get their money back. Joonjae had played a wonderful game.
Tears slip out as his belly curdles with anxiety. He has to find a way to leave somehow. He can’t stay here and get caught for something he hasn’t done. He doesn’t want this life anymore— looking out for himself every moment, death hanging over his shoulder.
A life where Taehyung would come back and— if he can do this if he can kill someone for sleeping with Jimin when they aren’t even together— then what else can he do?
Someone bangs on the door enough to jolt him out of it. The water’s freezing now, ice chips trailing across his raw red skin.
Jimin wipes himself off quickly, mind racing just as fast. He has to get out— but how? The camp would hunt him. No one broke the Code; the masters had drilled it into him. Once an assassin, always an assassin. Leaving would be a betrayal, and if one did— they would be killed.
He needs to be strategic about this. Escaping would be a death sentence otherwise.
A bargain, perhaps, an exchange of something precious for a free life. There was no justice in an assassin camp— but everyone understood contracts. That was how they worked, how they made money. Contracted killers— do a task, achieve success, get paid and melt into the shadows.
A life outside of camp…. Jimin can’t help it as his mind visualises the possibilities. The recon missions he’s done, the assignments abroad— where, for a moment, he was a regular person. Waking up in the morning, having a routine, going for work so he could pay mundane bills. It had been a far-off fantasy— he’d never thought he could actually leave but dreaming helped. It kept away the despair and allowed him to function.
If he plays his cards right…it doesn’t have to be a dream anymore.
First thing would be securing funds. Joonjae had said the accounts would be frozen until the killer was found and punished. Even if Jimin finds a way out— he won’t have the money. All the funds he’s collected, cuts he’s amassed over the years of being the top assassin— all gone. He can’t hack into them either, unlike the regular world where people are far more gullible.
Bring me the killer or the information. If Jimin plants some hints about the possible killer, just enough to get some funds and distract them...He could do this. Find a guy and pin the kill on him; be done with it.
The idea blooms. Jimin just has to hint that he knows something about the killer— set a trail, just enough that he could be sent out perhaps. He knows it’s Taehyung— but it wouldn’t be fair to run with what is still an assumption. Joonjae isn’t going to take kindly to him accusing his darling son anyway.
Give enough impression that he does, that he needs some incentives to search— and he can work his way from there. Bargaining…Jimin’s spine locks up when he thinks of directly interacting with Joonjae. He’s tried over the years to make a mark, to be seen as invaluable so he receives grace— could it extend to this point at last?
Jimin gets up, brushing the dirt off his pants. He needs an audience, a solid argument— and a lot of courage.
Sleep escapes him as he outlines the proposal in his head.
Joonjae hated liars, and he hated when they didn’t know what they wanted. Jimin’s learnt this over the years— being an assassin is a curious blend of honesty and lies, of giving the truth just enough without letting it fall completely.
He twists, the fantasy of an outside life looming. Once out—what then? If he’s successful and leads them to Taehyung, what then? Taehyung will know, and he’ll never stop tormenting Jimin. This whole stupid mess began because of a petty act— and had been nothing else since.
Does he even want Taehyung caught? There’s no proof, after all; only Jimin’s instinct and knowledge of fighting Taehyung for years. It wouldn’t be fair if Taehyung really had gone on some secret mission and the actual killer got away.
Then again...if Taehyung is caught, he wouldn’t be able to come after him. At least, there would be enough time for Jimin to get his shit together, kill all his traces and leave this life behind for good.
Would Joonjae even allow that? It simply wasn’t heard of; Jimin had seen enough heads on the spikes to not even contemplate escape but now...
Some sort of reward, perhaps? It’s a foolish thought to even think he can negotiate with someone like Kim Joonjae. He’s nothing in front of such a great assassin. What’s he thinking, really?
The dream flutters in his chest anyway. Now that it’s hatched—Jimin can’t ignore it anymore.
No matter how many times he wipes them, sweat collects in his palms as he walks to Daebonim’s office.
It had taken a couple of days of biting his lips raw and picking his nails apart, but Jimin had finally mustered the courage to go forward. If his head is to become one with a spike tonight—well, at least he’d tried.
Either way, he’ll be free of Taehyung.
The hallways to the office are sweating with the cold, a sort of damp crawling into his bones. Jimin’s been here exactly once before—when he didn’t congratulate Namjoon for his presentation. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to come back, but life loves throwing surprises his way.
He halts in front of the giant wooden doors embossed with motifs of shifted wolves, leaves and symbols of the Moon Goddess. Somehow, they seem sinister, and it adds one more weight to the stack building in Jimin’s stomach.
“Come in.”
The doors swing open—the guards barely acknowledge him. The windows are tinted, and there is one dark yellow lamp at the edge of the oak table. Behind it is Kim Joonjae.
He’s not any less threatening alone either.
The doors shut the moment Jimin’s inside, and he jolts at the sharp bang. Joonjae seems to be scribbling away at something. The room is full of a cloying, sweet scent—flowers, but he’s not sure what kind. They’re unlike Taehyung’s lavenders or the hundred others he’s smelt in camp.
“Park Jimin.” Joonjae signs off on something, keeping aside the feather-capped pen and sealing the envelope. He meets Jimin’s eyes over the paper, and they pierce him to the ground. “Somehow, I’m not surprised you’re the one who’s come forward.”
Jimin crosses his hands in front of his belly. He bows down low. “Daebonim. How do you do?”
“Very well, how nice of you to ask,” Joonjae says, keeping aside the envelope and snapping his fingers. Jimin stands upright. “So? What brings you here?”
It’s a trick question. They both know Jimin wouldn’t be caught dead here unless he really had to. “I... searched and have come to some clues that could lead me to the culprit.”
“I thought you trained to be an assassin.” A slice of the letter opener against the paper. “But very well. What are these ‘clues’?”
“Sloppy leftovers from the killer, Daebonim,” Jimin lies, hands taut behind his back. “At least, I think so. I wish to check them just to be sure.”
Joonjae moves to the next stack. “Only you happened to discover these clues? Jimin says nothing. “Convenient. What are you waiting for, then?”
“What?”
“You say you found clues, didn’t you? Go on then. You don’t need my permission to follow through.”
Jimin digs a nail into his wrist and clears his throat. “Actually, Daebonim...I do. The camp gates....” He twists the top button tight to his throat. “I can’t pursue them unless you open the doors. Or allow me access...to the funds.”
This is it. If Joonjae doesn’t buy it—then Jimin is stuck here till whenever Taehyung deigns to show his face. All he needs are his accounts liquified so he can get the fuck out of this place. Pin the blame on someone else and run with his cut of the money.
Joonjae looks up, levelling him with a gaze so cold it slithers inside his bones. He gulps, blood condensing on the inside. Then Joonjae laughs.
It’s mean enough to thaw his veins, yet cold for ice to fall into his stomach instead. It’s short, stopping just as suddenly as it had begun. Joonjae leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the oak.
“Jimin, oh, Jimin,” he whispers, tilting his head. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? I’ve always thought so.”
It’s the sort of thing Joonjae says to get the other to lay down their guard before striking. Taehyung had told him about it once—and Jimin can see it now. He stands up, and Jimin bows again. “Daebonim.”
“Access to the funds to catch a culprit, how ingenious,” Joonjae muses, walking slowly. “What’s next? You take the next bus out to the city? Hide yourself from me?”
Jimin’s blood runs cold. “N-no, nothing like that, Daebonim—”
“No? Then your loyalty must be appreciated.” Joonjae stands in front, trailing a finger over Jimin’s temple, scraping against the sweat beading. “You were Hirai Yuri’s, ah, special friend, were you not?”
His stomach swoops with fear; he wants to run. Far away, bury himself to the ground. How stupid of him, to think Joonjae wouldn’t know. He keeps his face neutral. “I...”
“The students said so. I don’t mind, of course,” Joonjae says lightly. “The best of the omegas for such a distinguished alpha, no?”
He almost ruins it by gagging but swallows the bile back. “It was only once, Daebonim.”
“I’m sure it was the best he had before departing for the Moon,” Joonjae says. “The same, of course, can’t be said of Taehyung and you.”
Idiot, idiot, idiot—a massive slut, to get tangled with the Boss’s son right under his nose, to think he was safe somehow. Jimin gulps, the back of shirt sticking to his skin with the sweat. Joonjae’s lips quirk up, but he says nothing as he turns away.
“You know what I think, Jimin?” He shakes his head, and Joonjae sighs. “You know more than clues. You’re simply being graceful about the truth.” He shuffles around his desk. “My son, however, is not so graceful with his anger. I suppose it runs in our blood.”
He knows. He’d known from the beginning, and worse, he somehow knows Jimin knows too. How, Jimin’s not sure. He doesn’t want to find out.
“How about a deal, Jimin-ah?” Joonjae croons, coming back out with a silver dagger. “It’s one of a kind. No other trainee would get this, but you’re not just any trainee, are you?”
Joonjae dangles the dagger in front of him. It’s a beautiful thing—silver edged with an inscription he can’t read. Thin enough to hide, sharp enough to cut a thousand times. Jimin wants it the moment he sees it.
“Bring the culprit back,” Joonjae begins, stressing on the word like he knows how futile it is. “Alive, preferably. And you can take all your earnings. Without the commission paid to the camp.”
His heart falls right out of its cage into his stomach. “What?”
“That got your attention quick enough,” Joonjae quips, sheathing the dagger and handing it over. Jimin’s hands tremble. “But yes. Someone had to be very capable to kill a member of the yakuza. The reward must be justified—I am a fair man.”
Not quite, but it’s not like Jimin’s sitting here to do a personality assessment. He stares at the dagger, seeing it for what it is—an offered mission, one of a kind. Special, like the kind he’s rarely had thanks to his ridiculous non-Elite status. His silence seems to tick Joonjae off.
“Surely that’s a tempting offer?”
He doesn’t trust himself to speak. It is miles ahead of anything he could have conjured—his earnings without the commission? With his success rate...if he pulls this off, he’ll be rolling in money.
All that money is useless if Taehyung is in his life. Jimin can’t just escape now—or find someone random. It has to be Taehyung, and the alpha is vengeful enough to exact revenge in the slowest possible way. If not that, then Joonjae’s attention on him—he knew too much. He’d always keep an eye on Jimin and Taehyung. He’ll never be free.
He clears his throat. ”Daebonim, I thank you for the graciousness.” He bows; Joonjae lets out a pleased sound. “But I want to bargain.”
Joonjae’s smile drops. “What is that?”
“Let me find and bring the killer back,” Jimin presses, heart in his throat. “And leave after with full severance. Let this be my last mission.”
He could have Jimin’s tongue for this. To even bargain with his boss...to suggest leaving...but he has to take that chance. He will never know otherwise.
“Leave...the camp?” Joonjae asks slowly. Jimin nods. “And why is that?”
Jimin takes a deep breath and meets Joonjae’s eyes. “Because I know who the killer is. As do you.”
Nothing happens for a moment. It’s not a stalemate, but not a challenge either. It’s something in between; Jimin knows but he won’t tell; even if he does it may not be the truth.
“I see,” Joonjae says at last. He doesn’t ask who or what; it’s a game. “By leaving you are...?”
“Looking out for myself,” Jimin says simply. The fear is still there—but somehow, so is the courage. He can taste it, gut broiling with excitement. “Such a dangerous killer; who’s to say what will happen?”
It’s a bluff, and Jimin waits for Joonjae to call it out and snuff it out before it even begins—but instead, he smiles.
“Very well. Bring him to me, Park Jimin.”
🖤⚔🖤
The next couple of days, he sends out feelers through the camp grapevine, hoping Taehyung will pick up at least one of them and reach out. But the alpha is too smart to come running just like that; it would be a while before Jimin hears from him.
So, he turns his attention back to camp. The camp that, if he is successful, he won’t ever have to live in again.
Envoys from the yakuza keep coming in, demanding answers and threatening a gang war if Joonjae doesn’t hand over the killer. The assassin is charming enough that he guides them away—but he meets Jimin’s eyes and raises an eyebrow.
It’s all Jimin can do to hold out hope and pray that Taehyung will buy into his bait.
He gets a response a week later.
Jimin leaves behind his belongings, exiting through the back gates where the guards ignore him. All he has is his rucksack, an array of his favourite daggers—and the will to succeed.
The journey to the village Taehyung is at is uneventful. It’s far and lowkey enough that it would slip under the camp’s radar—smart of the alpha to choose something close.
He blends in, taking in the scents and the people, marking the exits and entry points. It’s obscure, and the residents mark him as an outsider immediately—though it doesn’t stop the alphas from catcalling at him. Jimin rolls his eyes as he trudges through.
Taehyung wouldn’t be publicly visible, so it would be a place one wouldn’t ask questions in. Jimin’s eyes zero in on the bar in the distance—loud and bright, full of stragglers coming in for a good time. Village, town or city—alcohol would always prevail.
If Taehyung’s called him here, then he must have already made Jimin’s entry. He can’t sense him, though if he tries hard enough, he can possibly smell lavender. It’s wishful thinking—but his chest pangs.
The bar it is.
It’s as loud as he’d expected it to be, and just as crowded; people both young and old make merry, and no one bothers to hide their pleasure. Some are openly exploring each other, hands shoved beneath skirts and trousers, some grinding against the walls. His blood heats up, remembering the way Taehyung would do the same.
He shakes his head. He’s here for a reason, a purpose. There can be no distractions now.
Taking a deep breath full of scents, soju and nerves—Jimin enters the mayhem.
The foam of the beer bubbles, when the back of his neck prickles.
It’s a sensation he’s trained himself to trust in a world rife with distractions. His wolf sufficiently suppressed, Jimin’s come to rely on his body to keep himself safe.
And this one especially, he knows a thing or two about.
He doesn’t turn, taking a deep swig and swishing through the bitterness, the sharp cold swallow down. It’s one of the shady bars where owners don’t look at IDs or ages. Even if he looks too young to be here— his wallet is the only thing that matters. Or his fluttering eyelashes, whichever gets the barkeeper bricked up.
He looks forward, waiting for the alpha to come to him. It’s always been a game between them—and Jimin never begs. It’s Taehyung who wants him, not the other way around. It’s Taehyung who can’t stand the distance.
Those are the lies that bring him comfort.
It’s Taehyung who killed Yuri.
Now that truth spikes the discomfort a little too much.
Lavender slides under his nose straight into his blood, singing and making a home. Jimin almost moans with relief—Moon, he’d missed the stupid scent. It had everything to do with how good it was and nothing to do with its owner. Another lie Jimin is content with.
The alpha settles next to him, signalling for a tumbler. Jimin takes another swig. The silence ticks like a clock, and the words nearly spill over his tongue—it tastes like iron when he bites. It was all about the timing. The game.
“What are you doing here?”
As always, Taehyung always gives in first. “You tell me. Your note said to come here.”
“Because you asked to meet.” The barkeeper places a mug. Everyone’s dancing around them. Someone sidles up to Jimin, and he kicks them lightly. “What do you want?”
So simple, and direct. Jimin can’t recall the last time they’d had a conversation that hadn’t led to fucking or a fight. He shifts to the side, appraising Taehyung. Moon, even lying low, the bastard looks like he’d walked out of a magazine.
He tries imagining Taehyung older. It doesn’t work—Jimin won’t be around to see it.
The alpha’s trimmed his hair, though it hangs low over his eyes—an ashy-blonde. Convenient for hiding, though it still catches eyes because that’s just how pretty Taehyung is. Jimin catches the look some of the omegas throw their way—even an alpha or two. Huh. Taehyung is petite enough to pass for an omega sometimes, until he stands and towers over most people. But now...
Jimin bristles when one of the spectators giggles, and another places a free tumbler in front of Taehyung, who barely acknowledges him. Still, some strange burning occupies his belly—the idea of someone else looking at Taehyung like that ...
He killed Yuri. Remember that .
“You look well,” Jimin says, swallowing down everything else he’d planned—the rage, the horror and the guilt. The question. Why? Why would you kill Yuri? Deeper still, a vulnerability. Did you kill him for me?
Taehyung turns as if he’s heard the question telepathically. One look at his eyes, and Jimin knows.
He itches to reach for his dagger on instinct—but stays. Taehyung’s without weapons—he’s lost weight, and there is a cut across his lip, and some scratches down his neck. Yuri didn’t go down without a fight, then. A sick part of Jimin is glad to see Taehyung relatively unharmed.
“Were you out on a mission?” Jimin tries, leaning against the bar countertop, fingers edging the tumbler. Taehyung studies his every move, lips pressed into a thin line. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.” He picks lint off his trousers, the silence growing. “Weird, honestly. I actually think I even ended up missing you just a bit—”
“What do you want, Jimin?”
Jimin gulps. Taehyung sounds...not pissed, but not his usual playful self either. Granted, he’s probably been hiding since Yuri’s death was discovered, so it makes sense. Still, in all their years—Taehyung's never been so curt with Jimin.
None of the usual games, then. Taehyung's taken a risk answering Jimin’s call—a sloppy move, but Jimin won’t buy it so easily. Taehyung’s too smart to be that stupid. What’s stopping me from fighting him right now and dragging him back to Daebonim?
Taehyung is gifted—the two of them kept each other alive through their rivalry, and if Taehyung can defeat a skilled assassin like Yuri—Jimin doesn’t want to take chances. No, he has to make sure he earns his right to leave the camp—Joonjae can’t have any excuse to take that away from Jimin.
Jimin lifts his chin. “Not here. Somewhere else.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow, and it feels right. “It’s not safe.”
“I came all the way here because your shitty note said so,” Taehyung grumbles, turning back to his drink. Jimin leans in closer, the sage tantalising. “What’s so bad you can’t tell me here?”
“Just. Too many eyes. Ears.” He doesn’t mention Yuri, and neither does Taehyung. He pouts and traces a finger across Taehyung’s sleeve. Even that has his chest tight, what the hell is wrong with him? “C’mon. Don’t be such a spoilsport.”
“If I was spoiling some sport, sure.”
“You could spoil me ,” Jimin breathes, relishing the way Taehyung stiffens, the telltale redding of his scent gland. “Be a good sport about it, too.”
Taehyung takes a swig, looking steadily away—but his scent is rich with arousal. It always is around Jimin. He uncrosses his leg, brushing his ankle against Taehyung. The alpha’s nose flares as Jimin pumps out his scent, attracting others to them.
“Stop it.” Taehyung’s eyes flit around, teeth bared as alphas and omegas edge closer. “We don’t need more attention.”
“Speak for yourself. I always need attention,” Jimin says, dropping his act and moving away. “And you’re being boring. I’ll be over there, having fun while you brood like an old man.”
He pushes off before Taehyung can drag him back in. Let the alpha chase him, want him, keep him. Taehyung is smart—but he’s always been a little bit of a fool around Jimin. Maybe it’s his scent, or his willing cunt.
The crowd pulls him in—and Jimin gets lost.
For this to work, he needs time. Fresh after a kill and a hiding Taehyung would be on his guard—and Jimin’s the last person he’d trust unless ...he tapped into whatever drove Taehyung to kill Yuri. If he really did it for Jimin—then there is something else at play here.
Jimin doesn’t want to know, but he’ll use it if he must.
Hands roam over and bodies press against him. Their touch feels wrong—he's not opposed to the occasional fuck to get his way, but something about doing it while Taehyung can watch...
It’s not like the alpha has claim over me.
Then why does it feel like a crime anyway?
He makes the most of the moment. They never got to dance or sing or do anything remotely human at the goddess-forsaken camp, unless it helped in a mission. Jimin knows the basic dances, some songs to blend in—but nothing refined. Nothing cultured . All he knows are the major veins he can slash for a quick death, or how to cauterise a blade to prevent bleeding.
When he gets out, he’d have to learn everything from scratch.
Someone grabs him by the waist and grinds into him—and he lets them. The back of his neck prickles again, and he smells deep rage—he's not sure what envy smells like, but he knows how green Taehyung must be. He’d hated it when Jimin would flirt with the other alphas at camp.
Had the signs been there all along?
No. This is on Taehyung, and every stupid alpha who thinks they own omegas .
Jimin throws his head back, letting the bar music carry him—when the weight on his front vanishes, and sharp nails dig into his skin again.
“You’re creating a scene.”
“Isn’t that what I do best, alpha?” Jimin simpers, pressing closer. It feels right to have Taehyung’s touch on him. He had missed it. “Now all you have to do is make a mess...”
Jimin pulls away, melting back into the crowd when Taehyung pulls him in. His eyes are dark with need, faint gold rings around them indicating the presence of his wolf. Lavender hangs heavy over his tongue despite the myraid scents around him.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Ready to make a mess?”
“I’m not playing, Jimin,” Taehyung whispers hotly, and Jimin clings to them. “I’ll pry it out of you.”
“Fucking it out would be better,” Jimin says, grinning when he feels Taehyung harden against him. “Oh, so you did miss me.”
Rules didn’t exist in their game—Taehyung gave in, and Jimin won. That’s what he chooses to believe, and that’s what Taehyung inevitably follows. And Jimin is a little too good at it to lose now. Taehyung rolls his eyes, leaning into the dance. “Your hole? Always.”
“Charming as ever,” Jimin says, twirling and leaning back, before facing him again. “Really deprived me for a few weeks there.”
Taehyung smirks. “Little omega can’t wait to be fucked, hmm? Thinks he’s the best out there?”
“You wish you’d get a fuck as good as me,” Jimin snaps, the strange irritation striking again. Moon, get your shit together, he’s not yours . “I made you fuck better.”
“Sure, you did.”
“My standards are unattainably high.”
“And yet you only fucked me.” Then Taehyung tilts his head, his smile suddenly bitter. Fuck, right. “Or you choose to come back. Either way. It’s a great review.”
Jimin can’t lie around that one. Yuri had been nothing compared to the way Taehyung made him feel. Still makes him feel with just a touch, a trail of a warm finger. Effortless where Yuri had to try so hard.
Taehyung’s fingers scratch at the sliver of exposed skin, painfully slow, driving Jimin deeper into a fugue. Sage swirls around him, into him—fuck, one sniff and Jimin needs Taehyung. It’s never about want; it’s not enough. He needs the alpha like air.
His heart beats loud as Taehyung pulls him in on the next swing, straight into his body. He’d gotten a growth spurt recently— a development he could never shut up about while they got down to business. It hadn’t been much— an inch or so above, but the alpha would lord it over any moment.
Secretly, Jimin had liked the idea. And he does now too, when he has to look up just a little bit, see his eyes flicker with gold— unfair how the alpha got to keep their wolves while Jimin had to train his to shut up.
Sweat runs down his back, picked up by his shirt when Taehyung spreads his hand behind and squeezes. All the people in the world, the dim lights and human scents— and Jimin focuses only on that point of contact.
It’s alarming. It’s calming.
Someone stumbles into him hard enough that Jimin falls in Taehyung’s arm, and the alpha growls lowly while the other laughs out a lazy apology. Jimin’s ears feel underwater, skin buzzing with that heady want. Enjoyment. Desire, and some fear too. He wants the alpha more than anything else. He wants to run far, far away.
Taehyung pushes away the intruder, and handles Jimin with utmost gentleness, the kind he’s never really shown him before. Not outside of heat anyway, and it’s not something Jimin would allow himself to feel either even if he had been. But now…away from all of it…
Slick gathers itself as his slit throbs, and Taehyung’s nose flares— as does his scent in response to Jimin’s. The wildest lavender with its tempered sage, swarming in and around him. It’s alive in a way it couldn’t be in camp, but here— they’re free. They’re stupid kids in a small town who can take each other in the way they want to.
The fantasy drives him, as Taehyung’s grip on his waist tightens, nails digging deep in a possessive hold. He imagines the half-moon shaped marks left behind the shades of purple twinging on the right side of pink.
Claimed .
He’s wet, and he knows people can smell him, and Taehyung can too— it shows in the way his eyes grow black with need and aggression both, as other alphas look towards Jimin in interest. Someone does slide up close, trying to dance their way in— but Taehyung shoves him aside. A part of the crowd resurges, but before they can come closer, Taehyung drags him through the throng of people towards the corridor leading to the bathrooms and the inn-rooms above.
No one follows them. It’s quieter and darker, with some stragglers in the distance, the moans and shrieks of frantic lovers echoing through the thin walls. It makes a home in the bed of Jimin’s desires, head swimming with lust. The taste of lavender on Jimin’s tongue.
Taehyung grabs him by the chin and claims that too.
He moans, some part of his body finally clicking right as he moulds himself into someone familiar. The build, the taste and the grip; the way Taehyung pries his lips open gently, sweetly even as he explores his mouth with beastly hunger. Weeks and weeks of deprivation, of not knowing where the alpha was, the itch slowly driving him insane— he sighs as his body settles.
It feels like the rightest thing.
He falls against the wall behind, pulling the alpha closer and deeper, his nails digging through the layers. Taehyung is as hungry as him, biting at his lower lip and pulling away, his eyes golden and dark with desire.
“Missed that?” He whispers, pulling him in by his belt, the alpha settling between Jimin’s leg. The promise of his cock drives him insane. “Want me?”
Taehyung grinds into him, and Jimin relishes the deep pressure, the pain. “Looks like you want it more than me.”
“You’re the one humping me like a dog,” Jimin gasps, pulling Taehyung back by his hair and inhaling his scent. He feels like a bitch in heat. “Fuck, alpha, more—”
Taehyung is attached to him like a leech, sucking on his tongue as he walks backward into—a bathroom, washroom—something, it’s got fancy tiles and a tub. There’s a large marble sink with a huge mirror—Jimin's looks debauched. At Taehyung’s mercy.
Jimin pushes against him, hasty and desperate as he barely finishes locking before Taehyung’s back on him again, turning him around and shoving the jacket off him. Hot hands trace the lines of his body, catching onto the daggers Jimin’s tucked away. Taehyung kisses the back of his neck as he removes each one gently, dropping them into the pile below.
He keeps the last one, twirling it in the dim light from the bathroom window. It’s Jimin’s favourite one, and Taehyung smirks in recognition. Jimin stays still as he places it under his chin, the cold metal raising the hairs on his body.
“Silver Dagger,” Taehyung whispers, and Jimin shivers. He stays like a good omega as the alpha traces the blade over his flesh, down his neck and across his collarbones. The dagger could cut so easily— only an expert would know the right amount of pressure to keep Jimin safe. “Fitting name for a fitting boy.”
The alpha grinds his cock against Jimin’s clothed ass, a restriction he can’t bear any longer. But Taehyung takes his time—he presses the tip to just below Jimin’s scent gland. The cut is sharp, but his slit gushes with anticipation. He takes the knife away, looking at the drop of blood— before licking it slowly, deliberately, watching Jimin.
Then he leans in, sucking over the skin while nosing down his scent gland— and Jimin loses himself in the haze of oranges and lavender.
Hands fumble at his jeans, before dipping inside and caressing his folds, both hot and cold through the slick. His cock grows more painful by the minute, and he imagines Taehyung’s isn’t faring that well either. How thick and full it must be, pulsing red, no knot because neither of them are close to their cycles— an unfortunate tragedy, but Jimin will take it—
He moans when Taehyung crooks his fingers in, one of his favourite things to do to Jimin. It’s been long enough that he comes suddenly. But it does nothing to stave off the pleasure.
Taehyung quickly takes his hands out, picking Jimin up and slamming him onto the sink countertop as he kisses him again, running slick covered hands through Jimin’s hair, pulling back just to have him suck on them. It’s disgusting. It’s exactly what Jimin had missed.
Cold marble presses against his ass as Taehyung pulls his trousers down, holding his cock in a loose fist. He pauses just as Jimin’s about to come again— and pulls his pants down under his balls, his cock standing proudly. Jimin’s mouth waters— no one had made him feel like that. Not even Yuri, who’d been good, but Taehyung…
“Tell me what you want,” Taehyung asks, but it’s rhetorical because Jimin knows, and he knows, that he just wants to get fucked to the Moon and back. How empty he is, and all he is now is a void for Taehyung’s cock.
Jimin spreads his legs, pulling Taehyung in and letting him settle. He licks up his neck, biting at his lobe. “Fuck me, alpha.”
It’s all Taehyung needs.
He rucks up Jimin’s shirt, pulling down his underwear before rubbing his cock between his folds, collecting the outpour of slick with it. The promise of it has Jimin rolling his eyes, the taste of lavender tart with the oranges. Their scents merge so well. If he could get drunk on it for the rest of his life he would just—
Not the rest of your life.
Jimin blinks, blood sluggish yet alive as Taehyung pushes through, kissing and sucking Jimin’s skin between his teeth. The thought flies away as Taehyung takes over, till he’s buried to the hilt and Jimin’s just a hole.
He’d missed him.
It’s a bizarre thought, as the alpha pulls back and goes in again, the rough slide of their skin spiking the pleasure. The tiny bathroom is flush with their scents and the air is hot, too wet to breathe properly— but Jimin never wants to leave. This is where he wants to stay, legs wrapped around Taehyung’s waist as he fucks into him, his slick leaking out and forming a puddle under his ass. This is all he wants.
He wonders if this is what Taehyung thinks too. If that’s what he did think, as he gave Yuri a death by a thousand cuts.
It seems unthinkable, because Jimin isn’t anyone to kill for, and certainly not to the son of an assassin king…but he throws his head back as Taehyung thrusts in harshly, marking and claiming him. His head bumps against the mirror behind, and Jimin’s glad he doesn’t have to see himself getting railed.
He doesn’t have to. His body remembers Taehyung anyway.
Taehyung’s head is tucked in the crook of his neck, his breath hot as he shudders from exertion. Sweat, slick and cum have made a home inside him, and Jimin wrinkles his nose when Taehyung’s soft cock twitches in aftershock.
The disgust doesn’t stay as Taehyung lifts his head, hair plastered with sweat and eyes glazed, his cheeks flushed from pleasure. He looks more like a Boy than ever before, and Jimin can’t help it. In a hold that’s too gentle for him, for them— he takes his head and kisses him. Just that.
No tongue, no desperate chase to claim each other. Just two boys in a bar bathroom coming to terms with their act.
It hits him then, as Taehyung pecks him all over. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Jimin was supposed to find Taehyung, get a confession out of him and get him to camp— not do this . Not fall into their pattern, when the whole reason he is here is because…of it.
He pushes Taehyung away. The alpha winces as Jimin snaps his legs shut, rescuing his cock in the nick of time. It hangs flaccid, wet with cum and slick. “What the fuck?”
Leave it to him to ruin a mission because he can’t stop being a whore for Taehyung. Maybe the masters were right. Omegas are only good for alpha seed.
“Oh, Moon above,” Jimin says, taking a couple of tissue rolls and wiping himself clean. “Oh, fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What’s going on?” Taehyung asks, wiping himself too. He tucks himself in neatly, and once they’re both dressed— Jimin feels marginally better. Marginally. “What’s got you freaking out?”
“I wasn’t supposed to fuck you.”
Taehyung frowns. “Why? It’s nothing new. We always do it.”
He can’t lie—Taehyung will grill him about the note, so Jimin has to play his cards right. Sandwich the lie between the truths and win the alpha over.
“Yeah, well…” We did always do it until you went and killed our friend, and probably for me, and now I’m supposed to get you back . “I can’t anymore. Shouldn’t.”
He feels stupid as he says it, because Kim Taehyung certainly is not. Moon, he should have kept his calm— acted like it was nothing, had his fun all while biding his time before striking. What the hell did Taehyung have over him to muddle his senses like this?
Taehyung’s face melts into careful nonchalance as he assesses Jimin head to toe, before crossing his arms. “Jimin. Why are you here?”
Fuck. “Huh? I told you earlier.”
“And it was total bull.” Taehyung steps close, none of the playfulness present. “Why did you call me here?”
“I told you; I was on a mission and missed—”
“Fuck off with that,” Taehyung snorts, bending to pick up Jimin’s daggers. “Even if you did. You’d never willingly admit it to my face.”
Sucks that his target is someone who knows him cold. He’s got to be more careful from now on. “I…”
“And you don’t mind the sex usually,” Taehyung says, placing the daggers on the counter. “So. What’s going on?”
He’s trapped, and time’s short. The bathroom has no escape— so he can either lie through his teeth and hope Taehyung believes him, or…
Tears spring to his eyes. Taehyung’s eyes widen. Jimin let’s put a shuddering breath, hoping to keep them his tears in. “Jimin-ah?”
That’s new. Taehyung’s not so gentle. Somehow, it pricks worse, and Jimin’s tears increase. “Fuck. I didn’t think this through.”
The lavender sours with bitter notes of anxiety. Taehyung looks flustered, and Jimin would enjoy it another time if not for the situation he’s in.
“This is weird. I’ve never seen you cry,” Taehyung says, and Jimin doesn’t have it in him to rebuff. “What the fuck is happening—?”
“Something happened at camp,” Jimin begins, sitting on the toilet seat. Taehyung waits with bated breath. “Yuri’s dead.”
He looks up just in time to catch mild surprise in Taehyung’s eyes before he loses it. “Dead?”
“Killed.” Jimin makes himself small, non-threatening. Taehyung can’t know. “Someone snuck into camp. It was a dirty kill.”
To his credit, the alpha looks normal. “How so?”
“Bleeding by cuts. Stab in the heart was a surprise hit.” Jimin crosses his leg. “They think it’s you.”
Taehyung looks up then. “Me?”
“Mm. Since you’re not at camp.”
“Others have gone on missions, too.”
“Yeah, well.” Jimin shrugs, before wiping his eyes again. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Have something to do with it?”
Taehyung stays silent for only a moment, but it’s enough. He shakes his head. “No. I haven’t been to camp in a while.” He picks at his thumb, the edges of his nails bitten to the bed. “Do you think I did?”
Trick question. Jimin faces him. The similarities between him and Joonjae are striking, though Taehyung carries a kindness Jimin’s never seen on his boss. Finally, he shakes his head as well. “No. Doesn’t feel like yours.”
Taehyung nods like they have an understanding. Then he tilts his head. “So, then. Why are you here again?”
He has to play this part carefully. Leave no stone unturned as he sells the story. “They’ve put a hit out on you.”
“What?”
“And I’m one of the assassins they sent out to field.”
The alpha’s reaction is immediate— he takes out a blade from Moon knows where, pointing it at Jimin— who only raises his hands. All his weapons are on the counter— not that he can’t fight with his body alone. Taehyung knows that. The weapon only gives some peace.
“You’re here to kill me?”
“Oh, piss off. If I was, you’d already be dead.” Jimin stands up, and Taehyung deepens his stance. Jimin keeps his arms raised. “I was just supposed to find you. Then I fucked up.”
“Because you fucked me?”
“Because I fucked you,” Jimin repeats, heart racing. “I don’t think you did it. But everyone does.”
Taehyung maintains his position, reading Jimin up and down. “And I should believe you because…?”
Jimin shrugs. His hands are trembling, and Taehyung’s flick to it briefly. “Do or not, I don’t really care.”
He picks his jacket off the floor, opening the door midway when a dagger hits right where his hand would have been. Jimin stays, the lavender growing pungent as Taehyung steps close, nearly pressed against his back. His breath is hot against Jimin’s neck.
“And what makes you think I’m going to let you go after you’ve told me your assignment?”
His heart stutters, growing cold even as his blood simmers. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think you did it.”
“Masters don’t care about justice though,” Taehyung counters, hand pressed above Jimin’s head— he turns around to face the alpha, balking at the cold gold of his eyes. “The Code, remember? You make the kill. Why and how is none of your business.” Then he tilts his head, letting his scent out. “Unless you had a special reason…?”
It’s clear what he’s playing at, and how much of it is a game. It’s thrilling to play it once again, but Jimin needs to be careful. He can’t risk Taehyung making an example of him and sending his body to the camp.
It’s has to be the other way around. Somehow, the thought of it is devastating to behold.
Tears spring again, and Taehyung’s eyes twitch in concern. His scent turns from guarded to something soothing, and Jimin revels in it.
“Stop that,” Taehyung snaps, as Jimin sniffles. “It’s weird. Not like you.”
“Like you know me enough to say that”, Jimin grumbles, though it’s not a lie. Jimin never cries. “I’m sorry. Okay? I don’t want to kill you and I mean it. Can’t we call it even and forget about it?”
“No. It’s not like you to turn your back on the Code,” Taehyung says, pressing closer. “Why did you tell me, Jimin?”
“I don’t know, okay?” Jimin snaps, tears streaming harder. “I— fuck. It slipped out. I just.” He takes a deep breath in. “I missed you. Back at camp.”
Taehyung bites his lip. “You really mean that?”
“Can’t you see the hives I’m getting just admitting it,” Jimin grumbles, and Taehyung snorts. “It’s weird without you. And then they said it’s your fault, and there’s a hit out on you. They gave it to me and— and—” Jimin’s breath shudders. “I didn’t want to. But I had no choice. If I refused they’d have killed me.”
“So, what? Bring me back and life gets better?”
“That’s what they say but…” Jimin looks down. “I don’t know. I’m scared, Taehyung. I thought I could do it and then I saw you and…” He looks up to meet the alpha’s eyes. He really was too pretty. “I can’t do it.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “You’re Park Jimin. You don’t back down.”
“Maybe this time I am.”
“Why?”
Jimin wipes under his eyes. “Because I’m sorry.” A breath. “I’m sorry Daebonim just put a hit out on you. It’s not...it’s not fair. You couldn’t have killed Yuri.” Jimin looks up. “You admired him. Like I did.”
Taehyung stares at him for a moment, eyes holding all the emotion but none Jimin can recognise. He shuffles his feet.
“Look, I’ll just make up something— pin it on someone and fuck off. You don’t need to be dealing with this.”
Jimin makes to move again, opening the door just an inch— but Taehyung slams it shut again, much to chagrin of a waiting customer outside. Fear traps itself in Jimin’s throat, sure that Taehyung will slice him gut to throat— but the alpha has the gentlest, resigned look on his face.
“You go back, and you’ll be killed,” Taehyung says, words both a weigh and a forgiveness. “It’s the Yakuza. They want answers. You’re their best assassin and if you don’t come bearing answers…or a body, you’re dead to them.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad—”
“It will. Not to mention, you broke the Code, and you told me, the target, about your assignment. I’d be a fool to let you go.”
Jimin bites his nails into his palms. “But I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“No, but you’ll hurt yourself,” Taehyung says, stepping back and ripping the dagger out of the wood. “It’s not worth it, Jimin-ah. You know it and I know it.”
He knows, but he doesn’t want to admit it just yet. “They don’t know that you know.”
“You want them to know you failed?” Taehyung asks, a smirk lining the edge of his mouth. “Can’t imagine a worse humiliation than that.”
He hates it when Taehyung isn’t stupid and is smart. “So, what? You won’t let me leave?”
“No, you can…but I don’t think you want to. Too many variables ending in death.” Taehyung leans against be sink. “You don’t want to kill me. But if you go back to camp empty handed or with someone random, they’ll find out eventually. Kill you anyway.” He checks his nails. “What’s the point of all that hard work when you’ll go down like that?”
Damn him for being so astute. But more than that—something else strikes him then, the strange feeling he’d been carrying since he’d struck the bargain with Joonjae. Something clicks, just for a moment. A flutter he can’t name, a push from something omnipotent.
He doesn’t want to kill him.
Simply deliver him alive, take his cut and vanish, trusting that Joonjae would keep Taehyung away and out of Jimin’s life. But the alpha is right— Jimin comes back empty handed, he’s in for it. The deal will mean nothing in the face of his failure.
“You won’t let me leave, but you’re also saying I’ll be fucked if I do,” Jimin says, crossing his arms. “What do you propose, then?”
Taehyung’s eyes glint in the dim bathroom light. His smile both ravages and soothes him as they light up his features.
“What do you think about running away?”
🖤⚔🖤
It’s a thrilling, blood-rushing thought.
For years, since he was a child right until now, Jimin had flirted with thoughts of escaping. It had been a necessary coping strategy, a hope that stopped him from giving into the insanity completely.
And now it’s here.
Taehyung clears the tab and guides Jimin towards the inn he’d been living in so far. He packs everything swiftly—just like an assassin on a mission. For a moment, Jimin wonders if Taehyung really did kill Yuri.
The doubt vanishes—he knows Taehyung. Yuri’s kill was personal .
Jimin shuts his brain off, following the alpha as they trudge through the barley fields. They come to a rest stop, eating a quick meal and erasing their traces before moving on.
“We’re walking because it’s easier to cover the tracks,” Taehyung explains, but Jimin shrugs. It’s stupid to trust him, his enemy—or well, rival, really—but he feels at peace when he thinks about it.
They reach the bus stand and take the bus to the next town. There, Taehyung buys Jimin some extra clothes—he has some cash, but it’s clear he’ll run out soon. Jimin only has some reserves; his accounts are frozen still—but it’s okay. He’s handled worse during his missions. If he plays his cards right, he wouldn’t be in dire circumstances.
Yet, when he looks at Taehyung planning out their escape—his heart protests.
Jimin shuts it out.
In the next town, Taehyung books a rundown inn that’s far quainter inside. The owner is a warm old lady, who coos when Taehyung sells her a story of a young couple in love, pecking Jimin’s hand with the sappiest expression.
He can’t pretend it doesn’t have his heart pitter-pattering in his chest, just for a moment. Neither can he pretend not having fantasised about this exact scenario in some of his weaker moments during their cycles.
Sometimes, when Taehyung had been Boy enough, Jimin would give in. A life where Taehyung was his partner, his mate and wonder about a simple life. Making a house together. Raising pups. Being in love.
That’s when he’d stop dreaming, because it was Taehyung, son of an assassin overload, and Jimin, a no-name assassin with nothing to offer.
They settle in, neither exchanging much conversation. He isn’t sure what to say—if they weren’t fucking, they were arguing. If not that, then fighting it out—which led to more fucking.
Outside of it, Jimin’s not sure what life with Taehyung could look like. They ran away, sure—but what then? What would come next?
“I can hear you thinking,” Taehyung mutters, as he searches the place up and down, looking into the escape routes. “We’ll be safe here.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Jimin joins the search. “Just wondering. I never thought I’d make it out of camp.”
“You’ve done missions before.”
“Yes, but I always knew what I had to come back to, no?” Jimin asks, setting aside some clothes. “This is...unchartered territory.”
Taehyung’s scent smells nervous, though his expression is unfettered. “We’ve handled kills and escaped death. How hard can regular life be?”
He takes his shirt off, and Jimin’s brain short-circuits; it’s been less than 12 hours since they fucked, but he already craves him. Taehyung smirks, dropping the shirt on the way to the bathroom. He turns at the last minute.
“Imagine how easy fucking would be without anyone watching.”
Jimin bristles. “I don’t want to fuck you.”
“Didn’t say so, but thanks for specifying,” Taehyung teases, and the familiar tension is back. This, Jimin can handle. “You’re welcome to join me, save some water.”
Jimin shows a middle finger, but his core warms anyway. Taehyung looks down briefly—before chuckling.
He falls into bed with a groan, hoping he hasn’t made a big mistake.
They don’t know what running away looks like.
In theory, it had always meant simply leaving camp, never to return. Things are different in reality. It’s finding a way to pay the innkeeper but somehow stealing food to save the little money they have. Or keeping shut, pretending to be unknown and avoid someone noticing them too long.
It’s boring. He hadn’t thought about this when he’d agreed to drop his mission. Without the politics of survival, their routine is mundane.
“We could strike out on our own, you know,” Jimin suggests, on his stomach and ass up. Taehyung is trying hard not to notice it too much. “Earn bank.”
“Right. Like that wouldn’t have them right on our trail,” Taehyung scoffs, thumbing through a book. “We have to be lowkey.”
“But for how long?” Jimin whines. “I’m bored .”
“Ah, sorry for not giving you the disclaimer, then.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Jimin tilts his head, and Taehyung stiffens. Huh. Sex is interesting enough.... “We should fuck.”
Taehyung’s neck reddens. “Why the fuck.”
“You’ve never questioned me before,” Jimin says, dragging himself closer. “Always been eager.”
“Maybe I have better things to do, now.”
“Reading?” Jimin pushes himself between Taehyung’s legs. “Don’t give me that bull.”
“I happen to enjoy reading. You’d know if you’d stop biting my head off at camp.”
Jimin refrains from commenting on the other head he’d bitten. “You’re right. Go back to your book.” He pushes apart Taehyung’s knees. “I’d take a closer look at something else.”
He can smell the conflict in Taehyung’s scent, the arousal and the irritation dancing together. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“You.” Jimin rises on his knees, elbows on Taehyung’s. “You always had such good focus. I won’t stop you.” He traces a hand down. Taehyung shivers. “I’ll entertain my mouth till you finish .”
Taehyung curses, and Jimin smirks. He goes back down, opening the pants and pulling out the half-chubbed cock, a pearly bead of pre-cum glistening. He’s never told Taehyung this—but he’s got the prettiest cock Jimin’s ever seen. Not too big, not too small—just right for his mouth, and Moon above, Jimin missed it.
He gets straight to business, kissing the tip and tonguing at the slit. The alpha jerks slightly, but Jimin pops off and taps against the book. “No distractions, alpha .”
“I hate your stupid guts,” Taehyung says venomously, but his eyes flicker golden. Jimin smiles.
His blood sings the familiar rush, the thrill catching up. Running away maybe boring but they don’t have to be. Jimin hums as he suckles softly, like a bitch with oral fixation. He probably does have that, and Taehyung’s cock is perfect to satiate him. It’s even better when the alpha is trying and failing to concentrate on his task—the power is a heady rush.
It’s even better when he deep throats him, and Taehyung gives a shout. “Jimin, what the fuck!”
But he’s relentless, hollowing his cheeks out and taking it all the way in again, till it reaches the back, and his mouth is so full . He looks up to see Taehyung’s death grip on the book. He’s not reading for shit. Jimin will make sure he can’t.
He bobs his head up and down, happy to be used, pressing his nails into Taehyung’s thighs to fuck his mouth—but keep his hands away.
“You’re such a fucking menace,” Taehyung mutters, but flexes his core strength impressively, fucking Jimin with just his hips. “Fuck, Jimin-ah, your mouth .”
Usually, Taehyung would have been holding his head and drilling him, but something about the helplessness of this act has Jimin turned on more than ever. His slit drips, and he’s sure his pants are ruined. Good. Washing them would be one more way of battling the boredom.
There’s no warning when Taehyung comes; Jimin’s mouth is full of it, spilling outside. He swallows, wrinkling his nose as some of it spills down his neck. He barely has a chance to breathe before Taehyung chucks the book side and takes him into his lap, licking up his neck and sucking into the gland. Jimin’s slit throbs, his cock hard and painful.
“No relief for you,” Taehyung whispers, pushing him aside and tucking his cock back in. “Thanks for the entertainment, baby.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, walking to the bathroom with thoughts of Taehyung crowding his mind.
Once, in the middle of a cycle, Taehyung had asked Jimin if he was okay being fucked awake. They’d been sober then, and the idea had appealed to Jimin.
Jimin’s eyes roll all the way back as Taehyung’s tongue works on his hole, in and out and about, sucking in the slick even as more replaces it. His fingers press deep on his hips, his hand placed on Jimin’s lower belly to build the pleasure. Jimin shouts when Taehyung licks all the way up before swallowing his cock, hollowing his cheeks out, his skin flush with slick and greed.
Taehyung pops off, crawling upward till he hovers over Jimin. This was certainly not what he’d imagined when he’d agreed to running away. He finds he’s more than okay with that.
“Good morning?” Taehyung asks lightly, lowering himself and rubbing his cock between Jimin’s folds. Out here, no one’s there to see them. They don’t have to hide— just Jimin and Taehyung, getting to fuck all day and night. Safe from the rumours and whispers, from the lick of blades. “You look sated.”
“Not quite yet.” Jimin moans at a particular stroke. Taehyung swallows it in, letting him taste the orange in his slick. “You said you’d fuck me six ways to Sunday.”
“Did I?” Taehyung sucks on his scent gland, pulling Jimin back by his hair. “Forgot about the calendar, I guess.”
To his horror, he finds himself giggling. Giggling . Like he’s one of those pathetic omegas at camp who think Taehyung’s their world and chase after him, never knowing how utterly obsessed Taehyung is with him. How he’d been minding his business right now and the alpha couldn’t help himself. How one touch later Jimin was at his mercy, because he always gives in.
He can’t help it.
Taehyung’s eyes are soft for only a moment before he parts Jimin’s legs and spears himself to the hilt in one strike.
There they are, two kids lost in the quiet sanctity of distance from their horrific world, stupid in lust.
That’s all there is. Jimin can’t imagine love is made for people like them. Not after the sins they’ve committed.
But he partakes in this heaven for just a little while, as Taehyung fucks him deep, and slowly now that they’re not in a rush. On an actual bed where they can be as loud as they want. He’d thought it would take the thrill out of it, that staying out of camp would break the hold Taehyung has over him— but it’s only made him want the alpha more.
The idea of having him anytime, anywhere is as alluring as it is dangerous.
But when Jimin reaches the zenith of his pleasure, when Taehyung whispers filthy promises in his ears— Jimin chooses to be besotted. It’s the only way to maintain his sanity.
They’re in a small village that’s in the middle of nowhere, but far away enough from the camp. Taehyung had promised that they wouldn’t be found— and somehow, Jimin trusts him.
It’s a strange feeling. It should be wrong. But he watches the way Taehyung inhales his coffee, how he swallows the whole gimbap in a go. It answers to a hunger other than the one in his belly, but he holds himself. Witnessing Taehyung outside of camp and their shared missions or the thick haze of a heat-rut cycle feels like a gift.
The world and its threats feel far away when he’s alone like this, the winter sunlight shining above them as the cold breeze slithers beneath his sweaters.
Time loses its meaning. The longer they stay away, the deeper Jimin gets into his fantasy.
He’d never allowed himself to dream. But the more he stays with Taehyung, in their new life of hopping from town to village to town, unknown and bereft of worries— the more Jimin forgets.
The alpha is different. Away from the gaze of an unforgiving father and the bloodlust of survival—Taehyung simply is the Boy Jimin had seen mere glimpses of. A bizarre quality of kindness, cheeks full and a mouth that falls into a grin more often—and not the salacious kind meant to irk Jimin. With each day away from camp, away from his horrific past life—Jimin imagines how Taehyung could have been.
How both of them could have. He imagines meeting Taehyung in some school, though it falls short because Jimin’s not sure what a regular school is like. But it can’t have been that different from their rivalry at camp.
It wouldn’t have been impossible to be with him.
Jimin forgets all of it, happy in this dream.
Until he’s forced to wake up.
Jimin stares at the note pinned to Taehyung’s pillow. The alpha is nowhere to be seen— and his heart races. His clothes are still there, as are his shoes. There are no signs of struggle.
His hands tremble as he picks the note.
Remember our bargain, little prince
It feels like someone’s poured a cold bucket over him.
He looks around, but there’s no sign of entry or exit. Nobody suspicious near the inn they’ve chosen this time—how did they find him?
Scratch that—how could he have forgotten?
To think for even a moment that he was free of his fate. How ridiculous to assume that Jimin could run away without repercussions.
When one is an assassin, they’re owned by someone forever. If not a person, then their haunting fate.
For Jimin to even have a chance at a decent, safe life—he’d have to do what he bargained for. That’s why he’s here. Not because he made it out, but because he was allowed to.
Tears mar the ink on the note as reality catches up to him. He’d once again given into Taehyung, a slave to his basest desires, head muddled with his Boyish speech. When the same boy had killed Yuri without mercy, for daring to claim Jimin.
He’d never be truly safe with Taehyung either. The only reason he’d kept Jimin was to protect himself—by preventing Jimin from leaving, he’d made sure his kill was in a limbo.
He’d always known that he’d have to bring Taehyung somehow—but he’d foolishly bought into the alpha’s hope. Son of an assassin king or not—they'd be idiots to think they could escape Kim Joonjae.
The bargain is the only way out.
Jimin wipes his eyes, tearing up the note and burning it. He has to rectify his mistake, beg for another chance—hope that his delay isn’t seen as rebellion. He trashes the room as if an assailant had searched for something—then scribbles a new note.
When Taehyung comes back, he halts for a moment as Jimin sniffles away. Immediately, he’s kneeling in front, holding Jimin by the shoulder. “What happened?”
“They-they came,” Jimin says, holding out the note. The camp assets are frozen. Return with the target immediately. “ Taehyung-- they took my money.”
Taehyung stares at the note. “What?”
“My money, they took all of it. Yours too. We have nothing.” Jimin sniffles. “They took my key too.”
“The one that accesses your secure fund?”
Jimin nods. The alpha looks genuinely concerned—and Jimin’s heart hurts. No. You need to get out. Taehyung’s dad won’t hurt him . Taehyung crumples the note, stiff with rage.
“We’ll get it back,” Taehyung swears, holding Jimin by his face. “It’s your money, you earned it.”
“They found us, Taehyung—”
““They won’t do anything.” Taehyung wipes Jimin’s tear tracts. “I won’t let them.”
The promise rings through Jimin’s soul.
Too bad Jimin will let them.
They ignore the note, the reality of Jimin’s assignment— and Jimin plays along, letting himself be coddled by the alpha, who’d only gotten more protective. Too soon, and it’ll raise the wrong doubts. Jimin has to time it right.
When Jimin gets the second note, this time a clearly worded threat—he calmly packs his bags, and then— just before Taehyung wakes up— frantically searches in his bag, throwing things about.
“Jimin-ah? What happened?” Taehyung asks, blinking blearily but Jimin is like a whirlwind, making a mess of his bag and his clothes and the room. Taehyung blocks him when he goes for the second bag— though his hold is gentle. That’s all it’s been for the past couple of days. “Jiminie?”
For his sake, he needs to get far, far away from this version of Taehyung before it clouds his judgement and mind.
“They were here, Taehyung,” Jimin whispers, shaking his bag out. “While we were sleeping. Look.”
His hands tremble as he hands Taehyung the note, looking down. Along with it was a bloodied dagger through a semi-dried rose—the symbol of the Kim Clan. Taehyung’s eyes widen briefly before his nose flares in anger—though there’s a small strike of fear in his scent before it vanishes.
“The fuckers really don’t know how to mind their business,” he mutters, crumpling the second one and chucking it carelessly. “What is their deal?”
“Well, I have gone missing,” Jimin says, sitting down. “Broken the Code.”
“You were sent on a mission.”
“And I haven’t reported back.” If he doesn’t soon enough or bring some result—the third note would be through his heart. “We can’t run forever, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung begins pacing. “We can’t just go back, Jimin. Not after all this effort—”
“They’ll hunt us down.” He picks at his thumb. “They’re everywhere. We’re being stupid.”
“No. We’re not being careful enough.” Taehyung leans against the wall, meeting Jimin’s eyes. “We need to be smarter. I know how Abbeoji thinks. If they’re taking this so seriously—we need to match them.”
An idea builds then. He can work something out...if Taehyung buys it, that is. Jimin crosses his legs and raises his chin. “With what resources?”
Taehyung frowns. “What?”
“With what money?” Jimin clarifies, shaking his empty money pouch. “It’s all gone. Even if we steal shit, we’d paint a target of the local authorities whenever we go. Between that and the camp, we’d be truly fucked.”
The alpha paces again before clicking his fingers. “Okay, then let’s get it back.”
“What?”
“Your money. My money. Combined, it’s going to be enough.”
Jimin stands up. “No way. Taehyung, we can’t—”
“Think about it. We find ways to make it grow, and we can hide well without attracting attention.”
Taehyung stands in front of him, eyes wide with hope. Jimin bites his lips, then looks down. “It’s dangerous.”
“Well, we both knew running away wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.” he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s better than sitting around and doing nothing.”
There’s some truth in that. And Taehyung was right—Jimin had earned that money, bloodied or not. He’d stained his soul to build it—he can’t leave it behind to rot.
He inhales and nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Taehyung grins, and Jimin begins counting them.
🖤⚔🖤
He sends a response while Taehyung’s out to steal some necessities for their journey back.
Between them they have some weapons—those were left untouched by their visitors. They’d be able to fight their way back in if needed—but they had to plan very, very well.
“I know a secret entrance,” Taehyung says, as they exit the inn and walk towards the bus stop. “Kim Clan secret. But no one uses it, really.”
“Wouldn’t that mean we’d get stuck too? If it hasn’t been used in a long time?”
“It’s not that bad, how do you think I left?” Taehyung grumbles. Jimin raises an eyebrow, and Taehyung catches his drift. “I mean. It was a secret mission, so I didn’t want anyone to know.”
He doesn’t question it.
The time clocks in Jimin’s head, but outside they look like any young high schoolers. In the bus, Taehyung offers his shoulder for him to rest on—lavender curls in and around him, gentle and safe. He’d miss this.
You shouldn’t. Miss him, and you’d never be able to leave .
Just this once , he begs the strange voice in his head—it vanishes just as fast, and Jimin falls asleep.
Mid-afternoon Taehyung wakes him up, and they transfer. Now with an end goal in mind, they don’t have to worry about leaving traces. He’s sure whoever visited them has a tail on them, though he can’t tell if they’re amongst them.
“What’s this secret entrance?” Jimin asks, when they stop for lunch.
Taehyung frowns. “Why do you want to know?”
“So, I know what I’m getting into?” Jimin asks, sucking the edge of his thumb. Heat climbs into the alpha’s gaze. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Didn’t say you were.” Taehyung slurps in the fish soup. “It’s this drain that connects to the weapons house. Internal network. Really cool.”
Jimin wrinkles his nose. “The drain ? Seriously?”
“Calm down, it’s not...that disgusting,” Taehyung mutters, though his neck flares pink. Cute. “We’ve been through worse.”
“I was hoping to drop that aspect of my assassin life after running away.”
“Just for a little bit.” Taehyung looks up. “Unless you want to give me the access code and get your money for you.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “Like hell I will.” He tilts his head. “Do you actually know what we’ll do once we get there?”
“No, but I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” He smirks when Jimin scoffs. “Hate not having a plan, Jimin-ah?”
“I don’t know how you do it. It’s the worst.”
“Not if you’re as smart as me.”
“Careful, don’t tempt fate.” He pushes aside his plate. “But I guess I’ll try your way this time.”
Taehyung’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “I don’t need to tempt fate. She’s always been on my side.”
Jimin doesn’t bother correcting him.
As they get closer, Jimin’s blood dances on a bed of hot coal.
The rice fields become familiar, followed by the barley. Soon, they’d be within camp territory and a walking, open target.
He’d hate to be an open feast for the scavengers.
They reach the final stop, trudging through the fields without hurry. They choose one of the more obscure, wild ones with stalks as high as Jimin’s head—well hidden from scouts. Just before the round around the back of the estate, Taehyung beckons him down.
“The drain is placed at the back, through a narrow stream. Usually there are no guards there—so we just have to reach the edge without being seen.”
“Okay. And then?”
“We go through. This time of the day the weapons room should be empty.”
“No guarantees on that one. Since Yuri was...killed, security has been tight.”
Taehyung hums. “Shouldn’t be that bad. We can figure it out if it’s really a surprise.”
Jimin nods, shivers racking up his spine. His scent probably smells off, because Taehyung’s gaze turns gentle, and he thumbs at his scent gland. “Don’t be scared. Nothing will happen to you.”
“It’s an assassin camp, Taehyung. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Hey, I’m serious about mine.” He slips on his gloves, and a mask. “To running away?”
He holds a fist up. Jimin stares, then back at him. He pulls down the mask, kissing him briefly, heart heavy with the strangest feeling. Maybe love. Maybe regret. You can only look out for yourself .
“To running away with you, Kim Taehyung.”
They move forward to their freedom.
Taehyung lied. The drain is as filthy as they come—but Jimin rolls his eyes and makes do. He has been through worse; a little bit of shit and piss isn’t going to stop him.
He follows Taehyung through the muck, both keeping silent. It smells bad but he keeps his whines in, and it’s a while before they make it to a diversion—one is dry, and the other wet.
No guesses on where the dry one led.
Jimin removes his blade when they get close—Taehyung raises a finger, making gestures at him. He’s known him long enough and done enough missions that he gets it. He points to himself—and moves forward.
They come upon a door with a rusted latch. He breaks it with the hilt of his blade, and it comes off with splinters attached. The door swings open—and in front of them is a thick cloth.
It’s pinned to the floor, refusing to budge—impatient, Jimin rips through it and pushes out—only to a blade.
In front of him are several assassins clad in black—and before he can make sense, they attack. Taehyung bursts through, but they both know what it is.
An ambush.
They weren’t careful enough.
But Jimin and Taehyung were a force to deal with. Two of the best assassins the camp had ever seen, and it all comes to use now. There’s a language to their strategy; Taehyung attacks while Jimin defends—before they switch, and Taehyung has his back. In moments, the floor is littered with bodies, and their scents are overpowered by blood.
They walk through, hiding in shadows as more foot soldiers appear. The locker rooms holding the liquid cash are in a building near the dungeons, and heavily guarded. The key that had been stolen opens one of the levels, followed by an access code unique to each assassin.
Jimin knows something is off when the levels unlocked by the key are unlocked.
“They knew,” Taehyung whispers, pulling down the mask. His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat and blood. “What the fuck.”
“Told you they’d be prepared.” Jimin holds his blade fast. “They probably guessed we’d come for the money. Since they took it in the first place.”
“They better. Let’s give them hell.”
The place is empty when they enter, but it won’t be in a bit. He can hear the sounds and shouts, and he hurries towards the lockers—fuck, he’s only seen them rarely. They’re so many—levels upon levels, as far as he eyes can go. Searching for them would be a nightmare.
“It’s alphabetically sorted.” Taehyung holds his dagger between his teeth, grabbing the ladder and looking for the letter. “Yours should be amongst the special ones.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the All Kill All Star.” Taehyung waggles his eyebrows. “Big numbers, big locker, baby.”
Somehow, the information rubs him wrong. To have killed so many... Jimin shakes his head. “Just hurry up.”
Taehyung locates it, whooping without a care. Jimin gives his code—if he’s to leave, none of this will matter. The locker opens—and the first wad of cash falls in front of his feet.
There’s so much in one bundle.
“Holy Moon, Jimin-ah, you’re loaded ,” Taehyung whistles, taking out another wad. “I knew you were good, but this is crazy.”
Jimin stares at the bundle. The proof of his hard work, his immorality right in his palm. “You have more.”
“Yeah, well, I own a part of this place, so it’s not the same.” He takes out another, and fans himself with it. “All this money, we could go anywhere we wanted—”
A dagger pierces through the bundle into the locker behind.
“Fuck.” Taehyung wrenches it out, jumping from the ladder and grabbing Jimin’s hand, weaving through the rows of lockers. “That was quicker than I expected.”
Another shot rings out, and Jimin ducks, rolling beneath one of the stands and taking his own gun out, cocking it out of safety. “What part of the already open door wasn’t clear enough to you?”
“Hey, maybe they went for a stroll.” Taehyung shoots at one of the attackers. Jimin rolls his eyes. “How many?”
“About ten of them.” Jimin waits—before springing out and grabbing the closest one by the neck, using him as a shield as he crosses to the other side, covering for Taehyung. “Now nine.”
“That’s hot,” Taehyung says, waggling his eyebrows before sinking his dagger into the second one. Blood spurts, and he wipes his cheek. “We get them away from the locker, finish them off—get the money. I’ll block the doors.”
Jimin doesn’t argue, quietly going about his way as they lure the assassins away, hiding and finishing them off one by one. It’s thrilling to work with Taehyung this way, a rhythm he hasn’t experienced before. When they’re done, Taehyung drags one of the bodies with him, keeping it as a shield and blocking the door.
The money lies in a scattered, bloody mess, and Jimin picks up the remaining ones. He quickly climbs the ladder, grabbing some more. More assassins come in—but Taehyung takes care of them easily.
Until one of them flings a dagger at him, slicing his shin. Blood rains down as Jimin stumbles—the rungs are too slippery to hold, and he falls, shouting in pain.
“Shit, you okay?” Taehyung asks, holding them off.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t leave your spot!” Jimin limps, taking out his spare dagger. One of the attackers makes it past Taehyung, backing him against the wall. Jimin can’t see anything except his eyes.
The attacker nods once, and Jimin swallows hard.
They move swiftly past to the back of the lockers. Taehyung turns around then, lavender all over the place merging with the fresh blood, dirt and sweat. He looks mad with bloodlust, clothes wet with sweat and a manic look in his eyes.
Maybe this is how he looked like when he delivered the final blow to Yuri.
And how he’d look if Jimin ever turned against him.
“I think that’s all of them,” the alpha wheezes, swaying from the exhaustion. He smiles at Jimin—one of those Boy smiles he’d always been weak for against his better judgement. Perhaps the last one he’d ever receive. Taehyung turns around, bending down to pick up one of the Jimin’s daggers. “We should gather everything up and then—”
The attacker moves out of the shadows. And Jimin shouts.
“Taehyung! Look out!”
The alpha looks up just in time, raising his dagger to block the assassin’s strike.
And Jimin strikes him from behind.
🖤⚔🖤
Taehyung is heavier than he’d imagined.
As he drags the alpha’s limp body towards the dungeons, he wonders if it was all worth it. He limps with each step, blood trailing behind him—the assassin had struck him too, to make sure the alpha had seen Jimin attacked as well before losing consciousness.
After all, Jimin had been known for his style of killing through theatrics. A long-drawn scheme, weaving his way into his targets’ lives and making a home there before wrecking it forever.
Joonjae is standing in the middle of the room, staring at the sunlight streaming in from one of the slated windows when Jimin throws Taehyung’s body at his feet.
The rest of the assassin cohorts withdraw, leaving them alone.
The Assassin Head lightly kicks Taehyung’s head, the small river of blood leaking from the cut Jimin’s rock had made. Just right enough to avoid blunt force trauma, but enough to have the alpha out cold. He doesn’t wake even now, despite Joonjae’s thorough inspection.
“So, it was him.” He kneels, tugging roughly at his son’s hair, his lips curling with disgust and anger. “Pathetic.”
Jimin stands with his hands behind his back and head bowed. Joonjae crosses over Taehyung’s body, whistling at some of his wounds, tracing a finger through the blood and sucking it in. Jimin holds back the disgust.
“Impressive work, Jimin-ah. Some of your best yet.” He nods at the shadows—two assassins come by, dragging Taehyung away to another part of the dungeon. Jimin’s heart lurches. “We could make use of you still. You’re certain you wish to leave?”
“Yes.” Jimin’s eyes stay on Taehyung’s body, how helpless it seems. How the strong, talented alpha is nothing more than a toy. “I hope a bargain is a bargain, Daebonim.”
“Of course, I’m not one to break the Code.” He appraises Jimin head to toe. “Not the way you did.”
Jimin’s eyes flit to him. “Daebonim?”
But Joonjae’s already moving away. “How disappointing that Taehyung had to be the one to kill the Yakuza boy. Now we’d have to send someone else to them.” He takes a deep breath. “Can’t have them stripping my boy’s flesh from his bones.”
He’d been right. Taehyung wouldn't be harmed, not the way Jimin would have been if he’d failed. He made the right choice. The only choice.
“A bargain is a bargain, you said,” Joonjae says, scratching his beard. Jimin’s heart races. Is he going to cross his word? Send Jimin to the Yakuza as the false culprit? Was this all for nothing? “Very true. You will have access to all your earnings.”
Jimin’s stomach churns. “Really, Daebonim? You mean it?”
“Of course. I won’t send you to the Yakuza in his stead. It would be a waste of all the training you have received.” Joonjae turns, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. “ But ...since you did betray my son, and break the Code—you should pay, don’t you think?”
“But I...Daebonim, I only did that to get him back. By any means necessary.”
“Breaking his tender heart, I wonder how he’d face that,” Joonjae sings. Jimin gulps, the terror of the thought freezing in his throat. “I can keep that quiet. If you’re willing.”
Jimin should have seen this coming. It couldn’t have been as easy as delivering Taehyung and fucking off. Joonjae liked playing games, pitting his best players against each other and kick back. He looks up, steeling himself. “How do I earn my freedom, Daebonim?”
“Now we’re talking,” Joonjae sings, circling Jimin. “Take the money. It’s yours. I’ll add in the bonuses too, along with the camp commissions.”
“But?”
“Nothing. You leave the camp unscathed. Not a scratch, and you’re good to go.”
Dread wrapped a cold fist around his heart.
Unscathed. His escape would not be an easy one.
Joonjae smiles. “So? Up for it?”
Jimin bows and nods.
🖤⚔🖤
He’s given exactly one day to recover before the trials begin.
Joonjae had promised silence as an additional reward—if Jimin made it to the camp gates without a mark, all his earnings would be his, and Joonjae would make sure Taehyung never hunts him down. Or any of the Kim Clan—Jimin would be truly free.
He doesn’t believe it for a moment, but the hope tastes so fresh Jimin will cling to it with all his might.
The rest of his meagre belongings packed, Jimin is on a lookout. The trials can happen at any time, any place—increasing in intensity the closer Jimin gets to the gates. The same gates he’d entered through 12 years ago, bidding his parents goodbye for the final time.
His task is to make sure he’s not hurt—each scratch would cost. The pressure feels like a brand—Jimin's a good assassin, the best the Kim assassin camp has ever seen. But he’s not arrogant enough to assume he’s never been hurt. It happens in his work—he's accumulated numerous scars over the years proving his competence.
The first few attacks are laughable—Jimin takes care of them as easily as breathing. It gets progressively harder—secret ambushes, peers turning into sudden strikes. He evades them all, making his way through steadily.
At night, when he makes it halfway through—the secret force guards strike. The only betas allowed to serve on the guard; Joonjae’s disdain for the betas was well-known. They were allowed because they’d be resistant to alpha pheromones or omega scents.
Jimin fights them all, narrowly escaping their sharp blades. One against nearly ten—it's a nightmare, a shower of blood. None of it belongs to Jimin.
His clothes are in tatters by the time he makes it to the edge of the grounds. In front of him are the iron gates, the spikes dark with dried blood and flecks of flesh.
Only a few steps, and freedom would be his—
“Jimin-ah.”
Jimin freezes. His neck breaks out in a cold sweat, as Seokjin comes in his way.
“Look at you,” Seokjin coos, slipping out his dagger. “So radiant with blood.”
Fucking hell. Moon, he can’t be Jimin’s final trial.
He’s fought with Seokjin before—the one assassin he’d lost against. He’d avoided the eldest son in the hallways, especially with the way Seokjin had treated him as vermin. Thankfully, three years his elder—he didn’t have to meet him eye to eye.
Jimin hates him.
But mostly, he fears him.
“When Abbeoji told me, I couldn’t believe it,” Seokjin croons, twirling the dagger. “Breaking the Code. How predictable of you.”
“I bargained.”
“And that makes it all better, doesn’t it?” Seokjin asks backing away. “Did Taehyung know you were leaving?”
Huh. So he doesn’t know about Taehyung’s return. “It’s irrelevant what he does and doesn’t know.”
“Really? Whose willing cunt will he sink into then?”
“Fuck off,” Jimin snarls, taking out his blade. How he’d love to drive it straight into Seokjin’s heart, watch the light die in his blue eyes—the only omega assassin on camp with his omegan wolf intact. Envy licks his bones somewhere. “Let’s skip the niceties, shall we?”
“Sure you’re up to it?” Seokjin takes on a defensive position. “You don’t look so good.”
“How sweet of you to be concerned,” Jimin says with a smile—and then flings.
It’s imbalanced right from the beginning—Jimin's dead tired from his past trials, and Seokjin’s a feared, talented assassin. Jimin hates him—but he can’t deny the skill he’s worked so hard to possess. A snob, but a hard-working one.
But the desperation to win, to leave this hell pushes him one last time. A demon of some sort—for a moment, when he meets Seokjin’s eyes, he feels the strangest, fleeting call—before it’s squashed by the bloodlust.
It is work to be aware, and nimble enough to avoid Seokjin’s well-aimed strikes. He barely holds his own—until, in a twist of fate, or maybe the cursed Moon’s grace—Jimin feigns a move, Seokjin buys into it—and he embeds his dagger into Seokjin’s palm.
Somehow, he can’t relish in the bellow Seokjin lets out.
He doesn’t wait as he kicks Seokjin down, clambering on top of him and squeezing his throat against his airways. The omega fights—but Jimin’s head spins with the victory.
Seokjin’s eyes blink slowly, fluttering shut with each breath—before he passes out. Jimin waits for a moment—before taking his dominant hand and twisting his wrist. He tucks it under his body, keeps the other blade pinned so it doesn’t severe the arteries, and picks up his bag.
He looks at the camp—pristine in the dark of the night, a vision to behold—and Jimin’s first and last nightmare.
There’s a silhouette in one of the balconies. Jimin salutes at it—before turning around.
The gates swing open with a haunting cry. At one end stands a guard with a briefcase. In it are the documents and access codes that will allow Jimin his earnings for his new life.
Jimin drops to the ground when the gates close again. Just him and his blood money on gravel laden dirt path leading out and away from the camp.
He stands—and takes his first step towards freedom.
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
LONG NOTE:
I can't even begin to share how muchI struggled. The plot was there. I knew what I wanted to write and how. But I just couldn't write the chapter. I procrastinated for a solid 1.5 months, finally drudged up the motivation to at least write snippets in my Notes app. That helped me feel like I was writing something.I guess a part of me is so saturated with staying in this AU, knowing that I have so many other amazing WIPS and prompts to explore that writing it felt like a chore. This au is already over in my HEAD, but I have to do the icky writer thing of translating it to paper. And that felt impossible. Not to mention, fic writing as an adult is just so tough. The temperature where I am is HELL btw like we hit a solid 52 degrees celsius (I'm too sleepy to convert but just know it's hot enough to suck out the air out my lungs) and i just didn't want to do ANYTHING including my hobby.
I'm even taking the risk of uploading this without proofreading. Not even a simple Grammarly check. Have not re-read this chapter. It's fresh off the drafts for y'all. Again, it doesn't mean I don't care about this story. I just want it out. It's been too long. Please forgive me and any obvious mistakes or inconsistencies.
This chapter, simply put, shows the position Jimin found himself in, what he chose to do, what he questioned and what he ultimately betrayed to get. I understand we're all Taehyung lovers in this house but please remember they were 17 year old idiots who didn't know better. I'm okay with jokes but I won't tolerate any hateful sentiments towards Jimin. He just did the best he could with what he knew.
I don't even know what I'm typing right now it's 2:30 am I refuse to sleep before this is up. i will proofread later and correct stuff.
THANK YOU FOR READING. idK when the last update will be. I don't trust myself lol thank you so much for your patience. THIS STORY WILL BE COMPLETE DON'T WORRY. It would be great if I don't get update reminders as that makes me anxious. Thank you once again.
Chapter 30: Epilogue: Weaving the Threads
Notes:
So...hi? :D
Yeah, I know it's been nearly 5 months. I'll explain more in the end notes, but short story: massive writing burnout. More on that later. For now: please enjoy this long-awaited epilogue for this fic, a delicious serving of nearly 20k words. It's a lot of gratuitous vmin moments, fluffy and smutty, and some closure for the namgiseok triangle (whatever that was lol), and the beginning to the potential jinkook spin-off.
I got carried away with vmin- I wanted to put them in only happy moments, instead of the life of conflict and misunderstanding they had. So here I am. I hope the wait was worth it. In either case, I apologise if this last bit is not up to the mark- but I'm happy with it. Thank you!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
🖤⚔🖤
7 months after camp
🖤⚔🖤
Dear Hoseok,
Spring has finally departed, though it still lingers around the Temple grounds. The sun feels hotter here, though; I’m much closer to the skies. Nature is healing, and I feel much closer to Luna—that's what they call the Moon Goddess at the temple.
How are you? Is the city treating you well? Last time you wrote, winter was still biting at your heels. Is it any better now?
I’m good here. Happy. It feels right. The monks have me sit in silence to connect with my beta wolf. I heard it the other day, and it felt familiar. Like an old friend, instead of a stranger. It’s both fascinating and painful. Our wolves have always been a part of us and nothing can take them away.
Awaiting your response as always.
Warmly,
Namjoon.
//
Namjoon-ah,
Writing letters never fails to fascinate me. There’s something about the wait that I’ve come to enjoy—that one can’t demand an immediate reply or make assumptions.
By the time you read this, I’m sure my mind would be at a different place. Still, I want to try. That’s the beauty of the wait.
You’re right, summer is right around the corner. June is nice in Seoul. Have you ever been to the city before? Maybe one day you will. I’ll show you around. They have biking tours; I think you’ll like them.
I’m doing...ok. I guess. I’m not sure. Seoul is different when I’m on my own. Louder, scarier. I feel lonely sometimes. Make it all the time. It’s like I don’t know the city at all, even though I’ve been here for nearly twelve years.
I actually like winter; summer’s brutal. I’m not looking forward to it. Don’t visit in August, if you do.
What’s your wolf like?
With love,
Hoseok
//
Hoseok-ah,
I like that too about letters. They grow on you. I’m glad you’re entertaining me in this.
I’ve often thought about what the city would be like. So yes, I’d love to. I don’t know when that will be. But thank you for offering.
I take you haven’t followed up on my suggestion? I don’t want to push but...what you’ve been through, Hoseok, you shouldn’t have to figure it out alone.
He came by the Temple a couple of weeks ago. Just to visit, donate some old clothes and groceries.
...Do you wish me to convey something?
With warmth,
Joonie
//
Joon-ah,
I never ever want to see him again
I don’t know. I don’t know how to face him.
I can’t get over what he did. Or I don’t know if I should. Sometimes I don’t remember, and I miss him. I think I hate him I’m afraid of thinking if I love him. How can I love someone like him? After all that I know?
How do I move on? Should I?
Why couldn’t you say yes?
Don’t answer that. I know already. It's stupid.
I miss you.
I miss him
[Cont]
I thought about throwing this away and writing another that’s less pathetic. But I’m sending it anyway because I’m tired of hiding myself. Sorry for the delay.
You know what I feel shitty about the most? The way I turned him away so cruelly. I didn’t even give him a chance. I assumed he was like all of them, and I would never be safe if he was around.
It feels like the only one who’s lying now is me.
That’s why I don’t know how to move on. Won’t it be terrible of me to reach out? Selfish, even.
What do I even say to him, Joon-ah?
Hoba-ah,
There is no justification. Stop looking for one.
This is going to sound corny but—everything he did, he did for love. For his freedom. He never wanted you to know, and neither did Jimin.
It’s hard to understand, and I don’t expect you to—neither do they. The life they had before has stained them forever. They didn’t want it to stain you either. It happened anyway.
So be angry and upset. Because it is unfair. I’m sorry you were caught amongst us.
But it’s okay to miss him. He was yours for so long. I think he’d be the last person on this planet to turn you away.
It shows when I see him That wasn’t my place to say. I think you can make a choice if you see him.
If it aligns, the Moon will find a way. Trust her.
P.S. I didn’t say yes because it wasn’t right. In another life, I would have. But then again, I think hyung would have been there as well. Because yours is a love bigger than fate.
Yours is a love that was born out of choice.
All the love,
Namjoon-ah.
The coffee shop is bustling with bleary-eyed office workers waiting for their daily dose of caffeine. The latest pop song plays in the background, and Hoseok taps his foot to it. It’s one of the songs he’d helped choreograph. It’s pleasing to hear the result.
The Iced Americano is a comforting weight as he walks out, pressing it against his neck. June is pleasant by Korean summer standards, but it’s still hot enough to have him rush towards his car.
His phone buzzes, and he checks quickly—a text from Jimin asking if BBQ is possible in the evening. It’s too soon after the last time, nearly three days ago. Hoseok’s been pacing their meets, navigating the choppy waters of their friendship, and he’s doing okay. He doesn’t flinch anymore when Jimin stands too close, or when he cuts the meat with expert precision.
He’s typing a response when he crashes into someone—and there’s coffee all over him. His clothes, his hands and his phone. The front of him is drenched in dark americano, dripping sadly onto the pavement.
“Aish, I just got these pants—” he looks up, ready to politely chew the other person off—and finds deep-set, fox-like eyes.
His world comes to a halt. Just as it had seven years ago.
“Hoba-ah.”
It’s been months, but the familiar grain of his voice rings perfectly against Hoseok’s bones. They fit like home, and all at once, he knows it’s been a futile quest.
He will never get over Min Yoongi.
“Hyung.” They stand while the world moves past them, some cursing and others glaring—but none of it matters in that moment. The coffee seeps uncomfortably past the layers, but he can’t care less. “You’re here.”
A statement, as if he’s stating the truth. Of course, Yoongi had to be here. Where else would he be, if not with Hoseok or around him?
Yoongi’s black hair is cropped short on the sides and back, fuller on the front, soft and silky. He’s wearing his usual all-black ensemble. Hoseok isn’t surprised, and yet, it feels...different.
His eyes do a quick once-over, grimacing at the mess. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No, I was texting while walking...” His chest feels tight. Pine makes its way through then, and his omega wakes up, recognising their mate. It hasn’t been for a long time. It laughs. As if we had ever stopped. He looks down at the splatter. His vision blurs for a moment. “Looks like I lost the coffee this time.”
Yoongi’s mouth twitches slightly, though he maintains a nonchalant expression. Like it’s not the most obvious reference to the first time. “So, it seems.” He twirls a car key in his hand. They look well-manicured now. “I have a spare set in my trunk. If you want.”
Ever prepared Yoongi with his foresight and care. Hoseok wants to refuse, should end the conversation right then and run far away—but he looks at his state, and thinks about Yoongi’s scent on those clothes and—
Just this once, he wants to remember again.
“Sure, why not,” he says, throwing the cup into the trash. Yoongi doesn’t waste time—he walks briskly like he has somewhere to be, and maybe he does. He always walked with a sense of purpose even though he presented himself as lazy. “If you’re not busy.”
“Not anymore,” Yoongi says, and the surety of his voice has his stomach in lazy flips. Moon, had he ever stood a chance? “Just around the corner.”
They’re silent till the car. Yoongi opens the trunk, taking out the spare set. They walk into a nearby eatery with a washroom; Hoseok changes quickly, tearing up again when the pine takes over. Rich and aromatic, and so, so calming. Seven months, and it takes one sniff for him to feel at peace again.
Yoongi’s sitting at one of the tables, typing away at his phone. Something’s different this time—he's even more serious, poised and calm. There is a powerful aura around him, and he wonders if Yoongi’s gone back to his mafia roots. Somehow, the thought doesn’t scare him.
He probably catches his scent, eyes widening at the sight of Hoseok in his clothes. He shakes his head, cheeks flushed as he sits down.
They didn’t plan this, but an unspoken agreement hangs between them as they take each other in. If it aligns, the Moon will find a way. Trust her. Hoseok had scoffed when he’d read those words—it felt too preachy, carrying the gentle rejection as he’d come to expect from Namjoon. Yet here they are.
“So... How have you been?” Hoseok asks, palms sweating the longer Yoongi holds his gaze. The counter dings then, and Yoongi gets up to get their order—americano and a slice of banana cake. Hoseok blinks. “You didn’t have to.”
“Least I could do.” He shakes his glass, the ice rustling within. He still drinks coffee sleepily. “I’ve been good. Here and there.”
“Right. That’s good.” He can’t taste the cake. His tongue is numb. “Are you still...in Daegu?”
“I travel back and forth.” Yoongi looks at Hoseok like he can read him, and maybe he can. “I help hyung out.” Hoseok frowns, and Yoongi blushes. “My cousin, Geumjae-hyung. With the estate.”
The brother he’d never known about. Then again, he was never supposed to. The reminder sits unwelcome in his gut. “Does that mean you’re...?”
“Sometimes, yeah.” Yoongi plays with the napkin, twisting it into circles. “Mostly business deals. Legal ones,” he adds, as if the detail will make a difference. “I also help out Seokjin-hyung sometimes.”
Another name he hasn’t heard in a while. Hoseok could never forget him, the omega with fierce blue eyes. The one who devised a plan so devious, that had given Hoseok nightmares for weeks on end. An ugly emotion rises, and Hoseok can’t squash it in time. “Why?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you helping them?” Hoseok asks, his tone a little venomous to be a friendly enquiry. “Why did you go back?”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow, before sighing. “Because there’s nothing left for me in the city, Seok.”
The anger collapses right then as guilt rises. Hoseok broke up with him, and like him, Yoongi hadn’t seen a purpose in a life without him. Unlike him, he’d had a backup option, even if it crosses morals.
“It’s not my fault.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not my fault you went back.”
“I... didn’t say that?” Yoongi says, confused. “I don’t have anything in the city. So, I went back. That’s all.”
“You had a dream. You had a life and goals—”
“And all of that felt meaningless without you in it.”
“Isn’t that a form of blame, then?”
“What do you—” Yoongi takes a deep breath. “Hob-ah. What are you doing?”
He doesn’t know. The itch builds, the latent anger simmering, the months of nightmares and rage he doesn’t know how to hold. The person who caused them, who he still desperately loves. The helplessness of it catches up to him on a random Tuesday morning in the middle of a cafe.
“I don’t know.” He looks down, hands crushing the coffee cup. “You were the last person I expected to see today.”
“True for me as well,” Yoongi says, holding his face in one hand, the pinkie pressed against his temple. “Picking a fight isn’t going to help, you know.”
“Well, something has to!” Hoseok exclaims, then rubs his face. “I’m sorry. This is stupid. I’m being stupid.”
Yoongi bites his lip. Guilt simmers in his eyes. “Are you doing okay?”
Hoseok snorts. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“You look good.” Simple, but the weight of the words has Hoseok’s stomach swooping. “But you’re not...okay.”
“What gives it away?”
“Everything. Eyes. Your nails.” Yoongi looks up, lips falling. “Like you haven’t slept in months.”
“I haven’t.” He’d missed this. Namjoon’s words ring in his head, and if he tries hard enough—his omega is already miles ahead. It’s always been so easy with him. He laughs, looking up and hoping to keep the tears in. “Of course, you know me the best after all this time.”
“I never stopped knowing you, Seok,” Yoongi says, words landing softly. “I would know you in a second, no matter the time.”
“Stop.” His hands curl into fists, nails biting into his palms. “Don’t...don’t say all that.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“It’s been seven months.”
“And I told you, I’ll never stop loving you.” Yoongi slurps the coffee like it’s the most normal thing in the world to say. The only truth he lives by. “I can’t stop. Don’t want to.”
Claws dig into his heart and belly and everything in between. “Why?”
Yoongi frowns. “The fuck? How do I stop?”
“I broke up with you. You should hate me.”
“Because you chose to do something to regain control?” Yoongi asks, snorting. “Yeah, that’s not how feelings work.”
The silence is comfortable. Yoongi’s alpha feels safe still—pine wafts by in gentle streams, weaving its way into Hoseok. For the first time, he doesn’t feel like he’s surviving. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
Hoseok picks apart the calluses on his fingers. “I’ve been speaking with Namjoon.”
Yoongi stays neutral. “Really? That’s good.” He plays with his ring. Hoseok blinks. It’s the ring he’d given on their fifth anniversary. “How’s...how’s it going then?”
“What?”
“The two of you? Does he treat you well?”
Hoseok frowns before laughing in disbelief. “I'm not—we're not— I’m not with him.”
“Oh.” He pretends not to notice the relieved twitch Yoongi makes. “So then...?”
“Talk, as in, letters. Like friends.” He supposes that’s what they are. “He’s at the Temple.” He tilts his head, and Yoongi’s gaze lands on his neck. His body flushes again. “He said you’d visited him recently...?”
“Right. I did. Yes.” Yoongi looks away, cheeks dusted a light pink. “And?”
“Nothing.” There isn’t a world where Yoongi could hate you. Hoseok gulps. “I asked him. Back then.”
Somehow, Yoongi understands. “What happened?”
“He said no. That...we wouldn’t fit. Maybe in another life, but not this one.” Hoseok rubs his pants. “He told me to give you a chance.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “What is he, an agony aunt?”
“Does a dang good job, too,” Hoseok says, mouth slipping into a grin. The claws recede, a lightness enveloping him. “And right now it makes sense.”
“It didn’t before?”
“I guess I didn’t know how to make sense of it,” Hoseok admits. “I still don’t. This is the first time I’ve felt okay in a while.”
Yoongi’s eyes soften. “Feeling’s mutual.” He leans forward, anxiously rubbing his thumb. “Not that I’m asking for a chance. It took me a while, but I know why you broke up. It was the one thing you could do when all of us were making choices for you.”
“Yeah.” His throat tightens. “I thought...I thought distance would help but well...” He spreads his hands. “Clearly not.”
“You shouldn’t expect yourself to either. You went through hell, Seok, I’m not that much of an asshole. I get it.”
Tears spring to his eyes. “Everyone just wants me to get over it.”
“Fuck them, yeah?” Yoongi drawls, eyes light with mischief. Hoseok wipes his eyes with a smile. “I’ll wait.”
“For how long?”
“As long as you take.” Yoongi touches his hand lightly. “Forever, even.”
Hoseok laughs. “I don’t think we have that much time.”
“Fortunately for us, time is a social construct.” Yoongi plays with the tips of Hoseok’s fingers. “Is that okay?”
Hoseok checks within, the way his wolf has settled already, ready to be with their chosen mate. In a world of True Mates and Soul Mates, Yoongi and he had chosen each other over and over again.
Yours is a love born out of choice.
“Yeah.” He bites his lips; some part of him remembering. Feeling. “But...how’s it going to work out?”
“What do you mean?”
“This whole...mafia thing,” Hoseok says. “I don’t want secrets this time.”
Yoongi hums. “You want to know?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Hoseok sighs, rubbing his face. “It’s still going to be a thing, isn’t it?”
Yoongi stays silent, looking out the window. Hoseok likes watching him still. “When I left the first time, I was desperate. I never liked the world, or what it asked of me. I did what I had to, but I wanted to leave.
“I never regretted it. When I found you, it all fell into place—it felt right. We struggled and it was shit sometimes but I would still choose that because I had you.”
“But?”
“Hmm?”
“Something’s different this time.”
Yoongi sighs. “Yeah.” His eyes flicker gold briefly. “The estate is different without my mother. Geumjae-hyung is brilliant and honestly, I don’t mind. It’s not a terrible business. I still get to do my thing.”
“So, you want to keep doing this, is that what you’re saying?”
“Sort of...I guess I don’t resent it anymore. I’m okay. But I think my life makes more sense when you’re there. I’m not afraid of admitting that.”
Hoseok’s cheeks feel hot all over again. Damn Min Yoongi and his dedication. “You always know the right thing to say.”
Yoongi grins, and the crack seals itself shut, just a bit. “What can I say, Jung Hoseok? You’re easy to find words for.” He taps the table. “Is that okay? What I’m asking?”
“I need some time,” Hoseok says, brushing Yoongi’s hand. “But I’m okay.”
“Great.” Yoongi gets up to pay the bill. “Let me treat you to the coffee this time.”
Hoseok beams, his first real smile in months. “I’d like that, Min Yoongi.”
🖤⚔🖤
Taehyung takes to the city like fish to water.
The first week after he’d come back, the alpha had stayed in, getting accustomed to Jimin’s home. It had been the best feeling to come back after a long day at work and have lavender greet his senses.
They’d gone out in the weekend, exploring the city without the threat of a mission, or danger lurking about. Just two people traipsing through, their biggest worry being the melting ice cream cones in their hands before they found shelter. It had been the sort of life Jimin used to dream of back then, though Taehyung hadn’t been as prominent.
Now, the alpha is in every one of his former fantasies, turning them into reality moment by moment.
Taehyung used to come to Seoul for business, and that’s what he continues, helping manage the legal aspects of the Kim Clan. He attends a college with a relaxed program and handles the gritty details at night.
Jimin doesn’t mind that; he has nothing to do with his former world once again, but he’s not so rigid that he’d ban it completely. Especially when Taehyung looks so hot handling both.
“You didn’t have to wear a suit, you know,” Jimin seethes, as Taehyung gets into the car. The college gates are full of—mostly omega—students, giggling and sending heart-eyes towards the alpha. Scent-marking Taehyung did not get the message across that he’s taken and very much Jimin’s. “It’s not fair.”
“The meeting was a little urgent, love, couldn’t help it,” Taehyung says, pecking Jimin on his cheek. “You know it’s mostly for you.”
“Mostly?” Jimin scoffs, and Taehyung winces. “Could have worn it at home.”
“And have you ruin it? No thanks.”
“Like I wouldn’t do it anyway once you’re done,” Jimin mutters and the rich scent of lavender has his mouth-watering. “Those omegas lose their minds, you know this.”
“Sure,” Taehyung sings, grinning, the obvious lilt of joy making him far too attractive. “Although that one alpha is pretty cute...”
Jimin’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Taehyung.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t, baby, don’t rage drive,” he coos, warm fingers brushing against Jimin’s nape. “I could have taken a cab.”
“It wasn’t an issue.”
“Wasn’t an issue, or you didn’t want those grabby omegas around?” Taehyung teases, dodging the light punch Jimin sends his way. “You’re so petty. I love it.”
“And you’re so annoying.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Taehyung leans back, crossing his arms. “Ugh, this meeting is going to kill me.”
“What’s it about anyway?” Jimin asks, turning right. “You’ve had to go a bit more than usual.”
“Some company that wants to invest in one of Jin-hyung's new businesses. Being picky because, well, he’s an omega. Hyung asked me to go as an ‘alpha stand-in’.”
Jimin grimaces. “Gross. I can’t believe they take you seriously.”
“Yah, I handled business just fine before,” Taehyung whines and Jimin bites his lips to hold back a smile. “You wanna wait?”
“Will it take long?”
“A bit. But on the upside, we could fuck in the car, and you could ruin my suit like you were saying.”
Jimin hums. “Or I could drive off, and you get back home, and I’d fuck you anyway?”
“But car sex is so hot,” Taehyung pouts, and Jimin can’t help it, he lands a peck. “Just you and me in this tight space, trying to be as quick as possible—”
“Fortunately, we’re no longer trapped in camp to be replaying that pattern,” Jimin says, opening his car door. “I’ll see you at home. Jajjangmyeon okay?”
“With a serving off that sweet ass—”
“Fuck off, jagiya,” Jimin says sweetly, and Taehyung smartly takes it as his cue to leave. “Love you.”
He drives off, though the warmth trails all around him, his chest light.
The first two weeks had been a haze—of scents, falling into each other’s lives and mostly fucking, this time with actual freedom and the expanse of time in front of them now. No more missions or pretend games for control. Just Jimin and Taehyung at their wildest best, inhaling each other in until they’d had enough.
(It would never be enough.)
Taehyung had come after months at the Temple, the wound on his scent gland a mere pink scar. The Feral venom from Joonjae's bite had been interfering with his scent production as well as his wolf’s health, and The Lunar Monks had struggled to drain the toxic remains. Jimin’s Mating Bite had tied Taehyung’s life to Jimin’s, and in doing so, halted the progress of the venom to his heart—but not removed it entirely.
The haze had only lasted for a while before reality snuck up on them. Now free of their pasts, both had to face the life they had chosen. Jimin had dreamt of it, but when it came down to it—he hadn’t exactly envisioned what life with Kim Taehyung would look like.
That they had to commit to each other, and not give in to the urge to fuck all the time. The half-bond made it torturous—all Jimin wanted was for Taehyung to complete the Bite, and each time they had to stop. The sex was great as always, but a deep dissatisfaction began setting in every time they stopped, as the rage from their wolves stole the joy of the orgasm.
They’d fought a couple of weeks in—and for the first time, Jimin felt an old fear rise again.
“I don’t understand why you won’t just do it,” Jimin had said, crossing his arms, the air conditioner chilly against the wet cum spilling out of his slit. “It’s just a Bite. That you also want. What’s the big deal?”
“Because it is. I’ve only been back a couple of weeks,” Taehyung had said, just as naked but groin covered with a pillow. “I don’t want us to rush into this.”
“What rush?!” Jimin had yelled, throwing his hands up. “I like you, and you like me. You certainly want me. I want to build a life with you.”
“Yes, but we’ve not had enough time—”
“Oh, piss off, Taehyung,” Jimin had snapped, chucking a pillow at him. “We’ve had enough time. Nearly 22 years of it.”
“You’re seriously not counting our childhood—”
“I am. I have known you, dreamt about you, hated you and loved you since I was a kid. You were always the one even if you and I didn’t know it. It’s countable.”
Taehyung had kept quiet, rubbing his face. A familiar prick of insecurity had bubbled in Jimin’s belly.
“You’re not...you’re not reconsidering, right? The Monks didn’t tell you to break it off, did they?” Taehyung hadn’t responded. The fear grew. “Because it’s not true, okay, I still love you and want you—”
“Baby, no, no that’s not it,” Taehyung had said, reaching for him. “None of that. I’m in, full stop. Nothing’s changing my mind.”
“Then?”
Taehyung sighed. “I just... I need more time. Okay? You’re right. I still want you and always have. I don’t see anyone else either.” He’d taken a deep breath. “I’m adjusting, is all. We barely got together when I had to leave for the Temple. The detoxification process was harrowing, and that's putting it lightly. I’m back now and I just...I just want to get used to it. I will complete the Bond.”
Tears had sprung to Jimin’s eyes. “You promise? You haven't changed your mind after living with me?”
“No, a wise omega once told me I’ve had 22 years of it,” Taehyung had said, and Jimin had slapped his chest weakly. “I’m not going to quit now.”
It had helped, especially when their wolves got interested again. It happened still—the thought of not being completely, irrevocably Taehyung’s dug into him, but he had to trust the alpha. Jimin had broken his heart too deeply for them to spring back into things just because of a destined bond. It was hard, but part of his penance. And he’d do it willingly.
He snaps out of the memory, parking the car in the garage. They’d shifted residences—Taehyung had complained that Jimin’s ‘ridiculous minimalism is going to kill him’, and after a struggle—they’d settled on a new condo in a residential unit. It was a mix of Jimin’s minimalist pastels and Taehyung’s whacked-out sense of decor taste.
Jimin opens the door and flinches when he sees the statue of a man with a carved tissue blowing out of it. It's ugly but Taehyung adores it, though Jimin suspects he adores Jimin’s consistent response of disgust to it more.
If he’d thought getting over their messy past and out of camp would make Taehyung less annoying—he'd been sorely mistaken.
He washes up, before getting dinner ready. Taehyung’s still in the location—Jimin has his phone information, as does Taehyung. It had been a compromise—if Taehyung insisted on being a part of the crime world, he had to keep Jimin in the loop. No more secrets.
45 minutes later, Jimin smells him before he even enters. His senses have remained alert even after camp—he's never making that mistake of letting go ever again. He’s plating the dishes when Taehyung tucks himself in from behind, nosing along his scent gland.
“That looks perfect,” the alpha purrs, taking in his lobe between his teeth. “Smells good.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “Me or the food?”
“Is there a difference?”
Slick dampens his underwear, and it should be embarrassing but honestly? Jimin loves it. He should be that consistent in his response to Taehyung. “Easy there, tiger.”
Taehyung’s hand trails down, down, down towards his boxers, patting his half-chub over the cloth. “But you’re so interested.”
“Yes, and I’m also hungry enough to eat a cow raw,” Jimin says, shoving Taehyung back by the butt. “I’m not letting the food go cold this time. Sit your ass and eat.”
“But then I’d have to wait to fuck you!” Taehyung whines, but dutifully sits down, pulling at his tie in a way that has Jimin reconsidering. Just for a moment. “I’m starved, Jimin-ah.”
“How wonderful that we have this amazing meal in front of us, then.”
“Hungry for youuuu,” Taehyung tries, but Jimin rolls his eyes, taking the first bite of the jjajangmyeon. “Meanie. That’s what your name should be.”
“It is.”
Taehyung stabs the noodles. “You’re so annoying.”
“Feeling’s mutual, jagiya,” Jimin says, and Taehyung blushes. His wolf yips happily. That’s one more thing Jimin hadn’t accounted for—what an absolute sap Taehyung is. It adds to the whole Boy thing Jimin’s obsessed with. “Aigoo, pretty little baby, aren’t you?”
“Stop that. I’m not a baby.” But Taehyung can’t fool him anymore. The alpha isn’t the easiest to open—but he’s trying, and Jimin getting to know him more each day. Right now, he’s thrilled. “This is really good, though.”
Jimin sends a flying kiss, and they eat in silence, occasionally getting some input about the deal. He tries not to be involved too much—and Taehyung respects it without falling into his tendency to be secretive. They do stuff like asking now, and consent, and it’s been a strange but welcome change. The other day they even established boundaries on shop talk, so clearly, they’re on their way to winning the relationship Olympics.
They finish, putting on Netflix. If time and energy permit it, they won’t fall asleep. Jimin is interested in removing Taehyung’s clothes, thank you very much.
“We should have fucked before eating,” Taehyung groans, looking sated and happy. “Out of the way.”
“You’d have finished all of the food then, you monster,” Jimin snips, playing with Taehyung’s hair. “Your after-sex appetite is terrifying.”
“As if I wouldn’t have provided my pretty omega with everything that he wants,” Taehyung croons, hands slipping under Jimin’s boxers and kneading his butt. “This is therapeutic.”
“Taehyung, I swear to the Moon—”
“Okay, okay, I won't say it.” They rest, Jimin’s cheek on Taehyung’s chest, the beat of his heart lulling him to sleep. “Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Jimin says, looking up and smiling sleepily. It hadn’t taken them long to slip into that. When Taehyung had first uttered them, he’d been balls deep and terrified. He’d have those moments sometimes when he remembered how Jimin had sold him off and left—and withdrew heavily. Jimin showed up each time. “I’m here.”
“I know. Can’t believe it, some days.” He traces Jimin’s face, pulling him up. “It’s like a dream made of smoke. Say the wrong thing and it’ll collapse.”
“It won’t. But I’m sorry anyway.” Only acknowledging and accepting has made it easier for both. “Want to sleep?”
Taehyung hums. Jimin smiles, wiggling closer. “Can I make you happy, first?”
“I’m already happy, though.”
“Happily wet, then,” Taehyung drawls, and a fire builds inside. The alpha pats his stomach and shakes his head. “I’m too full to fuck, sorry.”
“Oh no, my master plan failed,” Jimin deadpans, giggling when Taehyung chucks the cushion at him. “Not too full to eat me out?”
“Gotta have dessert.”
“And what do I get, then?”
“You’re going to be too busy screaming to want to use your mouth anyway,” Taehyung says, pushing Jimin to the other end of the couch and hovering over him. “We can discuss your dessert privileges later.”
He barely holds back a moan at that. Taehyung kisses him softly before deepening it, scent turning thick with arousal. His hand traces Jimin’s face, down his neck where he presses his scent gland—and there’s a flood of orange merging with lavender. Jimin moans into his mouth, biting at his tongue.
The hand traces down his torso into his shorts, where the alpha takes hold of Jimin’s cock, pumping it a few times. He pecks once, twice before pulling away, eyes swimming gold.
“Moon, you’re the prettiest omega,” Taehyung says, breath catching as he strokes Jimin. His fingers dip down to scoop Jimin’s slick before working his cock again. “Love everything about you.” He leans down to peck Jimin’s cheek, mouthing at it like he’d eat him whole. Jimin can’t think straight. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”
“A-all y-yours, alpha,” Jimin gasps, back arching as the first orgasm hits him blindly. Slick trickles down his ass. “Couch’s going to stain.”
“Let it.” Taehyung removes his hand, fingers glistening with slick. He sucks them in, keeping his eyes on Jimin. “Want this entire place stinking with you.”
He shimmies off his shorts, flinging them behind the couch as Taehyung settles in between. Everything looks a little blue—maybe the midnight hour or maybe it’s his wolf, coming to the surface as Taehyung’s alpha calls them. His mating gland throbs, burning with need—he knows better than to ask Taehyung for a Bite even though he’s going insane.
Taehyung spreads his legs, one over the couch, and blows into his hole. He grins before diving in, one long stripe from hole to cock. Slick dangles off his tongue before he gulps, licking his lips after.
“Sweet as ever, Jiminie,” he whispers, before taking his cock in.
Jimin jerks, legs closing around Taehyung’s head on reflex, but the alpha had anticipated that and presses down on his thighs as he blows him relentlessly. He’s merciless tonight—nearly manic, deep-throating him before popping off. Taehyung doesn’t let him recover, going for his slit again and fucking his tongue in and around, collecting the river of slick gushing out.
Jimin shouts, grabbing hold of Taehyung’s hair and dragging him deeper, closer and hotter—he wants to swallow him whole. Take him in so they’re fused forever, and no one can ever take them apart.
“Moon, I can’t,” Jimin groans, flexing his thighs against Taehyung's hands and riding his face. He’s not close enough, his omega pants like a whore, and Jimin agrees. “Baby, you’re going to suffocate.”
Taehyung comes up then, and the sight alone has Jimin coming a second time. The alpha’s hair is a sweaty mess, slick all over his nose and mouth, trickling down his neck into the suit collar. His eyes are bright gold. “No better way to die, I guess.”
He makes to move in again, but Jimin holds him off. “Don’t be an idiot. I came.”
“But I’m still hungry.”
“I’m not a meal, fuck off,” Jimin grumbles, but Taehyung pouts, and Moon above he’s weak. He looks down at Taehyung’s crotch; a wet patch lingers there. “Did you come in your pants?!”
“Was I not supposed to?” Taehyung deadpans, unbothered as he catches his breath. “I’m eating out my mate. It’s an honour.”
“Shut up.” His legs are trembling from the orgasm still, but Jimin doesn’t mind a third one. His gut tightens again. “So, you’re out of...?”
Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Not if you have something in that minx little mind of yours.”
Jimin bites his lips. One thing no one warned about the half-bond was how horny it’s made him, worse than before. “You can watch.”
“While you what?”
“Touch myself.” Jimin’s eyes remain on Taehyung’s clothed cock as it twitches in interest. “Want you to see how good I am.”
“The best.” Taehyung leans back, spreading his legs and nodding. “Go on, then. Show me what a good little omega you are.”
Jimin moans, jerking when he touches his still sensitive slit, his cock twitching pathetically. There’s little left after two orgasms, but he’s still unbearably turned on. Slick makes everything slippery and wet; the couch’s beyond ruined. He’s sure Taehyung did this deliberately to replace it with the latest Avant Garde bullshit he’s obsessed with. He doesn’t care. All that matters is that Taehyung sees how good he is.
He switches between fucking himself and stroking his cock. The lavender is so thick it threatens to choke him, but he welcomes it.
“That’s it, baby,” Taehyung whispers, stroking his cock. Jimin’s mouth waters at the sight of the pretty red thing. He wants to ride the hell out of it. “Gorgeous. Such a good omega.”
“Fuck!” Jimin cries, forgoing the mission and clambering over to Taehyung. The alpha takes him in, undeterred when Jimin sinks on his cock like he was moulded for it. “Goddess above, that is good .”
“Knew you’d be too much of a whore to not fuck me tonight,” Taehyung chuckles, kneading his ass again before slapping it. “You sure about this?”
“I’m literally sitting on your cock.”
“I don’t mind a warm seat at all,” Taehyung sings, kissing up Jimin’s throat; his teeth get dangerously close to his mating gland and Jimin tenses. He laughs into his skin. “I’m not biting you like this, babe.”
“You’re too chicken to, I know,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes. Taehyung growls lightly. “Weren’t you too full to fuck?”
“Turns out desert made some space after all.” Taehyung noses along Jimin’s scent gland, slowly moving Jimin over his cock. “It’s good I’m not an alpha of morals.”
“Why is that?”
“Not like me to keep my promises,” Taehyung grins—and then fucks Jimin in one single deep thrust.
He wails as Taehyung laughs. What an annoying, lovable, insanely hot idiot. He leans down to capture his mouth, before taking charge and riding him—though Taehyung helps by moving his hips. The orgasm comes far too quickly, and it drives him faster, moving in frantic tandem with the alpha before they both lock up for a moment—and Taehyung comes as does Jimin, collapsing into the alpha’s arms.
They stay like this, catching their breaths. Jimin’s head spins—the blood rush is terrifyingly addictive, and something he’ll never get used to. Doesn’t want to. He listens to Taehyung’s racing heartbeat, counting until it slows down and matches his. Taehyung strokes his back and Jimin’s eyes flutter close.
The last thing he remembers is Taehyung kissing the top of his head softly and peeling him off—before Jimin passes out.
🖤⚔🖤
Jungkook slams the space bar hard as the white-hot itch strikes again. His teammates look up concerned, and he bows. Shame follows through, but it does nothing to quell the budding heat in his gut.
He closes the report, stepping out into the bustling streets of Seoul. Loud enough to drown the chaos in his head. A wave of familiar pain knocks through him then, and Jungkook grits his teeth as he leans against the wall, breathing through the pain, his nails biting into his palm.
It’s somehow worse the second time around. The first time spending his rut alone had been torturous, his alpha confused about their missing omega. He’d hoped it was simply shock, and that future ruts would be easier.
The Soul Mark burns under his collar, suggesting otherwise.
Seven months, one rut spent alone and a rocky return to his job—life has changed. Back in the city that’s been a home for nearly a decade, but it feels all too strange. Like looking through muddy water that refuses to clear no matter how long he waits for it to settle.
The climb back up the ranks had been slow. Not every day that a rookie detective goes rogue, vanishing for months without a trace. Jungkook had known there would be consequences when he returned and had taken it without a squeak. After everything, nothing seemed to matter.
The Mark stretches taut, searching for its counterpart. The mate he hasn’t seen or heard from as if he’d never existed. But Jungkook knows it happened, even if it feels like a fever dream.
Seokjin happened to him, whether he likes it or not.
It's a void left behind, with no name, though he wishes it was sadness. Anything other than that cold, bitter anger that’s begun to fester away in an open wound.
He’s not sure if it’ll ever close again.
The bass pumps right into his brain, the floor vibrating through his boots. The summer air simmers through the fog and strobe lights, enveloping him into one humid mosh-pit of scents.
The runner he’d been chasing through the streets had disappeared in the crowd. Jungkook had sent his partner around the back exit and followed in —a decision he regrets as one overly perfumed omega falls into him.
“Police duty, give way please!”
The omega giggles, high out of his mind—but Jungkook can’t care about drugs right now. He spots the runner then, and pushes through, straight to the side exit. It opens into a flight of stairs full of strays, with the runner taking three steps at a time. Jungkook curses when he hits the last one.
He clambers down the stairs as the runner melts into the alley crowd that smells of everything at once— the floral fruity scents of the omegas with the spicy musk of the alphas, the pleasant undertones of the betas with the unpleasant trails of nicotine and alcohol.
He puts it all aside as he gives into the chase, his instincts honed into the culprit.
The runner throws people and bins around, blocking the way. Jungkook halts. It would be impossible to get through the Friday night crowd. Turning around, he heads for the back exit, hoping to catch the guy out front.
The world blurs into a rush of grey and cold— his skin burns hot, and it’s not the first time his alpha has risen to the surface. The itch is familiar, but Jungkook ignores it in favour of catching the suspect red-handed. His hunch is right—the runner had taken the route for the back alley, and Jungkook grabs hold of his jacket and shoves him against the wall.
“Hold still!”
He struggles against Jungkook’s hold. There’s no scent, probably from the scent blockers procured from his dealer. He’s a young boy, an alpha from the look of his hazy, golden eyes— baring his teeth when he meets Jungkook’s. In his hand is the backpack carrying the alleged drugs— Jungkook slams him against the wall again and reaches for it— when the runner knees him in the belly just shy of his groin.
“Fuck!” Jungkook yells, stumbling. Pure fucking agony, and even more sensitive because his date is close. His partner catches up, and Jungkook waves at him. “Don’t let him out of your sight!”
His ears ring from the pain, the heat climbing steadily; his pre-rut has never been so bad. His mating gland burns and it’s all he can do to not claw it right off his skin.
Once his vision clears, he pushes off—he somehow makes it out, though none of his colleagues are around. They need to get the guy; he’s the key to the budding drug ring grappling the city. If Jungkook makes it— he’d earn back some of the privileges he’d lost.
The alley is full of filth; crushed flyers and wrappers, and some couples caught in the throes of passion. The sight and the scents send a zing down his blood to his gut— pre-rut is his hell. He can do without having to act on those cursed biological urges.
You need to find him.
Jungkook grits his teeth as he takes out his gun. The runner must be somewhere around— he’d been backed into a tight corner. The place was surrounded to its teeth by cops, all following his orders. But the alley ends in a dead-end.
He puts his gun away, pulling out his phone to give the next set of instructions when petrichor makes its way through.
Jungkook freezes.
It’s been months. Months and the scent is fresh in his mind. Wet earth and patchouli oil, heavenly and a little too strong for an omega. Carrying a little zing of rose in it. A secondary scent only a mate can smell.
Like a moth to a flame, Jungkook follows its trail until he ends up in a desolate spot two alleys down, facing the runner kneeling and whimpering.
He’s alone.
Jungkook takes out his gun before the crushing grief takes over him again.
“Hands up,” he says, pointing at the runner as he circles closer. “Get up. Turn around slowly.”
The runner does as instructed— but makes a sudden move, flashing out a tiny blade. He steps back, but the runner looks wild— eyes blown black with faint gold rings, skin fever red. White powder dusts under his nostrils— oh fuck. This is not how he wanted it to go down.
“You’re not seriously high right now, are you?” Jungkook scoffs, swinging back again the avoid the swipe. “Listen. You’re not in trouble. But you will be if you attack an officer.”
“You’re just saying that!” The runner yells, swiping again, getting a little too close. “All of you cops are the fuckin same!”
“Okay, so we can cut a deal, and offer protection.”
“You won’t do shit!” The runner yells, spit flying as his eyes spin. “I’ll be more protected by the gang than all of you!”
He misses, and Jungkook dives in, grabbing hold of his arm and twisting— but the runner elbows his side, putting Jungkook in a chokehold. The knife inches closer, the runner’s breath hot in his ears. It’s almost at his cheek when a knife embeds in the runner’s wrist.
All too fast, everything changes. One moment Jungkook’s weapon-less; the next the runner is on the ground, grabbing his wrist and screaming bloody murder. Blood runs down his arms onto the ground, but Jungkook can’t move.
He’d recognise that blade in a heartbeat.
Patchouli drowns his senses. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. The wound opens again, the void a gaping maw.
“I could have handled it.”
A soft chuckle. “I’m sure. You were doing a wonderful job.”
Jungkook gnashes his teeth as he turns around. Sparks alight as he faces the familiar cobalt blue eyes, his knees trembling from the weight of it. All at once, his alpha roars to life, drowning every single sound as it focuses on their omega.
Seven months down the line, Kim Seokjin makes his world stop like nothing else ever has.
“You look good, Jungkook-ssi,” Seokjin says, hands in the pocket of his black as-midnight crisp suit. He’s alone, but Jungkook knows his omega guards are lurking nearby, waiting for him to breathe wrong around their master. “Leather suits you.”
He stands straight. “Here for a friendly visit?”
“Minus the friend.” He steps closer, and Jungkook’s skin stretches taut. So, so close. Go to him. Seokjin’s eyes rove over his face, tutting. “Your pretty face shouldn’t be hurt.”
He whips out a handkerchief, pressing it against the cut on Jungkook’s cheek. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch— there’s no point. If Kim Seokjin wants to tend to his stupid fucking cut, his alpha is going to go along with it.
“Almost did a number on you, didn’t he?” Seokjin murmurs, sucking on his thumb— it sends a wave of heat through his body— and pressing it to the cut. Instantly, it begins closing over. “They make them different these days.”
“Are you done?” Jungkook snaps, shoving off Seokjin’s hand. “I have an arrest to make.”
“Unfortunately for you, the boy is mine,” Seokjin says, pushing past. The runner looks up with wide eyes, shaking as he faces Seokjin. “His gang has been tampering with our supplies. Things need to be settled.”
“They don’t need to do shit. Back off.”
“I don’t think so.” Seokjin leans down and wrenches the blade out, making the runner scream. He wrinkles his nose. “How noisy. Better teach him a lesson.”
He picks up Jungkook’s gun, clocking the safety off. Jungkook reaches for it— but Seokjin is too quick, shooting the runner in the leg.
“What the hell was that for?!”
“Giving you an out,” Seokjin says, clicking his fingers. Immediately, some people dressed in black come out. “Your buddy here has some powerful friends. They’d have broken him out sooner or later. With me, however…” The omega tilts his head, smirking as the runner weeps. “They wouldn’t touch me. And I need answers.”
“And you shot him because?”
“I needed him down. You get to use the state-issued gun, and your superiors don’t punish you for the runner getting away.” Seokjin nods at the guards, then turns. “You’d have to get the runner back, I suppose.”
Jungkook frowns. “What, I’m supposed to chase you for the suspect?”
“The only time an alpha would get to chase an omega,” Seokjin muses, then shrugs. “Not really. I thought we could have a chat.”
“In exchange for him?”
“Now you’re catching on,” Seokjin says, sounding delighted. Jungkook doesn’t recognise him anymore; there’s nothing of the omega he’d come to know. “C’mon then. I know you want to.”
His mating gland zings with heat the moment Seokjin says so, latching onto the trails of patchouli. This is bad timing. He wants to be far away from Kim Seokjin— but his alpha trudges forward desperately.
“Only because you have my guy.” Jungkook crosses his arms. “Lead the way, then.”
Seokjin’s answering smirk sends traitorous heat down his gut.
In the car, it becomes much too obvious.
Patchouli burrows its way in, the rose a cloying weight and beneath it— heat. Of course, Seokjin had to show up now— grappling with the pre-heat that threatens to upend Jungkook’s self-control. His alpha prowls within, calling out to their fated omega.
Seokjin’s doing a fantastic job of holding its leash. Or perhaps they’re both working together if Jungkook remembers the rumours right. One of the few omegas working with their wolf, both in equal control of the vessel.
Too bad he can still sense how close Seokjin is to snapping. His spine bubbles with glee.
“Impressive control,” Seokjin murmurs, not meeting his eyes. Sweat beads his crown. “I pegged you to be the one to crack.”
“I didn’t crack when I had my rut either,” Jungkook says, leg shaking— from restraint or the thick nervous energy, he’s not sure yet. “I’m sure you remember that, don’t you, Seokjin-ssi?”
Seokjin sends an irate look, and Jungkook almost whoops in petty triumph. Ever since they parted ways, he’s dreamt of a day he gets to ruffle his feathers.
“I can see you’re going to be insufferable,” Seokjin says, turning towards him, “So I’ll cut to the chase.” He crosses his hands over his knees. “Let’s share our cycles.”
Jungkook chokes on his spit.
“Please do not die in my car,” Seokjin drawls, not moving from his spot. “And preferably not before my heat passes.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jungkook snaps, scratching at his throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Which part?”
“You want to share cycles? After all this time?”
“Precisely why. My last heat was unbearable.”
Jungkook gets that because his last rut had him nearly tearing the walls of the rut facility apart. He’d had to pay extra in damages. “How convenient. You said that you couldn’t risk us getting closer due to the Bond.”
“Is that right?” Seokjin hums, scratching his chin before shrugging. “I misspoke. Happens.”
“And I suppose you just happened to be here?”
“No, not at all. This was meant to be.” Seokjin leans in, and his alpha trashes. “The runner was working for a gang that’s getting in my way. Two birds, one stone.”
Jungkook scoffs. “Great. And no thanks.”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t want to share cycles with you,” Jungkook says, breaking out into a sweat, his tongue heavy as his alpha screams in rage. “As helpful as that would have been.”
Seokjin stares long and hard. Then he sighs. “Moon above, Jungkook-ssi. You’re seriously not still upset about what happened?”
“You’re making it sound like I’m the weird one,” Jungkook grumbles, scratching above his mating gland. Seokjin’s eyes linger, and the patchouli spikes for a moment. “News flash— not wanting to kill someone is the norm.”
“I’m not asking you to join me,” Seokjin snorts, eyes a bright blue. They pull Jungkook in. “I don’t care if you’re a cop. It means nothing to me. But the Bond doesn’t allow me to be away from you, and unfortunately, it’s one thing my wolf will not compromise on.”
Jungkook tilts his head. Seokjin’s nose flares a bit. “What, like you can speak with it?”
Seokjin hums. “We have an understanding.” He doesn’t explain, though it’s ominous enough that Jungkook wants to know. And he shouldn’t. He should be far away from Seokjin and forget about it, about all of it. “I know it’s the same for you. I presume it’s only going to get worse if we ignore the Call.”
Jungkook looks out of the window, the rain pattering gently against the glass. The two trails racing each other, the lights of Seoul mirrored in them. He hates how cold it all is— that he has a True Mate out there and one he doesn’t like. Doesn’t want to, at the very least, because liking someone like Seokjin is a recipe for heartbreak.
He still remembers those few weeks trapped in Seokjin’s room. How it had gone from a prison to a haven. How the omega had taken care of him, nursed him back to health. Those weren’t the signs of someone not caring, and it’s one he struggles to associate with the criminal in front of him now.
But Seokjin’s right—the rut had hurt, worse than any other. It had taken everything inside him not to rush towards his mate, the Call stretched so taut between them that he’d been sure it would snap and drive him insane. It had been a miracle that he hadn’t ripped off the doors and gone searching for Seokjin.
He’s here now, beautiful and ripe for the taking. His chest hums with warmth, alpha wanting to reach their omega, to take care of him.
But Seokjin and he are anything but gentle and warm.
Jungkook turns back. “What would it entail?”
“Just sharing our cycles. Every three to four months— depending on whose cycle we end up syncing on. At least let our wolves believe that we’re close, so they don’t create more issues.”
So clinical and efficient. Exactly what Seokjin is. “And apart from that?”
Seokjin shrugs. “Nothing much. We lead our individual lives, and forget about the rest.”
“So you’re asking me to willingly work with an assassin and keep quiet about it?”
“Like you’d give a shit when you’re balls deep in me,” Seokjin snarks and his belly rises with heat at the image. Seokjin laughs. “Look at that. I don’t even have to try. Just give in, Jungkook-ssi. It’ll do both of us some good.”
He wants to refuse. To tell Seokjin to fuck off and never see him again. And he knows that as irritating as Seokjin is, he would do that. His alpha sits, swishing its tail as he watches the omega. His destined mate, the one who is his perfect biological half. And yet in every other way…
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’re on the edge of a pre-rut, there’s nothing to think about.”
“Some of us value our ethics and morals over biological needs,” Jungkook snaps, and Seokjin rolls his eyes. He taps the driver’s seat— and the car starts rolling. “Where are we going?”
“I’m dropping you off. You can take as much time as you need,” Seokjin says sweetly, then taps his watch. “Well, you can take about a week.”
“I could take my chances, you know.”
“You could, but why would you want to?” Seokjin asks, then he tilts his head deliberately. Petrichor flushes the interiors. “I’m right here. We can make this so much easier. It’ll be an end to this hell.”
“No disagreements on that,” Jungkook mutters, crossing his arms. “This is my stop.”
“I’m aware.”
“Of course, you are.” He gets out, and the scent of rain is a welcome relief. Just then, Seokjin rolls down his window and patchouli hits him again. “What?”
He flicks something at him— it’s a card for the Westin. “If you change your mind. You know where to find me.” Seokjin leans back— before coming in again. “You have a week.”
Jungkook remains standing as the car pulls away.
🖤⚔🖤
Slowly but surely, normalcy seeps into their lives. As time flies, Jimin and Taehyung change. They step out in broad daylight without fear, their skin uncovered and their hair a natural colour. It’s Jimin taking Taehyung to his favourite spots in the city, and Taehyung getting distracted by Jimin instead. It’s giggling over cotton candy and arcade machines and amusement parks— all the dreams that had once nestled in his heart.
That same heart beats a little faster as he tightens his tie, feeling Taehyung’s gaze linger on his neck. “Stop staring. You’ll make me want to cancel.”
“Maybe that’s the plan.” Shuffling sounds emerge. “The way you look now should be criminal.”
“Why don’t you arrest me tonight then, officer,” Jimin drawls, leaning over to place a quick peck. Then he grimaces. “Okay, no. I can’t imagine you playing a cop.”
“Why not, they’re just as bad— albeit more useless,” Taehyung hums, clad similarly like Jimin in a dress shirt and fitting pants. It’s unbuttoned at the collar, and he’s made no effort to block his scent. His pre-rut scent. Jimin is trying very hard. “Do we have to go?”
“It’s a work thing that I cannot cancel, not after being MIA and fucking up all those deals,” Jimin says, attaching the cuff links next. “I’m supposed to kiss ass and make sure the top clients sign up with us again.”
“And how would you be doing that?”
“Mm, maybe scent daze them a bit.” Taehyung’s scent turns sharp, and Jimin smiles to himself. “Twirl a bit. They do love a good omega ass.”
“Jimin.”
“Calm down,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes. Taehyung’s got that exact look he does when he’s jealous, only now he doesn’t bother hiding it. “You need to control yourself.”
“As long as people behave.”
“You know they might not,” Jimin says, stepping between Taehyung’s legs and curling his arms around his neck. Taehyung’s hands rest at his waist. “And I need you to know I’m not going to run off with some random alpha. I love you. I’m not interested in anyone apart from you.”
Taehyung pouts. “I know. It’s just…” He sighs, pressing his face into Jimin’s belly. He does that a lot when he has Big Feelings. “I’m in a pre-rut. You’re in pre-heat. I’m just…a little sensitive. It’s my alpha.”
“Ah, so sober you wouldn’t have minded if someone grabbed my ass?”
“Watch it,” Taehyung growls, but it’s grumpy and needy, and Jimin loves it. “You’re still my omega.”
“And you’re my alpha, so you need to behave,” Jimin murmurs, carding a hand through Taehyung’s hair. “I’m just being realistic with you. I won’t throw myself at anyone. But that won’t stop others. And I know how to handle myself around…the enthusiastic ones.”
“I could just scent you. Like a lot.”
Jimin snorts, lifting him by his chin. “They’re lawyers, my love. And stupid hedge fund managers who like the idea of claiming something that isn’t theirs.” He sighs, already dreading the coming night. “If I could, I would cancel it right now and watch stupid movies with you in pyjamas.”
“No, I get it. This is work, and it’s important to you.” Taehyung bites his lip, and it has Jimin seriously re-considering for a moment, fuck the job. It shows because Taehyung’s chest rumbles. “Don’t show me how horny you are.”
“I’m always horny, ask something reasonable.” Jimin leans down and kisses him again. “Bonus, you can watch me say no to all those old geezers and claim me when we come home. Just saying.”
Now Taehyung’s eyes flicker gold, his scent turning spicy, and it has Jimin’s insides tingling. Claimed or not— there is no one else who can capture Jimin like Taehyung does.
Some things were always meant to be destined. He remembers snippets of his conversation with Namjoon, all those months ago— when he’d just found out about being Taehyung’s True Mate, and how tragic it all felt. How out of control, that things were destined and not chosen.
But he’s proven his fears wrong. Yes, maybe the path was destined by the Moon— that he’d been sold to a place where he’d end up finding his True Mate— but Jimin had chosen Taehyung. Knowingly, irrevocably chosen him each step of the way with the second chance he got. He’s here now by Jimin’s choice, and he’s staying here because of that choice.
It resounds between them, flickering and alive, beckoning them to give in and forget the world. It’s startlingly easy how he tunnels into Taehyung. How the world ceases to exist when his alpha surrounds him and pulls him in with just a smile. He’d been an idiot back then to think it was just sex.
Taehyung rubs circles that feel hot through his shirt— but he smiles soft and slow, so sappy and loudly in love. Jimin’s Boy, coming out of his depths one day at a time. The one Jimin had always loved, only this time he doesn’t have to hide it. “You’re getting all sappy in there.”
Jimin tears up immediately. “I’m just so. Happy.”
“Mm.”
“I’m so happy I chose you and you chose me back,” Jimin sniffles, looking up so that they don’t ruin his makeup. “Ugh, I hate this part of pre-heat.”
“Aww, my ice prince is having emotions,” Taehyung sings, easily evading Jimin’s blind swatting. “Would be so great if it was just horny.”
“At least I have more control than a certain someone in the middle of the night,” Jimin grumbles, pulling away and dabbing his eyes. He takes the suit jacket out of the closet. “You ruined my boxers, by the way.”
“It was a really hot dream, what can I say,” Taehyung drawls, getting up and wearing his tie. “If I recall, you were just as enthusiastic.”
“Well, duh, my alpha is rutting against me, and it feels good,” Jimin says, taking a deep breath before putting on a scent-blocking patch. Instantly, Taehyung growls before it stops. “Sorry. Company protocol.”
Taehyung’s still tightly clutching his jacket, breathing through the sudden wave of protectiveness. Maybe it isn’t the best idea to step out when they’re both so close to their cycle— but capitalism is a bitch. “It’s okay. Sudden, that’s all.”
“I know, thank you for being such a champ,” Jimin whispers, kissing him again— then once more, just for good luck. His alpha looks so pretty. It’ll be so much fun watching the omegas try to throw themselves at him while Taehyung looks bored out of his mind. He gets single-minded like that, and it’s entertaining. “No sullen looks. No posturing. And no taking me out to fuck me in the bathroom.”
“I wasn’t planning to—”
“Yeah, you never do, so I have to step in,” Jimin says sweetly, swaying in his arms. “You know you get hot when you watch me play business.”
Taehyung pouts. “So, I’m just attending for...?”
“Eye candy. You’re my hot plaything.” Taehyung rolls his eyes and Jimin giggles. “Best omega lawyer with his hot alpha. That’ll be fun.”
“I hope it gives Donghyun a stroke,” Taehyung deadpans. Jimin laughs. “That asshole is way too comfortable.”
“In the lawyer world, he feels entitled to claim me.” Then he tilts his neck, and Taehyung’s gaze narrows. Jimin giggles again. “Now, if someone had done the needful…”
“You’re so fucking annoying, ugh,” Taehyung says, pushing him away, but it only makes Jimin giggle more. “I’ll bite you when I want to.”
“Thought you’d give me whatever I want, alpha?”
“And I am.” Taehyung steps closer, eyes dark. “I know my omega likes the chase more than the reward.”
Shivers wrack Jimin’s spine at that. It’s true; the thought of the Bite drives him crazier than the Bite itself; he knows, deep down, that when it happens, he’ll only feel the deepest peace. His omega knows it and has stopped craving it— certain that Taehyung’s Bite is theirs. It’s Jimin who’s desperate for it. He’s gotten better at controlling himself now, and he knows trusting Taehyung is key— the alpha has his plans, and it’s always the wisest option to sometimes let him do as he pleases.
Predictably, Taehyung does not follow the rules.
Jimin knew that even when he requested it, but he smiles at the investor through gritted teeth.
The alpha only seems to be enjoying it more.
“One night,” Jimin hisses, when the investors leave and he’s got a break, “I asked for one night.”
“I can’t help it!” Taehyung whispers back, eyes innocent but his mouth twitches. “You in leadership positions is a kink of mine.”
“You sound so surprised,” Jimin drawls, before putting on his best smile and shaking hands with the alpha before him. He’s the sort of performative pretty Jimin’s learnt to be wary of in his long career. The alpha who immediately takes an interest in Jimin. One of the many reasons his firm has him doing bullshit like this. “Welcome to the event! I hope you enjoy your evening.”
The alpha curls his hand around Jimin’s, lifting it to his lips. Lavender sours immediately, and Jimin can feel his spine straighten from Taehyung’s presumably murderous gaze. The alpha doesn’t notice. “With someone as lovely as you, it already is.”
Jimin can’t throw a fit or wrench his hand away as his omega is screaming at him to do so, but he smiles anyway. He’s going to pay for this. He can already feel Taehyung’s muted rage through their half-bond, the way their alpha is going to claim him.
“You’re so sweet. To the left please,” Jimin says instead, biting his cheek while the alpha winks. He breathes once he’s out of view— but the relief doesn’t last long. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I can smell you.” Jimin gets into Taehyung’s space, thumbing at his scent gland and releasing his own. Taehyung’s eyes grow soft. Jimin breaks conduct and holds his face between his hands. “Please. Just another couple of hours.”
Taehyung presses his lips into a line. He’s become remarkably more mature about their relationship; Jimin has to give credit where it’s due. “You don’t have to put up with so much, you know.”
“I know.” He fusses with Taehyung’s collar, brushing his jacket. The alpha lets him, knows that Jimin needs to ground himself. He can still feel the oily presence of the last alpha. “In another world—”
“He’d have a knife in him already, yeah,” Taehyung murmurs, pressing Jimin closer. “This okay?”
“Not close enough,” Jimin sighs, mindful of the eyes on him. The firm knows about Taehyung, and that Jimin is effectively taken. Not that it matters. “I should have let you scent mark me. No one would come close then.”
Taehyung grins sharply, his scent spiking with interest. “We can break the bathroom rule. Just say the word.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “We’re not going to fuck, Taehyung.” Then he tilts his head, and Taehyung’s hold tightens. “At least, not until later.”
“You’re so annoyingly responsible here,” Taehyung whines, slowly creating distance between them. “Don’t you miss it, Jimin-ah? Sneak-fucking like our lives depended on it?”
“Because they did. But we’re no longer trapped in a death prison.”
“Speak for yourself. Your job bores me to death.”
“It pays for all the fancy shit, asshole.”
“That I can provide for as well, don’t be a smart ass,” Taehyung quips, pinching Jimin’s nose. Then he brushes against his cheek once— a sign he’s associated with Concerned Taehyung. “I can scent mark you. No fucking, I promise.”
Jimin snorts. “Yeah, let’s not make promises you won’t keep.” He inhales, straightening his jacket. “It’s fine. I’ll finish the last stretch. Then the event will start, and no one will talk.”
Taehyung shrugs. “Just say the word, I’m always ready.”
“I know. And while you’re at it— stop staring at them like you’d kill them.”
“I could.”
“But you won’t,” Jimin says sweetly. “Will you, my lovely pretty alpha?”
Taehyung’s cheeks burst into a delicious pink that’s only gotten more and more common these last few months. The alpha loves praise, perhaps an even bigger praise slut than Jimin is. He’s been having fun playing with it. “Shut the fuck up.”
“You’re such a cutie. I’ll see you later.”
The pleased yet flustered note in Taehyung’s scent is worth it, as Jimin exits.
The issue with pre-heats, especially now that he’s claimed and aware of his True Mate— is how relentless they are.
In camp, buried under the surface, Jimin hadn’t cared or paid attention to the signs. He’d worked through till the last minute, dragging Taehyung to the rooms only when it hit and fuck for three days straight. And when they began fucking outside of the cycles, he’d grab him whenever the urge hit him, none the wiser of why Taehyung felt so good.
Now that he knows— it’s torture. It’s having Taehyung’s scent practically buried in his senses. The other alphas’ scents are oppressive, and the other omegas’ a threat— he’d known this when he’d agreed to this event. He feels stupid for it. He could have been chilling in their apartment, watching stupid movies and kissing Taehyung whenever he wanted and maybe letting him touch where he needed—
Stop being horny in public, jeez.
Jimin rolls his eyes, tucking the phone away. Taehyung’s a couple of seats away, but it feels like he’s right next to him. The wonderful plight of a half-bond. He’s sure he knows so much about Taehyung because of the bridge; Taehyung claims otherwise. I’ve had more practice with you, he’d said once, a double entendre that had ended messily. With a lot of cum and slick and ripped cushions—
STOP IT I CAN SMELL YOU.
I’m losing my mind I can’t help it
You’re the one who warned me to behave
Clearly, I’m a hypocrite.
Nothing happens for a bit. Jimin shifts in his seat, willing away the thoughts of his alpha taking care of him. He’s so tired of being the boss omega right now. He just wants to be a pillow princess and get spoilt.
His phone buzzes again.
A few minutes more, baby. Alpha will take care of you.
It’s a miracle he holds back his moan at all.
Predictably, Jimin breaks his own rule. Not a surprise, a story he’s written since he was born.
“You’re so hopeless,” Taehyung snickers, locking the door behind them and crowding Jimin against it. “All these rules and always failing.”
“Shut up,” Jimin hisses, loosening Taehyung’s tie and inhaling his scent. His slit leaks immediately, but he feels no shame. “Oh, yeah, that’s the good stuff.”
“You sound like a druggie.” Taehyung tilts his neck further, holding Jimin’s and letting him mouth at it. “I told you to sit this out.”
“And I didn’t listen. Surprise.”
“A good one for me,” Taehyung murmurs, pressing himself against Jimin, letting him feel how hard he is. Jimin’s head spins with want. “I’m so grateful other alphas can’t smell you like this.”
“Now you don’t regret the scent blocker, huh,” Jimin speaks against his feverish skin. “I want to be fucked when we get back. No holds barred.”
“If there isn’t cum in your hair by the time I’m done with you,” Taehyung says, hands trailing down to Jimin’s crotch, “my name’s not Kim Taehyung.”
Jimin shudders at the soft touches, the way Taehyung grazes a knuckle against his clothed cock. “That’s alright. I’ve always preferred Park Jimin’s bitch.”
The grip on his cock tightens, Taehyung’s growls rumbling in his chest. Jimin sighs, rutting into his hand. There’s still a quarter of the event left; he can’t have cum stains on his suit. “No stains. Don’t have an extra.”
Taehyung pulls back, expression thoughtful. “What do you want right now?”
Honestly, he’d prefer to get fucked inside out. But he’s a civilised member of society and has to act as such. “I-I don’t know. Maybe a kiss? Scenting?”
“Both get you wet, don’t even bother,” Taehyung snorts, thumbing at his scent gland. His mating gland is swollen, brushing abrasively against his collar. “You got any slick pads somewhere?”
“Omega bathrooms usually have a section.”
“Alright. Be right back.” Taehyung leaves, and Jimin almost whines in response, omega taking it as a rejection. But the alpha is back just as fast, with some slick pads in his suit jacket. “The security here is horrendous.”
“Always is.” He rests against the door, willing his head to stop spinning. Life had been so much easier when he’d pushed through and slaved his way and fucked whenever he could. He does miss the assassin camp for these reasons. “What are you planning?”
“Remove your pants.”
“Taehyung—”
“No stains, hmm? Let alpha handle it,” Taehyung murmurs, and it melts Jimin’s doubts. Yeah, he can do that now. He can trust Taehyung to always have his back. “If I could, I’d take you home right now. But your job is important to you. So, it’s important to me.”
Fuck, the tears come right away. Pre-heat sucks. “Asshole. Don’t make me cry when you could make me cum.”
“I like to multitask, thank you.” He folds Jimin’s pants neatly. “No sounds. You can handle that?”
“Handled worse.”
“That’s right, you’re so good at what you do,” Taehyung praises and Jimin nearly keens out loud. He bites Taehyung on his shoulder instead. “Nice and easy. I love you.”
Soft Taehyung, with his concern and Boy feelings and the alpha of Jimin’s dreams. He spreads his legs, giving into that wave of pre-heat— that’s what it had been. As his omega prepares itself to be pupped— pupped, how cute! — it sends waves of hormones that make him ready for what’s to come. It’s why Taehyung is gentle right now when he’s anything but during the heat itself. For alphas, the rut waves are more about scenting, marking their territory and the occasional frottage. Oh, and finishing the entire food inventory as their wolves built the stamina for non-stop fucking.
Taehyung kisses him slowly, nuzzling into his scent gland and letting some of his scent out. The sort that will keep others away, permissible through the scent blockers. He’s gentle with Jimin, pushing aside his underwear, caressing his folds and spreading the slick. It’s all too hot— fever hot, dizzy and terrible. Wonderful. He both hates and loves his helplessness.
“Prettiest omega, and all mine,” Taehyung murmurs, pushing his fingers in inch by inch. He doesn’t let the slick drip like he normally does— making sure to spread it, to scoop what is extra and wipe it off. “Work so hard. So dedicated. You’re going to be that way for me too right, Jimin-ah?”
“Mm,” Jimin says, pressing his lips into Taehyung’s neck, bathing in his scent.
“Gonna be that way for my pups too,” Taehyung continues, and Jimin jerks at the thought. Fuck, they’re going to have adorable kids. His body has to be ready. “A dedicated mom. Strict but you’d spoil them silly.”
“So silly,” Jimin barely manages, focusing on the way Taehyung fucks him with his fingers, in and out and about, occasionally jerking his cock before stopping him. Edging him in the worst way possible— but the only way Jimin won’t cum and ruin his clothes. “I’d be the best mom.”
“Mm, and you’d look hot too,” Taehyung says, tone possessive and fevered with desire, though his touch is carefully gentle. He must be holding himself back with insane control. “Round with my kids. Your scent will smell of milk. Milk for them.”
“Moon, I can’t do this,” Jimin groans, focusing on those fingers, on the lavender and how he’s going to get fucked later. “Just let me cum, please .”
Taehyung follows, little commands here and there that have Jimin soon jerking into his hand, letting the cum drip between them. Just as soon, Taehyung cleans it up, attaching a slick pad to his underwear before helping Jimin into it. Then he cleans between his folds.
“Better?”
“Much.” The wave has passed, and Jimin can think again. The event must have picked up after the short break. He should go back out. He looks down at Taehyung, the light sheen of sweat on his face and neck. The musk in his scent. “You’re still hard.”
“Not a surprise either.” He throws the used tissues into the dustbin. “It’s fine. I’ll cool off. You should go and get it sorted.”
“I can spare a few minutes,” Jimin offers, his scent heavy in his mouth. “Least I can do.”
“No, I’d rather save something for the grand finale,” Taehyung winks. Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. As much as I love sneaky shit. I’d rather fuck you than work with a handjob. No offence.”
“None taken.” Jimin wipes his hands, then pulls Taehyung in for a kiss. “You’re the best. Thank you.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
Jimin checks the bathroom for any eavesdroppers— then slips out, joining the mayhem, a little steady on his feet, and in his heart.
The rest of the evening is excruciatingly slow. Taehyung’s scent mark worked— none of the earlier alphas came close, always turning away with a confused expression at the last moment. Taehyung had taken some more time, but he looks decent— no one would be able to tell that he had Jimin wrapped quite literally around his fingers. He raises a glass but stays away— Jimin gets it. The last thing they both want is to give in to that risen beast and act out. They’re no longer kids in an immoral camp. They’re adults with reason, and they follow the law now. As hilarious as Jimin finds it.
He doesn’t have much of an appetite, his mind looking forward to what’s to come— but he eats anyway, and can feel Taehyung’s concern pulsing through their bond. He says quick goodbyes, accepting their gratitude— and then he’s out, finally, finally free.
“That was torture,” he murmurs as Taehyung puts his coat around him, tucking him in. “Next time stop me from this insanity.”
“As you wish, my prince.”
He grabs Taehyung before he heads for the driver’s seat, kissing him again. “And thank you. I love you.”
Taehyung’s eyes soften. Gold flickers in them but it’s muted. “I will move the Moon for you, Jimin-ah. This is nothing.”
“I love you anyway.”
“I love you too.” Taehyung’s cheeks go pink again. It’s been fun, learning how much Taehyung loves saying it and how shy he becomes around Jimin anyway. “Can we go now?”
“Your boner can’t wait?”
“Don’t even start. It was torture without a shower.”
Jimin giggles, getting into the car, where their scents are perfectly merged. Like they will be after the Bite, his omega dreams.
The pre-heat intensifies as the week progresses.
In camp, he would power through hell week, right until the moment when his heat hit. But things are different now. Jimin’s relationship with his omega has solidified— something about dropping the struggle and accepting Taehyung had allowed him to bond with his wolf at last. And things had only gotten better, especially after he Bit Taehyung.
He takes the week off, much to the chagrin of his insufferable law partners. He does all the things an omega should do as his body prepares to be pupped— gorge on everything, laze around, have a few orgasms and cuddle in his nest. Not necessarily in that order.
Taehyung’s pre-ruts are different. He’s a lot more territorial, scent-marking Jimin every hour, guarding his nest when he’s in it, and growling at their door loud enough that no delivery person or apartment concierge has come near. Hoseok had texted that the entire hallway stunk of alpha when he’d come to drop off some clothes for Jimin’s nest. It had only made Jimin hornier.
The alpha also eats through their entire pantry as he builds his stamina, and he likes giving Jimin orgasms without fucking him. It’s an alpha thing Jimin’s never understood, but he doesn’t complain. Especially now when Taehyung’s going to town on Jimin’s hole and eating him out until he sees stars.
“R-right there, oh fuck,” Jimin breathes, hands clutching Taehyung’s hair so tightly he’s sure he’s ripped out a few strands. Everything is so much more sensitive during pre-heat. And Moon, Taehyung’s scent seems strong enough to pup him. He could get drunk on it for the rest of his life.
Taehyung is merciless, refusing to give Jimin a break. His nails dig into Jimin’s thighs, the first of the many marks he’s going to leave. He keeps tongue-fucking him until his stomach suddenly seizes— and Jimin’s coming. Again.
His legs tremble violently, breathing short as he gathers his bearings. Blood leaves an iron tang, merging with the lavender; his mating gland burns, but he’s come to ignore it these past couple of months. Sweat drips into his eyes, and he blinks.
Taehyung finally comes up, hair a mess and his mouth slicked up. His eyes flicker gold, the sign of an oncoming rut. His mating gland is bright red and throbbing, Jimin’s bite stark white against it. He would love to bite it all over again, but he settles for kissing Taehyung instead. Taehyung rubs Jimin’s arms and thighs, his erection pressing against Jimin.
“Let me help,” Jimin murmurs into his mouth, tasting his slick, sweet orange and the slight hint of vanilla. Taehyung shakes his head, a little non-verbal— also common in pre-rut— but Jimin holds him by the chin. “I want to. Don’t be a brat.” Taehyung narrows his eyes, and Jimin widens his eyes. “Please, alpha? I need it.”
Instantly, Taehyung drops his defences. Pre-rut and heat are so much fun.
He kisses Taehyung, pecking him all over as he shoves his hands down his sweatpants. His cock feels big and warm, and Jimin moans into Taehyung’s mouth. It’s been years and he can’t get over the thing. It’s so perfect. Jimin’s favourite cock. No other could ever compare. And all his.
He gathers the pre-cum, rubbing the tip; when it feels too dry— he gathers his slick and adds it to the mess. Taehyung’s cock twitches at that, and Jimin smirks.
“Always so easy, Taehyung-ah,” Jimin teases, working his way up and down, letting Taehyung drip. “A pathetic little pup for me, hmm?”
Taehyung groans, head on Jimin’s shoulder as he breathes heavily. Jimin makes a loose fist, occasionally tightening it before releasing the cock, keeping it at his mercy. It’s the only time he can display power, because once the heat begins Jimin’s going to be the pathetic little bitch, begging for cock. The next time he has Taehyung like this will be at the end of his cycle when the alpha is the helpless one.
He speeds up the motion, the air full of light slapping sounds until Taehyung lightly bites Jimin through his shirt and comes into Jimin’s hand. At once, it smells of musky lavender with notes of orange, and Jimin inhales. Their combined scents are his favourite thing in the world.
“Well done, my puppy,” Jimin whispers, pecking Taehyung, running cum stained fingers through his hair. It doesn’t matter; they’ll shower and then get messy anyway. “I love you. Okay?”
Taehyung nods, nuzzling at Jimin’s scent gland. He holds him for a while before dragging him to the tub— where Taehyung proceeds to finger him again.
A week later, the heat arrives.
As always, it’s early for Jimin— he wakes up lathered in sweat, soaked through his shirt and his underwear. The air smells of sharp orange, and the heat fever captures him almost immediately— the room spins, and Jimin can’t breathe.
Taehyung’s there suddenly, eyes a light gold. Not the complete takeover of his alpha, but a promise that he’s there for Jimin’s omega. His vision turns slightly blue in response, and he goes limp as Taehyung picks him up and places him gently in the middle of his nest, stepping out just as fast.
It’s an instinctive act now— non-verbal, as Jimin works through a fevered haze, arranging the last few items perfectly before he can allow his alpha to enter. Taehyung waits patiently at the edge, pants tented from smelling Jimin’s heat scent. He can feel himself leaking and dripping— the more the better, for his nest to be enticing for his alpha.
When the last piece is in place, Jimin presents himself— and Taehyung enters, carefully and gently. These are his last few hours of lucidity before the rut begins and he gives into his alpha. Then neither of them would care for anything else, not until the third day when the fugue would lift.
They’re now at the mercy of their wolves.
Taehyung turns Jimin over gently, ignoring Jimin’s whines as he takes Jimin’s arm and applies a birth control patch. He hisses, as the strange chemical scent makes its way through— our pups! he’s taking away our pups! — but it vanishes just as fast when Taehyung scents him all over. The lavender is heady, a promise of wonderful things to come, of his alpha’s seed sitting comfortably inside for his womb to take.
Jimin’s body feels heavy, completely in Taehyung’s hands as the alpha settles behind him and shifts Jimin to between his legs, chest to Jimin’s back. He places a pillow beneath his hip, spreading his legs gently and massaging his inner thighs. The air is cool against his steadily leaking slit, a puddle of it collecting under his ass. Taehyung pecks Jimin’s hair, and his cheek, scenting him as he lets the patch do its magic. It’s standard Taehyung practice, a habit that’s never changed in their years of sharing cycles. He’s remarkably in control of his alpha long enough to always put a patch on Jimin and replace it if need be.
“Just a couple of minutes more, baby,” Taehyung whispers, massaging his thighs, his hips. The cramps pulse uncomfortably, as does the steadily growing need in his gut, the heat rising under his skin. “Alpha’s going to fill you up, promise.”
Jimin keens, senses dulling with each passing minute. Taehyung continues massaging, probing gently and spreading the slick. Making him ready. Alpha, Jimin thinks, meeting Taehyung’s eyes that flicker gold in response. Soon they’ll be one, and Jimin won’t have to care anymore.
Taehyung brings him to his first orgasm with his fingers alone, and the breach has Jimin begging for more. He needs Taehyung inside, pumping him full till his womb catches. Needs their pup, the prettiest pup because it’ll have Taehyung’s eyes and lips and his smile, and Jimin sobs openly as the image flashes. Somewhere he knows that’s what heat does, but it’s never been so visceral. He’s never wanted a child with Taehyung so desperately.
He passes out after the third orgasm, body spent though the heat simmers still. When he wakes, Taehyung’s buried in him, eyes blazing gold with rut. Sweat drips off him, and Jimin moans when he thrusts. It grounds him and sets him free all at once. It’s all he’ll ever need.
Taehyung meets his eyes, and despite the frenzy, Jimin can read the love blooming in that look.
Mine. All mine.
He’s no stranger to heats with Taehyung— but now, Jimin can taste the difference in this cycle.
Perhaps it’s the presence of his wolf or the absence of his lifelong struggle. Jimin embeds himself deeper into Taehyung and allows the alpha to make a home in him.
It’s a heat like never before. Still Taehyung, still that comforting presence, the press of lavender on his tongue and in his skin, the sage soothing his nerves. And yet, it’s something new. A promise, and Jimin welcomes it.
Life has been letting him down for years. He’s fought tooth and nail to cling on. Yet, the Moon led him to Taehyung. Not once, but twice. Intertwined in Fate, if not their souls. Jimin doesn’t have to fight anymore. He’s earned this. He belongs, and he doesn’t have to run at last.
He bites the pillow hard as Taehyung takes him from behind, his thrusts near animalistic, almost as if they were actual wolves. His nails rip into the sheets of his nest; Taehyung is merciless. Slick runs down his thigh, collecting into a puddle of cum and slick beneath. His slit is sore. And still, he wants. Over and over. Until he fuses into Taehyung. Until the alpha is truly his.
Just as he’s about to come, Taehyung flips him over before fucking in again, scenting Jimin wildly. The air is full of oranges and lavender. Jimin’s mouth waters, and he laps at Taehyung’s ear lobe, biting it lightly. The alpha growls but doesn’t punish him.
This part of the cycle, they’re both non-verbal, barely breaking away to eat a few bites and drink their weight in water. His body hurts, but his wolf isn’t done yet.
Jimin surrenders again.
His suspicions are confirmed when they begin slowing down.
Usually, Jimin’s heat begins tapering off, his wolf finally yielding control— though Taehyung’s rut remains. It’s the part he likes the most when he has Taehyung in his palms. But tonight— they slow down together. Taehyung nuzzles into his scent gland, peppering him with kisses— gentle, none of that animalistic fervour— and caresses Jimin’s face. He’s more clear-headed than ever— though the heat still whispers, he can think and breathe.
Taehyung’s hard against his thigh but does nothing about it. They’d broken apart a few moments ago— Taehyung had applied another patch, then firmly instructed Jimin to finish a bottle of water. He didn’t want to eat until Jimin did but agreed after Jimin pleaded. They’d laid together and stayed that way.
Different, so different. Jimin’s omega holds its breath, asking him to wait and see, to pay attention. Taehyung tucks himself under Jimin’s chin, rubbing his belly in soothing circles. It’s slightly distended from all the cum, but Jimin likes to imagine a pup taking root. Even if the patch glares at him from his inner arm.
“Baby?”
“Mm?” He doesn’t know what time of the night or morning it is. It’s perfect like this, just the two of them in Jimin’s safe space, his nest full of his favourite scents, and his favourite person on top of him. “What is it?”
“Are you in a fever yet?” Taehyung asks, lips brushing against Jimin’s neck. He shivers. “I guess not.”
“Didn’t shiver from that.” Jimin’s wolf is practically on its haunches, excited. Somehow it knows before Jimin does. “What happened?”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything for a while, but Jimin’s no longer afraid of his silences. They’ve learnt so much in months that they couldn’t in years; Jimin’s far more patient now.
The alpha raises himself, eyes searching through Jimin’s. They’re ringed gold, his alpha present but not taken over yet. He’s messy— hair matted, neck marked with bruises, lips bitten red. Jimin’s sure he’s no better. And yet, he’s just as pretty, infuriatingly so.
And when he smiles? Jimin would worship it for the rest of his life.
Taehyung smiles. Jimin has a new god. He looks like a Boy; one he no longer has to chase or hope for. All his, forever his. Taehyung looks excited, hopeful and nervous, and Jimin loves him.
“I think it’s time.”
Instantly he knows. This was the difference he’d been feeling, his wolf miles ahead while he caught up. All those months of waiting, hoping, despairing and accepting. He’s been patient for more reasons than one. And now he’s finally getting his reward.
“Are you sure?” Jimin whispers, carding his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, pushing it away from his face. He can’t stop touching him. “You want to Bite me?”
“Have been, for a while,” Taehyung says, just as careful with his touch, eyes full of wonder. 22, nearly 23 years of each other and it still feels new. “Wanted it to be now.”
His omega is practically yelping with joy, after months of keeping its desires low. He’s been dreaming about the damn Bite, waiting for the day Kim Taehyung would finally claim him back.
Jimin snaps a finger against Taehyung’s forehead and the alpha yelps. “About time, asshole.”
Taehyung’s eyes darken. “Looks like someone’s forgotten his place.”
Jimin widens his eyes. “Oh, you mean by your side? Not at all.” The alpha stares at him a moment before ducking his head, cheeks bright red. Jimin laughs, lifting him by his chin. “You’re so easy, Taehyungie.”
“You caught me off guard, shut up,” Taehyung mumbles, but his eyes soften. “I love you. Then, now and forever.”
“Ready to seal that promise, alpha?”
Taehyung’s eyes narrow, lips quirking into a lazy smirk. His cock twitches next to Jimin’s hole, and he adjusts himself. “About time, omega.”
The last wave of their cycle isn’t like anything before. The hunger still calls, but it’s distant as Jimin focuses on Taehyung, his skin against Jimin’s, his scent and colour and taste. The alpha lines himself up, entering Jimin slowly, and kisses him at the same pace. Imprinting himself, finally listening to Jimin’s wolf and becoming one with him.
His thrusts pick up eventually, but even then, he’s heartbreakingly gentle. He scents Jimin all over, before pausing and holding Jimin upright in his lap. He thrusts again, adjusting him before resuming.
They’re a mess of cum and slick, their moans drowning out the sounds of their slick skin. When Taehyung approaches his mating gland, Jimin’s heart races, overproducing slick in excitement. His nails dig into Taehyung’s back. The weight of his anticipation is so full, that he nearly misses the moment Taehyung’s teeth pierce his skin.
Time halts for a moment. There isn’t a single sound. And then— pleasure bursts forth.
It overrides his brain, every single thought flung away from his mind as the hormones surge. His body is arrested atop Taehyung’s cock, and he loses sight, scent and taste— he can barely even hear as Taehyung bites harder, and they’re finally complete.
His ears keen from pleasure, nails drawing blood as he clings desperately to his alpha. His teeth ache— he reaches down and bites Taehyung, just for his mouth to have something to do— and the alpha growls into his skin. It jerks them into motion, as Taehyung fucks him earnestly while lapping at the wound, his saliva healing it and serving as an aphrodisiac, sealing the pleasure in. Jimin licks Taehyung’s bite clean, riding him just as hard. They pull away, staring at each other as they move in tandem before coming together.
Blood leaks down Taehyung’s bite, same for Jimin. But none of it matters as he looks at Taehyung’s eyes and realises.
“You’re all mine.”
And then he cries.
It takes weeks for the effects of the Bites to settle.
Their cycle lasts one more day— he chalks it up to the Bite, as he does everything these days— and then it’s done. They’re now Mated, and it’s the most permanent thing Jimin’s ever had in his life.
He’d thought initially that completing the Bite would reduce the anxiety and temper them. He should have known calm doesn’t exist in Taehyung and Jimin’s dictionary. Once a pair of horny kids, always a pair of horny kids.
“Will you two quit it?”
Taehyung and Jimin pull apart with a gasp, breathing heavily and their pants tented slightly. Jimin’s had to wear a slick pad nearly all the time now. They adjust their collars, facing a mildly disgusted Hoseok holding a pie in his hand. He must have entered using Jimin’s spare keys. He does that now, giving spare keys and trust to others.
“Sorry. Just the Bite,” Jimin says sheepishly, and Hoseok rolls his eyes. It adds one more layer of hope to the relationship between them that’s taken its time to heal. “I can’t help it.”
“So you say.” Hoseok places the pie on the counter and appraises Taehyung with a critical eye. They’re still awkward around each other— considering their history. It’s a lot to process when the person who threatened and held a knife against you becomes your Soul Mate’s partner and Mate. Jimin doesn’t expect forgiveness anytime soon, but Hoseok’s been trying. “I suppose you couldn’t wait to tie him down, hmm?”
Taehyung shrugs, smile impish. “I was 23 years too late.”
Jimin raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying you’d have bitten me when we were five?”
“Pups play fight all the time. Wouldn’t have been the worst accident.”
“I can’t imagine anything more terrible,” Jimin says, sidestepping Taehyung’s pinch. “Here, take the wine and glasses and set up outside. Jungkookie should be here soon.”
“Yay, babysitting your baby alpha, how fun,” Taehyung snarks, rolling his eyes when Jimin glares. “What? I haven’t been mean to him in a while, okay?”
“I’d prefer if you keep it that way.”
“Or what? You’d run away from me?”
Jimin pulls down his collar. “You know I very well can’t.”
“I know. All mine now,” Taehyung says with a grin, swooping in for a quick peck before backing away. “No takebacks!”
Jimin rolls his eyes at his retreating figure, though his heart is warm. Hoseok catches him like that, and it’s too late to correct his most probably lovesick expression. Things are better, but he doesn’t want to shove his relationship in Hoseok’s face.
But Hoseok shakes his head fondly, standing close to him. It’s a lot. Where once they would touch all the time, earning back Hoseok’s trust has been a journey.
“It’s good to see you so happy,” Hoseok ventures, and he doesn’t sound miserable or resentful. “It looks lovely on you.”
Jimin’s hand trembles as he pushes his hair back. “You think?”
“I can see. It suits you.” He hesitates before pinching Jimin’s cheek. “It shows.”
“Hyung!” Jimin whines but stands a little closer. Hoseok’s freesias have been muted for a while, but this close, he can picture them. However, something is off about that too. “You can’t say that!”
“You know I’ve always liked you nice and plump, Jiminie,” Hoseok coos. Then he settles. “I am happy. I know I have…my differences, and it’s taking me time but…I can see he’s good for you.” Then he looks at Jimin’s neck. “Although it’s too late for my blessing.”
“It means everything to me,” Jimin whispers. His heart feels slow and fast all at once. “Hyung, you know I’ll make this up to you for the rest of our lives, right?”
“Ah, Jimin-ah, there’s no need—”
“No. Let me finish.” They’ve had variations of this conversation over the past couple of months. “I can’t be sorry enough. I know so much of it was out of my control, but I don’t expect you to forgive me. I get it. So, thank you for letting me be in your life. I know it’s because of the Soul Mate bond but I’ve always loved you, with or without the Moon’s blessing. I’ll work hard to maintain your trust. Okay?”
Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line before shaking his head, eyes breaking into a smile. “How many times did you practice this in the shower?”
“Yah, don’t make fun of me right now, hyung!” Jimin says, then crosses his arms. “A couple of times. My hair products have been crying non-stop.”
“Maybe I’ll do that too after two glasses of wine,” Hoseok says. And then he does something miraculous— he holds his arms out. “Hug?”
It’s stupid but Jimin tears up immediately— and all but crashes into Hoseok’s arms. The freesias are all up in his nose now, and it’s so familiar, like home and something else, like hope that he can’t believe—
Jimin pulls back. “Wait. Why do you smell cold?”
“What?”
“You smell cold. Like snow.” He latches onto Hoseok, sniffing hard— Hoseok yelps, but Jimin is relentless— and when it hits him, Hoseok’s eyes are just as wide as his. “You smell like Yoongi hyung!”
“I don’t— that’s ridiculous— Yoongi isn’t even—” Hoseok sighs. His body fidgets, and he looks guilty, slightly ashamed but also excited. “I’d been meaning to tell you.”
Jimin clutches Hoseok’s arms. “What’s going on, hyung?”
“I’ve been— well, it’s not been long but I’m just—we’re just—”
“Jimin-ah, sorry to interrupt but we have an unexpected guest tonight.”
A wave of pine greets his senses as he turns. His eyes well up in automatic response before he’s even comprehended who the scent belongs to.
Yoongi stands at the door, hands buried in his pockets while Taehyung’s wrapped a hand around him— probably to prevent him from running away. Smart.
“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin says. He’s not that surprised; they’ve stayed in touch off and on, but Yoongi had eventually distanced himself. Jimin hadn’t pushed. “The stranger returns.”
“He was lurking in the hallways,” Taehyung says cheerfully, patting Yoongi on the back hard enough to have him wince. Hoseok shuffles side to side. “Bought me a fancy bottle of wine, too.”
“It was for Jimin. Since he has to put up with you forever,” Yoongi says sullenly, but in a way that’s clear to everyone that he’s stoked for them. “Hi, Jimin-ah.”
He thinks about snarking about the distance. The ghosting. The missed calls. And then he looks around, at Hoseok’s cheeks pink with hope—and chooses to drop it.
“Hi, hyung.” He steps forward and hugs Yoongi, breathing in the pine. Taehyung twitches slightly— a remnant of the possessiveness that comes from Mating. “Welcome back.”
“What are you doing here, though?” Taehyung asks, and Jimin exchanges a look with Hoseok. Their wolves understand; he wants Hoseok to make the choice.
Yoongi pulls back. “I was in the city so I…checked with Hoseok and figured out where you were staying.”
“Ever the masterful sleuth.” Jimin takes the starters and walks outside. “Let’s begin. Jungkook will be slightly late.”
“Is he on duty?”
“Yeah, a last-minute stakeout. He said to go ahead.”
“This is such freaky co-incidence,” Taehyung comments while digging into the fish cakes. “Of all days, hyung. You chose today. How interesting.”
“Probably some of that Soul Mate magic,” Yoongi drawls, but winks at Hoseok, who smiles. “You missed me so much you probably sent a zoning call or something.”
Taehyung sighs dreamily. “Wouldn’t that be the coolest? Telepathic bonding.”
“You’re hopeless,” Jimin says, sitting close to Hoseok. His omega thrums with energy— and then, just as quietly, Hoseok places his hand on Jimin’s.
“You don’t need the rest of your life,” he mumbles, and Jimin bites his lips hard. He squeezes Hoseok’s hand in response, and they hold it for the rest of the evening.
Jungkook joins them eventually, looking exhausted— until he sees the spread, and proceeds to consume half the table. Things had slipped in easily with him— Yoongi had once said his heart was so large, that he had nothing but love to give. Jimin feels grateful— the younger alpha had forgiven him, though he’d been different as time went by. Taehyung’s guess had been the distance between Seokjin and him— it’s an acknowledged bond, so it must be taking its toll. Jimin hadn’t asked, and Jungkook hadn’t shared. The further Jungkook was from Seokjin, the better.
Still, his heart pangs with guilt. Good or not, distance from a True Mate hurt. Jimin had barely survived the three months apart from Taehyung. It’s not his fault, he knows—but he still wishes Jungkook hadn’t come after him all those months ago.
But he had, and he’d met Seokjin, and now the threads of Fate were woven together. If Jungkook had been meaner, Jimin would have accepted. Instead, the youngest alpha is insufferably kind as ever.
It seems he’s forgiven Yoongi too— choosing to stick close and even stealing food out of Yoongi’s bowl— and of course, he’s always been favourable to Hoseok. It feels like all of them are back on track somehow, though Jungkook occasionally bristles against Taehyung. And unfortunately for him, Taehyung takes great pleasure in getting a rise out of him.
“I really, really do not want to know about how disgusting you two are after the Bites,” Jungkook hisses when Taehyung gets into an animated retelling of one of the Incidents. “I respect Jimin hyung and I tolerate you, but if you continue, I’m going to have to leave hyung behind.”
Jimin slices his neck. “Yah, you brat, why me?”
“Because you’re disgustingly attached to him like a leech?”
“I am not!” Jimin shrills, raising his joined hands with Hoseok as proof. “He’s over there!”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, shoving his mouth full of rice. “Like you two don’t have disgusting eyeball sex when you’re apart.”
“Stop calling it disgusting!”
“You’re offended at that and not eyeball sex ?” Hoseok asks.
“It’s actually really hot,” Taehyung drawls, leaning back with his hands behind his head, wiggling his eyebrows. Unfortunately, that does make his eyes attractive. “All that tension and you’re eye-fucking through it.”
“When you put it like that, it’s really strange to imagine eyes fucking,” Yoongi adds, and Jimin shrieks while Hoseok turns cherry red, and Taehyung’s clutching his belly laughing. Jimin wants to smack him and suffocate him with a pillow but mostly his ass, and Moon above, he needs to control himself if he has to prove Jungkook wrong.
He fails because Jungkook groans. “See, they’re doing it again. And then you ask why I don’t visit anymore.”
“I don’t recall you complaining when you finished our pantry last week.”
“Compensation for watching your weird sex games.”
“Can you guys not speak about this,” Hoseok begs weakly, and Jimin decides to cut through clean.
“Okay, enough about mine and Taehyung’s frankly wonderful sex life,” he snarks, and Taehyung shoots a heart at him. “Dessert anyone?”
Taehyung hums and Jimin already regrets his existence. “Hmm, maybe I’ll have mine in bed later, what do you say, darling?”
“Got it, no sugar diet for you,” Jimin says, ignoring Taehyung protests. “Jungkookie?”
“I’m assuming if Hoseok-hyung’s here then there must be mint choco.”
“He’s a great detective,” Yoongi comments. Jungkook beams and Yoongi ruffles his hair fondly. “Regular chocolate for me.”
Jimin has planned exactly as expected, so he disappears from the scene— but his heart is full. It’s been a while that it’s been satisfied in this way, and he’s grateful. He knows it’s not all there yet— that somewhere, if destiny is real then Seokjin and Namjoon are supposed to be there too. He hasn’t thought about Seokjin or that glimpse of a Bond they’d exchanged— but he thinks of Jungkook again, of his sunken eyes and lacklustre energy even though he covers up a lot better than before. He’d told Seokjin to back off, and it looks like he had— but is it the right thing? For Jungkook? For them?
Namjoon is still at the Temple and doing significantly better. He keeps frequent correspondence with Taehyung, and he’s enjoying his time away from the camp and the city both— but he’d have enjoyed tonight. He’d always wished for a close family, and Jimin thinks they’re almost one. A strange group of misfits, but a family, nonetheless.
He tucks away the desire gently into the deep corners of his heart.
Freesias make their way, and Jimin turns around, smiling warmly. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Surprisingly yes,” Hoseok says, standing next to him. He clears his throat, watching Jimin scoop the ice cream into the bowls. “Thank you, um. For not telling back there.”
“Bare minimum, hyung.” He fiddles with the scooper. “I figured out of all of us, you’d want to make a decision the most.”
“I did. I mean, I do. It means a lot.” Hoseok twiddles with his hands, his fingers moving in a wave. “Yoongi hyung and I ran into each other a while back.”
“What a coincidence.”
“This one really was.” He smiles. “I was still figuring things out. I was sure I didn’t want to see him but then…” Hoseok sighs, looking at the ceiling. “I saw him and it didn’t matter. I couldn’t care about the hurt and the anger and the grief beyond a point. It just felt great, like coming home.”
“You both have always been an inspiration to me when it comes to a bond,” Jimin whispers. He watches some of the ice cream melt. “So, what is it now?”
“It started as friends. I know it didn’t matter, and I knew what I wanted but…I still needed time. And he didn’t mind. So, we waited. We’re still…kind of waiting. But I let him scent me sometimes. And stay over. But we don’t do anything!”
“Even if you did, I wouldn’t judge.”
“I know, but…a part of me wants to prove something. To myself or you or even him. I don’t know what but it’s there. I’m still figuring things out but it’s easier with him around.”
Jimin smiles, bumping Hoseok’s hip with his. “Sounds like a sensible thing only you would do.” He hands Hoseok some of the bowls. “For what it’s worth— you have my blessing too.”
Hoseok blinks, before wiping under his eyes. He smiles. “Thank you, Jimin-ah. I love you.”
He moves out before Jimin can process any of it— and when he does, the melting ice cream hauls his ass out of the kitchen.
Later, when the guests have all left and it’s just the two of them cleaning the mess, Taehyung speaks up. “Yoongi-hyung wasn’t just randomly here, was he?”
Jimin thinks about keeping quiet. But Taehyung already sounds like he’s caught up. “No, he wasn’t.”
“Mm.” Taehyung dries to dishes carefully. He looks deep in thought. Jimin waits, but Taehyung smiles eventually. “They looked happy. It was nice.”
“It really was.” The desire he’d buried creeps out. “I kind of wish Namjoon-hyung was here.”
“Me too. He would have enjoyed it.” Taehyung sighs. “He’d always wanted a big happy family. I want to believe this can be one.”
On the same page once again. He gets surprised each time he realises how similar he and Taehyung can be sometimes. Building his family outside of camp had saved him. And Taehyung and Namjoon, even Seokjin, deserve that grace.
“This is going to sound strange but…I kind of wished Seokjin-hyung was here too.” Jimin hasn’t told Taehyung about the potential bond. He’s not sure yet what he’d be committing to. “Is that weird?”
“Not really, no.” He stacks the dishes carefully. “I’m a little worried about Jungkook. He looks tired, doesn’t he?”
For all their arguments and reluctance, he can tell how much Taehyung’s come to care about Jungkook. “He is.” Jimin bites his lip. “Is it…do you think it’s the Bond?”
“Yeah, could be…” Taehyung stands in front of him, rubbing Jimin’s arms. “It takes a toll. And both knowing…”
The guilt strikes hot again. Jimin swallows it down. “Has Seokjin-hyung said anything to you?”
“Nope, and he’s not going to. Probably told Namjoon-hyung…” Taehyung hugs Jimin, tucking his head into his neck. Lavender wafts in slow waves, and Jimin strokes his head. “We should have a mating ceremony someday.”
Jimin goes rigid, pulling back. “Huh?”
“What?”
“You didn’t just casually mention something that important after doing the fucking dishes, did you?”
Taehyung frowns in confusion. “What’s the big deal? We’ve already exchanged the Bites.”
“Taehyung!” Jimin exclaims, though his mind is already spinning about the perfect mating ceremony. He wants to go all out. Big fucking hall with wisteria greens and lots of people who can see his beautiful mate and know that Jimin is taken—
“Are you imagining the day already?”
Jimin comes back. “Yeah. How did you know?”
“No offence but you smell kind of turned on…and I’m not sure if that’s hot or concerning.”
“Stop it, I’m allowed to imagine nice things because I’m going to be the one who plans the whole thing,” Jimin sniffs, shifting his attention away from the slight wetness. “And it can be both.”
"Good, because I am feeling both.” Taehyung looks fond. “When?”
“Next spring. We’ll have to wait some months, but that’s okay, I already have a few places I remember. We’ll need to make a deposit fast, and I want a big ceremony. All out. Just celebrate the shit out of it. But that would mean designing the custom robe and the decorations, oh, Moon—”
Taehyung cuts him off with a kiss, deep and sweet and warm. He pulls back, rubbing the apple of Jimin’s cheek.
“You’re going to design an amazing ceremony,” Taehyung says, tucking Jimin into him and walking backwards to their room. “Right now, though, you need to just stay with me. In the present. Where I find you both hot and concerning.”
“Sure about putting up with that?”
He pulls down his collar. “Too late for that question, love. I’m all in.” He falls onto the bed on top of Jimin, trapping him between his arms. The sheets smell of oranges and lavender, the sage and vanilla a comforting weight. “Thank you for choosing me.”
Jimin raises a hand to Taehyung’s face, tracing it softly. His heart beats warm and content, and it’s everything Jimin has ever hoped for, and more. Even the moments he’d never dared dream of.
He thinks of their past. The first time he’d seen Taehyung and promised to overthrow him. All their years one-upping each other. The fights, the rivalry, the loyalty at times. The sex and the betrayals. The gap. How even then, Jimin couldn’t settle with anyone else. How, when he saw him after ten years, it was like Hoseok said.
None of it mattered. It had always been Taehyung.
“I’ve always chosen you from day one,” Jimin whispers. “You remember that day when I got promoted to second rank?”
“You were glaring at me so hard. It’s hard to forget.”
“It was so annoying seeing you in your pretty uniform,” Jimin says fondly. Moon, he’d been so viciously stupid. “But yeah. Since then.”
“I knew it! I knew you were obsessed with me.”
“When did I ever deny that?”
“Uh, your whole life practically?”
“And now I’m mated to youuuu,” Jimin sings, pulling him down to peck his face all over. His blood zings at the reminder. Mate! He’s our mate! “Moon, who would have ever thought?”
Taehyung tucks his hair in. “I did. I’m pretty sure my wolf had decided on you the moment we shared that cycle.”
“What can I say, I’m an amazing lay.”
Taehyung laughs. “That you are.” He lets loose, his entire body weight flat on Jimin. It’s nice to be crushed. “And soon it’s going to be official and then we’re going to have pretty pups.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“Shut up, you’re dying to have my kid,” Taehyung says, rolling his eyes. Jimin blushes. Maybe he’s been too enthusiastic during their cycles. “You describe them in your sleep sometimes.”
“I do not!”
“You do, which by the way, yes, I choose your sleep talking too. Also, I’m honoured you want our kid to look like me, but I’m telling you right now. I’m not going to have a pup that doesn’t look like you.”
“That’s really not under your control.”
“I’m going to make it,” Taehyung teases, but Jimin grabs him by the nape. They no longer have knives and guns, but Jimin’s nails are good enough. Taehyung winces. “Babe, I’m kidding!”
“You don’t joke about my future unborn pups, and we’re good,” Jimin says. Taehyung nods. Jimin let’s go; the nails have left red marks. He rises and licks them shut. Taehyung grows hard against him. “No sex.”
“You just licked me while giving me the Look!”
“I always give you the Look, it’s not a big deal.” He enjoys the way Taehyung squirms. His slit is slightly wet. “I’m going to prove to Jungkook that I don’t need to have sex with you all the time.”
“How does that matter?!” Taehyung exclaims, lifting his hips slightly. “Wait, how would he even know?”
“It’s not for him. It’s for me. I need to know I can control myself.”
“But literally why would you want to—?”
“Do you want me to carry your pups?”
Taehyung pouts. “Yes.”
“Then you’re going to listen to me,” Jimin says sweetly, kissing his pout. Taehyung melts. “And I don’t want them immediately.”
“Of course.”
"Maybe a year after?” Jimin muses out loud, and Taehyung lets him. His scent gets hazy with sleep, and Jimin arranges them side by side. “I think two should do it.”
“As you wish, my love,” Taehyung mumbles, blinking sleepily. Jimin loves him so much. “How long does the sex ban last?”
“Let’s start with 24 hours.”
“Great, wake me up when it ends then.”
10 hours later, Jimin wakes him up by sitting on his dick.
And so, Taehyung and Jimin’s story begins.
⚔🖤⚔
The End
⚔🖤⚔
Notes:
Gosh. It really is over. I don't know how to feel. Though, for that reason alone the last update will be a fic-letter: a tradition of mine for all my long-haul fics. I wasn't planning it for this one, but seeing how it grew over the years, I have to. So you can look forward to that.
About the writing burnout- the last couple of chapters were so tough. Initially, I thought it was because of fic-saturation- like I wanted this to be over. But I realised it was just writing itself- I've been writing on AO3 non-stop since 2018, and other platforms way before. It felt like a chore, and I wasn't feeling happy with anything. I was even scheduling a fic schedule on my calendar- and that's when I realised it had become WORK, and not this fun thing for me to de-stress. So even though it wasn't cool to pause right before the last chapter, I'm glad I did. I'm happy I can say goodbye to this story with nothing but fondness. And my utmost gratitude to all of you who have waited and responded on my updates on twitter.
What helped with the guilt was an update on one of my favourite jikook stories- after 4 YEARS. And I felt so much joy; I'd sort of forgotten it but the moment it happened I dropped everything, and read it from scratch. So you know, I told myself that if I really like my work, and people also like it- then they'll wait. It's okay. So I did. And here I am.
This epilogue was to tie some lose ends, to begin new threads- as the title says, I wanted to play on the series name of 'begging for threads'. As I've written this story I've put in elements of free-will and destiny, soul and true mates and what not; I've grown fond of threads. The idea that these characters were so lost and alone coming together towards a common goal, and staying after it was over appealed to me.
Namseok sort their things out; yoonseok are back together- gosh, I loved writing it, the way it connected to their first meeting but in reverse. It felt healing. And Jinkook, it's more intentional. This first scene is how their story will begin, but I don't know when that will be so just leaving the potential here. And vmin, ah, my sweet ones- the communication, learning to love each other, no more secrets- this epilogue is for them. I hope you loved them as much as I did.
Anyway, posting the letter soon so if you want to stay for that, I'd be happy. Mostly my thoughts, some plans for the future of this universe, my sappy feelings etc. How I built this world. But if you want to end it here, at this chapter-- then thank you for staying and for loving this fic with me. I am ever grateful to each and every one of you, new and old. It means the world to me, an honour to have written for such a wonderful community of readers. Take care, and I love you! See you soon! <3
Chapter 31: Letter
Chapter Text
To the best readers in the world,
So here I am! At last, after two years. The end of the journey, the final destination. No deaths in this one, though!
(LMAO so dramatic).
This is a tradition of mine every time a long-haul, long-fic ends. Old readers who have so kindly subscribed to me or read other stories of mine know this. To the new ones here — this is not an update but an attempt to reflect upon the story and how the journey has been and give closure to me. I would be so happy if you continued reading this. No pressure though.
I’m not sure where to start. This story has been a total and utter surprise— I said it a bunch of times in various ANs about how it was a half-plotted and half-pantsed nightmare, how I went into it blind as a bat— just winging it, absolutely unheard of when it comes to multi-chapters, for me at least. Yet, that’s perhaps WHY I enjoyed this story so much. Bar the last few chapters where I was complaining about it not getting over fast enough (which I now know was burnout) — I have loved this story with all my heart. I still do, at the end of it all.
I was re-reading this work from start to finish the other day and it hit me again, the magnitude of what I have created. That's why I'm here, to share with you guys even a glimpse of what I feel about this journey and how I went about it, the changes I felt, and the lessons I learnt. Even on a fun excursion like this one, I have changed. I don't know if I will do this letter justice, but I wanted to try anyway.
This might get long, so buckle in.
Inspiration
The prompt for the story, embarrassingly enough, comes from a teen fantasy of mine. Growing up in difficult circumstances, one of the ways I coped was escaping through fantasy and story-writing— often imagining myself in situations where I was this super cool, mysterious person who had a secret past that would come to light one day, shocking my friends. They’d be scared too but eventually, they’d be cool with it. In my fantasy world, I could be anything— such as a princess, a spy or a superhero with magical powers etc.
My favourite one was being some kind of an assassin— or at least someone who knew how to use weapons well, and was great at martial arts (this fantasy still comes alive when the right music plays, guilty as charged). In this fantasy, I would lead a secret double life— attend school during the day and assassin classes at night. My story was I’d quit sometime in college and was leading a normal life when boom— an old nemesis came back, and threatened my friends. All my training would kick in and I’d save them in a super cool way— defeating the nemesis.
(Cringing super hard right now).
Anyway. You guys can see it, right? It was just a stupid fantasy. But somehow, one fresh spring morning in 2022 I was like— hey. What if this was a BTS AU? Who would I like to put in this situation?
I immediately thought of Jimin. He's always given me assassin vibes, especially Kitty Gang Jimin with his pretty blonde hair and killer boots. He had to be the ex-assassin. But I drew a stop on the nemesis, because they had to be just right, a perfect match to Jimin.
Here comes the second confession— a/b/o is a guilty pleasure of mine (although, not anymore after writing this fic. I claim it without shame). I’m one of those people who assumed it was only ever about sex and, as an asexual, I didn’t want to get behind it— UNTIL I stumbled upon this excellent a/b/o. That’s usually the story for a/b/o brain rot anyway. It was a vmin story too— best friends vmin with side yoonjin who had baby jungkook and side namseok. Funnily enough, these are now my ultimate ships; I usually interchange between jungkook either being a baby or asexual and thus ship-less. Anyway, I remember reading it and being like. Wow. The potential. The world-building and the lore. The potency of packs and soul mates and whatnot. This was back in 2019 but I fell into a rabbit hole. It began with vmin but somehow, my guilty pleasure stuck to exploring jikook in a/b/o. I’m usually not picky about ships because I read for the plot but man…jikook. a/b/o. Sigh. Brain rot.
Why is this relevant? Because this story was almost going to be a jikook one (apologies to any vmin hard stans). I tried so hard to plot it that way but every single time my brain was like— this is vmin. This is so vmin. What are you doing? I eventually gave in because the idea of rivals-to-lovers vmin was so alluring to me. Same-age people and similarly skilled. Until then, I’d only ever seen vmin as close friends, best friends, soulmates, romantic buddies— enemies to lovers or even hate to love was difficult. Then I began writing this and I realised vmin fits EVERY single trope. No, I will not take feedback on this. They also, weirdly enough, fit every single Taylor Swift song (try it. Take a TS song and imagine vmin I'm telling you it WORKS they’re THAT ship).
Once I had vmin as the chosen pair, I thought of side ships. I’ve noticed that when I don’t have any ships in the Kim line, I usually have them become siblings/cousins/somehow related. I enjoy that idea, and the same happened here. Which meant the side ships would be with the remaining characters. Jinkook became the second ship— the idea of an earnest, rookie cop clashing with an older, experienced assassin was the initial push, back when I didn’t even have the plot for True Mates. Jungkook was supposed to magically rescue Jimin and find Seokjin along the way. And at the time, namgiseok was my motivation, because lol I didn’t even have the bastard son plot line. But anyway— I had the characters, the ships and a vision. I was ready.
Structure/Plotting
Now for the fun fact: this story was supposed to be a 20k one-shot. Yep. You read that right. It was supposed to go like this— Taehyung ruins Jimin’s b'day surprise, and threatens to kill friends; Jimin does cool assassin tricks, but Taehyung gets the upper hand and offers the deal to kill Horrible Daddy. They both go to the camp and in the process of figuring out how to kill Daddy, relive memories, feel attraction, and have sexy times. At the end of the assassination, they rekindle their lost relationship and live happily ever after.
Yeah.
So obviously I decided to make it a 300k+, 30-chapter saga instead.
I'm still not sure how that happened. I guess that I'm a stickler for plot holes. No writing is perfect and everyone has a unique way of reading, but I hate answering the “whys” of a story because I WILL come up with some way to answer it and add one more detail, and that detail poses some other plot continuity issues so then I’ll be obsessed with answering that. because everything has to make sense. This is what I’m left with at the end of it. Again, full love for it and do not regret a single second spent writing it, but just so you know how I ended up here.
ETS went from a one-shot to 5 chapters. Then 10. My initial drafts were 12 chapters, and I was so determined to stick to that. My Notes app summary even says: just a short au nothing big. Hah. I'll admit at the time I had some weird taboo that “too many words” in a story is a bad thing (like?? missing the essence of fanfiction for real) (this is what you get for following publishing standards for your silly hobby- unhealthy comparison. Budding writers, BEWARE).
I had zero idea about the Jinkook or Yoongi coming in later or Hoseok ever being relevant after Chapter 1. God, Namjoon wasn’t even a character here beyond a jealousy factor for Taehyung, like Jimin having a massive crush on Joon. In fact, in my earlier drafts, Namjoon was just as much an asshole as Seokjin and Taehyung, but I scrapped that because...I played favourites, okay? I will give my life for Namjoon. I can't do that to him. Also, character-wise, it makes sense for Jimin to fantasise about a life with Namjoon since he's so calm and nice and opposite to Taehyung in every way, but it's just a fantasy in the end.
But the questions kept growing. Why is Taehyung killing the dad? What’s the motivation? Why do the brothers not like each other, or get an equal chance? What happened to Jimin that he had to quit, and why does he hate Taehyung?
The more details I added, the more I had to worldbuild to make sense of it and fit the answers in. Questions like why would Jungkook look for Jimin, how would Yoongi enter the picture— does he even need to? what's the motive? Stuff like that. The 12-chapter plot was scrapped and I decided to just roll with it, and plot first, and think about word counts later.
The ultimate motive was to write a story without worrying— which is why when I posted the first couple of chapters, I was still figuring things out. In my re-read, I cringe at the first 10 chapters because there are so many plot issues (to me since I have lived in this AU for 2 years). They’re not bad and honestly, no one cares, and I don’t either because this story is a mark of writing for fun and love. So what if a plot hole happens? The grammar isn’t the best, the tenses switch. So what if the dialogue is inconsistent? I can always edit it later. I can let it be.
So many things changed in the course of writing. Jinkook was supposed to be a side plot, just for some oomph factor. As a side ship, I didn't care for it; I didn’t even consider another POV apart from Jimin’s. Until one day, out of boredom I wrote the snippet of their first shared heat cycle and I was like, oh? This feels like potential. I mean, Power-Bottom Jin and sub-top jungkook….Jin learning to reclaim his empowerment through a respectful sexual relationship…my brain just exploded. I reworked the plot again to make jinkook a THING and added a couple more chapters. It also answered a big question of mine— why jungkook would go anywhere near the camp (to find jimin), how he’d be kidnapped, and what he’d be tortured for etc. Tracking as a plot element also helped me answer the Yoon-Seok question and how I’d bring OT7 together. At the time, the idea of Yoongi being a spy/part of the mafia wasn’t a thing, but I wanted the gang to come together somehow.
And that's how the bastard-son plotline came in. My initial drafts had Taehyung being a biological son, but I couldn’t explain why Joonjae would hate him so much. I even thought of Sora having died while birthing Taehyung, a very classic and cliche reason for dads often being an asshole to their kids— but then, Yoongi couldn’t have come in as easily. There had to be *something* that would connect ALL of them, and show that angle of destiny. Plus, if I went with that, then I had another question- why would Taehyung want to kill his dad— unless the dad had killed his mom, and he wanted revenge? So bastard son made sense— Joonjae’s the dad and Taehyung’s real mom isn’t “respectable” enough but Sora forced Joonjae to adopt Taehyung— so he had to face him every day. It’s far more complex and delicious. BTW, I’ll get to Taehyung’s birth backstory in a bit (I don’t see it coming out anywhere else otherwise) so that.
Of course, the bastard plot also posed other issues to my initial plans. I so, SO badly wanted namgiseok to be a ship (they would have been so delicious…alas) until I realised, literally in the middle of traffic, that if Yoongi is related to Taehyung through Joonjae, then he’s related to NAMJOON, so, of course, they can’t be together. I had a whole breakdown about it because I just didn’t know how else to make it possible. I tried making Yoongi a bastard, or somehow Namjoon the bastard— he’d have been Sora’s son but unrelated to Joonjae. But then Taehyung wouldn’t have been hated (yeah I wanted to put my baby through the wringer) (I mostly wanted Taehyung's motive to be personal enough). I was so heartbroken as I reworked the whole segment of Yoonseok, and added in that brief love triangle drama because I wanted something to hint at it. I'm not kidding when I say I made Hoseok a prisoner literally for the apple-slicing scenes, and create internal and external conflict between the three of them. Originally, Hoseok was just supposed to ruminate in prison with no interaction with Namjoon; in fact, I didn't even have the ending plotted. Lol, he wasn’t even supposed to be in prison so idk what my ass was thinking the first time considering namgiseok without a plot.
All this to say is that what was supposed to be a silly, indulgent story became this mammoth. After re-reading I can see the tone, pacing and purpose shift. It starts so casually, without care for words or grammar or editing— and towards the end, there is a focus on writing more seriously. The characters grow as well— I was so casual with them because this wasn't supposed to be a committed work with life lessons. Like for fuck’s sake, they’re deranged assassins with messy morals who would have fucked like 80% of the fic, but oh well. This story became a person in these two years and changed me for the better.
CHARACTERS
Though the plan was never to create well-formed characters or have them grow, like I usually do in my stories, it panned that out anyway.
My cheat code is that I’m a therapist IRL so I have a lot of insight into humans being messy (a lot of you correctly guessed my background in psychology; I'm really glad it shows hahaha). It’s great fun to borrow traits from my training and flesh out characters, their backstory, and why they interact the way do. To me, this is how I feel I can write human relationships well, even in a sexual or romantic construct despite being aro-ace because humans are…predictably unpredictable in all situations.
The characterisation was one of my favourite parts, even in a fun casual way, where the story isn't TOO dark, well-developed characters can carry it. I can honestly say that each character has an impact on ETS with an individual flavour, and removing even one will make it fall apart. Here's my take on the characters + some extra information.
JIMIN
Jimin, to me, is incredibly complex even though when we first meet him, he comes across as shallow. In Chapter 1 he’s sassy and pouty, cute and annoying, and mostly bratty. And then comes Chapter 2— where it changes. His trauma comes out, the reality of why he is the way he is. I know he repeats this often in his POV— how his parents sold him to an assassin camp. It may sound annoying but I can’t imagine the sheer trauma of that. Your parents have you then decide it’s too expensive to have a kid and sell you to an organisation that could very well have your kid killed— for MONEY. That’s insanity to me. I like that Jimin never gets over it because IMO you can’t; I like that the fear of abandonment persists so strongly that he ends up abandoning first at times, especially when shit gets hard- like with Taehyung, or even when his double life got exposed. Yet, at the same time, that fear informs his loyalty and protectiveness. I found a fair bit of myself in Jimin as I wrote him; his anger, putting up a strong front for his fear, his constant dilemma.
He makes something of his life, but that guilt of killing is persistent. He doesn’t WANT this life but it’s all he has. It also shows his deep attachment issues and his massive avoidance, to the point of obtuseness— it was intentional to have him ignore and dismiss information that doesn’t fit his narrative because that’s what humans do IRL. The idea of being permanently tied down to an assassin camp he hated because of a destined bond with the SON of the boss he was terrified of— if I was him, I’d deny it till my last breath.
Most of his journey was coming to terms with not only his past and why he ran away, but also his suppressed feelings, and making peace with all his parts— so he could truly face life as it is. I don’t blame him because which 17-year-old has any clarity whatsoever, lol, and add to that significant trauma— Jimin had it hard. But that's what I liked as I wrote him— even at the end, his old fears are there but he's giving life a chance, choosing to be better. I'm very proud of him.
TAEHYUNG
My man, my wonderful, sweet, beautiful darling boy. How I have treated you through this story. My deepest apologies. Funnily enough, I’ve noticed in my writing that I always give Taehyung the most gut-wrenching backstory, and it's not different here either. IDK what I’m projecting on him but from day 1, I keep giving him abandonment issues with the sweetest recovery arc. There’s just something about Taehyung that plucks my heartstrings.
One of you said getting a read on Taehyung is impossible because it’s like watching him through a smokescreen. I loved that take because it’s so true. He’s so blunt and obvious but we don’t know WHY he is the way he is, and I kept his POV away mostly for plot but also to build that mystery. Once I write his POV I’m sure stuff will be more clear. In his dialogue, it becomes somewhat clear that 1. He grew up the youngest; 2. Joonjae was a total ass to him; 3. He always had to prove himself as competent despite having so much privilege.
And boom, in comes Jimin who is somehow better and hard-working and talented— without any support or nepotistic privilege whatsoever. I’d be pissed too. Worse, your sworn rival is then your TRUE MATE??? Talk about inconvenient. I don’t want to reveal it all here but yeah. I can see why he decided things independently and wouldn’t talk to anyone about them because he’s simply never been heard or cared for. His dad hates him, his oldest brother resents him because he's an alpha and disliked by said father; Namjoon is the only one decent towards him but can be painfully neutral— I get him. He’s rebellious though, unlike his brothers, enough to hatch an assassination plot. Love him <3
I'm also going to write out his backstory here— I don't see it coming out in any part of this universe, because the entire truth is between Sora and Joonjae— and with both of them dead, I doubt there's any account of it. Taehyung only found out in the confrontation scene between Yoongi and Joonjae (CH 19); none of the brothers knew (Seokjin found out later through Taehyung, as did Namjoon). I don't see it showing up in the Jinkook story either— briefly, I'd considered maybe a family member on Sora's side to know, but it didn't make sense. So here is an unnecessarily long backstory for my favourite character in the story. Because I can. Have fun!!!
Taehyung's Backstory (kind of Kim Family backstory too)
Due to gambling and poor financial decisions, Joonjae inherits a broken down camp. Desperate, he offers to assassinate some enemies of the Lee Family, insaley rich and well connected to the Royal Court, in exchange for one of their daughters (Lee Sora, the mother). The dowry alone would cover the whole Kim Estate; the deal works out. They consumate the mating and have Seokjin after a while.
During Sora’s pregnancy, Joonjae is still creating a network and building the camp from the ground up. He gets in touch with the Min Clan, a mafia family. He’s friends with Yungcheol (Yoongi’s namesake dad). As goodwill for a trade deal, Yungcheol offers his best whore house— where Joonjae comes across Heeyeon, and feels an instant, True Mate connection. But things are tricky because he’s already mated and if he breaks off mating with Sora, he loses out on the money her family brings. As a scheme, he instead offers Heeyeon to Yungcheol (much to Heeyeon’s protests— until he convinces her with the wealth and power she’ll get). Yungcheol is smitten and the Min Clan buys the story (of her background,all fake)— they get mated too. This way, Heeyeon is out of the whore house and easily accessible. Because of the True Mate connection, she becomes pregnant with Yoongi way too easily— and both of them agree to keep it at one kid, because he’s not okay with her having any other kid that’s not his (what an ass).
The affair continues and life goes on, Seokjin and Yoongi are born (three months apart). However, under pressure from the Lee family + her attempt to get close to a distant Joonjae, Sora and Joonjae have a kid again— this time, Namjoon. Joonjae's treatment of Sora worsens. Fed up, she takes up charge— after all, it's her family money—and refuses to sleep with Joonjae anymore. He tries being sleeping with Heeyeon more, but now that she's mated and in an important position, she's extra careful and reluctant too.
He has a fight with Heeyeon, and because he’s an alpha dick who can’t keep it in his pants he breaks his own rule— and, TW for sexual assault— forces himself on one of Sora’s trusted handmaidens, also sort of a childhood friend. It’s terribly violent and he casts her off after the deed, leaving her for the dead. But she survives, and ends up pregnant. She keeps it a secret, not wanting Sora to know or Joonjae to find out she’s still alive. But Sora is an OG person, and eventually does find out— she’s furious that not only Joonjae cheated on her but ruined someone’s life. She cares for her friend and tries to protect her but Joonjae finds out and decides to kill her off, and the baby too because it would be a threat. Scared, the person runs but is found and attacked. Sora finds her barely alive; she cuts out the baby and promises to look after it as one of her own. Omega (who is Taehyung’s birth mother) dies like that.
Sora iadopts Taehyung— and when confronted, rises up to the occasion and threatens to divorce Joonjae and take away the money if he thinks of ever killing Taehyung or harming him, more so than what the assassin training would require. She also holds immense guilt for causing the death of her friend indirectly—that she spoils Taehyung the most, which Seokjin resents. Neither tells Taehyung the truth— Sora treats him like her son, and Joonjae doesn’t want to risk such a secret coming out without a backup plan— which he begins forming once he realises just how Sora and her family controls him. As long as he needs Sora’s money, he won’t be able to make the decision.
It takes years; Joonjae is just a horrible person so his way of hurting his children is control, emotional manipulation and plain abuse; he hates Taehyung more so because he's a representation of his "weak" moment and also of Sora's "rebellion". At least with Seokjin and Namjoon they were born of a legitimate mating, and Yoongi because of the True Mate bond that trancends all laws, but Taehyung shouldn't exist, in his warped world. For the sake of appearances he bides his time, building his wealth and plotting to kill of Sora and then Yungcheol, eventually getting with Heeyeon and combining both clans for power. What he doesn't anticipate is the Feral disease; killing off a mate triggers his growing instability and madness. You know the rest of it.
I know, I know, this is incredibly long and detailed and some of you are probably like, “Who gives a crap” “That’s so much detail” but like…I just wanted the motivation and pain to be REAL. Like this stuff is so messed up, and worse, so much of Taehyung’s pain is stuff he doesn’t even KNOW— I hurt for him. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?
As you can see, there’s a lot of abandonment, a lack of love, and abuse, and zero safety in his family except for his mom (covered in his POV story later). I also feel that because he became aware of his True Mate bond so early on, he developed a deeper attachment to Jimin, with a strength he couldn't possibly navigate or regulate. Then Jimin betrays him too— and he can’t fully blame him either because Jimin isn’t supposed to know, by his choice. So he has to sit with those feelings for 10 years anyway, but can’t help the resentment and bitterness either. In a way, both Jimin and Taehyung have abandonment issues for different reasons, but I like that they come across as two sides of the same coin. I liked how after Jimin promised to stay Taehyung didn’t immediately give in because he had to work through his massive trust issues as well. I originally hadn't planned for a mating scene in the epilogue, but there's that part where Jimin is questioning the delay and Taehyung strongly points out that he needs that time. I found that quite important to his growth. I'm looking forward to writing in his voice, so you guys get an idea of how I picture him.
OTHER CHARACTERS
Jungkook was supposed to be an earnest, honest rookie cop, but who unfortunately got tangled with Seokjin. His morals and ethics are strong, and he can be painfully naive which serves as a character point for spin-off. We will go over his struggle between his morals versus his attraction to Seokjin, and how he navigates the two. I have some delicious background story for him too (because I’m a worldbuilding maniac and I can’t stop myself).
With Seokjin, I’d initially begun with simple daddy issues and him being an annoying antagonist to Vmin’s plans. His character trait was pleasing Joonjae and that’s it. But after writing the Jinkook heat snippet, I saw the potential for him— the trauma of having Joonjae as a father, the guilt and shame of never being enough while betraying Namjoon, and the necessity of pleasing Joonjae for survival. One of you had pointed out in the comments that Seokjin's scenes with Joonjae felt uncomfortable, almost like assault and sexual harassment— I hadn't thought of it that way, but when I re-read I found it accurate. It's that ominous, implied sort of assault that's never acknowledged but gives so much context, and one I will keep in mind for the spin-off. In writing his POV, so much of the plot made sense—it gave so many answers to questions I didn’t even know I had. It allowed me to plot the end fight scene— the motive for HIM being the one to kill Joonjae, the final revenge IMO. He’s so incredibly complex I can’t wait to dive deeper during the spin-off.
Namjoon, my sweet boy. As I mentioned, he wasn't supposed to be relevant, and initially, I didn't have the drug abuse/transition angle, but I wanted Taehyung to have multiple reasons for breaking through and having his revenge— not just avenge his mother but also protect his brother, since Seokjin had abandoned them. Yet, due to Namjoon's natural temperament being that of a beta who is usually neutral and level-headed, he would cut off from the violence of the assassin world and Joonjae— in a way, not supporting Taehyung. So there are some deep-set issues there too. His trauma was needed because the only way he'd be free was if Joonjae died, and all the siblings had to be on the same side. I also wanted to show betas and the prejudice against them; for some reason, a/b/o fics always skip out on betas. He doesn’t have a voice, and sometimes I regret not making space for that but overall I think it worked out. I’m surprised how so many of you loved him anyway:”) but I understand because he’s just. So gentle and sweet and mature. Someone had to be the not insane one among the siblings, and who better than him?
Yoongi, aaahhh. Another POV surprise, but a great addition. Again, a total surprise. For the longest time, I struggled with the question of how to bring Yoongi in and make OT7 happen— the mafia connection was pure chance and genius. I adored the idea of a pacifist Yoongi who's great at his job but hates every minute of it and wants to run away, the same as Jimin in a way. I love him, and I love his decency and loyalty. I loved the idea of Yoongi having a healthy relationship with his dad, and willingly being allowed to be a normal person. I think this is where the first idea of Soul Mates also became strong— I'd been doubtful if I wanted that angle for Hoseok and Jimin, but the idea of Taehyung finding a mentor in Yoongi was so appealing. And it's in line with their characters; Yoongi eventually leaves Taehyung and that's betrayal too. I like that Yoongi maintains a consistent code of conduct, very different from the rest of them.
Hoseok: Man, I didn't have those prison scenes at all— I added them for fun, and then it became a Thing (not a surprise anymore). It shows his dilemma so well, his shock as well as disgust—some readers questioned Hoseok’s treatment of Yoongi, and I don't blame them because Yoongi does come across as the most decent one, along with Namjoon. But that’s trauma for you. People have different reactions and processing rates; I can’t imagine how it’s like for someone like Hoseok, who has had THE most normal life, to SUDDENLY be thrust into a life where people are shooting each other, knives are being held against his throat, and then his SOUL MATE who CAN explain vanishes— also causing a dry heat. To cure that he’s taken to the middle of nowhere (and he's well out of his senses) and wakes up in a prison. He's not looked after until Namjoon comes along. And again, because he's NORMAL and not an assassin...he forms a connection with him. He’s promised safety— until he becomes a plot device again, and then Safe Person confesses it was his plan all along. I'm surprised Hoseok stayed. Yeah, Yoongi's heartbreak is sad but I feel Hoseok's trials were the worst of them all. My baby, I’m so sorry.
I just realised while writing that I’ve made life hell for everyone in this story. Maybe this is why they say being a writer is like being a God because wow. I can do SO MUCH mwahahaha.
What I Have Learnt
Unlike my other long-haul works, there isn’t a big lesson at the end of this, or at least, I’m not actively looking for one this time. I was relatively happier, more secure in my writing and developing comfort with winging it. I was in so much angst in my other works before; my first multi-chapter story was a Namkook fashion industry au which I had major imposter syndrome about because I believed I couldn’t plot stories well. I didn’t know how to write proper “romance” because when I began fic writing, I would only ever write one-shots and be done with it. But once I accomplished that, I realised I prefer multi-chapters more even if my one-shot WIPs languish in my folders. Something about the space and time I could dedicate to an idea appealed to me and still does.
My next long haul huge story was a Taekook fantasy story, also 300k+. That one took everything out of me, wrenched me open and left me gasping before I eventually managed to like it too. It was a story that I believe remade me and my values around writing, who and what I was writing for and ultimately— if I enjoyed what I put out.
ETS is a testament to that.
I can’t recall a single moment where I wasn’t enjoying this story as I put it out of my head (apart from burnout months, but I don't count that as specific to this story). It helped that people liked it too— validation always works, duh. This story exists as a challenge and answers to all my doubts, fears, conditions and beliefs about writing.
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I used to think I couldn’t plot— well, the way I have plotted ETS is my favourite thing ever. I’m not bragging here but I’m awed sometimes by how I connected the dots, how the plot makes SENSE— pick a question and there will be an answer somewhere in the story or the character.
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The pacing of the story is truly something I am proud of. My biggest fear in my Taekook fic was that it was too much of a slow burn and no one would want to read so much before anything happens (proven wrong by multiple readers) but even if ETS is crossing 350k, my largest fic yet, I’m okay with it because the depth to the plot and how it moves is marvellous to me. I could do with some heavy editing to remove unnecessary words but hey, this is fic, not formal publishing. It's not a big deal.
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This one is a bit more personal but ETS for me became the first step in writing explicit smut. For so long I used to think I was betraying my identity or not being “asexual” enough if I wrote smut— I would get away with writing softer, implicit scenes but never the “filthy” explicitness of it all. ETS has changed that for me. I ventured in knowing I wanted to explore this side too— while maintaining faith in my identity. Just because aro-ace people write about romantic love or sex doesn’t mean they’re not aro-ace. ETS became that experiment for me and I discovered I enjoyed writing explicit content and that didn’t create some internal conflict. I discovered the way I like to write about sex in stories is very plot-oriented— I know it’s hot and fun and amazing but since that’s not my motivation, it wholly belongs to my characters. For me, it’s a way to drive their motivations forward and I enjoy that a lot.
I was more relaxed than in my other work. I did panic a bit when the plotting made it yet another 30-chapter story but I was also so excited because the depth is something I’m proud of. It’s not a literary genius but that’s what I like. I did my best with it and had fun, and this story will always carry my love for that.
So much of this story was chance. I randomly put the past sequences at first to show a parallel story in the present. For example, if Past Jimin is killing someone then Present Jimin would be doing it too. Slowly, that became a narrative of its own— I began wondering HOW the past would have played out or if there was more to it beyond a rivals-with-benefits arrangement only. Ch 29 is a closure to that.
I also wanted to keep the pace of their relationships realistic. I have a big thing for realism; maybe it’s because I’m a therapist and I work with humans daily but one thing that’s always bugged me about stories is when a character, especially in an enemies-to-lovers trope, gets together and their tension fizzles out. It’s the worst thing ever. I refuse to believe things can be so happy so instantly. 13 years of rivalry + 10 years of a gap with miscommunications— vmin will take time. That’s why in the epilogue things ARE good and will get better but I wanted that reminder to be there that both of them will take time. And that’s not a bad thing. Maybe that doesn’t solve the happy ending criteria of fanfic but oh well.
Further Plans for the BFT Universe
The Spin-Off: Once I wrote that jinkook scene my mind began whirring some more. The potential for them as a couple began to eat at me— but I knew it couldn’t all be covered in one story. No matter my diversions ETS was always meant to be about vmin ultimately. The spin-off is roughly plotted, I just have to flesh it out better. Would you know it, that too is growing from a 4 chapter mini fic to a larger one but let’s see. I do want to practice restraint because Moon knows, the amount of TIME writing takes means my other WIPs will keep getting delayed if I don’t hold myself back. So many of you expressed interest and excitement for this but I won't make any promises; I need a break from this universe. But I'll do my best to have it out soon.
Taehyung POV: I also want to write a Taehyung-pov of ETS, because Taehyung never had a voice at all. We know about him and his motivations from others but not him as HE is, how HE felt. It wouldn’t be a proper story, definitely one shot but with more narratives from Vmin’s past, their 10-year gap, parts of ETS and how Taehyung saw the events/Jimin. I think it’ll be cool. Let’s see again, no promises on when, but it would be fun.
I guess there are some cute snippets in my notes about Vmin with babies, but it's wayyyy too far off. So y'all can imagine what you like. I've always thought Yeonjun from TXT is the perfect mix of Jimin and Taehyung— I've thought so from TXT's debut. So he's one of them. There you go.
Here We Are At Last
I think I’m repeating the same points so I’ll pause here and say the final, most important thing:
THANK YOU.
I could not have done this without you guys. Every single kudos, comment and bookmark means the world to me. I know I said I wrote this for fun and wasn’t paying attention to the stats but who am I kidding? Fanfic is a labour of love. There is no other currency here except getting that love back in a different way. I will say this in every story of mine but this is how fanfic writers know their work matters and it’s a huge source of motivation for them. I consistently kept up with this story because I knew of the love I was bound to get, and it excited me so much to reveal a plot twist and get that “?!?!??!?” kind of response.
I also feel this writing break I took write before I put out the last chapter was so meaningful, precisely because of the beautiful community you guys have created by supporting ETS. It’s just one fic amongst many but I truly feel I could take this break because I knew, at the back of my mind, that you guys would understand. What I’ve experienced as a result of writing this story is something I will always cherish. Thank you for letting me know what love feels like, and how people will wait when they love something so deeply. You and I don't know each other and yet, I feel like I do.
I’m deeply grateful for the time, dedication and love each of you has given this story and me by proxy. Grateful for every theory, question and answer. For the people who appreciated the writing, for the people who struggled to leave comments but tried anyway. For the people who recommended this to their friends. Some of your usernames are so familiar to me now, and it hit me the other day that you guys have been committed to this story for 2 years without fail??? That’s insane but appreciated, more than you know.
Maybe this story will get lost in the vast reserves of AO3 a/b/o but I’m grateful that it found its way to you. You gave it a chance and stayed for this story. Thank you.
It’s not a compulsion and I know it’ll be sometime before the spin-off or the Taehyung-pov comes up because I do want to dedicate some time to my other worlds but if you’re still interested in reading about Jinkook, you can subscribe and bookmark the series itself. If you like my other works apart from this one, you can subscribe to me too. I’m generally very slow because I have Many Words and I procrastinate a lot but I do love writing and I aim to write for as long as I can, for as long as I want to.
I’m quite active on Twitter— not always in a BTS ARMY way. I share a lot of opinions on a lot of things and if you like that you can follow me there too. Feel free to reach out if you want to chat!
See you guys soon, and thank you once again!
Yours,
Sangria
Notes:
Oh gosh. Oh man, I really don't want to say goodbye but here I am. I have to. All good things must end and whatnot.
Thank you. Always and forever.
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