Chapter 1: Promised
Summary:
His parents hold him tightly, which surprises him. He shuffles closer, breathing them in. His father’s distinct smell of peeled orange and his mother’s, of dewy rain. Distinct scents that wrap him up, soothing him, comforting him for what lies ahead.
Today, Jungkook will travel to the infamous Min pack to marry their oldest son, the alpha Min Yoongi, a man he has never met.
Chapter Text
The crocuses are in full bloom this time of year, their delicate petals tilted up and craning towards the sun. This deep in the forest, the dense canopy of the trees is blocking out the sunlight, so it hardly filters through. The light is weak, and yet Jungkook marvels to see it; how these flowers find a way to survive.
The patch is nestled behind a towering oak tree, which has extended its branches and leaves towards the sun, glorifying in it. Jungkook reaches down, grazing his hands over their petals. The petals are silky soft to the touch.
He wants to sink down, to lay among them and close his eyes, immersing himself in birdsong for a while. The birdsong in summer is always a cacophony of noise, a jumble of shrieks and tweets and rhythmic notes that Jungkook wants to capture, to put pen to paper and memorise the tune for later, when he’s laying in bed at night and his mind won’t still.
It’s always been this way, Jungkook and drifting in and out of sleep. He’s grown up restless, so much so that his parents joked it would be no surprise if he presented as an alpha; born to embody a broad, strapping figure who understands himself through his physique, his ability to physically protect.
Jungkook protects the birds with broken wings and the drooping flowers, feeds the weak bees honey water and watches them buzz away with delight, treats the horses with the lame leg so they can see out more winters, but he doesn’t feel a thrumming need to protect, to dominate. He never has.
His presentation surprised some people - his parents included, who liked to crow that they were so sure what Jungkook would be, and that was an alpha - but his pack is close-knit and supportive. He’s fortunate to have been welcomed regardless of his status, because for his family it invariably meant matching and marrying Jungkook off to a neighbouring pack, to an unknown, faceless alpha who will see to their protection.
Jungkook’s not dim - this is the way the world works. He’d prefer to nestle down among crocuses and thrive in the woodland, but his parents have drilled this responsibility, this duty into him, since before he was presented. They only tamped down on it after.
“You’re our only child, Jungkook,” his mother had said firmly, kindly, reaching out to brush a stray hand from his forehead with the kind of tender touch he’d wanted to lean into, but had resisted, because he recognised the gravity of the conversation. “We don’t want to say goodbye. But we will have to, one day.”
Is he here to overthrow their entire world order and risk their pack in favour of being allowed to run himself ragged in the woods? No. The answer is no.
Behind him there’s the sound of a branch breaking underfoot and his sharp senses catch it: about half a mile away. He whirls around, and Jimin holds up his hands: easy, the hands say. Jimin’s reassuring smell - like fresh linen, billowing in the breeze - calms Jungkook. Jimin is an omega, like Jungkook, and he’s known him so long he could identify him by smell alone; could recognise him by his footsteps with his eyes closed.
“Your father said you were in the woods,” Jimin says with a smile that suggests he’d accepted this all too readily. “I wanted to see how you were doing?”
Jungkook waits for Jimin to approach, standing in front of him before he answers.
“Am I expected to be overjoyed?” he demands to know, some of the frustration brimming over, no longer able to be contained.
In emphasis, he throws his hands out, twirls around, gesturing to the woods. His movement alarms a couple of birds, who scatter from the oak tree and flap frantically away. He watches them go with a wistfulness, thinking: that could be me.
“No,” Jimin says softly. “No, I didn’t expect you to be.”
He steps closer. A shaft of sunlight falls onto his face, highlighting his high cheekbones and blond hair, which positively glows.
Jimin will escort Jungkook to his new home. He has grown up with Jungkook and will be there to ease the transition, to familiarise himself with open, mountain landscapes where he has only known dense, lush forest. He will remind him of their customs, their expectations, will prompt Jungkook with names of new pack members and feed him useful information throughout.
Jimin will be there to guide Jungkook through a process which, until now, has remained pure fantasy for him. But more importantly, he’ll be there as a friend.
“I’ve always wanted to stay out here past dark,” Jungkook admits, softening at the thought. He doesn’t have to say in the forest; Jimin understands. The message is implicit. “I’ve never wanted to come home.”
A wry smile from Jimin.
“You did that one time you got spooked by a stag,” he says.
“The stag was huge! And charging right at me!” Jungkook cries, always provoked when Jimin pulls up this memory from his childhood. Jimin had been on the periphery of the woodland, picking mushrooms, while Jungkook, feeling daring, wandered further in. He’d already been warned by his parents not to get close to the centre of the forest while the deer were mating, but he didn’t take heed. He wanted to pick the best mushrooms, those that grew in the damp, dark centre.
A stag, its muscles rippling, its neck taut and alert, turned its attention to Jungkook. Where the deer were normally wary, this stag, in its mating season, had snorted and pawed the ground, preparing to charge at Jungkook.
Jungkook didn’t wait to see if it would. He turned tail and fled, managing through ragged, panicked gasps to shout at Jimin, “Run! Run!” and Jimin, always wiser than he, less headstrong, less impulsive, didn’t question his judgement. He ran with Jungkook and they tore through branches, scratching their faces and the hands they threw up to shield themselves, half-mad with self-preservation, until they reached his parents’ estate and attracted the attention of onlookers, who were curious as to why the Jeons’ son and the Park boy were running for their lives.
When Jungkook had told his parents what he’d done - sulkily, guiltily, expecting to be scolded, embarrassed that he’d spooked so easily - his father had laughed until tears sprang from his eyes, and then he’d fondly ruffled Jungkook’s hair, reminding him that the rules were there for a reason and he’d be smart to abide by them.
The rules have always been there. A stern look from his parents; a question from Jimin; the proud glance of one of the members of his pack. They have always reminded Jungkook of his duty.
“If I recall,” Jimin drawls, “the stag hadn’t charged yet.”
“He was about to,” Jungkook insists, smiling, shaking his head at Jimin’s correction. “I wasn’t going to take the risk.”
“No, but you will do it to pick the best mushrooms,” Jimin says. Jungkook merely grins at him, until he remembers that he won’t be able to do that anymore, not once they embark on their journey, and the grin slips from his face.
“Is it time to go inside?” Jungkook asks - softly, as if he doesn’t really want the answer.
To his surprise, Jimin shakes his head. Jungkook had assumed he’d been here to recall him, to gently bring him back to his parents with no fight. “We can stay out a little bit longer.”
Jungkook drops down to the ground and crosses his legs, brushing his hand over the crocuses again. Today there is no breeze, and where they’d be swaying in the wind, they are still, and quiet. A rare day.
“What will the journey be like?”
This is the first time he’s directly referenced it. A year ago, it was a fantasy. Six months past that point, and Jungkook vehemently pushed it into the back of his mind, determined not to be concerned about something that was in the distant future, something that didn’t bear thinking about.
Only the distant feature melted away and the date to depart came rushing up to meet him. Jungkook has been promised since he was seventeen, but he has never been prepared for what lies ahead.
“It’s only a few days’ ride,” Jimin answers, settling down next to him. He is careful not to disturb the bed of crocuses, and for that Jungkook loves him a little more. “If the weather is good - and it should be - we won’t have any disruptions.”
“Disruptions,” Jungkook says, swilling the word around in his mouth, “what, like bandits attacking us on the roads?”
Jimin smiles. “Something like that,” he says, entertaining Jungkook. “Do you remember those stories you loved when we were children?”
“The Brave and the Bad,” Jungkook recalls. He momentarily tilts his head back, welcoming the sun onto it, its warmth. He opens his eyes and blinks at Jimin, who is watching him. “I wanted to be the hero, growing up.”
“I don’t think you would have minded the bandit,” Jimin teases him, trying to provoke a reaction from him. The truth is, Jungkook had been fascinated by the bandit. Where the story was set out to be clear cut, a black and white depiction of the world, he had wondered what made the bandit tick. What made him bad.
Being narrated by the hero, it left very little space for the bad man that ended up being caught for stealing, and locked away, in true, dramatic fairytale fashion.
He’d asked Jimin about the bandit, and Jimin misunderstood it as Jungkook’s desire to emulate him. Really, Jungkook just wanted to know more. But Jimin would revert to teasing him - threatening to tell his parents that Jungkook wanted to passionately pursue a life of crime - that Jungkook gave up with asking about it. He left the story alone.
“There are always the snakes,” Jungkook sighs, “and the ghosts. We have to look out for the ghosts, of course.”
“Of course,” Jimin agrees. “If we don’t look out for the ghosts, we’re doomed.”
“Do you think my parents have thought about the ghosts?”
“I’m sure they’ll have made an allowance for it if you get snatched by them. Don’t worry.”
Jungkook huffs a laugh. Jimin always humours him, these trains of thought. However ludicrous - however genuine, however feared - he’s never given Jungkook cause to feel foolish for asking.
Which has been immensely helpful. There have been a lot of questions in Jungkook’s life. Why he presented as an omega; why he was promised to an alpha he has never met; why he must leave his home, and not the reverse; what the true threats are that his parents fear; are they ghosts or are they something much more nefarious?
Jimin runs a hand over Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook turns to look at him.
“It’s time to leave, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook nods and gets to his feet, and his legs feel heavy. His legs are weighing him down, willing him not to go. His legs are in no way attached to his brain, which reasons that this is something he agreed to when he was seventeen, in the interests of keeping his pack safe, but attached to his heart, which long for climbing trees and blooming flowers, the deafening drone of bees in summertime and familiar chirp of birdsong.
His heart has never governed his decisions.
Jungkook turns around and walks with Jimin back to his parents’ house.
—
They are taking the day no easier than Jungkook. He and Jimin have to leave in an hour, to make some headway before nightfall, but he discovers his parents huddled in a corner, whispering to one another, teary-eyed.
He comes across this scene with alarm, concern, his hackles raised. He doesn’t know how to respond to the sight of his parents, emotionally vulnerable, weepy. He drags his feet over and lingers, unsure.
His mother sniffs. “Don’t be silly, Jungkook-ah,” she says, gesturing to him. He comes closer and she snakes her arms around him, wrapping him up tightly. “We’re just finding this hard, that’s all.”
He unwinds himself from her arms and says, “I thought you would have no issue with the course of today,” to which his mother manages a sniffly smile, and a choked laugh, seeing Jungkook’s joke for what it is.
His father rests his hand on his shoulder. “We were never going to find this day easy,” he tells Jungkook, who feels the emotions flood him all at once, imagining a thunderous surf rush up to slam him on the shore. Longing, upset, fear, panic, they all barrel into him at once, an unstoppable force.
He roughly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to be discreet, but his parents notice.
“It’s okay to be upset, Jungkook,” his father says, a tremor in his voice. “It’s okay to let your feelings out.”
“I’m not prepared,” he says, his throat tight. “I thought - with all the years - I thought I’d be ready.”
His father smiles at him, wearing an expression of understanding. Jungkook leans into his side and rests his head on his father’s shoulder, something he hasn’t done since he was a child. He is slightly taller than his father and it is this stark difference, somehow, that skewers his heart. The passage of time. The differences that almost escape your notice.
“We’re so proud of you, Jungkook-ah.” His father’s voice rumbles through his chest. Jungkook doesn’t move from his side. “We know this must be incredibly difficult for you.”
“We know the sacrifice you’re making,” his mother adds, reaching out for him. “But it’s not goodbye forever.”
“I know, you’ll come and see me.” This is something that has been reiterated over the years, to reassure Jungkook, and in the countdown to his journey, has resurfaced regularly.
We’ll visit regularly. We’ll bring you flowers. Your favourite, lilies. There are flowers in the mountain you can show us too.
To which Jungkook had asked, “Can you bring me the forest?”
An impossible task. His parents had laughed at him fondly, and he’d smiled sheepishly too, thinking that if it could be done - if he could bottle a lily or the fresh, intoxicating smell of pine - then he would do it in a heartbeat. A little slice of home.
His parents hold him tightly, which surprises him. He shuffles closer, breathing them in. His father’s distinct smell of peeled orange and his mother’s, of dewy rain. Distinct scents that wrap him up, soothing him, comforting him for what lies ahead.
Today, Jungkook will travel to the infamous Min pack to marry their oldest son, the alpha Min Yoongi, a man he has never met.
—
The sun is sinking lower in the sky when Jungkook says his goodbyes. His parents and a few other pack members have gathered to see him off, which is kind, and Jungkook thanks them profusely. He tries to play it off that this is part and parcel of what he’d been expecting, they don’t need to make any bother - but they see the thinly-veiled excuses for what they are and hold Jungkook tighter. He’s grateful for their presence.
When he finally peels apart from his parents, his mother says, “We’ll come and see you in a couple of months, okay? Once your…” she trails off, uncertain of how to phrase it. The correct term, Jungkook supposes, would be mating period. Once your mating period is up. Once Jungkook is bearing the bite of his alpha and is settled and sated, then the tradition dictates they can receive guests. But his mother is more dignified than crudely referring to it.
“Once your honeymoon is over,” she decides. There’s a hint of worry in her eyes. “I’ve heard the Mins are kind people. They’ll take you in like their own.”
“But any trouble,” his father says, “and you come right home to us.”
Jungkook’s throat flutters and he swallows back the impulse to ask to remain here. He knows he can’t. He knows he promised his parents, and the weight of expectation bears down on his shoulders.
He knows they wouldn’t be any less proud, any less understanding - but that’s not who Jungkook is. He has to fulfil the promises he makes, or his word is rendered meaningless. For all the traditions he shirks, and the duty he wishes away, he sticks stubbornly to this philosophy in life: his word has to count for something.
“I will,” he says, embracing them one last time. A glance at the sky tells him it’s time to go. They’ve lingered too long and Jimin is hovering at the periphery, too polite to nudge Jungkook out of this tender moment but well aware that if they don’t make haste, they’ll condemn themselves to a dark trek, which is too risky for someone of Jungkook’s circumstance.
The neighbouring packs know, of course. There have been whispers. The Jeon boy is due to marry. And all to the Mins, who are sniffed at, looked down upon, because they adhere to the old ways. Jungkook’s stomach roils thinking about it. It’s said that they make sacrifices to the Moon goddess - live sacrifices - to continue to shift, to hunt in their wolf forms, to give into their base demands and cower to no one.
People whisper that their alphas are given full autonomy over their omegas and their word is final. Omegas are there to service them, to bear their pups, and to be discarded when they tire. Some packs have turned their backs on what they see as a fanatical commitment to tradition, bordering on zealotry.
These are all rumours, gossip that inevitably circulates when matches are announced. Jungkook is aware of how they both sneer and fear the Min pack. But his parents have told him these rumours shouldn’t be taken stock of, and he trusts his parents. They wouldn’t swear him to a barbaric alpha with no regard for his mate.
Jungkook finally trudges over to Jimin and momentarily leans his weight against Jimin’s, wanting to stay longer, to see out the sunset and another evening. The birdsong has died down, but a few softly coo.
Then he straightens his back and follows Jimin to the horses, resolving to see this journey through. He tightens the girth of his saddle, pointedly not looking at Jimin, who he knows will be wanting to make sure he’s okay. He’s not overflowing with reassurances at the moment.
Mercifully Jimin doesn’t ask him about his state of mind, and they mount their horses. Jungkook’s, an eighteen-hand black young colt he has named Moonbeam, snorts and trots on his hooves impatiently. People find it funny that Jungkook’s horse, as black as the night sky in winter, has been named Moonbeam. But the light bounces off of his coat, gleams in the light, and looks exactly like the moon reflected. Jungkook thinks it’s a perfect name.
Jimin’s ride, a sixteen-hand chestnut horse called Dandelion, has a much sweeter temperament and waits for Jimin to adjust his saddle bag before she walks forward on his command. Moonbeam tosses his head, as if to tell Jungkook about time, and follows, each step brisk, bouncy.
They ride through the forest in double-quick time, as quick as they can manage with two trotting horses. Moonbeam’s strides eat up the floor, squash flowers underfoot, and Jungkook keeps his eyes ahead, trained on the horizon, trying not to spend too much time looking at their surroundings.
They clear the forest and sweeping, open pastures rest ahead. The farmland is south of Jungkook’s pack. Here, there is very little except tangled grass and weeds. They’ll keep riding several miles further north, until they’ll reach an inn Jimin has earmarked as somewhere they can stay overnight, with no bother. They’ll give fake names to the innkeeper. They can never be too careful.
“Moonbeam seems to want to gallop,” Jimin observes. Jungkook smooths a hand over his neck, trying to convey calmness. His trot slows slightly, as if understanding the message. They have nonverbal communication like this, they have since his father brought him home from the market and Jungkook saw past the wild, untamed eyes of a foal to a kind soul underneath. It took patience, and nurturing, but he gained his trust. He has had Moonbeam for four years now and at the risk of being someone else’s horse, Moonbeam has snapped at anyone who isn’t Jungkook.
“He’s more keen to get away than I am,” Jungkook sighs, in part, acknowledging what he has been at pains not to talk about in length. But it’s him, Jimin, their horses, and all this open, empty land, with very little to pass the time. They may as well talk about it. “Did you hear what Lee said about the Mins?”
“What, old man Lee?” Jimin gives a snort not dissimilar to one of Moonbeam’s noises; derisive, dismissive. “You shouldn’t pay him any attention. Gossip is how he wiles away his time.”
“He said they were savage,” Jungkook says wonderingly. He twists in the saddle to look at Jimin. “What do you have to do to make someone think you’re savage?”
“You might not have to do anything,” Jimin points out, “except catch the attention of a raving old man.”
“Lee is not raving,” Jungkook argues. “What if he’s right?”
“He also says there are rites you can take to make sure you never shift again,” Jimin says, which strikes a chord, as Jungkook tries to imagine what it’d be like, to never shift into his wolf form again, to never give over to the natural side of him, and is stumped, because he can’t. “It’s best not to pay him any mind.”
“He also says their alphas are possessive of their omegas,” Jungkook says. “The kind of possessive where they lock them up and never let them out.” This, he knows, is merely hearsay: but at the thought of being caged and prevented from seeing sunlight, he feels a flicker of panic.
“You know your parents wouldn’t give you away to someone who wasn’t worthy,” Jimin says firmly. He clicks his tongue; nudging Dandelion to quicken her pace. She obliges, sweet as ever. Moonbeam stamps a branch underfoot that he didn’t like, and it snaps, cuttingly quickly.
“I’ve never met him before,” Jungkook says. “Min Yoongi.” He temporarily lapses into silence as he registers this. He’s always known this to be fact, and yet, the day he sets out to be wed to a man he’s never met, it hits him harder than before. “I don’t know what he’s like.”
He looks at Jimin and Jimin is looking back at him, sympathy worn across his face. Jungkook doesn’t want his pity but he knows Jimin cares for him.
“You’ll have the time to acquaint yourselves,” Jimin gently suggests. “That’s what the courting period is for, no?”
“But the courting period is before you agree to a match,” Jungkook says, and Jimin can’t say anything to that, because it’s strictly true.
Jungkook’s situation is unusual, befitting the son of the leader of a pack, whose role will always be different to those of his packmates, anyway. His parents had never planned to match Jungkook to Min Yoongi specifically - it had never been in the cards, as they say - but their position among the packs has always been weak, tenable at best, and a spate of attacks on neighbouring villages six years ago terrified the pack and put people on high alert for an impending attack.
Jungkook remembers the fear, insidious, creeping, darkness cloaking them. Suffocating.
Around the same time, the Mins had been trying to curry favour. They’d been forming strategic alliances with packs who could give them what they needed - meat, furs, access to clean water - and sent an envoy to Jungkook’s parents to ask about access to their farmlands. The price of crops. If a trade deal was possible.
His parents had been hesitant, as they naturally were whenever a pack on the fringes of society approached them, but the envoy they sent had been well-presented, smooth, quick with assurances and compliments, and gave them no reason to mistrust.
The same envoy had, coincidentally, witnessed the shadow that fell on the pack when the attacks started up, the feeling of fragility, of the alphas in the village ageing, the young moving away and making lives elsewhere. The envoy had seen the opportunity: an alliance could be struck.
They would offer protection to the Jeon pack if they traded them crops. And the best way - the traditional way, the known way - was to secure an alliance through marriage. A merging of packs, a promise of kinship.
His parents had given it serious thought. Then a friend of theirs turned up dead, clawed, a mile from the outskirts of the village, and that had solidified it. They’d taken Jungkook aside and explained the situation, as best they could, without scaremongering or instilling unease in Jungkook. They would never force him, it would have to be his decision, but marriage would guarantee the security and safety of their pack, they told him.
Jungkook was seventeen, and although he was no closer to understanding the source of the attacks - who was behind such savagery - his parents had not been keen to share any more than they strictly had to, they had frightened him as much as the rest, and he felt responsible for his parents, for keeping them safe.
The conversation had been brief in spite of its contents, and that envoy was sent back to the Min pack the following day with a message: they would give their oldest and only son, Jungkook, in return for the Min pack’s protection. The decision had been unanimous, the terms outlined.
His parents have occasionally swapped letters with Pack Leader Min - Yoongi’s father, whom he will succeed when he steps down - to exchange courtesies and information and refine the terms of their agreement, when needed, if harvests are harder and they have to prioritise food for their people. The Mins have always been understanding, so Jungkook is told. Their pack is bigger than theirs, and it’s a relief they empathise with stretched resources.
Jungkook has been offered to write Yoongi, but he has always declined. For a long time, during which his pack portioned out 10% of their crops and set it aside for the Mins, Jungkook had wanted to keep Yoongi a blurry, undefined duty, a day that would one day come, but not a day he would entertain in the meantime.
He has been fed snatches of information, here and there - learning, for example, that when Yoongi was twenty-one he broke his leg in an accident and limped back to recovery; or that Yoongi enjoys swimming, in the dark pools around their mountains, an image Jungkook hadn’t minded tucking away for later, because he pictures dipping his own toes in vast, deep water, rising up to meet him, caressing the underside of his chin as he paddles. Learning that when Jungkook arrives at the pack, the wedding will be organised and held in five days: no time to waste.
For six years, Jungkook has known the day for him to leave his home and to join the Mins would come.
It has arrived far sooner than he would like.
—
The sky is devoid of the bursting, blazing colours of the sunset when they reach the inn. The sun has already sunk below the horizon, and they’re greeted with an inky black canvas, stars winking at them. Jimin goes off in search of the innkeeper while Jungkook beds the horses down for the night. Moonbeam gives the withered patch of hay in the trough a long, hard stare before he swings his neck back around to look at Jungkook.
“I know,” he says, patting Moonbeam in a conciliatory gesture, running his fingers through his mane. “We’re only here for one night. Can you put up with it for that long?”
A huff, to say what he thinks of putting up with it. But Moonbeam bends his head and takes a hesitant bite of the hay.
“Good boy,” Jungkook says. This earns him a glower. Moonbeam doesn’t like to be patronised. He pats Dandelion, who has already started to munch the hay. “Good girl, Dandelion.”
Satisfied they have food and water for the night, he walks through the entryway and finds Jimin deep in conversation with the innkeeper. The interior is simple, and basic: low, wooden beams Jungkook has to duck under, a broom resting in the corner that appears it’s seen better days, and a crowded set of stairs winding up to where Jungkook presumes will be his bed for the night.
In front of him, the innkeeper is resting behind a desk, with a crude sketch framed and hanging on the wall behind him, and bobbing candles resting on the desk.
When Jimin catches sight of Jungkook he abruptly breaks apart from the innkeeper and gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Jungkook joins them, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. The innkeeper is a man of about fifty whose face, weathered from the sun, gives him the appearance of someone older. His hair is thinning and there are deep set lines around his eyes and mouth, suggesting he smiles a lot - or frowns.
“This is Byung-hoon,” Jimin introduces to Jungkook. “He’ll be looking after us tonight.”
Byung-hoon grunts his assent. “Any trouble, you come to me,” he says.
“Trouble?” Jungkook asks.
“In the local area-” Byung-hoon begins to say, but Jimin cuts him off with a nervous titter.
“No trouble,” he says quickly - too quickly. Jungkook stares at him. “No trouble at all. Byung-hoon just has a vivid imagination.”
“The bandits?” Jungkook asks flatly, hoping this will draw an answer from Jimin, whose smile is too cheery and plainly false.
But to his disappointment, Jimin says solemnly, “The bandits, they’re everywhere. We need to keep our eyes keen.”
Byung-hoon doesn’t follow this line of conversation in what is obviously an inside joke between Jimin and Jungkook, but he sidesteps it in favour of jerking his thumb to the right of him. “Toilet that way,” he says. “Shower too. Breakfast is at seven am.”
The customer service isn’t stellar, but judging by the decrepit, dusty nature of the building, Jungkook is surprised they’re still serving people. The inn is planted in the middle of a rolling field, with no houses in sight, but a worn-down track where travellers have come through. Travellers that now include Jungkook among their number.
“Come on,” Jimin says, looping his arm around Jungkook. “Let’s get our belongings.”
Their room is in the attic, where Jungkook has to stoop to walk around again, and consists of two sleeping rolls laid out in the cramped space, with a jug of water, Jungkook presumes, for washing. He hears the flutter of wings from birds cooping in the attic, and feels better. A reminder of home.
Jimin dumps their bags on the floor and begins rifling through the contents. Jungkook watches him for about a minute before he says, “What was that back there?”
“What was what?” Jimin asks, setting aside a fresh change of clothes for tomorrow morning, a bar of soap, a hunk of crusty bread with some cheese, not missing a beat.
“Your talk with the innkeeper,” Jungkook says. “You looked as though you were conspiring.”
“Maybe I am,” Jimin shrugs, too nonchalant for Jungkook’s liking. He wasn’t casual when Jungkook caught him deep in conversation with the innkeeper. He looked afraid. As if he’d been found out for a misdeed.
“Don’t joke with me,” Jungkook says. “I’m not in the mood for jest.”
“Maybe I am,” Jimin says, tearing off a section of the bread and handing it to Jungkook. Jungkook’s stomach rumbles taking in the sight of the sad, pathetic dinner and he takes an enormous bite out of it. “You’re hungry,” Jimin says sympathetically. “Eat up. We’ll have a proper welcome tomorrow.”
His stomach is willing to forego further conversation about the conspiratorial conversation and the innkeeper, at least for now. Jungkook clears off the bread and resolves to speak to Jimin about it properly tomorrow, when his guard isn’t up and he’s more open, amenable.
Nightfall coaxes Jungkook to lay down on the sleeping mat, which is as comfortable as it looks, and he strains his ears in silence to listen out for the steady hum of insects, but hears nothing. He slips off into an unsettled sleep, dreaming of dark, intense eyes, razor-sharp teeth and hands that claw at him, grasping, groping, until he jolts awake with a start, gasping, before he remembers where he is.
In his bedroom back at his parents’ home, the window faces out onto the path into the forest and is bathed with moonlight. When Jungkook cranes his head out of his bedroom window, he can see the stars glinting. Here, with no windows, Jungkook feels trapped. He draws the scratchy blanket up to his skin and valiantly tries to go back to sleep. Sleep evades him.
—
“Do you think you’ll ever want to get married?” Jungkook asks Jimin - halfway through their journey, on a sun-drenched day, his hands slack on his reins. He doesn’t need to take any command, he just lets Moonbeam lead. He seems to know where he’s going, although his pace is slower, more lumbering, starting to feel affected by the day’s heat. They’ll stop in half an hour or so, to let the horses drink
“Maybe,” Jimin says. “I can’t really see it in my future.”
“Why not?”
Jimin slides him a look. He shrugs and smiles.
“It’s my responsibility to serve you,” he says, “keep you safe. Make sure that this marriage is successful. Once that’s done, maybe I’ll think about a partner of my own.”
Jungkook feels the words twist in his stomach, unpleasantly, as he broods over the notion that the life he leads forces Jimin to be at his beck and call, unable to have a life of his own.
“Haven’t you ever met someone?” Jungkook asks, persistently. “Someone that you loved?”
Jimin doesn’t answer, and it seems that this is not a conversation he’s willing to have. But after some time he says, quietly enough for it to almost go undetected, “Yes, there was someone once.”
“What happened to them? Bandits?” Jungkook regrets the joke, because Jimin’s expression - lost in thought - flickers with despair. It’s only for a moment, but it’s stark.
“Something like bandits,” Jimin replies. He’s unwilling to surrender any more information, so Jungkook gives into the silence that occupies them for the rest of the journey, even during the time that they stop to let the horses drink and refresh their flasks, and afterwards.
The farther away from Jungkook’s pack they wander, the more remote and unforgiving the landscape becomes. They tread past sun-scorched soil, baked, with no plant life growing. Clearly this land is past the point of return.
They walk until Jungkook can no longer visualise his home - a mere speck on the horizon, if that - and until the trees begin to rush up to meet them, sporadic at first, but increasing in number, encircling them and creating a forest.
“I didn’t know there were forests this far north,” Jungkook says, his voice hushed, as he takes in this phenomenon. Flowers erupt from the soil; buttery yellows and lilacs and sweet, ocean-blues, forming huge clusters. Jungkook wants to study them and take one of each for later use, but the horses march on, Moonbeam’s gait speaking of his impatience, and Jungkook has no time to catalogue.
Eventually the trees thin out and the flowers disappear, and they’re back to harsh soil and an unsettling emptiness. Another inn rears up to meet them, and the routine is much the same: Jungkook beds the horses, catches Jimin speaking urgently to the innkeeper there, and they locate their thin, unenviable bed mats. At least this time the innkeeper has a portion of watery beef stew with which to gift them, and Jungkook hovers it up in a minute.
The meat is gammy and sticks between his teeth. He spends all evening trying to poke it out with his tongue and gives up as he drifts off into sleep. His dreams are no less fretful, no less disconcerting. Eyes and teeth - and this time tongue, a tongue lapping over his mating mark, soothing it, before the flash of teeth alert him to the danger - and he wakes up, sodden with sweat, breathing heavily enough to rouse Jimin.
“What’s wrong Jungkookie?” Jimin asks, slipping into a childhood nickname. “Are you disturbed?”
“No,” Jungkook says, although he does inch closer to Jimin, and the warmth there. “No, I’m fine. Just far from home.”
As if his nightmares can be explained so easily. He manages to fall back to sleep this time, bone-tired from another day of travelling, and mercifully his sleep is dreamless.
—
On the third day, there are signs of civilisation. Modest, one-floor homes crop up, attended to by weary-looking villagers and thin sheep. They eye Jimin and Jungkook distrustfully as they ride through, intently enough for Jungkook to be uncomfortable.
“Why do they stare?” he whispers. “Do they not get any visitors in these parts?”
“Used to,” Jimin says, realising his mistake, correcting himself: “They don’t have visitors anymore. We’re strangers to them, Jungkook-ah.”
People are pressed against their doors, their eyes swivelling as they follow Jimin and Jungkook out. Once they’re officially out of the village Jungkook looses a breath.
“That was … horrible,” he says frankly. “There was no life there.”
Jimin doesn’t respond, and Jungkook tries to cast it from his mind, the memory of their haunted, hollow faces, their unease implicit, seeping from the very fabric of the village. Jungkook’s pack aren’t big on strangers, but they don’t keep their distance and assume the worst. If they had, his parents would have never welcomed the envoy that led to Jungkook being sworn away.
It doesn’t bear thinking about; the chain of reactions that would need to have occurred for Jungkook to be allowed to roam free in the forest. He’s here, now, and they’re ten miles out, according to Jimin. He thinks it has to be more. The mountains are a blurry outline in the distance, their caps rising from the fog.
That’s another thing he has noticed. Here, the climate is cooler, more humid. Riding on Moonbeam Jungkook feels it stick to him like a second skin. It has none of the mildness or temperate nature of the forest.
But the mountains rear up soon enough and Jungkook halts in his seat in the saddle, tilting his head back, taking them in. In their might, he feels small, inconsequential.
“They are a sight to behold,” Jimin says agreeably, halting next to him. “We should take a break.”
“Why?” They’re close now, unbelievably so. No bandits or snakes or ghosts have impaired their journey and Jungkook would like to finish it off. To rip the plaster off and delay no further.
“You see that closest mountain?” Jimin says, pointing as he speaks. Jungkook nods. The smallest of the mountains where the other two either side of it are giants. “We need to go up that track.”
Jungkook squints. Difficult to make out but unmistakable is a path, nestling at the foot of the mountain and winding its way up.
“I didn’t think we were going up,” Jungkook says. His mouth is dry - he tries to swallow, to moisten it, but the humidity wins out.
“We aren’t,” Jimin says mildly. “We’re going through.”
—
The next two hours last a lifetime. Each minute drags as Jungkook heaves him and Moonbeam up the mountain track, sweating profusely, dragging his arm across his forehead, attempting - pointlessly - to wipe the sweat off his body. It seeps out of every pore.
Eventually, the terrain becomes too steep for even Moonbeam, who takes on every challenge, and he has to dismount and lead him by the reins. Jimin follows suit, hopping off of Dandelion, and looks equally worse for wear.
“Are you sure this is the way we intend?” Jungkook asks, a touch desperately. “Only - only it doesn’t seem right.”
“I’m sure,” Jimin answers. “We need to go through this mountain. Their village is on the other side, in a plain at the foot of it.” He rubs a hand over the nape of his neck and in a perverse way, Jungkook is glad he isn’t the only one struggling. That is quickly followed by a twinge of guilt, because Jimin is still his friend, and it doesn’t negate the difficulty of the situation they are in, having to traverse through a literal mountain to get to the Min pack.
“Why couldn’t they have come to us?” Jungkook asks, huffily, his joints aching profusely, his back broken in. “Why do we have to cross a mountain to reach them?”
“If I had the answer to that, Jungkook-ah, I’d be a lot happier too,” Jimin says, not unkindly. Jungkook falls silent, thinking.
“Do they … do they want the seclusion?” he asks, thinking of wild alphas and sharp teeth and old man Lee planting into his mind images of being barricaded in a room, pawing at the door, his fingernails dragging - he sucks in a breath, as the fantasy gets away from him, his mind working a mile a minute.
Jimin is watching him closely and sees Jungkook’s thoughts. “They’re not animals, Jungkook,” he says, not dissimilar to what his parents had told him, aware that Jungkook’s imagination, if left to its own devices, could run away from him. “They’re a pack, like any pack. They want to make sure they’re protected.”
“That, I can understand,” Jungkook says. He glances up and sees a never-ending path, shrouded in mist, winding away from his sight, and adds, “But here of all places?”
He thinks he sees Jimin hide a smile.
—
The descent is far less kind to Jungkook’s joints and general weariness than the ascent. There are loose rocks that scatter underfoot and he stumbles; Moonbeam at one point is uncharacteristically caught out and he rears back, whinnying. Jungkook has to grab his reins and pull his head down, talking to him in quiet, soothing tones. It takes a few more minutes before Moonbeam is willing to start up again.
Even Dandelion is uneasy, which speaks volumes, for a horse less unruly, and with a sweet disposition. Her eyes swivel back and forth, staring into the fog, where shapes can’t be discerned and they have to feel their way with their feet and their hearts in their throat.
They haven’t spoken in quite some time, as if all their concentration has been needed for the task at hand: coming down the other side of the mountain and surviving.
There’s no way of knowing how much distance is left. The altitude remains steep, and Jungkoook has to take care to not twist his ankle, or cleanly snap a bone. This is easier said than done, when his visibility is diminished and the ground is unsteady.
It takes them another two hours. The timings are all off and the sun is setting quickly. Jungkook picks up the pace, urged by the fact that they’re losing the light. Jimin had set aside three days for the journey, but likely hadn’t accounted for the fact that it would be so arduous, so challenging, with their two horses and heavy saddle bags, themselves, with little sleep and underfed bellies.
Jungkook longs for the seclusion of the forest, for a landscape well-trod and well-known to him. He could walk through it in the dark with his eyes closed and not fear.
As he walks, the path steadies out. Jungkook hardly believes it, taking one step forward, and another, but -
“I think we’re on flat ground,” he whispers to Jimin. He doesn’t know why he’s whispering; it felt like the occasion called for it. Where they are is unknown ground to him, and the fog lends it a certain eeriness.
Jimin blindly feels out with his foot. His face is skeptical, curious. But
“I think we are, too,” he says, hardly daring to dream it.
They keep walking and the rocks clear, the ground is smoother, as if many more feet walk this way. The fog dissipates, evaporating into the air and they can make out firelight.
Two, distinct torches, fixed to a looming gate, and staffed by guards. They walk slowly, cautiously, as if not to agitate them. The horses quieten and follow their cue.
“Hi there,” Jimin calls to the guards, “we’re expected.”
“Name?” one of them calls back, more curtly than Jungkook would have liked. One glance at the high, wooden gates inform him that the Min pack is not the most trusting, and given he has undertaken three days of toil and travel, he is anxious about what this means for him, a relative stranger at their doorstep, arranged marriage or otherwise.
“Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook. We’re here for the pack leader’s son, Min Yoongi.”
The guards murmur among themselves. Closer now, Jungkook sees they are two men: one is tall, broad, with shorn hair and a kind-looking face and the other, hardened, older, with sharp lines to his face and a suspicious air. One of them is wearing scent blockers, or must be, because Jungkook’s sharp nose can’t pick up on it. The younger man is an alpha.
“We are told you were expected several hours ago,” the older one says, standing to attention. “We are told you are late.”
They’re conferring with someone behind the gate, Jungkook realises with a jolt. An unseen figure, cloaked in shadow.
“Our journey was taxing,” Jimin says with an apologetic smile. “We are unused to mountains and so it took us some time to cross.”
More murmuring, more conferring.
“Do you have proof?” the younger one asks. Less abruptly, more courteously, which puts Jungkook a little more at ease. “Do you have proof that you are who you say you are?”
Jimin reaches into his saddle bag and the guards stiffen, reaching for their own weapons - a sword belt wrapped around the older, and a sheath for a dagger with the other, wrapped around his thigh. Jimin holds his hands up in apology.
“I have documents,” he says. “Proof.”
“Come closer,” the older one orders.
In the flickering light of the torches, it’s hard to make out their faces, even their expressions. Jungkook tries anyway, trying to gauge their intentions.
This is an uneasy stand-off, either party unfamiliar with the other.
Jimin carefully flips the flap of his bag so the guards can see, and rifles through a fat stack of papers. He retrieves one from the wedge and hands it over to the older guard. Jungkook catches a flash of his name and that’s all. He presumes it must be for the marriage, and wants to know little else.
The older man’s eyes skim over the page. He hands it to the younger.
“This is satisfactory,” he says, handing it back to Jimin, who smiles. “But as you’re late, you’ve missed dinner. You’ll need to be escorted to your rooms.”
With a signal - to the person behind the gate, Jungkook assumes - they open with a groan and he is greeted with the sight of a vast, sprawling village, the numbers of which he could have never guessed.
He winds his hands around the well-worn leather of Moonbeam’s reins, partly for comfort, holding onto him tightly. When they step over the threshold with their horses, the older guard stops them.
“We’ll see to your horses,” he says brusquely, his tone brooking no argument. He gestures for Jungkook to hand the reins over. But he hesitates.
“He can be wilful around strangers,” he tries to explain, but the older guard is snatching the reins out of his hand without another thought. The gravity of his mistake comes a second later, when Moonbeam whinnies, and halfheartedly rears, kicking his forelegs into the air. The older man curses, stepping back, and Jungkook steps out in front of him, holding his hands up.
“Moonbeam, calm,” he says, injecting authority into his voice. He can see the whites of his eyes and his heart twists, knowing that Moonbeam is only reacting badly to the strangeness of his surroundings, and it’s understandable. “Easy. Easy.”
Moonbeam drops down and huffs. But he relaxes.
“You have to let him lead you,” Jungkook half-murmurs. “It’ll be okay. I won’t be far.” Unable to resist, he reaches out and smoothes his hand down Moonbeam’s neck, over his glossy, black coat. “It’ll be okay.”
Moonbeam quietens and the older guard seizes his reins, this time with a mutter and a nasty look Jungkook doesn’t like. He hands the reins over to a man who has appeared, and he leads Moonbeam and Dandelion away, into the distance.
“There are stables not far by,” the younger man says, as if reading Jungkook’s thoughts. “We’ll take good care of them.”
No sense in lingering, Jungkook supposes. He tears his eyes away from the departing figure and the horses and follows the path that meanders hrough the centre of the village, past houses with smoking chimneys and wells, gardens bursting with colour and overgrown grass, and near the back, a more foreboding building - about three storeys high, darker in brick colour, staring out across at Jungkook.
This has to be the pack leader’s home, he reasons, as they enter the village and the gate clatters shut behind them noisily. He thinks he sees a figure dart out of sight and into the side streets, but can’t be sure.
The path through the middle of the village takes them to a mess hall, furnished with wide, open windows and long benches. Following his line of sight, the younger guard explains, “This is where we take our meals, three times a day. The whole village gathers.”
The size and scale of it is immense. Jungkook’s pack is eighty people at best; the Min pack appears to be pushing three hundred. He is taken aback, and then realises with a jolt he had no metric against which to judge them. He knows little about the Mins except for what could be considered hearsay.
They weave away from the mess hall, past more homes, a few shops and what appears to be a church, set in crumbling stone - towards the pack leader’s home. The guards are taking them directly towards it.
Jungkook twists to Jimin, and expresses his concern in one look. He’s not wearing scent blockers, so he’d not be surprised if the guards can pick up on his discomfort. It’s likely leaking from him in sharp, distressed wafts.
“Gentleman,” Jimin says smoothly, “we presume you’re taking us to Pack Leader Min, for which we are grateful. But it has been a long journey. Could you grant us some respite? Food, and water? We can shelter and pay him our respects in the morning.”
The guards exchange a look, as if deciding what to say in response. Jungkook doesn’t like this nonverbal conversation, from which he can glean nothing.
“We’re not taking you to Pack Leader Min,” the younger one says. “Those aren’t our orders. We’re taking you to your rooms for tonight.”
“Ah.” Jimin is slightly embarrassed, tugs at his sleeves, having experienced a rare misstep. “My apologies.”
“No apology necessary,” the younger guard says with a shrug, although the older man looks affronted, as if he disagrees with that assessment, but says nothing.
The inside of the house is vast. It resembles more of a mansion than a pack leader home. Where Jungkook’s parents’ home was cosy, affable, carved from wood and a smaller space, this building is hewn from stone, and even being in the hallway Jungkook feels dizzy from the space, stepping around in it. There are few decorations beyond imposing oak bookcases pressed up against the wall, a smouldering fireplace where a fire appears to have been recently lit, and a side table, on which is a vase of fresh flowers.
Jungkook’s heart leaps to take note of the flowers: lilies.
The guards lead them upstairs, onto a curving staircase, onto an expansive hallway, with closed doors either side.
“Pack Leader Min sleeps there,” the younger one explains, pointing to the door at the end of the corridor, which has such a presence to it, “and his son, Yoongi, in the room next door,” gesturing to the room on the far right. Jungkook wonders if once he and Yoongi are married, they’ll be allowed to leave the family home.
Or if they are required to remain.
“You won’t be allowed to disturb either room,” the older guard butts in to add, as if he presumes that Jimin and Jungkook will parade themselves around the place and barge into rooms when Jimin has been the picture of perfect diplomacy and Jungkook, his silent companion. “You will only be granted entry when you are called.”
Jungkook tries to imagine it, being summoned by this man he has never met, Min Yoongi: should he meekly bow his head and fix his gaze on the floor? Is that how he will live out the rest of his days, meek and demure, a voiceless omega who presents no consternation, no challenges, because his lips are firmly sealed and his thoughts are trapped in his head?
The house all of a sudden feels even more foreboding, unwelcome. A certain chill in the air that causes Jungkook to shiver.
They’re to be housed in the same room for tonight. The room they enter has two twin beds, pushed up against the wall, with a bedside table between them, a lamp sitting atop it, and a threadbare rug protecting their feet from the stone flagons. There is a window - large, ornate - that Jungkook tries to peer out of, but in the gloom, he sees nothing except the trace of chimney smoke escaping a house. The plain is deadly silent. No birdsong. No trees.
He tries not to mourn these noises, but the din of life, of nature, is what he’s used to. He doesn’t care for this house’s unearthly quiet, sealed doors behind which he can’t see their inhabitants, with no clue of what to expect.
The twin room leads into a bathroom, with a deep, expensive bathtub, complete with gold-burnished claws. It’s entirely incongruous in the rest of the room, decorated with mismatched tiles and a flaking sink, positioned just below a mirror in the same condition. Jungkook doesn’t look back at his reflection. He thinks he can guess the picture.
Even so, Jimin is unfailingly polite: “This home is beautiful. Thank you for escorting us.”
The older man sniggers, suggesting he finds this comment hilarious; or out of place. The younger man shoots him a stern look but he pays no heed.
“Enjoy the famous Min hospitality,” he says, sarcasm lacing his voice. Jungkook frowns at the obvious jab towards their pack leader. He hadn’t expected there to be dissatisfaction among pack members. Is he to be married into the wrong pack, where discontentment is rife and people whisper of a coup?
His thoughts, as ever, speeding out in front of them. He must rescue the thread, gently tug it back. He has never met Min Yoongi. He has never met Pack Leader Min. The only two members of the pack he has met are these guards, who have no good reason to treat them well, or to assure them; particularly not when they have shown up at their doorstep in the middle of the night, and they have to abandon their posts to ferry them off to where they have to be.
Although, Jungkook thinks, recalling the faceless figure, perhaps the pack is well protected at all times, and the disappearance of two guards at the gate won’t be its doom.
The older guard strides out of there with a sneer while the younger hesitates, lingering.
“I’m Kim Namjoon,” he says, with a brief, awkward bow. Jungkook is not yet married but when he is, his position will demand respect. Or so it goes, if the Mins keep to tradition. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’d introduce ourselves, but I think you already know our names,” Jimin says with a knowing smile.
“I do. People have been talking about your arrival for weeks.” He glances at Jungkook, curiously, and Jungkook holds his stare, although he burns to do so. He doesn’t wish to be the centre of attention or the occupation of gossip, but he has very little control over either. In marrying to the Min pack, he supposes that necessitates a certain amount of interest. He can only hope that will recede, with time.
“We’ve been eagerly anticipating it,” Jimin says - although this is a baldfaced lie, diplomacy at its best. He is here to make things as smooth as possible for Jungkook. If that includes the occasional lie, it harms no one.
“Well…” Namjoon trails off, struggling with what to say next. It’s awkward. It beats the older man, whose name Jungkook hadn’t learned, but it’s as if he feels obliged to stay with them, to make sure their arrival is comfortable. “I hope you have a good evening.” He dips into a bow, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him
In the oppressive silence, Jungkook can hear the sharp breaths he takes in.
It’s he who speaks first.
“This place is weird,” he says, in a hushed tone. “Did you see that gate, hyung? And how the older guard spoke about their hospitality in a sneer?”
“Jungkook-ah, we have no reason to distrust them,” Jimin says patiently, although Jungkook can see he’s uncomfortable, and that spooks him even more . “I agree, it’s a little strange that we didn’t meet Pack Leader Min. But I’m sure he has a good reason. Come on. Let’s get to bed. We both need rest.”
Jungkook reluctantly complies, conceding that Jimin has a point. Already sleep is settling over him like a weighted blanket, causing his eyelids to flutter closed. When his head hits the pillow he falls asleep instantly, and there are no more nightmares, for which he is relieved.
—
Jungkook wakes to birdsong and for one, long moment thinks he is home. Until his eyes open, slowly, and he is faced with an unfamiliar room. Rousing, he sits up and looks over to Jimin.
Jimin’s bed is empty. There’s no sign of him.
Pulse picking up, Jungkook calls, “Jimin?” Thinking he might be in the bathroom, washing for the day. He swings his legs out of the bed which, for all its appearances, was surprisingly comfortable, and winces when his bare feet hit the floor.
He pads over to the bathroom, and pushes the door gingerly.
“Hyung?”
No sign of him. His heart hammering, telling Jungkook something is wrong, something is horribly wrong - Jungkook creeps out of the bedroom, still in his sleeping clothes with his feet bare, and peers around at his surroundings. Without the dim light of candles, the house is less chilling. He can see a few, select paintings, and is studying one - an oil depiction of the village, with people wheeling carts around and hauling bricks, all of their faces smiling, blissful, while the gates rear up in the background - when he hears the sound of voices, and footsteps on the stairs.
Jungkook panics. He’s half-dressed, with his shirt buttoned down to his chest, and indecent. He looks around, for somewhere he can duck in and hide - and when that proves futile, the voices bobbing ever closer, he ducks back into his room and squints through the gap.
Just around the corner, the group of people stop. He can make out the guard from last night - Kim Namjoon - another man, poised, visibly handsome, and a third, who has jet-black hair brushing his shoulders, his back to Jungkook.
He strains to hear, and catches a snatch of the conversation.
“...need to double the guards, they’re getting far too daring.”
“We will,” Namjoon says solemnly. “At least two guards are posted 24/7. There’s no chance they’ll sneak past us this time.”
Jungkook frowns. Daring? Doubling the guards? He has no idea what he’s stumbled into, and his jitters intensify. He tries to keep his breathing calm, so as not to notify them he’s eavesdropping.
It isn’t exactly how he envisioned his first day here - officially five days before he and Yoongi are due to be married - but he hadn’t been told about the gate, the unfriendly guard, or the unseen person who fled into shadows, so he figures he’s putting himself on more even ground.
“Well,” the other man says, and there’s a smirk in his voice - on his face, too - “Except for last night, of course.”
“Last night?” the man with his back to Jungkook asks. He smells like an alpha, all authority, and the stink of power on him makes Jungkook’s inner omega flatten its ears and shrink back. “What happened last night?”
“Your husband-to-be arrived last night,” the man says. “Weren’t you told?”
There is a pause as the man digests this information at the same time as Jungkook. Your husband-to-be.
Because this man, whose face is hidden from Jungkook, whose expressions and mannerisms and desires in life are all entirely unknown and Jungkook will find out for himself, is Yoongi. His promise husband.
“No, I wasn’t told,” Yoongi says. He shifts, and Jungkook thinks, will he turn? Will I see him, for the first time, through the crack in a door? But Yoongi doesn’t turn enough. “I suppose it was going to be announced today.”
His tone is carefully even, and Jungkook is struggling to interpret the meaning of his words. He leans back, thinking that this isn’t a conversation he should be spying on, least of all in his night clothes - when the heel of his foot catches onto something and he stumbles, flailing, reaching out for a nearby armchair, which screeches against the stone as it rights itself.
Jungkook stills, his heart racing, and wonders if Yoongi’s senses are as acute as his. If he can smell Jungkook’s anticipation, his anxiety. If he can smell the omega sworn to him just down the corridor, crouched behind a door.
“...probably the wind,” Namjoon says, and it sounds like a lame excuse, but the others swallow it easily enough, for which Jungkook is grateful. This is not how he wants to be introduced to Yoongi.
He seems to be all in the clear, except Jimin comes up behind him and says, too loud for his liking, “Jungkook-ah? What are you doing?”
Jungkook catches the first flash of Yoongi’s face when he turns, his attention drawn to the source of the noise - and a dark pair of eyes, the exact replica from his dreams, settle steadily on him. Jungkook squeaks and jerks back, pushing the door forward and with enough effort, slams it shut.
There is a long pause.
“What,” Jimin says, “was that?”
—
Jungkook tells Jimin everything: of his concerns coming here, which Jimin already had an inkling of, because of his endless questions; but also the darker things too, like the nightmares that have emerged since they began journeying here, and the snippets of conversation he overheard from Namjoon, Yoongi, and another man.
Jimin listens intently and consoles Jungkook about his dreams, but is less sympathetic about the eavesdropping.
“Why were you creeping around?” he asks.
“This is hardly my house,” Jungkook says, a hot flush creeping through his body, more from being caught out than rightful indignation. “I don’t feel I can just wander anywhere I want.”
“You weren’t wandering,” Jimin points out. “You were eavesdropping.”
“I don’t know anything about where we are,” Jungkook says, “I don’t know these people - I don’t know if they’re kind, or if they’ll accept me, if Yoongi is secretly a tyrant and I’m going to be his brainless slave for the next forty years - I don’t know any of it. I don’t feel sure footed. I wanted to understand what I was dealing with.”
Jimin’s face softens with understanding. Jungkook doesn’t often let his frustrations flood out like this, but the events of the last four days have been trying, and the frosty reception last night, the complete lack of Yoongi, and seeing him now, unprepared, have only compounded Jungkook’s fears.
He still doesn’t know if Yoongi is a tyrant. All he can recall are those dark, dark eyes and the presence of command. He couldn’t smell him, but he imagines it to be rich, and musky.
“I know it’s hard, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says. “And I know they haven’t been the most receptive, which caught me off guard too. But I’m sure today will be better.” He pauses. “They’re throwing a feast, to celebrate your arrival.”
“A feast for me?”
“A feast for the upcoming wedding,” Jimin says. “They want to celebrate accordingly, and honour you.”
Jungkook isn’t so certain about honouring him, but at least there seems to be some kind of structure with which he is being presented. Presumably introductions will happen then.
Jimin tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Don’t panic, okay?” he says, holding Jungkook’s stare. “It will work out in the end. I know it will.”
Jungkook swallows. “I hope you’re right.”
—
He gets dressed for the day, in the clothes Jimin brought up with them from a saddlebag. Where the rest of his things are, he doesn’t know; but he’s anxious to be reunited with them, given he’d packed heat suppressants and scent blockers, and he resolves to ask Jimin when they have a spare moment.
Jungkook dresses in a flowing, white blouse, not dissimilar to what he slept in - and his face heats to think of an earlier memory, very recent, of that set of steady, unwavering eyes fixing on him. He remembers little else; a small nose, a sharp profile. Dark hair that matches his eyes.
He tries to fix his hair and pinch colour into his cheeks, but the appearance in the mirror leaves much to be desired.
“Are you ready for today?” Jimin asks, already dressed, effortlessly put together. Jungkook purses his lips in annoyance.
“We get something like five hours’ sleep and you look like” - he gestures, to make his point - “And I look like this?”
“Don’t be silly,” Jimin says, “you look great. Very prim, and proper. Very demure.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes but when he steps out with Jimin from out of the bedroom door - into the same corridor he’d dared to venture in earlier - he falls silent, thinking. They’re met with an escort outside of the home, and Jungkook recognises the handsome man from this morning.
“Kim Seokjin,” he introduces. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Jungkook,” Jungkook says. “Although I guess you already knew that.” His cheeks heat a second time in a short period.
“Park Jimin,” Jimin says. “Are you here to be our guide?”
“Something like that,” Seokjin says, starting to walk down the path. Jungkook and Jimin fall into step. “Pack Leader Min … is currently indisposed at the moment, and sends his apologies. We’ve experienced some trouble as of late.”
Jungkook thinks back to the hushed conversation in the corridor and bites back the question, What difficulties?
“Anyway,” Seokjin says, “We’ll be throwing a feast later, to celebrate your arrival. Plenty of people to meet. Lots of people who are interested to meet you.”
“Do you get a lot of visitors?” Jimin asks politely, as they pass a house. A few onlookers watch them walk by, but there’s no open hostility in their expression. “Only you’re in such a remote location.”
Seokjin laughs. “I appreciate your tact, Jimin-ssi. The truth is, we don’t. Usually when packs converge we travel out to meet them.”
“Through that mountain?” Jungkook asks, his voice tinged in disbelief. The shock must show on his face because Seokjin laughs again.
“We’re quite used to it, I assure you,” he says. He turns a corner and walks down a side alley where a few stalls are set up, beads glinting in the light and baskets bursting with ripe fruit. He’s leading them somewhere, and Jungkook becomes aware of where when a breeze rustles past them and he catches a smell.
Deep, rich. Impossible to describe. It reminds him of rolling hills and fresh air and the initial, cold shock of wading into water.
It reminds him of freedom.
A figure turns, and Jungkook sees Yoongi properly for the first time. His throat dries, taking him in.
He knows Yoongi is twenty-seven, only a few years older than Jungkook, but his youth still comes as a surprise. His hair is tousled in a middle part and sits carelessly on his forehead; just grazing angular, artful eyebrows, those unforgettable eyes, a rosy mouth and strong jaw.
Yoongi is beautiful.
And Jungkook just … gawks at him, like a stumbling child.
"I'd like to introduce you to Yoongi, our fearless leader," Seokjin says, with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Yoongi, this is Jimin and ... Jungkook."
Yoongi simply says, “Ah, Jungkook-ssi. It’s nice to see you out of your sleep shirt.”
He says this tonelessly, with no evident amusement, and as Jungkook lifts his eyes to Yoongi’s he swallows back a lump, his cheeks blazing at the mention. He doesn’t want to imagine how much Yoongi saw.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he meekly manages.
Yoongi’s eyes glitter. Jungkook can’t determine if Yoongi is intrigued by him, or enraged, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. He steps forward all the same.
Chapter 2: Dreams and Reality
Summary:
Seokjin reaches over and gently presses an item into Jungkook’s hand. He unfurls his palm and sees a gold burnished hair clip, with delicate, blooming white lilies sitting atop, sparkling with studded gems along their petals. He’s speechless. It’s beautiful.
“Yoongi understands lilies are your favourite flower,” Seokjin says. “He’d like you to wear it tonight.”
Notes:
a huge thank you to squishwrites for beta'ing this chapter! it was super helpful to have a second set of eyes.
I have updated the tags, so please do be mindful of that. the main thing to notice is I have added exhibitionism and voyeurism as there is a scene in this chapter - in dream form - where Jungkook and Yoongi are about to have sex with people watching. if you'd prefer to skip that part, it starts with "Jungkook is back under the willow tree" and ends with "he jerks awake".
I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Text
There’s a silence that drags on for a little too long, perhaps - at least, for beaus, or husbands-to-be, or whatever Jungkook has with Yoongi, which is so clearly defined and understood by both parties, and yet -
Yet Yoongi’s eyes alone, dancing at him, are enough for a lump to lodge itself into Jungkook’s throat and for all thoughts and words to miraculously vanish from his head. This isn’t the first impression he wants to make, struck dumb by Yoongi’s sheer presence, compounded by the fact that he mentioned Jungkook’s sleep shirt from this morning, where Jungkook was caught creeping around and made a fool of himself.
He can’t tell if the tone is teasing and playful. Accusatory and scornful. Curious and inquisitive. There could be any manner of tones Yoongi adopts in his question, and he doesn’t lean towards any of them.
Immediately, Jungkook thinks: he will be hard to read.
But Jungkook didn’t embark on a three-day trip up a treacherous mountain and endured a sneering guard at the gate in the dark to fall at the first hurdle, which is to say, to flail in front of Yoongi and not know what to say to him.
He lifts his chin up, looking down on Yoongi - because Yoongi is shorter than him, even if the dominance emanating from him in waves makes Jungkook’s inner omega want to roll over and show its belly - and says, with the best dignified tone he can muster, “I trust you were informed of our arrival with due notice.”
“Due notice?” Yoongi sounds bemused.
“I hope we weren’t a surprise,” Jungkook explains. “That’s all. It was a long way for us to go, and we were disappointed to not see you last night.”
“You saw me this morning,” Yoongi points out, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He’s toying with Jungkook, of all things.
Jimin steps in swiftly, sensing things are derailing, and says to Yoongi, “What Jungkook is trying to say” - he shoots a glare Jungkook’s way, a silent command not to be outspoken - “is that we appreciate your generosity, and your warm welcome.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Yoongi says smoothly. “You’ll have to forgive my guards’ rudeness. They’ve had reason to be tightly wound as of late.”
Jimin smiles, appeasing him. “And you’ll have to forgive us for appearing in the middle of the night, with no warning.”
Jungkook wisely keeps his mouth closed during this exchange; otherwise he runs the risk of pointing out the risks they faced to get here, and their very valid reason for being late, and he doesn’t think that would be fitting of the demure, silent omega Yoongi clearly desperately wants. There’s no reason for him to be any different from the rumours that circulate the rest of his pack, not when this is all he’s known.
After all, Jungkook grew up roaming around the forest and in this open, expansive plain, he feels exposed. Like he’d rather shrink away and hide. He can’t see why Yoongi wouldn’t assume that Jungkook will be the perfect, submissive husband.
“Allow me to grant you a tour,” Yoongi offers. “It can’t hurt for you to get to know your home a little better.”
Jungkook involuntarily stiffens at the reminder that this is to serve as his home now, and wills himself to relax. He can’t be seen to be distressed. Or smell as such.
“That would be great,” he gets out, hoping that he can play the part Yoongi wears like a second skin.
Yoongi turns and starts walking out on the side road. He gestures to the stalls as they pass and says, “Some of our local wares, if you’re interested in exploring them later.”
“What do you make?” Jungkook asks mildly, falling into step with him. Behind him, Seokjin and Jimin politely follow, giving Jungkook and Yoongi enough room to become acquainted with one another. They’ve only been engaged for six years.
“Some pottery,” Yoongi answers. “Jewellery. Not many textiles - as you can imagine, it’s difficult getting goods in and out of the village.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to ask a question. Then hesitates. Then wonders if he’s being too presumptuous, and gnaws on his lip. Yoongi notices, and nudges him.
“Speak your mind,” he encourages. “It’ll do the both of us good, to understand each other better.”
Jungkook releases his lower lip. “The gates,” he begins to say cautiously. He can almost hear Jimin tense behind him, so accustomed is he to Jimin’s scent and mannerisms. “Is it standard procedure, when you accept guests?”
Are you a backwards pack completely cut off from the rest of the world and the gates are another precaution to keep outsiders out?
Am I an outsider?
“We had to build the gates some years ago.” Yoongi’s expression is grim, and Jungkook senses it’s sincere, even if he's not telling Jungkook everything. “It’s not our preferred choice, but it’s necessary for the safety of the pack.”
“Right.”
They’re walking through the centre of the village now and attracting curious stares. Jungkook supposes this is the first time he’s been openly sighted and it doesn’t make him feel any less naked, any less of an attraction under the watchful eye of Yoongi’s pack. Are they judging him? Sizing him up? Do they deem him to be less worthy than another omega for Yoongi? Are they fiercely protective of him?
It would sorely do Jungkook some good to learn more about Yoongi, and his pack. What he needs to do to acclimate; not just to the literal climate, but to the people he will one day be expected to lead.
“Have you been here all your life?” Jungkook asks, thinking of his forest.
“I’ve visited neighbouring packs,” Yoongi says. Jungkook nods quickly as if to say: yes, that makes sense. As the Pack Leader’s son and alpha, Yoongi has responsibilities Jungkook has never known, but the duties he understands, and the expectations. “They’re normally one or two days’ ride away. But I’ve spent most of my life here, yes.”
“Oh, you ride?”
“Yes,” Yoongi says, “I saw your horse this morning. He’s very beautiful.”
Jungkook relaxes a little; this is a topic he can speak about at length, without fear of repercussions or saying the wrong thing.
“We rescued him,” he says, “from slaughter.”
“He’s a wild spirit, isn’t he?” Yoongi asks; a rhetorical question. “I spotted it a mile off, when I went to go see him.”
Jungkook imagines Moonbeam receiving Yoongi and winces. “If he caused you any harm-”
“He was lovely,” Yoongi interrupts, surprising Jungkook. The surprise shows on his face, because Yoongi chuckles. “I know. I suspected he was a wilful animal. But I always come with treats when I visit horses.”
He digs in his pocket and produces a sugar cube. Jungkook blinks at it. Moonbeam is inherently suspicious, but has a sweet tooth streak that endears him to anyone who brings him treats.
“You’ve probably earned his loyalty forever,” Jungkook says truthfully, drawing a laugh from Yoongi for a second time. It’s a nice noise, and he flushes, trying to disguise how pleased he is at being able to make him laugh. It seems to be going well. “Seriously. He loves anyone who feeds him.”
“I doubt that,” Yoongi says, and they come to a stop outside of the stables. He has led Jungkook and the others on a meandering loop of the village, and swung back towards the stables, on the outskirts of the plain. They’re not much to look at, a ramshackle-looking building made of wood with hay bales tossed to the side, but when Jungkook enters he is greeted with spacious stalls, swept and scrubbed. There are about twenty stalls in total, ten on either side.
“Moonbeam is right at the end,” Yoongi tells Jungkook.
Jungkook strides down there and Moonbeam pops his head out of his stall. Jungkook has never been so delighted to see him, and makes a fuss of him, stroking his neck and cooing at him. Inevitably Moonbeam tires of the attention and swings his head back in to chew on hay, which holds his interest much more than Jungkook does.
“Thank you,” Jungkook says earnestly, glancing over at Yoongi. “For taking care of him.”
“No need to thank me,” Yoongi says, but Jungkook sees through it, a chink in his demeanour that reveals a more flustered self. “I didn’t take care of them. Taehyung did.”
As if on cue, Taehyung emerges from the other side of the stables, guiding in a dappled grey horse, about seventeen-hands, with a proud, curving neck and somewhat of a derisory gaze. Each step is clipped, poised, like a dressage horse. The horse whickers when it reaches Yoongi, and Yoongi feeds it a sugar cube.
“Taehyung, Jungkook,” Yoongi says, introducing the two of them, “Jungkook, this is my horse, Hana.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Jungkook says dutifully to Taehyung, who smiles. He gazes over at the horse. “Hana. It’s a beautiful name.”
“For a beautiful horse,” Yoongi says, his eyes full of admiration as he pets Hana. Jungkook softens just by watching him. He can understand the pride in his horse. He knows because he feels it every time he rides Moonbeam.
“Oh, you can come closer if you like,” Yoongi adds, beckoning Jungkook. He takes a cautious step forwards and rests his hands on Hana’s muzzle. Her hair is wiry, but soft to the touch. She bumps against his hand, insistent, and he laughs.
“Maybe we can ride sometime,” Jungkook suggests, stroking Hana, who seems all too happy to receive a fuss. Yoongi’s eyes flick to him and linger a little too long, because Jungkook colours under the intensity of it.
But Yoongi only murmurs, “That’d be nice.”
Taehyung clears his throat, and although he says nothing, he doesn’t have to. Yoongi steps aside, clearing a path for him, and Taehyung leads Hana into her stall, one down from Moonbeam. Hana tosses her mane artfully and trots inside.
“Very proud,” Yoongi says as an aside. “But once she trusts you, she’ll do anything for you.”
“Yeah, and if you feed her sugar cubes constantly,” Taehyung’s voice rises from inside of the stall. He reappears with her reins in his hand and a smirk playing on his face. “That’s a sure way to get into her favour.”
“I think he did the same with Moonbeam, too,” Jungkook says with a smile. “My horse.”
“Moonbeam’s a great horse,” Taehyung says appreciatively. “A real sweetheart.”
Moonbeam is moreso a good judge of character. If he senses something is off in people, he’ll rarely get close. For Yoongi to have fed him sugar and for Taehyung to have bed him without trouble for the night are all immensely positive signs. Jungkook doesn’t admit this to either of them - that he trusts his horse to indicate to him who he can depend on - because that’s probably taking it a little too far. But it’s true.
Once, Moonbeam nipped a beta Jungkook was seeing - covertly seeing, because his parents harped on about how important the engagement was and although Jungkook didn’t set stock by the opinions of an alpha he’d never met, they plainly did - while they were kissing, hot and heavy, on the picnic blanket he’d laid out in the forest away from probing eyes. Jungkook had been mortified, but the following moon cycle he’d seen him with his hands up the shirt of a pretty, female omega, kissing her enthusiastically against the mess hall and any guilt Jungkook had about Moonbeam’s bite had speedily evaporated.
Moonbeam hasn’t chomped Yoongi just yet, which gives Jungkook fledgling hope that he’s not some tyrant alpha who will subject Jungkook to being locked up in a room without windows. That, and being here, in the stables, close enough to Yoongi to breathe in lungfuls of his scent, deep and intoxicating.
Yoongi is standing a careful distance away from Jungkook, and has during the whole of his tour. Jungkook wonders if it’s for propriety’s sake, or something else. Like he’ll be comfortable the entire time if they keep apart.
“You can come and visit him any time,” Yoongi adds. “He’ll be kept here with our rest.”
“Thank you,” Jungkook says. He doesn’t know what else to say at that moment - but fortunately he is spared by the guard from last night, Kim Namjoon, darting in and muttering something into Yoongi’s ear that even Jungkook’s sharp senses can’t pick up. Yoongi’s face looks grim, and he nods.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says to Jungkook. “Something urgent has come up that needs my attention. But I’ll leave you in the trusty hands of Seokjin. He’ll be able to answer any queries you might have.”
He spins on his heel and disappears from the stable. Jungkook merely gapes after him, at the thought that this is his lot; this is the time he’ll spend with Yoongi before the wedding. Yoongi hadn’t explicitly said whether he’d see Jungkook before the four days are up, but the implication is there: Jungkook won’t see Yoongi until the day of the wedding, and then their mating night. When they will be truly alone, and Yoongi will be expected to breed Jungkook sufficiently like a good alpha husband.
Jungkook swallows, his scent throwing out distress. Jimin walks up to him and catches his elbow.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, glancing back to Seokjin, who is all of a sudden very interested in a stable door.
“He just up and left,” Jungkook says, dithering. “And I’m expected to-” he breaks off and doesn’t finish the sentence. I’m expected to be married to him, he was going to say. Without knowing anything about him.
“I know,” Jimin says soothingly. “It’ll be okay. You’ll have time to get to know each other.”
“I don’t know,” Jungkook says. “Did you see his face when the guard spoke to him? It looked like an emergency.”
“I hate to eavesdrop,” Seokjin announces behind them, causing them to turn, “but really, it’s nothing to be concerned about. As future Pack Leader, I’m sure you can imagine Yoongi has many responsibilities, some of which demand his immediate attention, but he’ll be back. You have nothing to worry about, Jungkook-ssi.”
Jimin smiles at Seokjin, who smiles back. Slowly, he and Jungkook swivel back around.
“Okay, now I do think something might be up with this place,” Jimin whispers to him.
—
Seokjin tolerates their suspicion with a smile plastered on his face while he shows them around the rest of the village. A few people even say hello and there’s nothing in their faces, nothing in their body language, to suggest these people could be cruel, callous killers. Perhaps the rumours about the Min pack only fly so far.
Seokjin leads them out further than the village, past the Min house which rears up to address them, on a path less-trodden. Here, the grasses grow wild and weeds burst from the ground in snarling, ugly clumps. In the distance, a willow tree droops by a lake, its leaves caressing the water. Jungkook’s heart jumps to see it.
“Over there is where you and Yoongi will get married,” Seokjin says, pointing in the direction of the willow tree. “Under the tree. It’s a Min family tradition.”
“It’s lovely,” Jungkook says, and considering it, “It looks lonely. Was just this tree planted?”
Seokjin is not interested in nature questions; he merely shrugs. “It’s been here for as long as the Min family has,” he says. “It’s become an item of worship for them, of sorts.” Catching Jungkook’s expression, he hastily adds, “Not real worship. But they revere it. It is said in their family, the pack will continue to enjoy success as long as the tree grows.”
Jungkook nods wonderingly, taking in this information. In the distance the willow tree looks sad, alone. Bent over the lake, its trunk dark and curving, it looks as if it is trying to escape their notice. To disguise itself on a plain where nothing can be hidden. Jungkook sympathises.
“It’s a lovely tree,” Jimin says, piping up. “Back home we have forests. I’m sure this tree will help to make us feel at home.”
Seokjin inclines his head. “I hope so,” he says.
He leads them back to the village, through the centre, where a gaggle of giggling children are playing. At their appearance, they stop shrieking and eye them cautiously. Jungkook tries not to hunch in on himself to make himself smaller, but the open-eyed stares are certainly a challenge. This is precisely the kind of attention he doesn’t wish to attract.
“Do you have many pups about?” Jimin asks.
“Around forty,” Seokjin says with a smile. Both Jimin and Jungkook gawk at him. There are about ten in their pack, a sign of dwindling numbers that his parents have been at a loss to correct. People have moved away, and with them, their families. “We’ve been blessed with prosperity.”
“I can see that,” Jimin says appreciatively. Seokjin laughs.
“I think we will very much enjoy having you here,” he says. “If there’s anything you need, I am at your disposal.”
“And the gate?” Jungkook asks, his gaze creeping over to it. It is an inescapable, tall block in the corner of his vision, always hovering there. “Are we allowed to leave?”
A shadow crosses Seokjin’s face and Jungkook’s stomach lurches with unease.
“I’d advise you not to right now,” he says carefully, evidently picking his words. “These are trying times. We’d prefer for you to remain in the confines of the village, where you are safe.”
Jungkook tries to trade a long look with Jimin, but Jimin is not looking at him.
“We understand,” Jimin tells Seokjin. “Thank you for your time. I’m sure we can seek you out if we need any more help.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Seokjin says. As he begins to trek away, Jungkook hisses,
“Hyung, what was that?”
“Hush,” Jimin says, his lips hardly moving. “We don’t want to attract any attention. We’ll talk later.”
“This place is weird,” Jungkook insists. Beyond what he has observed, he can feel it: a thin layer of normalcy, stretched over the village, to cover something insidious, something lurking underneath. It can’t disguise the fact that an enormous gate has been constructed for their safety - but to protect them from what , they cannot say - or that Seokjin has just notified Jungkook he’d be safer inside the walls.
Jungkook would understand if he and Jimin had clashed with bandits on their route, or ghosts, or encountered snapping snakes intent on poisoning them, but apart from navigating the tiresome climb, Jungkook didn’t see anything that would warrant such protection, such paranoia.
Jimin loops his arm through Jungkook’s and while maintaining a slow, languorous stroll, mutters to him, “I agree that some things are suspicious. But we can’t be seen to be openly conferring with each other, not in public.”
“Why not?” Jungkook asks. He bristles a little as Jimin says it, thinking, What do we have to hide when they’re clearly keeping things hidden?
“Because,” Jimin says, “we’re the outsiders counting on their good graces and hospitality to keep us safe. Imagine how it would go if they no longer trusted us, or wanted us in their village.”
“Do you think it’d come to that?” Jungkook whispers, his eyes widening in alarm.
“Relax,” Jimin reminds him. Jungkook gives a halted smile to a passer-by, and they resume walking, back in the direction of the house. “I don’t know what these people are capable of, Jungkook-ah. I trust your parents. I also trust they’ve endured something horrible that has put them on high alert for any danger, and in difficult times, people can get confused.”
Tugged from the recesses of his memory, Jungkook remembers: the curled, limp, lifeless hand of his parents’ friend, his father guiding him away from the image, his mother weeping, devastated to have witnessed his grisly end. Was it confusion that saw to his end? Confusion from another villager, someone who fled? Or someone who still lives in the village, keeps their home there - like old man Lee?
These are all preposterous ideas to be entertaining, with no evidence to support them, just the makings of an over-active imagination of Jungkook’s, already stirred up by all the rumours. But in this place, blanketed with fog, hidden away on top of a mountain, the landscape appears wilder, more alive - more susceptible to myths and rumours, the kinds of things Jungkook wouldn’t have dreamed were possible.
“We’ll be fine, Jungkook,” Jimin adds, sensing that his silence is telling. He pats Jungkook’s arm. “We have each other.”
—
Activity in the village is stirred and whipped up by the impending feast. Jungkook had asked Seokjin if there was anything he could do to help - he’d feel less an outsider and more part of the pack if he mucked in like the rest - but Seokjin had dismissed him, kindly.
“This is being held to welcome you,” he’d said, “we wouldn’t dream of making you work.”
So Jungkook has to fidget by the sidelines and watch as the village busies itself carrying baskets of food and fruit and flagons of wine to the mess hall, and watch children pick flowers and place them tactfully in vases, and when they bore of that, chase each other, giggling, snapping, under the table.
He watches tablecloths with intricate patterns - bright oranges and lemons, colourful hummingbirds, and one even with the visage of the willow tree - be thrown out and laid across the long benches where the village will eat.
And at the front, a bench placed facing them, reserved especially for Yoongi and his family. Jungkook has already been informed that he will sit up there with the rest of them, as the guest of honour.
There is a square outline carved out of the roof of the mess hall, which Jungkook finds peculiar, as it doesn’t shield it from possible downpour, or thunderstorms - not that he has yet to see it rain. But Seokjin explains this is because when the moon reaches its peak, the pale orb of light perfectly aligns with the hole, and the villagers can tilt their faces to it.
“It’s more for the superstitious,” he says with a smile and a shrug that says, What can you do? “But even the most rational of us like to see the moon at its highest.”
Jungkook had, too, laid out on a bed of moss, his eyes bright from studying its natural dips and divots, silver hung in the sky, all on display for him to view from the forest.
“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook offers. Seokjin likes this comment; he grins widely. His smile drops when Jungkook adds - imploringly - “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”
“Nothing,” Seokjin says with relish, ushering Jungkook out of the mess hall. He has to hop out of the way last minute to avoid the path of a villager carrying a stacked tower of crockery. “Get comfortable. Go back to your rooms, if you wish. We’ll be expecting you in a few hours, anyway.”
Jungkook reluctantly agrees, because he doesn’t want to push it, not on his first official day here. Not when he’s already inconveniently asked questions about the unspoken tension emanating throughout the village. Watching people scurry around, preparing for a feast, he can almost pretend it isn’t there, can edge it out to the periphery and ignore it.
Jungkook so badly wants to ignore it. He wants his new life here to be normal; as normal as he can see to, factoring in his wedding to a stranger in a completely secluded village that likes to gaze at the moon and prophesy about a willow tree.
He’s being harsh. His shoulders slump with the acknowledgement. He hasn’t given these people a chance, and they’re opening their home to him.
Jungkook walks back to the rooms he’s sharing with Jimin and finds them empty. Jimin had wandered off at some point while Jungkook had been talking to Seokjin, and he can’t be found here.
Their rooms are eerily silent. The saddlebags are spilling their contents out onto Jungkook’s bed, evidence left over from when he’d rifled through them this morning, trying to find something to wear, beyond flustered that he’d been spotted sneaking around.
Jungkook eases himself onto the bed and runs his fingers over the sheets, tracing the stitches. The room remains creepily quiet. Even running his eyes over every corner, every painting, every detail etched into the wall doesn’t alleviate the tightness in his chest, the anticipation there. As if Jungkook expects everything to be revealed to him all at once. Like maybe there’s a monster that roams the mountains and it’ll come crashing through the village and storm the Min home, presenting itself to Jungkook in all of its dark, fanged glory.
Jungkook shudders to think about it, and in his absentmindedness, he pulls at a stitch and it unravels. Cursing himself, he smooths it down and then hastily flips the sheet so he doesn’t have to look at it.
He even gets up from the twin bed for good measure, hearing it creak under him, and exits the room. Yoongi’s bedroom is only just down the hall. He feels a tug towards it. He knows that to explore is wrong, and impolite, and invasive - but his feet are moving of their own accord, carrying him towards the room, and his hands push the door open.
It unleashes a mighty groan that is far too loud in the silence. Jungkook pauses, and once he’s satisfied he hasn’t disturbed anyone, he steps inside.
There is a four poster bed pressed up against the wall that smells, temptingly, of Yoongi. His scent is draped everywhere: on the bed; on the writing desk opposite; even on the thin mesh curtains, swaying in the breeze. A window is open. Jungkook walks over to it and rapidly flattens himself against the wall when he realises it looks out onto the village.
Heart rattling in his ribcage, he crouches under the window and arrives at Yoongi’s bed. The sheets are rumpled, and a book has been lazily discarded onto the unslept side. Yoongi’s scent, the smell of fresh air and pine leaves is potent here, and heat slams through Jungkook at the smell. He reaches out with a quivering hand and presses it to the sheets. They’re still warm.
He imagines Yoongi sleeping in here every night, throwing his book aside and being tugged into slumber, irresistible. Or maybe he sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning, his dark hair feathered across the white pillow, a stark contrast of colour. Maybe he sleeps in a similar shirt to Jungkook’s, or maybe he sleeps shirtless, his pale, expansive skin glowing in the moonlight, a powerful chest rising and falling with each breath -
Jungkook lurches back, wrenching his hand away, when he realises he’s affecting himself with his own thoughts, his dick stirring with interest in his pants. He sucks in a noisy breath and wills himself to calm down. After one inhale, one exhale, one inhale, one exhale, Jungkook manages to keep his erection under wraps. His dick softens again.
The bed is simply too much. He wanders over to the writing desk, carved from dark oak, much neater and better organised than Yoongi’s bed. There’s a stack of envelopes to the left, blank paper to the right, and a fountain pen placed, poised, waiting to be picked up by Yoongi’s hand. In front is a small drawer, the perfect size for folded letters, and Jungkook goes to open it. It’s locked. He gives it another timid pull, testing, but it stubbornly refuses to open.
His gaze roams the desk, searching. There has to be a key somewhere that will allow him to unlock it. A locked drawer can only spell out secrets, perhaps even tell Jungkook about the shadowy gate and the evasive people, a threat which whispers to them, winds around the pack -
“You won’t find anything in there,” a voice, layered with amusement, says. Jungkook jumps back like he’s been scalded and looks up, spooked, at Yoongi in the doorway. Yoongi is dishevelled, his shirt inexplicably half-buttoned. Jungkook sees a flash of pale skin and heat pools in his stomach. The pale skin of his imagination.
“I was-” Jungkook tries, attempting to muster up a sufficient excuse that will make his presence in Yoongi’s bedroom make sense, “I was, um, looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” Yoongi steps forward, his eyes glittering. “What did you need from me?”
“I needed -” again, wildly searching, his eyes darting around the room, seeking inspiration. “I needed something of yours.”
“And what would that be?”
“A shirt,” Jungkook says, and burns to say it. But this is the only thing he can think of when pressed to it. “Will you lend me a shirt of yours? Then I can get … acquainted with your scent.”
Yoongi smirks. But he marches over to his bed, snatches a shirt from there, and holds it for Jungkook to take. The scent of it is so strong it washes over Jungkook, who resists the urge to close his eyes and breathe in the commanding smell of alpha.
“Take it,” Yoongi orders. “If it’ll help you sleep.”
Jungkook takes it from his grasp, bunching it up in his hands and holding it stiffly to his side. “I didn’t, um, say anything about it helping me to sleep.”
“No, but I assume you’ll sleep in it?” Yoongi’s eyes, trained on him, appear innocent, but his tone, purring, tells a different story. It takes all of Jungkook’s restraint not to flee from the room and press his face to a wall to cool down. “Otherwise why else would you need it?”
Jungkook gnaws his lower lip and Yoongi’s eyes track the movement. “Yeah. I’ll sleep with it. Thank you, Yoongi-ssi.”
“Pleasure is all mine,” Yoongi says.
Hesitating, Jungkook decides now is as good a time as ever to leave Yoongi’s bedroom and try to scrape back some of his dignity. As he crosses the threshold, Yoongi calls behind him,
“I hope you found what you were looking for!”
He doesn’t outright laugh, but when Jungkook bends his neck, humiliated, and trots along to his room, he thinks he hears a chuckle.
—
“You were snooping,” Jimin says, astonished. “Snooping in his rooms. What were you thinking?”
Hackles rising, Jungkook says, “I was thinking I’d get some answers about what’s going on here!”
Jimin huffs. “Jungkook-ah, not everything is a conspiracy.”
Jungkook stares at him, aghast. Earlier he’d conceded something was wrong; but now, Jungkook, for his choice investigation methods, is causing Jimin to turn back on what he’d said. An outrage.
“That’s not what you said earlier!”
“I said something might have been wrong,” Jimin argues hotly. “I didn’t advise you to help yourself to rummaging through the Pack Leader’s son’s room!”
They have yet to meet Pack Leader Min. Earlier, Seokjin had assured them this would happen at the feast; he’s older than he used to be, and he requires long periods of respite before entertaining company. Now, Jungkook thinks he can hardly face his son, let alone his father, whose approval Jungkook needs to keep.
“Was he forgiving, at least?” Jimin asks abruptly. “When he caught you?”
Jimin is trying to keep his voice low, to avoid the risk of being overheard. They are posted in their rooms while they wait for an escort to the feast, for which the final preparations are in motion. Outside, the sun has dipped below the horizon and is bleeding colour onto the canvas. Already lamps are being lit, throwing out light onto the plain.
“He bought the excuse,” Jungkook says. “At least, I think so.”
Simultaneously, their heads swivel to where Yoongi’s shirt is neatly resting on Jungkook’s pillow. Jungkook is trying not to think about how his bed will smell like Yoongi when he climbs into it tonight; is trying to dismiss the memory of Yoongi smirking, telling Jungkook he expects him to sleep with it.
It’s … outrageous, almost, for Yoongi to be giving Jungkook a gift of this magnitude, clothes with his scent stamped on them, knowing that this is a gesture among lovers, among fiancés, among those who are intimate and intend to be.
It’s suggestive, and the thought makes Jungkook taut with anticipation.
“It sounds like he was kind,” Jimin says, not guessing at the thoughts that are swirling in Jungkook’s head. “But we shouldn’t expect his patience all of the time. And you shouldn’t have been snooping!”
“Investigating!” Jungkook fires back, aware he is being petulant and deliberately obtuse, but it doesn’t sit right with him, playing the honoured guest while the gate casts a metaphorical pall over them all. That, and being caught out a second time in the space of a day has put him on the back foot, where he is not used to being.
Then, he’s never had an alpha gift him an item of clothing to sleep with, to burrow against - he’s kissed people, even let the beta that he discovered being unfaithful to him put his hands down Jungkook’s pants, fumbling, groping at him. But he has never had an alpha like Yoongi, who radiates easy dominance, plant the suggestion of intimacy in Jungkook’s brain and smirk at his reaction. Yoongi knows what he’s doing, Jungkook is sure of it. It makes him feel breathless. Squirmy.
Jimin sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jungkook-ah, we are not at home. We are not somewhere where your parents will tolerate this. We are still guests, and we count on their hospitality.”
“If my parents were willing to send me away, tell me it wasn’t to someone we should trust,” Jungkook demands to know. Challenging Jimin.
Jimin sighs a second time, aggrieved. “We can trust them,” he says. “I trust your parents and your parents trust them. So we trust them.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to make his next point - that his parents would want him to be safe, and his investigation is part of that due process - when someone raps their fist against the door.
“Jimin-ssi? Jungkook-ssi? I hope I’m not interrupting.” Seokjin.
“This isn’t over,” Jimin mouths at Jungkook, with a warning figure. He gets up and scuttles over to the door. “Seokjin-ssi, please come in.”
Seokjin steps inside and can sense the tension, thick around them. But diplomatically, he doesn’t say anything.
“I just came to escort the both of you,” he says. “And to gift you something, Jungkook.”
“Oh,” Jungkook says. “What is it?”
Seokjin reaches over and gently presses an item into Jungkook’s hand. He unfurls his palm and sees a gold burnished hair clip, with delicate, blooming white lilies sitting atop, sparkling with studded gems along their petals. He’s speechless. It’s beautiful.
“Yoongi understands lilies are your favourite flower,” Seokjin says. “He’d like you to wear it tonight.”
Jungkook traces the smooth, cool material of the lilies. They feel as if they’re carved from a pearl, or a seashell. He can’t stop looking at them. He’s mesmerised.
But Seokjin is waiting for an answer. He finally wrenches his gaze from them and says, “Yes. Of course. I’ll wear it. Give me one moment.”
He ducks into the bathroom and smooths his hair back from his face. It has been allowed to grow long, and the tendrils of his hair curl against his shoulder, his side fringe framing his face, resembling a bob. Gently, he weaves the clip into his hair, where Yoongi can see it. He touches it gingerly again.
A gift. A second gift, if Jungkook wants to be accurate, following on from the shirt which is resting on his bed. He wonders if Seokjin smelled it the moment he walked into the room, and his face floods with colour. He switches on the tap and splashes cool water onto it, which is a welcome reprieve.
He pats himself dry and walks back out there, where Seokjin and Jimin are waiting for him expectantly. Tonight, Jungkook is wearing a shirt of sage green silk, his most expensive item of clothing, and his smartest pair of dress trousers. His hair is combed and the lily hair clip is in full view.
Seokjin gives an appreciative nod. “It looks wonderful,” he says.
“It looks great, Kook,” Jimin adds, chiming in. His expression is soft, suggesting nothing of the argument they had been embroiled in when Seokjin interrupted. Jungkook feels a stab go through him, reminded that Jimin left his home too to be with him, to see him through this process. Although Jungkook is marrying the strange alpha and carrying the title of inheritor, it is no easier for Jimin, who has no partner to expect, to keep him steady. Jungkook is the closest thing he has to that.
“Thank you.” Jungkook is momentarily bashful, scuffing his shoes across the wooden floorboards, not knowing what to say. The sun has left them and it is dark outside, the village aglow with the light of a hundred lamps, chasing away the shadows.
“After you,” Seokjin says, gesturing for Jungkook to step in front. He does so hesitantly, not wanting to lead as he is sure that eyes will inevitably fall to him - but perhaps this is his role now, this is part and parcel of being Yoongi’s mate-to-be - and each step down the staircase, through the hallway and along to the mess hall feels leaden, like his feet are weighing him down.
He holds back a gasp at the mess hall that greets him: heavy wisteria has been thrown up to the rafters and is currently drooping down, grazing people’s faces as they pass, a mass of bursting pinks and purples; there are vases of lilies dotted everywhere, along the benches and even in the corners, whites and oranges and lilacs; the benches are laden with food, creaking under their weight, and in the midst of it all, Yoongi is seated at the head with his father, commanding attention.
Tonight, Yoongi is wearing a tight-fitted black shirt, buttoned up, and black trousers, with the only spot of colour being the silver hoops that dangle from his ears, reflecting flashes of light. His gaze settles onto Jungkook as he enters, and snags onto the lily hair clip.
They walk towards the bench and Jungkook sees Pack Leader Min assess their movement. He must be about sixty, and the streaks of white running through his hair confirm that, as well as the lines wrinkling his face; but there’s a sharpness to his stare that suggests he remains an observant man.
Jungkook stops just in front, and bows low, deferential, his eyes to the floor. When he straightens back up, Pack Leader Min is studying him.
“So you’re the omega promised to my son,” he announces, and a hush falls over the room, all chatter quieting as people regard this scene with interest. The soon-to-be mated omega meeting his father-in-law, the man Yoongi will succeed when he steps down, or dies. “Jeon Jungkook.”
“It’s an honour to be here,” Jungkook says, shrinking slightly in on himself. “Thank you for your kindness and for your welcome.”
Pack Leader Min smiles like he knows something Jungkook does not. “The honour is all mine,” he says. He gestures to the empty seat next to Yoongi. “Please, be seated. We’re happy to welcome you to our pack.”
There’s no more preamble. Jungkook takes his place by Yoongi’s side and realising there is little space, keeps his elbows glued to his side.
“What would you prefer?” Yoongi asks him. No mention of the hair clip.
“Sorry?”
“We’ve got meat, bread, fish,” Yoongi says, sweeping his hand over the plates in front. Jungkook’s mouth waters at the sight of a plate piled high with thinly-cut slices of pork, and Yoongi tacks on very quickly. He loads a few slices onto Jungkook’s plate while Jungkook weakly protests.
Yoongi is doing everything an expected alpha should: he is gifting Jungkook, treating him with respect, even feeding him. Yet Jungkook can’t shake the feeling that these are all practised gestures, with no real meaning behind it.
He’s not blind to the fact that this is Yoongi’s first day meeting Jungkook and therefore his apprehension would be understandable - it might even make Jungkook feel a little better about his - but there’s no sign of that. Only careful blanking, and - bursting unprompted into his mind - occasional flirting.
Jungkook slices into the pork, which is tender, and pops it into his mouth. He tries not to moan at how tasty it is, when his food a few days prior was tough meat and crusty bread. Yoongi is watching him.
“Good?” he asks.
Jungkook nods, with a hand pressed to his mouth. He swallows back his mouthful before he replies.
“Good,” he says. “Is your meat always this tasty?” His pack have had to make do sometimes on the stringier meat, from animals who haven’t had time to be fattened before they are slaughtered, or whatever people hunted from the forest. But hunted food dwindled as the number of young, able hunters vacated.
Yoongi seems pleased by the question. “Usually,” he says. “Why, what do you eat where you’re from?”
“Nothing as good as this,” Jungkook admits, sawing at his next slice. He’s trying to eat delicately, but his stomach is growling and he realises he is starving. “A lot of fish, mostly, for when the meat runs low.”
“And does it? Often?”
“Uh, sometimes,” Jungkook says. “I guess our pack isn’t as large, or as thriving.”
Yoongi acknowledges this with a small smile. “We’ve been blessed,” he says. He takes a ripe strawberry and pops it into his mouth, and then offers Jungkook one.
Jungkook goes to take it, but Yoongi stops him. “Let me,” he says, and in full view of everyone - the whole pack - he takes a strawberry and feeds it to Jungkook. Jungkook bites down and if it weren’t for the sweet, ripe flavour exploding in his mouth occupying him, he’d be blushing furiously. Yoongi feeds him the rest, his fingertips grazing Jungkook’s lips. Jungkook is close to exploding himself.
“There you go,” Yoongi murmurs. His eyes are intent. If this is how he behaves in public, Jungkook can only imagine what their wedding night will be like.
The Mins are rumoured to be wild. Will Yoongi take Jungkook in the old way, with Jungkook on his knees, presenting? Will he pull at Jungkook’s hair and take his pleasure for himself? Will he sink his teeth into Jungkook’s neck and perform the mating bite as expected, for Jungkook to wear the faded marks of, so everyone knows to whom he belongs?
Jungkook is grateful for a breeze that blows in at that time, cooling him down. He thinks he’s rarely had a moment today where he hasn’t felt close to overheating entirely, and he knows who to credit that to.
Before he can consider how to act if Yoongi attempts to feed him another strawberry, Pack Leader Min gets to his feet, his chair legs scraping against the floor, and Jungkook watches the pack turn towards him, expectantly.
“As many of you know, on the day my son Yoongi was born, a full moon was in the sky,” he starts, his voice slow, and lumbering. “We saw it as a blessing, and a sign of the good health he would enjoy. I have been immensely fortunate to have been given a son who has been steadfast, brave, and determined. And tonight, I welcome his husband to be, Jeon Jungkook, who will continue to oversee this prosperity, I am sure.”
He raises his flagon of wine and the room follows, three hundred arms raised into the air, their drinks poised.
“To prosperity,” he says, and it ripples through the room as the rest of them repeat it in a chant. He looks at Yoongi fondly. “To my son.” Another ripple. Jungkook feels a chill run down his spine just from hearing it.
They drink, and they drink deeply. Jungkook sips the wine, which is too rich for his tastes, but many more down their cups and the slam that resounds through the mess hall can almost be felt through vibrations.
The feast eases up from there. Once the food has been cleared away and the benches pushed back, people begin to dance; accompanied by a band which haphazardly forms, wielding drums and a guitar. The music is not always in tune, but Jungkook feels lighter listening to it. He has missed music.
A woman approaches the bench to ask Yoongi if he wants to dance, and he declines. “Not without offering my fiance the first,” he says, and Jungkook is startled.
“Oh, um. No that’s okay,” Jungkook says weakly. “You can go ahead. I don’t mind.”
A profuse rejection, and one that causes several sets of eyes, including Pack Leader Min’s, to land on him. Jungkook’s skin prickles.
But Yoongi doesn’t comment on it, and follows the woman into the fray, where a crowd of people have gathered, cheering and stomping their feet, energised by Yoongi’s appearance. He dances with the woman for a little while, and when he looks like he might peel away - a man takes him up into a rigorous jig, during which Jungkook hides a smile at Yoongi’s attempt to keep up with what appears to be a taxing dance.
“I’m incredibly proud of him,” Pack Leader Min says suddenly. “He’ll make a great leader.”
Jungkook mulls that over, as he watches Yoongi dance with them, an endless line of people who stream to jump around with him, to spin in circles, even - Jungkook’s heart clenches - to let the younger pups step on his feet and swing them around while they shriek, delighted.
“The pack seems to love him,” Jungkook offers, choosing what he does know after a day of knowing Yoongi. He can’t exactly comment on specifics.
Pack Leader Min stares at Jungkook, too intently for his comfort. Like his gaze is stripping him away. Jungkook half expects him to remark on Jungkook’s incessant questions about the gate, or his presumptuous searching of Yoongi’s room - but instead he says, “Do you miss your home, Jungkook?”
Jungkook takes a big swig of wine. He figures maybe that’ll help him through this evening.
“Yes, I do,” he says after a pause. “It is difficult to be parted from loved ones.”
“I felt the same way, coming here,” Pack Leader Min says. Jungkook is surprised by this omission, and he reads it on Jungkook’s face. “I didn’t always live in the mountains. It was my destiny, but I ran away from home young, desperate to flee it.” His eyes slide to Yoongi, who is amazingly untired, dancing still, a gummy smile on his face. “He understands the importance of duty. I did not.”
“It must have been challenging,” Jungkook says carefully. “To have left what you knew.”
“It was,” Pack Leader Min says. He raises his glass in acknowledgement of Jungkook. “I have some inkling of what you are going through. But do not think you are alone.”
Unexpectedly touched, Jungkook says, “Thank you, Pack Leader Min.”
He inclines his head in a nod.
—
Two flagons of wine down and Jungkook is whirling around in a crowd of people until he is dizzy and his vision is blurred, the outline of the mess hall blurring, slipping, like water onto a freshly painted canvas.
He is giddy, and he lets out a breathless laugh when someone stops him with a hand. Yoongi.
“You look like you might hurt yourself,” he says, his brow creased with a frown which Jungkook, frankly, finds adorable.
“You don’t need to worry yourself,” he says, “I’m having fun.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Yoongi says. “Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”
“Okay,” Jungkook says, punctuated by a hiccup. The wine washed down well after enough sips, and he feels floaty, untethered. He bounces in step alongside Yoongi who leads him out of the mess hall with an arm wrapped around his shoulder. It hardly feels real, Yoongi touching him. And yet he is.
Yoongi sits him down on a tree stump fashioned into a stool, and drops into a squat in front of Jungkook, peering at him.
“I’m okay,” Jungkook says, although he slurs his words. “You don’t need to be concerned with my welfare.”
A stray hair flops into his eyes and Yoongi, unthinkingly, brushes it away. Jungkook’s mouth goes dry from the gesture. Yoongi has been kind; though unreadable at moments, he’s been understanding of Jungkook’s plight, offering him gestures and gifts. He is unbearably attractive. Jungkook thinks if Yoongi kissed him now, he wouldn’t push him away - but maybe that’s the wine talking.
But Yoongi doesn’t kiss him. He gets back onto his feet and frowns down at Jungkook. “I can’t leave you alone out here,” he says. “But I need to go and get help.”
“Reinforcements,” Jungkook muses, swaying in his position on the stool. “Understood, captain. My captain.”
Yoongi ignores the drunken spiel and disappears and then reappears in the blink of an eye with Jimin in tow.
“Jungkookie,” Jimin choruses with a big smile. “This is where you’ve got to.”
“The wine was tasty,” Jungkook confirms. “So I had a couple - a few drinks. And the people here are really nice. They’ll dance all night.”
“That’s great,” Jimin says sweetly. “But I think we need to get you to bed. Shall we do that?” He offers an arm and Jungkook takes it, stumbling slightly. Yoongi catches him and at the feeling of his hand pressed to Jungkook’s shoulder - the imprint it leaves - Jungkook all but whines.
He doesn’t want to return to the rooms he shares with Jimin. He wants Yoongi to take him back.
“I need my alpha to keep me safe,” he says, pouting. “It’s - he’ll protect me. It’s fine.”
Jimin grimaces at him.
“As cute as you are, I think it’s best if Jimin takes you home,” Yoongi tells him solemnly. “Okay? I’ll be here tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jungkook smiles dopily as he imagines Yoongi leaving. That would be a head scratcher, if he up and left, four days before the wedding.
“Okay,” he says agreeably and Jimin heaves him up from the stump, muttering a curse.
“Jesus, you’re heavy,” he says, and Jungkook huffs.
“That’s rude, hyung.”
“You weigh a ton,” Jimin wheezes. With a quick look cut Yoongi’s way, he says, “Thanks for taking care of him.”
“Of course,” Yoongi says.
“This will be your job within the week,” Jimin says. Jungkook’s brain, moving sluggishly, struggles to keep up with the stream of the conversation. “I hope you’re prepared for that.”
Yoongi doesn’t issue a response, but Jungkook thinks he sees him smile. Then Jimin is dragging him along, panting, in the direction of the Min house. Jungkook tries to straighten himself up but his balance is off-kilter, so he lets himself be guided.
“You are completely unpredictable, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says, sounding strained, as they work their way upstairs, “you go from theorising about conspiracies to stealing into Yoongi’s room to getting drunk at the feast.”
“I like to keep you on your toes, hyung.”
“Clearly,” Jimin says through gritted teeth, pushing Jungkook up onto the landing. He staggers the rest of the way into their rooms, and practically collapses on the bed. The room is spinning and he’s relieved to close his eyes, a headache forming.
Jimin helps him out of his shoes and Jungkook hears them clatter as they land on the floor, but he is already drifting off.
“Thanks, hyung,” he manages right before he is tugged under. “You’re the best. Can always rely on you.”
He doesn’t hear Jimin’s response. Sleep is too alluring.
—
Jungkook is standing under the willow tree, on a cool spring morning. The leaves whisper as the breeze rustles through them, but they say things Jungkook can’t pick up on. He reaches up to touch the leaves but the willow tree shakes, and they fall to the ground simultaneously.
Jungkook panics at the sight but he’s not sure why. He drops to his knees and tries snatching at the leaves, to fix them back to the boughs, but they dissolve into dust in his hands. He gets to his feet, spinning around, trying to find something or someone that would help him; but the plain is empty and the village homes have descended into rubble.
In the distance, a full, swelling moon rises and a spot of blood stains it, spreading. Jungkook watches, fascinated, while the sensation of creeping dread slithers down his spine. The moon becomes awash with blood.
Yoongi is walking through the village, oblivious to the moon. Jungkook opens his mouth to warn him but the words die in his throat.
He tries to shout, “Yoongi! Look out!” as shadowy figures materialise from dark corners, their figures undefined, shrouded in smoke. They grasp at Yoongi, their fingers at his throat. One gets him and he crumples to the ground.
Jungkook races over, every nerve in his body wired with terror, and he reaches Yoongi, limp on the floor, drained of colour. Jungkook tries to locate a pulse, but can’t find anything. Then the whispering of the willow tree raises in volume, and he can hear voices, hissing his name and Yoongi’s.
Yoongi’s eyes raise to the sky and slide back to his head. Jungkook screams, but nothing comes out.
—
He lurches awake, gasping. His sheets are soaked with sweat and his heart is racing. He reaches out for his surroundings - and finds Yoongi’s shirt, nestled against his pillow. He takes deep breaths, letting Yoongi’s scent wash over him, a small reminder that dreams are not real, and cannot touch him in the waking world.
It’s unexpectedly soothing. His pulse slows. His skin dries. But the bed is wet, so he gets to his feet and cranks open the window. It groans, waking Jimin.
“Jungkook?” His voice is groggy with sleep. “Jungkook-ah, what’s going on?”
“Just had a bad dream,” Jungkook whispers, leaning his head against the wall and inhaling the cool, fresh air. “Go back to sleep.”
A beat.
“Are you sure? Do you want to sleep with me?”
Jungkook chances a look at his bed, which is still slick with his sweat. He’d been terrified in the dream, enough for it to steadily leak from his body.
He makes his decision quickly, and pads over to Jimin’s bed. Wordlessly, Jimin shifts over and leaves a space for Jungkook to squeeze into. They slept together like this when they were young, during the worst storms when the wind would howl and the rain would lash against the windows furiously, but haven’t for about thirteen years.
Jungkook is comforted beyond belief, pressed against the solid warmth of Jimin’s body. He lays awake for a while, turning over the dream - only now recalling the willow tree and the blood-red moon - but is eventually lulled back to sleep.
It is, thankfully, a dreamless sleep.
—
That morning, Jungkook wakes with a headache pressing in all sides of his skull, the likes of which he hasn’t experienced since he was younger, inexperienced and brand-new to the woes of alcohol. He remembers how free he’d been with his drinking, swigging beer like it was something to be proud of - only to learn his lesson quickly the very next day.
Jungkook is no longer fifteen, and doesn’t wake up in his own bed. For a brief second, he is disoriented as he peers blearily around, trying to ascertain where he is. Then it sets in and he wants to sink under the safety of the bed sheets and not resurface for hours.
“Someone’s awake,” Jimin says with amusement lacing his voice - quietly, too, as he’s aware Jungkook is contending with a roaring hangover.
Jimin sets a glass of water down by the bedside table and his eyes are a direct order: Drink .
Jungkook takes a hesitant sip and at the first taste of water, gulps it back as he realises how parched he is. How dry his mouth was when he woke up.
He sets it back and tries to sit up. His head spins. Jimin reaches to steady him, but Jungkook politely declines with a gesture.
“I can handle it,” he says. “I’m not fifteen anymore.”
“If you were fifteen you probably would have tried to make out with Yoongi,” Jimin says, smiling - recalling how impulsive Jungkook was at that age. Jungkook cuts him a glare, in no mood to be teased. “Aw, don’t be like that, Jungkook-ah. You were fine.”
Jungkook manages to get up in a sitting position and stares down at his hands as bits and pieces of last night trickle through.
“Did I call Yoongi my captain?” he asks, ashen-faced.
Jimin’s mouth tips up. “Is that all you remember about last night?” he asks - lightly, clearly trying to gauge how clear Jungkook’s memory is.
“...Yes,” Jungkook says after a pause.
“Then that’s all you did!” Jimin claims, unconvincingly.
But the memory rushes in, while Jungkook is weak from his hangover and can’t stop it.
“Did I call Yoongi my alpha?”
Jimin opens his mouth and then snaps it shut. His silence is telling enough.
Jungkook buries his face in his hands and groans - one, long note to convey his distress and embarrassment at not only how drunk he’d got, but how unfiltered. To call Yoongi his alpha when they’re not even married and in no way familiar is humiliating.
“Yoongi sent me, actually,” Jimin says. “He was wondering if you wanted to have breakfast with him?”
“Can I say no?”
“Of course you can say no,” Jimin says. “I just think he’d enjoy your company.”
“Even after last night?”
“I think” - Jimin pauses while he searches for his words - “I think especially after last night. You didn’t see how he looked at you, Kook. He was endeared, trust me.”
Jungkook eyes him, mistrustful. But Jimin’s expression is genuine, with no hint of teasing. He sighs.
“I’ll have breakfast with him,” he concedes.
He dresses while wincing about the steady throb of his headache, which has kicked it up a notch since he got out of bed, splashes his face with water in the hopes that he’ll wake up and appear more presentable, and follows Jimin downstairs, through the hallway, to a room off on the left. Jimin gestures for him to step inside but hangs back, indicating that he won’t be joining Jungkook for breakfast.
This will be a private affair between Jungkook and Yoongi.
The room has tall, glass doors that look out onto the willow tree in the distance and is bathed in soft, morning sunlight. In the centre of the room is a long, dark oak dining table, with six chairs seated around it, and an equally grand display cabinet behind it housing crystal glasses. The table is laden with baskets of bread, slices of cheese, pork, strawberries, grapes, slices of apple and freshly baked chocolate croissants, still steaming from the oven. Jungkook’s mouth waters while he takes it in, and his stomach gives a telling rumble.
His eyes flick towards Yoongi, who’s sitting at the head of the table, hesitant and embarrassed.
“Please, sit down,” Yoongi says, with no sign that he remembers last night. He must, of course, but he’s playing the role of polite host, and Jungkook is happy to oblige him. He dithers a little, unsure of where to sit, and takes the leap and sits down next to Yoongi, closer than they have been this entire time.
Yoongi wordlessly pours him a glass of water and hands it to Jungkook. As he accepts, he sees a twinkle in Yoongi’s eye.
“I figured you might not be feeling very well,” Yoongi explains, “so I thought breakfast would help.”
The croissant smells especially good. Jungkook takes one and butters it.
“It does help,” he says, keeping his head down and his eyes trained on his plate. It’s a kind gesture, but it doesn’t negate how foolish he feels. He can only imagine what his parents would say, on his second day at the Min pack nursing a hangover and being unable to look directly at Yoongi for fear of what he thinks of Jungkook, somebody who drinks with no thought to the consequences. “Thank you.”
When he takes his first bite of the croissant, it flakes in his mouth and a chunk of chocolate breaks apart. He audibly moans from the flavour.
He glances up, ashamed, but sees that Yoongi is smiling.
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed,” Yoongi says gently. “I see it as a compliment.”
“A compliment?”
“You felt comfortable enough to relax,” Yoongi adds. “I’m glad that you felt comfortable enough in my pack.”
Which Jungkook is technically part of now.
“It wasn’t becoming,” Jungkook starts to say, but he falters when he hears himself. His hands twist in his lap as he thinks of how to phrase it. Becoming is a word his parents would employ; and besides, becoming doesn’t adequately summarise how Jungkook truly feels. “It wasn’t appropriate,” he decides. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Yoongi assures him. “Really. I don’t harbour any ill will towards you for it.”
Jungkook finishes off his croissant, already feeling much improved from the chocolate croissant. His headache has subsided a little as it responds to the water and food.
He opens his mouth to say something else - to thank Yoongi for his understanding, he supposes - but Yoongi reaches over with a hand, taking him aback, and sweeps a couple of fingers over Jungkook’s cheek.
Jungkook watches him, wide-eyed, stunned. His skin sparks from Yoongi’s touch.
“You had crumbs on the corner of your mouth,” Yoongi explains, the corner of his own mouth twitching in a smile. “Just thought I’d help.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek to avoid erupting on the spot, and swears he can hear Jimin’s laugh.
—
Seokjin’s role is not quite clearly defined to Jungkook, but it becomes apparent that in the lead-up to the wedding, he is there to act as Yoongi’s advisor and Jungkook’s host. If he sees this as beneath his station he does not complain; he is the picture of amiability.
He even takes Jungkook out on a ride to show him the surrounding landscape, steering clear of the rockier paths and the more jagged parts of the mountain - and Jungkook is awed to see how vast it is, the world in which they occupy only a small part. A speck on the map.
Two days before the wedding is due, Seokjin tells Jungkook there are certain traditions for the omega. He listens tersely, half-expecting to hear something about Jungkook being chained or kept or any version of locked up - which he has seen no evidence of, but it’s wormed its way into Jungkook’s brain nonetheless - but instead Seokjin tells him that one such tradition is to prepare Jungkook physically.
“I don’t mean anything untoward,” he hastens to add. “But you’ll need to be bathed, scented, and, if you’re amenable, flowers will be woven through your hair.”
“Flowers?”
“A symbol of prosperity,” Seokjin explains. “It’s thought to bring growth, and good luck, to the pack.”
Jungkook thinks of his own lily hair clip, which he has hardly put down since Yoongi gave it to him. Every morning he twists it into his hair and every morning he ignores Jimin’s knowing smirk.
“It’s a gift,” he said yesterday, when the smirking got too much, “am I supposed to spurn it? Is that what you advise?”
“Not at all,” Jimin said, the picture of innocence. “I think it’s very wise you’re wearing it.” Jungkook ran his fingers over the lilies, and scowled at Jimin, turning away.
“What kind of flowers?” Jungkook asks, in the present.
“Wildflowers, mostly,” Seokjin says. “Sometimes the children pick them. Other times, they’ll be picked by other members in the pack.”
“It’s a lovely tradition,” Jungkook says obligingly. He doesn’t say, I’m glad I am still allowed fresh air and I won’t be imprisoned. It would only be impolite. “I’d be honoured to go through with it.”
He thinks he detects a hint of relief slumping through Seokjin’s body. He wonders how optional the traditions are.
In a bathroom in the Min’s house, Jungkook bathes himself with lilac soap which is creamy to the touch and leaves his skin silkily smooth and refreshed. Afterwards, he carefully rubs the oiled scent Seokjin gave him over himself.. It smells of lavender, and sugar. Jungkook stinks of something syrupy sweet.
He massages it into his shins, his thighs, working his way up to his stomach, his chest, finishing at his shoulders and daubing it behind his ears. It doesn’t smell offensive, but it does smell mostly artificial. It’s not Jungkook’s preferred scent - but when handing it to him, Seokjin had said, “This is Yoongi’s favourite,” and if Jungkook can’t pretend not to preen when he imagines how Yoongi will react when Jungkook is presented to him wearing his favourite smell.
The flowers come last. Jungkook waits for the oils to dry before he steps back into his clothes and meets Seokjin outside. One flare of Seokjin’s nostrils confirms he can smell the artificial scent on Jungkook.
“Here,” Seokjin says, pressing a bouquet into Jungkook’s hand. Jungkook is rendered speechless by the eclectic mix of wild flowers, some dainty, some hardy, some flush with colour, some pale; but before he can ask how he to go about weaving them into his hair, Seokjin gestures for Jungkook to follow.
He leads him further outside, to a tree stump stool, where a woman is waiting with clasped hands. She has a kind face and she smiles at Jungkook. Jungkook smiles back.
“Jungkook, this is Hye-in,” Seokjin introduces. “She fishes for the village, but she’s also wonderful at flower weaving.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Jungkook says, taking his seat.
“Honoured to make your acquaintance,” she says with a raspy voice. “I see Seokjin-ah has picked a lovely bunch of flowers for me to choose from.” To Seokjin, she says, “I wonder how you found the bleeding hearts.”
“They were off the beaten track,” Seokjin says, unexpectedly bashful. “It wasn’t too much trouble.”
She winks at Jungkook. “His modesty,” she says. “Bleeding hearts are far and far in between. Tricky to find, trickier to pick. You’re lucky that Seokjin-ah went to all the trouble.”
“Thank you,” Jungkook tells Seokijn, trying to convey gratitude but feeling a little awkward at not having known this.
“You’re in capable hands,” Seokjin says. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Jungkook hands her the bunch at her request and tries to sit ramrod straight, and still. His curiosity getting the better of him, he asks, “Bleeding hearts?”
“Yes, these flowers,” Hye-in says, bending down to retrieve a flower. It has a thin, curvy stem with punchy pink petals growing in the shape of a drooping heart. “Don’t be fooled by their name. They symbolise luck in love.”
She takes a comb and runs it thoroughly through Jungkook’s hair. The scrape of the teeth against his scalp is pleasant, gentle, and he finds himself almost drifting off into sleep from her ministrations.
He wakes up again when she starts to loosely plait parts of his hair. “It’ll help to hold the flowers,” she explains. Her hands work deftly and Jungkook finds himself trusting her advice. He feels the first prick of the stem as she weaves it into a plait near the top of his head, and tries to imagine what it looks like, the pop of pink interwoven with his dark hair.
“Don’t worry, I have a mirror so you can look after,” she says, reading his mind.
“Ah,” Jungkook replies sheepishly, at having been so transparent for wanting a glimpse of his own appearance. “That would be great, thank you.”
They lapse back into silence as Hye-in picks up the wild flowers, one by one, and threads them into Jungkook’s hair. Some of them have a calming perfume, and he’s drifting off again when there’s a tap on his shoulder, and he comes to, groggily.
“Hm?”
“I’m all done,” Hye-in says, her voice laced with amusement. “Would you like to see?”
“Please.”
She scoops up the mirror and hands it to Jungkook, who gingerly raises it to his reflection. He’s stunned at the end result: interwoven with the plaits, delicately, without crushing the stems or petals, is a riot of colour, blues and whites and pinks, and too many to count, with one large, drooping flower placed by his ear, fanning his cheek with a buttery yellow colour.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, turning the mirror to inspect his appearance once more, before he hands it back to Hye-in.
“I’m happy to be of service,” she says simply.
He reaches up and with a feather-light touch, strokes the flower by his ear. Its petals are silkily soft.
At that moment, he spies Yoongi walking across the centre of the village with Namjoon in tow, deep in conversation. He doesn’t expect Yoongi to notice him, but it’s as if something passes over him, and his intense gaze flits over to Jungkook. Yoongi blinks, appearing startled, staring over at Jungkook.
“I think your alpha likes it,” Hye-in sing-songs quietly to him. Jungkook flushes.
“It’s your handiwork he likes,” he says, refusing to be drawn in on whether Yoongi finds him beautiful. That’s hardly important.
Namjoon sees that Yoongi’s attention is elsewhere, and when he follows his gaze to Jungkook, he smiles.
Jungkook manages a hesitant wave. Yoongi, after a beat, waves back, and then he breaks off the eye contact and resumes walking with Namjoon, back to being engrossed. He watches them cut through the rest of town until their heads bob out of his line of sight.
“He’ll make a great leader,” Hye-in inputs, drawing Jungkook back.
“Hm? Oh, yeah.” So far this is all people have said about Yoongi, but they don’t realise Jungkook needs to know more than that. He wants to understand what makes Yoongi tick; what motivates him; what his passions are; what his first thought is when he wakes up in the morning. Why he decided to marry Jungkook.
And then, of course, there are the other questions floating around; why the gate has been constructed; what threat lurks; why the willow tree is the unofficial emblem of the Min pack; where they gained a reputation for being wild and unpredictable from. It’s gossip, Jungkook knows, but after meeting Yoongi and finding no cause for concern, he ponders whether it has something to do with a pack harbouring a vendetta against them.
Perhaps there was a conflict or a clash; and both sides left sore. Perhaps there was another omega sworn to Yoongi and the engagement was broken off.
All speculation, all unanswered questions that niggle at Jungkook.
He stands up too quickly - and one of the flowers slides out, and floats to the floor.
“Oh no,” Hye-in says, “I should have warned you. You might need to be careful while walking around, in case they fall out.”
What’s one more promise?
—
That evening, Jungkook composes his first letter to his parents. He steals away to his rooms and carefully picks out the flowers from his hair, which are already wilting, a sorry sight. He carefully lays them, crumpled, on a bedside table.
In the letter he writes about the arduous journey, the grumpy innkeeper - thinking that they will find these details amusing, quirks of what effectively was Jungkook leaving home for good - but writes in nothing to say of the gate, the suspicious welcome, the leering of the older guard. The shadowed figure, the nightmares that granted him an especially vivid night.
He mentions Yoongi - albeit briefly - and writes, He seems to be a good listener. I can only hope he’s able to tolerate my talk of music, once I get going . I know both of you will recall how passionate I can get about the topic. He doesn’t add that Yoongi is inscrutable and his stare heavy; or that he has been a detached kind of polite and cordial, where he’s only playing nicely with Jungkook because he’s expected to, not because he wants to.
He writes about the hole in the mess hall - to reflect the moon - and includes a joke about the Mins roaming unprohibited. Maybe the rumours are true and they worship the moon, and the moon alone. But I’ve not seen any evidence of this. He suspects they will appreciate this lighthearted joke, assuming that Jungkook is not paying heed to gossip.
And he’s not. He’s only skeptical.
For some reason, the memory of the stag about to charge in the forest that day deposits itself into Jungkook’s mind. He remembers the tang of terror, the tightness of his throat, and the shortness of breath. The adrenaline pummelling him all at once, imbuing him with one instruction: to survive.
“Writing home?” Jimin asks, taking Jungkook by surprise. He drops his pen and it falls onto the floor with a clatter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You’re not disturbing me,” Jungkook replies, hurriedly finishing up the letter with his well wishes home, that he hopes the crops are thriving and that the days are long and balmy, adding his name in a scrawl at the end. He folds it up and sets it aside. “I was just done.”
“Was it a positive report?” Jimin asks, perching on the side of his bed. Jungkook is sitting cross-legged on his.
“Yes,” Jungkook says. “I don’t want my parents to worry.”
“So you didn’t tell them about the nightmares,” Jimin understands, levelling a look at Jungkook.
“What was I supposed to say?” Jungkook asks. “I thought you weren’t superstitious, anyway.”
“I’m not. But your parents care for you, deeply. It might be good for them to know what’s going on,” Jimin says.
He’s right, of course, but something about the vividness of the nightmares, of how real they feel when Jungkook is asleep, of the indecipherable nature of the messages - the blood moon, the shadowed figures, their hands at Yoongi’s throat - causes Jungkook to hesitate. He can’t make sense of the nightmares, and doesn’t expect his parents to do any better. He’ll only stir them into a panic, like a panic of the old days.
“Where have you been?” Jungkook asks, swiftly changing the topic. “It’s dark outside.”
“Oh, around,” Jimin responds with a long pause, his expression coy. “I was being given a private tour of the village.”
“A private-?” Jungkook abruptly stops himself as it twigs. “You were with that guard.”
“He has local knowledge,” Jimin says defensively. The guard, Kim Namjoon, spent a long time looking at Jimin and Jimin had spent a long time looking back. “He was only showing me around.”
“I’m sure he was,” Jungkook says, grinning. Jimin rolls his eyes and mutters something like Idiot, but Jungkook takes the jab good-naturedly. “Did you learn anything new?”
“I learned that Yoongi’s father ran away when he was younger,” Jimin says.
Jungkook leans in. “ Yes . He told me that, at the feast! I was surprised.”
“It is surprising,” Jimin allows. “He was set to inherit the pack but he left in the middle of the night, without a trace. He was gone for fifteen years, apparently.”
“I wonder if Yoongi would ever do something like that.” The question hangs as they both muse over this. “People have been telling me all day how good of a leader he will be,” Jungkook adds.
“The people seem to love him,” Jimin says. “I think you’re in good hands, Jungkook-ah.”
In good hands. Jungkook shivers.
“I can only hope so,” he says.
—
Jungkook is back under the willow tree, although this time the sky is light, a brilliant blaze of blue that stretches as far as he can see. The smell of fresh air permeates his nose and brings with it the scent of perfumed flowers on the breeze. Jungkook takes a deep inhale, feeling himself go boneless.
He reaches out and touches the solid bark, rough under his fingertips.
“Having fun?” a voice asks.
He turns, and it’s Yoongi; but the Yoongi of his dreams, where the colours are softer and the lines are a little blurred. Yoongi, with his hair loose and his feet bare, smelling of intent. As he walks towards Jungkook there’s something of a predatory stalk to his gait.
Unconsciously, Jungkook edges up against the base of the tree.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, little omega,” Yoongi says, inching closer, until he has Jungkook pressed against the tree, his heart going a hundred beats a minute, fluttery in his ribcage. Yoongi gently brushes his knuckles against Jungkook’s cheek and Jungkook leans into his touch, his eyes slipping shut.
Yoongi’s scent is wrapping around him, encasing him with the smell of alpha. It’s impossible for his body not to react; already his dick is stirring and he can feel himself getting wet, dripping in his underwear.
Yoongi stiffens when he smells it, and his smile is sharp, wolf-like.
“Already so excited for me, little omega?” he asks, his voice a purr. “Do you want my knot that badly?”
Jungkook whimpers, his eyes flying open. Yoongi has slotted his leg between Jungkook’s thighs and the friction of it is delicious, and causes him to quiver. Involuntarily, more slick gushes out of him.
“‘M not excited,” he whispers, wide-eyed at Yoongi. He feels the thrill run through him at what is a baldfaced lie. Yoongi can smell his arousal, Yoongi can see his arousal.
Yoongi has him pinned up against the willow tree to do with what he wants, and they both know it. When he leans in to kiss Jungkook, the first brush of their lips is heavenly. Jungkook sighs into his mouth and Yoongi slides his tongue in. It’s wet, and dirty. Jungkook can only count a handful of occasions where he’d been kissed with tongue, and the way Yoongi strokes his tongue inside Jungkook’s mouth is practised.
He slumps and bumps against Yoongi’s leg, a firm, solid mass. Experimentally, he grinds down and realises his underwear is soaked at this point, sticking to him.
“Fucking hell,” Yoongi moans into his mouth, evidently smelling it. He kisses Jungkook harder, more insistently, as his hands reach around to grab handfuls of Jungkook’s ass. Jungkook mewls, surrendering himself to it, already lighthearted with how much he wants.
Yoongi breaks the kiss and grazes his teeth against Jungkook’s neck; right where he’d bite him, if he’d mate him. But his teeth don’t sink in. Instead, he kisses down the column of Jungkook’s neck while Jungkook clutches onto his shoulders and tries not to go limp completely and risk falling flat onto the floor.
In the corner of his eye, he can see members of Yoongi’s pack gathering, standing, watching curiously.
“Yoongi,” he gets out, although his tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth, “Yoongi - they’re watching.”
Yoongi nips at his neck and soothes over the mark with his tongue. His hands are kneading, groping at Jungkook’s ass, pressing into sensitive skin. “Is that a problem?”
“It’s -” Jungkook breaks off with a choked moan when Yoongi bites him harder, bordering on pleasure and pain. The people - faceless, nameless - are still watching and he’s only getting wetter, slick dribbling down his legs at the thought that Yoongi is going to take him here, Yoongi is going to cause him to fall apart at his hands, and everybody will see.
He burns to think of it, embarrassed, but it’s a welcome kind of burn.
“It’s embarrassing,” Jungkook tries anyway, moreso playing the part than believing he’d mind being split open on Yoongi’s cock in front of a crowd.
“Don’t lie,” Yoongi growls into his neck. “You want everybody to see you hanging off of my knot.”
He pulls Jungkook in for another kiss and Jungkook moans into his mouth, giving in, grinding against Yoongi’s leg, hot and wet and filthy -
He jerks awake, his heart hammering. The sheets are soaked this time but for a different reason, and Jungkook is sporting an unfortunate erection. He closes his eyes and mouths a silent prayer, before he creeps out of bed and flees to the bathroom to sort himself out. It takes a while for his erection to calm down, because his mind decides to assail him with images of Yoongi kissing him, his mouth on Jungkook’s neck, his skilful tongue, all those people watching -
Jungkook releases an aggravated sigh, and splashes water onto his face, and down his neck. It takes him about ten minutes, standing in the bathroom, before he can return to bed, bundling his sheets up and resolving to wash them in the morning.
Except the morning comes and despite sneaking out without waking Jimin or alerting the others, Jungkook can’t find where he can wash his sheets, despite creeping stealthily downstairs and searching. He whirls around, looking desperately, and in doing so attracts the attention of the last person he hopes to see.
Yoongi walks through the front door, sweaty from exertion. He’s panting slightly, like he’s been running, and his hair is slick, swept back from his forehead. His shirt is clinging to him and Jungkook’s eyes drop down to it for all of a second before he remembers his dream and clutches his sheets tighter.
“Morning, Jungkook,” Yoongi greets him, amicably enough. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” Jungkook squeaks, drawing his sheets closer to him. He’s already wrapped them as tightly as he can manage, hoping that the linen will mask the scent of slick. “Yep, all fine. I was just wondering, um, is there somewhere I can wash my sheets?”
“Oh, well if you put them-”
“No, I can deal with them,” Jungkook interrupts shrilly. He’s hoping he doesn’t come across too manic right now, although it’s obvious Yoongi is perturbed. “I would prefer to. Um, back home we washed them ourselves. We preferred it.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says, bemused but not remarking on it. “There’s a stream nearby, not far from the north of the village. If you need-”
“I’m fine,” he babbles, “thank you! I can find the stream myself. It’ll be fine. Thanks!”
He weaves around Yoongi, scurrying along, and gets halfway down the path to the Min house before he realises he is barefoot. But it’s too late for that now. His resolve hardens and he rushes off to find the stream.
Chapter 3: Wedding Day
Summary:
Jungkook’s heartbeat is deafening in his ears. He reaches to loosen the knot around his robe, but something gives him pause. Yoongi’s eyes are dark, and scorching, fixed on him like there is nothing else to look at.
“Do you … do you want to join me in the bath?”
Yoongi swallows.
“You have no idea how much I want that,” he murmurs. For one, taut, hair-raising moment, Jungkook thinks Yoongi is going to let him; let him take off his robe, step into the bath, beckon Yoongi in, and consummate their wedding night.
Notes:
welcome back! this chapter is un-beta'd but I hope it does the story justice.
things are just about starting to pick up, slowly but surely. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter Text
The night before the wedding, Jungkook is informed that he won’t be able to see Yoongi until the time that they are married.
It is a Min tradition, Jungkook learns, and it falls on Seokjin to pass the information onto Jungkook. He does so gently, picking his words carefully, as if he risks offending Jungkook, who has begun to imagine what his wedding - and wedding night - will entail. Needless to say, it sets his heart racing and his skin flush. Knowing that he won’t see Yoongi tonight only heightens it.
There’s an undercurrent of anticipation - and intertwining with it, apprehension. The two feelings are almost indistinguishable, and Jungkook struggles to pick them apart. He tries to lean heavily on his trust for his parents, for Jimin - who has repeatedly assured him that there are no beasts lurking around dark corners waiting to grab him, that the beast won’t take the form of Yoongi. But all it takes is for the gates to come into sight and his suspicion is stirred.
As per Seokjin’s instructions, he hasn’t left the confines of the village and wiled away his time wandering at its borders - attracting a few sets of raised eyebrows. Perhaps these people are content to fish and hunt at permissible times - which tends to be in the early hours of the morning, as the sun banks over the horizon - but Jungkook is accustomed to roaming free, and he finds this restriction challenging.
It is tempting to resist - to order the guards let him through and exploit his future position as Yoongi’s mate, to explore unknown landscape and to demonstrate he cannot be tamed so easily - but then he thinks of his parents, who are counting on this match being successful, and thinks of Jimin, who has upturned his life to be here with Jungkook to counsel him through a period taut with uncertainty, and the temptation fizzles out, like a dying candle put out by a gust of wind.
Jungkook won’t be a coy, demure omega who bends his head every time Yoongi enters the room, but he is loyal to his loved ones.
So although the temptation whispers in his ears, particularly at night where he finds himself fearful of the nightmares that will creep in, he stubbornly remains where he is.
In some ways, Seokijn’s information is welcome. Jungkook is not keen to repeat the events of that morning where he’d dreamt about being taken in front of Yoongi in front of the whole village, only to stumble across him while attempting to dispose of the evidence. Yoongi had probably smelled his slick all over the sheets, had known what had occurred, and had been unfailingly polite anyway. Jungkook burns to think about it - out of shame and out of something else. Awakening desire.
“A tradition,” Jimin says, turning to Jungkook, his eyebrows raised as if to say: That’s an interesting decision. But Jimin won’t vocalise it, not when Seokjin is likely within earshot. “The first of many, I suppose.”
“I suppose so,” Jungkook echoes. He hasn’t told Jimin about the wet dream, and doesn’t intend to. As close as he and Jimin are, there are some things Jimin doesn’t need to know about, and Yoongi imagined in dream form kissing his neck is one. “I’m kind of relieved.”
“Are you worried?” Jimin asks, getting to the point swiftly.
“A little,” Jungkook says. “It’s not like I have practice with being married.”
Jimin’s mouth tips upwards.
“You’ll be fine,” he says gently. “There’ll be a lot of eyes on you, and I’m sure that’ll be hard - but it’ll be over before you know it. In the blink of an eye.”
“I hope so,” Jungkook sighs. He walks over to the window and stares out onto the plain. As spring tiptoes into summer, the days are growing longer, brighter - with his sharp eyes, he can almost make out the silhouette of the mountains, towering and mighty. “I hope I’ll be able to leave once I’m married.”
Jimin doesn’t say, There may be greater protection on you once you are married, but he doesn’t have to. His eyes tell the story.
Jungkook hasn’t asked if Jimin plans to stay, once Jungkook is wed. His duties were to take Jungkook to the Min pack and to oversee him settling in, but the presumption is that once Jungkook is married and mated, he won’t need Jimin’s steady presence. The truth is he needs Jimin’s presence more than ever, but he swallows back his words and they stick to his throat. He can’t demand more of Jungkook’s time. To do so would be selfish. Jimin has a life waiting for him back at the Jeon pack.
“I’m sure you can request it,” Jimin offers. It’s the best he can give Jungkook and in acknowledgement of that, Jungkook gives him a wan smile, before he turns back to the window.
“What about … my wedding night?” he asks sheepishly, not daring to face Jimin. His ears are burnt with colour from what he is asking.
Jungkook’s not some blushing virgin - he’s had sex, and happily so, romping around with a couple of betas and one omega from his village, to the consternation of his parents who could not force him not to see other people, but certainly tried. But there is something about Yoongi that suggests he won’t be some clumsy beta fumbling with Jungkook’s shirt, or an omega who leaves sloppy hickies over Jungkook’s neck.
Something about Yoongi suggests he is experienced, he is calm, and he is dominant enough for want to unspool in Jungkook’s stomach and for the impulse to drop at his feet to punch him in his gut.
Will Yoongi be gentle? Will Yoongi take his time? Will Yoongi care about Jungkook’s pleasure, or will it be merely an afterthought?
All of these questions niggle at him, and there’s nobody but Jimin to ask. Even asking Jimin sets Jungkook ablaze, because these aren’t exactly topics he’d ever broached with Jimin. The watchful gaze of his parents and the marriage arrangement at seventeen saw to the secretive liaisons and rushed dalliances. Nothing like committed, steadfast marriage to spur him on.
Jimin pauses. Jungkook can see he is caught by surprise at the question, and he trips over his words in answering.
“The wedding night is up to you,” he says diplomatically even if the expectation is that Jungkook will come out of that room with a freshly-marked neck. “Don’t let yourself be rushed or coerced, Jungkook-ah. What you decide has to be your decision, and yours alone.”
It’s a nice thought - impossible to articulate that there is a part of Jungkook, a burning part of him that does want to let Yoongi have his way with him. It’s illogical - it sees the gate, it understands the rumours, and it still keens and whines in Yoongi’s presence. It rolls onto its front and presents. Jungkook’s inner omega.
He chides it, reminds it that it knows very little about Yoongi and as far as he is concerned, Yoongi could be an awful, uncaring, distant mate. But logic doesn’t factor into it. Ever since Jungkook had that dream, he’s been awarded with snapshots - causing heat to lick through him at the most inconvenient of times; while fetching fresh water from the well, or picking wildflowers that grew on the periphery. Once, while in conversation with Seokjin on a walk, passing Yoongi by, stumbling in his step all because it was Yoongi he saw, who was out of reach.
“I know,” Jungkook says in lieu of saying all of this to Jimin. He doesn’t know how Jimin would react to something Jungkook doesn’t quite understand himself. “I won’t let him do anything I don’t want him to do.”
But all of that is to say, Jungkook is expected to be bearing a fresh new bite. And how that comes about invariably involves Yoongi mating him.
—
Jungkook is under the willow tree in the middle of a rainstorm - torrential rain, thundering on the plain around him, causing him to cower and press himself closer to its trunk. On this occasion, the tree is silent. Its leaves do not whisper a warning to him, or murmur of Yoongi’s impending arrival. Somehow, this silence leaves Jungkook with a stronger sense of dread.
His hands slip and slide as he tries to grasp at the bark for balance, and finds it soaked with rain. He turns his face upwards, to the dark sky, just in time to see a flash of lightning, followed by an almighty rumble of thunder.
The village is in sight - a short walk away. Its faint candlelight and the knowledge that people will be there comforts Jungkook. It compels him to step away from the tree, hesitating - uncertain if this is the right course of action - before a fat drop of rain splashes onto his head and it eggs him on, breaking out into a run, down the path to the Min house.
Jungkook does not know why he is sprinting until it becomes clear someone, or something is behind, and is chasing him. He speeds up his pace, but the ground has been drenched in the storm and he kicks up mud. Flailing, he tries his hardest to accelerate his pace - the something is coming, the something is pounding down the mountainside to get at Jungkook - but the more he struggles, the deeper he sinks into the mud.
A long, chilling howl sounds behind him, and he hears it - the drum of footsteps. Not footsteps. Paws on the path. A wolf is in pursuit of him, and it is hungry. He can hear its low growling, and smell its breath - tangy with blood, causing him to visualise sharp, stained fangs.
Jungkook’s instinct kicks in and he pulls himself out of the mud, cold with fear, and finds a dry spot on the ground. He sets upon it instantly and starts running again, regretting that he hadn’t shifted sooner, and hears another howl behind him.
Ten metres. Five. Three. Jungkook is painfully close, his fingertips within reach of the Min house where Yoongi is, and safety -
But he barrels forward with the force of the wolf that pounces on him, its paws pinning him down. Jungkook goes still, his heart racing, and looks into the face of the wolf. It’s frighteningly large, with grey, grizzled fur and one faded scar slashed over its eye. It opens its maws and grins at Jungkook with a set of sharp fangs.
Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he begs, “no, no, no -”
The image goes dark and Jungkook wakes up in bed. He is on the verge of sobbing, sucking in ragged breaths, his fingers clutching at the sheets tightly, when Jimin wakes, and sensing Jungkook’s anguish, pads over and takes Jungkook into his arms.
It takes some time - about ten minutes or so tick by, Jungkook doesn’t exactly count - but Jungkook calms, and quietens, as the memory of his dream recedes and what felt so real is chased away by Jimin’s arms encasing him.
“It’s just a dream,” Jimin is murmuring to him, over and over. The repetition is soothing. “It’s just a dream, Jungkook-ah, I’m here.”
Jungkook breathes in Jimin’s scent and relaxes at the reminder that he is safe, he is protected.
—
On the morning of the wedding Jungkook begins his ritual. He bathes himself first and when he is out of the bath, he starts with the scented oils, and deliberately dabs the lavender behind his ears, in the crook of his legs, and even on his ankles. He wants to smell enticing to Yoongi, although he doesn’t labour over that thought for too long.
He towels his hair, carefully combing through it, and sets to plaiting it to prepare himself. On the bathroom countertop, there are already a bunch of flowers to work with. Cool blues, buttery yellows, baby pinks. There’s a deep, red flower the colour of blood that Jungkook reaches for, and then hesitates. He opts for another flower and spends some time weaving them through.
It’s not nearly as neat a job as Hye-in’s, but it’ll do for today.
Jungkook wraps himself in a robe packed from home, careful not to dislodge any flowers, and ventures out into the bedroom to get dressed in his wedding clothes. He’d settled on a white, gauzy undershirt complete with matching underwear, covered over with a silk, sage-green shirt patterned with lilies with flowing sleeves, trousers, and boots. One of his favourites.
There’d been no explicit instructions on how to dress, so Jungkook had taken liberties. He assumes this is the small amount of freedom he will be granted. Jungkook dresses, and makes sure to weave the lily hair clip into his hair. He pinches colour into his cheeks, fusses with his hair, and then steps out.
Jimin is waiting for him, and a smile breaks out at the sight of Jungkook.
“I assume that’s a good sign,” Jungkook says, nervously, fidgeting with his shirt. The billowing sleeves are aesthetically pleasing, but not altogether practical.
“You look wonderful,” Jimin praises him. Jungkook receives the compliment with a smile.
They hadn’t spoken about last night, not after Jungkook had drifted off to sleep bundled in Jimin’s bed - the final night they will share together, he’d realised upon waking up with a small ache - but there is a suggestion in Jimin’s eyes, in his expression, that he will want to talk about it when there is a spare moment.
For now, Jungkook is content to allow the wedding to distract himself, something he’d never planned on foreseeing. The wedding was supposed to be the main occupation of the day, but all it takes is a flash of stained, curving jaws into his mind and Jungkook’s entire body tenses up.
Today, he’d chosen to wear scent blockers. He hadn’t wanted the whole pack to be able to sniff out his mood alone - and for many weddings, it’s a deliberate touch; to allow the alpha to properly scent their mate when they are alone. If Yoongi is a staunch traditionalist, this is what Jungkook can expect from tonight.
Jimin weaves his arm through Jungkook’s companionably and they take the walk downstairs together. The house is unnervingly silent. Yoongi had eaten dinner and slept elsewhere, although Jungkook does not know where. All in the name of tradition.
“I hate how quiet it is,” Jungkook whispers to Jimin. At least, for now, they can converse safely.
“You’ll probably love how quiet it is once you get outside and see everyone,” Jimin counters. Jungkook knows immediately that he’s right. “It’s going to be fine, Kook-ah, honestly. I’ll be right there watching.”
“With everyone else,” Jungkook huffs, drawing a laugh from Jimin. Jimin falls silent when they step outside, and are greeted with a few members of the pack already: there’s Hye-in, who beams when she sees the flowers decorating Jungkook’s hair, and Pack Leader Min, whose presence here - seeing Jungkook at the front door - feels monumental.
He really doesn’t know what to say, and there’s a long, awkward silence that stretches between the two of them before Pack Leader Min chooses to speak.
“I’m honoured to have you here, Jungkook-ssi,” he says. The polite honorific causes a few members of their party to look on in interest. Clearly, Jungkook is someone who has earned the respect of the Pack Leader. Jungkook tries not to shy away from unwanted attention. He doesn’t know what he’s done to warrant it, but he knows not to scorn Pack Leader Min.
“I’m honoured to be here,” he replies, bowing lowly. When he straightens back up, there’s a polite smile on Pack Leader Min’s face. Some of Jungkook’s adrenaline from the acknowledgement wanes. He’s only being a good father-in-law. He’s used to what it means to maintain good pack relations, and Jungkook is part of the puzzle. Once he and Yoongi are married, he’ll have nothing more to do with Jungkook.
“Your husband-to-be awaits you,” Pack Leader Min says, gesturing in the direction of the path. Jungkook keeps his breathing even as he steps out, the others falling behind him, as the very scene of his dream rears up to meet him.
But this … this is nothing like his dream.
The willow tree is adorned with flowers, and hanging lanterns, which are breathtaking even with their weak glow in broad daylight. There’s a trail of flower petals leading up to Yoongi, who is standing under the bough of the willow tree, with two groups of pack members sectioned off and split in two, standing in front of chairs, ready to be seated.
Yoongi is … something else today. Something ethereal. His hair has been swept back from his face, styled, and he is wearing a white blouse, clashing with the inky colour of his hair, with boots similar to Jungkook’s. His hands are clasped in front of his chest. He is dark, he is alluring, he is gorgeous.
And next to Yoongi - Seokjin, his advisor, close friend, and for today, the officiator. Jungkook feels a glimmer of respect. Evidently, there is nothing Seokjin can’t do.
The flowers in his hair graze against his scalp as he moves, walking slowly down the makeshift aisle. He can practically hear the collective intake of breath as he moves, willing himself not to run down the aisle away from everybody’s gaze. Yoongi’s eyes track his every move - intent, dark, wanting.
Jungkook suppresses a swallow and comes to a stop next to Yoongi. He turns to face him, and there is a loud rustle as the rest of the pack sit down, settling in. Not everybody is here - there are about fifty or so spectators, which makes Jungkook wonder where the rest are, and how they decided who would sit in. Pack Leader Min sits at the front, his face a blank mask.
Seokjin begins the ceremony, his voice clear and ringing across the plain - and from there it is somewhat of a blur from Jungkook. His head begins to feel heavy under the weight of the flowers, and the tight plaits he’d done sting his scalp, but he stays upright, his spine straight, because he knows the importance of appearances, and wants to make his parents proud.
Skimming the village, his gaze snags onto Kim Namjoon, the guard, standing near the back. Next to him is the older guard from their first night, and a few more. There are an alarming number of guards for what appears on surface-level to be a quaint wedding ceremony.
Jungkook can ponder it no more, because the rings are presented - shyly, by a child no older than ten, whose face is awed when he looks up at Yoongi, who takes them with a smile and a whispered “thank you” - and what happens next is concrete. Binding.
Yoongi slides a silver wedding band onto Jungkook’s finger, his hand steady. In contrast, Jungkook’s hand is trembling as he returns the favour, and slips it onto Yoongi’s finger. Yoongi’s warm skin shocks him every time, but he keeps that hidden. If Yoongi notices it, he is nothing but smooth.
“I pronounce you married,” Seokjin declares, delight evident in his voice. There’s a smile next when he says, “You may kiss.”
A hush settles on the pack, which doesn’t make this moment any easier. Jungkook turns to Yoongi, his eyes wide. They’ve hardly touched. At most, Yoongi has fed Jungkook strawberries and brushed crumbs from his mouth while he was hungover. Hardly anything to write home about. But now, they’re expected to kiss, to provide a stellar performance to the rest of the pack.
Yoongi looks at him, studying his expression, as if to suggest he won’t force this. Jungkook catches it - the miniscule amount of indecision that flits across his face. But Jungkook agreed to this marriage six years ago. He’d always known this was coming. And he plans to play his part proudly.
He leans in and without putting his hands on Yoongi, brushes his lips over Yoongi’s. His beating heart is a drum, his blood is a roar in his ears. Yoongi is still, but then he’s kissing Jungkook back - his lips moving over Jungkook’s with purpose, practised - and right when Jungkook is feeling breathless, wanting to touch Yoongi and lean in closer, Yoongi pulls away and Jungkook is left blinking into the sunlight, his mouth pursed.
Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue, the movement unbearably slow.
Seokjin clears his throat, just loud enough for the two of them to hear, and Yoongi’s focus snaps back. He turns to the pack - their audience - smiles, and waves. Cheers resound and people clap and stamp their feet, a deafening cacophony that speaks to their adoration of Yoongi. They see him as their dependable leader. It’s hard for Jungkook not to feel a niggle of pride overseeing the scene.
Yoongi takes Jungkook’s hand in his, causing Jungkook to jolt, and says, “Will you follow me?”
It’s a polite question. But the eyes are on them, and the answer is obvious.
“Of course,” Jungkook says.
Yoongi leads him down the petal pathway, people still cheering and whooping, and walks straight past the Min house. Jungkook, who has expected to be led there to commence the rest of their wedding, is visibly confused when they keep going.
“I have something else in mind,” Yoongi explains, chancing a glance over his shoulder. It feels illicit, and a thrill runs through Jungkook.
Yoongi’s hand gives his hand a squeeze, as if to encourage Jungkook to trust him. Jungkook allows Yoongi to lead him to the stables, where their horses are already tacked up. At Jungkook’s questioning look, Yoongi says,
“I thought you’d want to get away for a while.”
There’s the smallest hint of self-consciousness in his voice and his face, when Jungkook looks hard enough. Just a tick.
“That’s really kind,” Jungkook says roughly, meaning it. He’d been anticipating their wedding night, their mating, their biting, but Yoongi has presented him with an alternative scenario. One in which they can ride away, now married, and relish the peace.
Married. Jungkook’s eyes go to his wedding band, which sits snugly around his ring finger. He strokes a thumb over it, feeling the coolness of the silver. It hadn’t occurred to him then that the ring fits perfectly, but it does now.
“Um, I’d love to. Get away for a bit,” Jungkook adds, when he realises Yoongi is waiting expectantly for his answer.
Moonbeam snorts and Jungkook strokes his hands through his mane, unexpectedly touched. He doesn’t know what to do with the flurry of emotions that surround him, and opts instead for looking around for a place where he can mount himself into Moonbeam’s saddle.
“I can help you,” Yoongi says.
Jungkook still feels the ghost of Yoongi’s mouth on his.
“Sure,” he says, trying not to betray his inner turmoil. “Do you want me to - oh,” he says, as Yoongi’s hands wind around his waist and he picks him up, with very little effort, betraying a strength that wasn’t obvious on the surface. He hauls Jungkook up with a grunt and Jungkook uses the rest of the momentum to launch himself up into the saddle, with more kicking and thrashing than Moonbeam would like.
Moonbeam stresses this with a whinny.
“Sorry,” Jungkook whispers to him, nuzzling into his neck. Moonbeam is content by this act of contrition and settles back down.
Yoongi hoists himself up onto Hana with a nearby stool that he drags away from the wall. Jungkook’s mouth opens when he takes it in and he looks over at Yoongi, who has the hint of a smile. He’d been aware of the stool, but had offered to lift Jungkook anyway.
Jungkook bites down on the inside of his cheek and says nothing.
With a soft cluck, Jungkook nudges Moonbeam forward and they amble out of the stables. Moonbeam is feeling lazy, and in no mood to walk briskly, but Hana strides on ahead, and Jungkook urges him on, not wanting to fall behind.
Moonbeam side-eyes him, but wordlessly increases his pace.
“ Thank you ,” Jungkook says under his breath.
They fall into step with Yoongi and Hana. In no time, they reach the gate and if the guards posted there are surprised at their appearance, they don’t show it.
“We’re going for a short ride,” Yoongi announces to them. “We’ll be back before the day is up.”
They nod, and slide the bolt across, a heavy, clunking piece of metal that audibly groans. The men grab either side of the doors and pull them open, presenting Yoongi and Jungkook with a wide, open space. Jungkook’s heart picks up a beat. This is the scenery he has been longing to explore.
Hana trots forward and Moonbeam, with some persuasion, follows.
“He’s, uh, not normally like this,” Jungkook says bashfully, aware that Yoongi is watching Moonbeam closely. “I think he’s just wary of his unknown surroundings.” That makes two of us, Jungkook wants to say, but doesn’t.
“Does he need a sugar cube?” Yoongi asks, and Moonbeam perks up immensely. Yoongi outstretches his hand and Moonbeam strides over to take it. Jungkook almost laughs at Moonbeam’s smug expression, munching away blissfully.
“Be careful,” Jungkook says. “He’s a quick learner. He’ll come to expect sugar cubes.”
“Then he can have them,” Yoongi says easily. His eyes settle onto Jungkook as if to imply he is thinking the same of Jungkook. Jungkook’s cheeks heat, and in lieu of a response, he kicks at Moonbeam and they break into a trot.
Yoongi takes them off to the right, away from the rocky and unreliable path Jungkook remembers of his and Jimin’s trek here. There’s a decline, but it is a gentle slope, and Jungkook doesn’t hold his breath or grit his teeth as they go over it.
They ride in silence for fifteen minutes, seemingly with no destination in mind. Until they crawl up the next hill and reach a plain with a sweeping lake, an arresting shade of blue, its banks bursting with clumps of cattails and a pink-coloured flower Jungkook can’t name.
“We call it pondweed,” Yoongi says, reading his experience, tugging on the reins to bring Hana to a stop. “I don’t know what the official name is.”
“Pondweed? But it’s beautiful.”
Yoongi manages a shrug. “Just one of their names we gave it when we were kids,” he says.
They begin to move again, and Jungkook tries to imagine Yoongi as a pup: wide-eyed, curious, making mistakes and scraping his knees. Jungkook as a child was endlessly curious about flora and fauna, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to have that same instinct. Jungkook wonders what kind of instincts Yoongi has.
Yoongi brings Hana to the periphery of the lake, which is even vaster up close, and dismounts. Jungkook takes his cue and follows, marvelling at the scale of it - here, of all places, atop a mountain. He can see insects darting around on the surface of the lake, and dragonflies buzzing around, their wings glimmering in the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” he says wonderingly. “I can’t believe you have this right on your doorstep.”
Yoongi sits down and stretches his legs out in front of him. After a beat, Jungkook does the same. His fingers sink into mossy grass.
“I used to come here all the time,” he says. “As a child. It was a good place to get away.”
Jungkook chooses his next words wisely. “It must be difficult, having to deal with the gate…” he trails off. He doesn’t even know its history or the reasons behind its construction, but if Yoongi has grown up here behind its confines, then Jungkook sympathises strongly. He has been here for less than a week and already feels cagey and restless.
Yoongi cuts him a look. Jungkook isn’t sure what he’s trying to convey, but then Yoongi says, “The gate wasn’t always here. Not when I was younger.”
Jungkook drops into silence, digesting this information. Yoongi had said previously it was built some years ago but didn’t give him an indication of his time frame; he’d assumed, wrongly, that it had been built in Yoongi’s youth.
This new tidbit gives him pause. He’s itching to know more, but Yoongi is guarded on this subject, and he doesn’t want to spoil what has been a relatively smooth wedding day, all things considered.
Jungkook hides his grin at the absurdity of the situation. He has known Yoongi for five days, and they are married. The humour quickly dies down to make way for a familiar feeling: anxiety.
“Jimin tells me you grew up in a forest,” Yoongi says, changing the conversation. “What was that like?”
“Jimin is being kind,” Jungkook replies. “I grew up near a forest. My parents tried to keep me inside, but failed. So they gave up, and I spent most of my childhood there, exploring. I guess I wasn’t an easy kid.”
“I wasn’t, either,” Yoongi affords him.
This, Jungkook finds hard to believe, and he even leans back on his palms to give Yoongi a longer look.
“Really? You?”
Yoongi laughs. It’s a rare sound.
“Even the inheritor of the pack, yes,” he says, and although he doesn’t roll his eyes, that seems implicit. “Just textbook kid stuff, I guess. My father was always trying to impose on me the importance of duty and I didn’t get it. I hated it. I thought, why is he trying to teach me about pack customs and marriage when I’m only twelve?”
“Twelve,” Jungkook says, a little awed. His pressures from his parents pale in comparison.
“Yeah. I did not take it well,” Yoongi says. His eyes momentarily glaze over as he edges into a memory - only disturbed by the sound of a flock of birds taking flight, scattering into the air. Jungkook watches them go, their brilliant, feathered wings cutting shapes through the cloudless blue of the sky. “But, here we are.”
“Here we are,” Jungkook echoes. He doesn’t know what to say, despite having a billion burning questions - none of them appropriate for a wedding day - and it’s a little awkward. He wants to ask Yoongi more about his childhood, about his father’s expectations - he knows from personal experience how overwhelming it can be and what that kind of pressure does to a person - but he is hesitant to ask. He doesn’t want to badger Yoongi about something that personal.
Then Yoongi says, “You can come here whenever you want. If you need time to yourself. I don’t want you to feel stifled.”
“Oh,” Jungkook says, his mouth forming an open O of surprise, “that’s -”
“I don’t want you to feel stifled,” Yoongi interrupts, still in the flow. “Or caged in, or boxed in. You’re free to go where you please.”
Jungkook has strenuously tried not to take any notice of the gossip people spread about the Min pack, but all the same, he relaxes slightly. He realises, then, that Yoongi is aware of how it looks, bringing Jungkook to a gated village with guards stationed at the entry and exit point. And he doesn’t want to confine Jungkook.
“I just ask of you this,” Yoongi adds. “Don’t go out after dark, not alone. Take someone with you. Please.”
His plea is impassioned enough for Jungkook to nod, his gaze unfocused. His mind is already sinking into a thousand different possibilities behind Yoongi’s request - then Yoongi tucks a strand of hair behind Jungkook’s ear and those possibilities evaporate, distracted by Yoongi’s touch.
“I like the hair clip,” he says. “I like that you wore it today.”
His tone is rough, and scratchy. His gaze pins Jungkook to the spot.
This omission, this compliment - Jungkook feels it, then, stirring in him. How much he wants Yoongi, irrationally or not. And judging by the way Yoongi is looking at him, he wants it too.
“You gifted it to me.” Jungkook’s voice is barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to spurn you.”
Yoongi smiles. “Not wearing it would be spurning me?”
Jungkook’s hands twist in his lap. “I haven’t had an alpha give me anything,” he admits, then amends his statement: “I haven’t had anyone give me anything.”
“That’s criminal,” Yoongi says, although his tone is even. “I can make up for that.”
Jungkook is about to say You don’t have to when Yoongi closes the gap and kisses him the second time that day. Jungkook makes a shocked noise into Yoongi’s mouth, an oh that is quickly swallowed up by Yoongi’s lips moving over his, their mouths slotting together. This is not the kiss from their wedding, but something with more intent.
Jungkook doesn’t realise he’s curled his hand into a fist until he accidentally rips up a small section of grass. He tries putting it down somewhere else, but Yoongi takes his hand and guides it towards his jaw.
Jungkook cautiously splays his hand over Yoongi’s face and Yoongi nips his lower lip in encouragement.
The first touch of his fingers to Yoongi’s skin doesn’t feel real. But then, neither does Yoongi kissing him passionately enough for Jungkook to feel weak, and boneless. He kisses Jungkook like he’s claiming him, and Jungkook’s inner omega purrs, pleased beyond belief that Jungkook’s fantasies are coming true.
Not fantasies. He heats up thinking about the choice of word. They’re not fantasies, just dreams, sub-conscious imaginings that he’s had no control over.
But the reality is better than his dreams.
Yoongi licks into his mouth and Jungkook lets him with a sigh he doesn’t mean to escape, but it only seems to urge Yoongi on, who takes hold of Jungkook’s shoulders and gently nudges him down onto his back, swinging his legs over Jungkook’s thighs. A few flowers unwind themselves from Jungkook’s hair and scatter, but he hardly cares.
Jungkook is pinned down onto the floor and his blood is running hotter than ever, lava through his veins. He feels dizzy with the force of how much he wants Yoongi.
Yoongi breaks off the kiss finally and Jungkook manages a shy nuzzle against his jaw, embarrassed to be breathing so heavily from a light make-out session, already affected, sporting an erection.
But where Jungkook thinks this is kissing for kissing sake, Yoongi has something else in mind. He nips the underside of Jungkook’s jaw, a silent command for Jungkook to lift his head back, and when he does, unable to do anything but obey his alpha, his head pounding, Yoongi scrapes his teeth over Jungkook’s neck, right where his mating bite will be. Yoongi’s hand curls at the base of Jungkook’s throat.
Jungkook can’t help it - he moans, craning his head back to give Yoongi more access, something innately instinctual in him coming to the surface.
There’s one long beat before he realises he has forgotten himself, and he wrenches his hand away.
Humiliation slams through him all at once and he squeaks out, “Sorry, I’m - sorry that was a mistake.”
He wants to squeeze his eyes shut and wish this moment away, but he can’t. Yoongi has him trapped between him and the floor. He peers up at Yoongi, whose jaw ticks with a muscle. He’s thinking that he’s made a fool of himself, already proven himself to be far too needy to a man he’s known all of five days - again, defying all logic and surrendering entirely to instinct - but Yoongi brushes a thumb against Jungkook’s cheek and says hoarsely,
“Jungkook, don’t apologise. You have no idea how good you sound, or smell right now.”
Which would make sense in the context, except Yoongi then eases off of Jungkook and plants himself down. Jungkook bites back the urge to gape.
Yoongi is exercising restraint. He wants Jungkook just as much - wants to have him here - but he has put distance between the two of them.
Half-dazed at this realisation, Jungkook raises himself into a sitting position. And he sees Yoongi is hard in his trousers. He feels himself grow wet in response.
“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Yoongi says, trying to explain himself. “We’ve only known each other for a week.”
Less than a week, but Jungkook thinks voicing that wouldn’t help his case.
“It’s okay, Yoongi-ssi.”
“You can call me hyung,” Yoongi says, glancing at Jungkook. “It’s - I’d prefer if you called me hyung.”
“It’s okay, Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook tries, the words foreign in his mouth. “It’s, um. It’s a strange situation. But you’re not taking advantage of me. I’ve wanted this.” He grips onto a patch of grass, trying to distract himself from the admission. “I’ve wanted you.”
Yoongi’s eyes darken. Jungkook thinks, briefly, that he might kiss Jungkook and take what he wants, which sends a thrill through him, but the boom of thunder interrupts them, and that’s all the warning they get before the skies open and the rain pours down.
The rain is fierce, pounding down on them. Yoongi scowls at the rain, an unwelcome intruder to their moment, and Jungkook privately agrees. They get to their feet and race to their horses, who have wandered further away in search of deep-green grass.
Yoongi helps Jungkook up, which is made more difficult by the fact that Jungkook is wet in his trousers and half-hard, but they manage.
There’s another clap of thunder, and Jungkook can see the whites of Moonbeam’s eyes as they swivel back and forth, settling into the saddle. He’s never been a great lover of storms.
They canter out of there, with more urgency than when they arrived, as the rain intensifies and at one point, it almost feels like the rain from Jungkook’s dream, with the snarling wolf. His stomach plummets. If the thought causes him to quicken his pace, he doesn’t admit to it.
Hana and Moonbeam are as keen as Yoongi and Jungkook to escape the downpour, and they reach the village in double quick time than when they’d set out.
“Open the gates!” Yoongi calls, his voice rising over the drum of the rain. “It’s Yoongi! Open the gates!”
Finally, they swing open, and two soggy guards squint at them in the poor light. “Sorry, Yoongi,” one of them says. “I don’t know where this storm came from.”
“It beats me,” Yoongi says, peering up at the skies. “We haven’t had a storm this bad in a while. Come on, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook tamps down on the warmth that spreads through him at the familiarity in Yoongi’s voice, and he follows him to the stables.
Taehyung whistles when he takes them in, in all of their sodden glory.
“You look like a drowned rat,” he tells Yoongi. Then, to Jungkook, “Congratulations, by the way. Sorry I couldn’t make the ceremony. The horses were a little spooked. I think they knew a storm was coming.”
Moonbeam certainly has that intuition. Standing in the shelter of the stables, all the tension has bled from his body. Jungkook can feel the lack of it in every step he takes, no longer as stiff and jumpy.
Jungkook hops off of him and hands the reins to Taehyung. He strokes Moonbeam’s neck.
“He hates storms,” Jungkook tells Taehyung. “Please … can you look after him?”
“He’s in safe hands,” Taehyung assures Jungkook, stroking at Moonbeam’s muzzle. “I’ll stay with him.”
“Thank you,” Jungkook says. He runs his hands through his hair, dripping wet, forgetting about the flowers, and they come away in a mangled heap. He stares at his palms, dismayed. A thought occurs to him and he reaches up for the hair clip. He relaxes when he finds it’s still in his hair, if only higher up than before.
The silver band fixed around his ring finger glints back at him, unable to be forgotten about.
“They were lovely while they were in your hair,” Yoongi says to Jungkook in a quiet murmur, too low for Taehyung to hear. “Sorry you lost them.”
The damp has rid them of their scent blockers and Yoongi’s scent hits Jungkook in one, heady go. It wraps itself around Jungkook, tendrils stroking at his back and the nape of his neck.
“Oh, it’s okay,” he says. “It was a pretty shoddy job anyway.”
Yoongi looks like he wants to say something else, but Taehyung reappears from Hana’s stall. Taehyung gazes out at the storm, which is thus far showing no signs of abetting.
“It hasn’t been this bad for a while,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. “I wonder if it’s an omen.”
A chill skitters down Jungkook’s spine.
“An omen?” he asks nervously.
“Taehyung-ah is superstitious,” Yoongi explains. “But it doesn’t mean anything.”
Taehyung scoffs. “It can mean a lot, hyung. Don’t underestimate the importance of an omen, not when it presents itself to you. That’s what Min-ji says.”
“Min-ji?”
Yoongi looks uneasy at the mention of Min-ji’s name, like he’s trying to actively control his reactions in front of Jungkook, which only gives him more cause for concern.
“Our, uh, town counsel,” he hedges.
“What he’s trying to say is Min-ji is our prophet,” Taehyung inputs. Yoongi frowns at him.
“Don’t scare Jungkook,” he chides. The protectiveness in his tone is heartwarming, but it doesn’t dampen Jungkook’s curiosity.
“You have a town prophet?” he asks, unable to keep the fascination from creeping into his voice. “I didn’t think they existed anymore.”
Prophets were a component of the old days, of packs that believed in the Moon goddess and for the more fanatical, performing sacrificial rites to guarantee continued success. They read bones and palms and supposedly could foretell if a pack had a chance of survival. They had been revered, and whether it was the result of false prophets who pissed the wrong people off or people no longer turning to them for guidance, they petered out.
Jungkook had thought they were mostly fairytales at this point. A story to delight or frighten children, depending on how it was told.
“She was part of the Min pack before my father left,” Yoongi says, evidently reluctant to share this information, but forced into it. “She’s been a part of this village for as long as I can remember, and we respect her beliefs, even if we don’t follow them.”
Taehyung tuts disapprovingly and this earns him a glower from Yoongi. The glower seems to finally send the message and he clams up, returning his focus to the rain.
A flash of lightning unnerves Moonbeam, and Jungkook turns to check on him. Taehyung unlocks his stall and starts talking to Moonbeam in soothing tones, rubbing his hands over Moonbeam’s neck. Moonbeam curves into Taehyung, which is a comforting sight.
“He’ll be okay,” he says to Jungkook, who is standing just outside the stall door. “The storm will pass. All storms do.”
—
The storm does not ease up when Jungkook and Yoongi enter the Min house. The rest of the pack appears to have the right idea and have holed up in their respective homes, sheltering from the onslaught. Inside, Jungkook can hear the resounding drum of the rain on the roof.
He’s shivering from the cold. His silk shirt is soaked through, clinging to his body, and the undershirt hardly provides much warmth.
“You’re cold,” Yoongi realises, his gaze sweeping over him. “Let me run you a bath.”
Jungkook’s mouth dries at the thought of sharing the bath with Yoongi, but he doesn’t verbalise it. He doesn’t need to: his scent leaks out, telling of his arousal, and Yoongi stiffens.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles. His tongue feels useless in his mouth. “I didn’t mean to - sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Yoongi says. But he looks pained. Until Jungkook remembers what he’d said earlier and he wonders if this is the same thing. If Yoongi wants to claim him but is trying to keep a respectful distance.
Don’t , he wants to plead. Swallow up the distance and kiss me again. Take what’s yours.
His inner omega is excited, perked up and looking acutely for signs that this will happen. The more rational part of Jungkook is tense, nervous. He has never had a wedding night and has been given little to work with.
But Yoongi merely turns away from him and says over his shoulder, “I’ll run you a bath and let you know when it’s ready.”
As he walks away, Jungkook hovers, hesitantly. He doesn’t know what the protocol is from here. He’d already expected Yoongi to mate him after they were wed, but Yoongi threw all tradition out of the window and took Jungkook for a ride where he’d shared tidbits from his childhood and told Jungkook he had free rein to leave when he wanted.
Provided, of course, he wasn’t alone. But this seems like a minor caveat compared with what Jungkook was preparing for; captivity in a small room with no windows, forbidden from seeing the forest or open land ever again. His version of a waking nightmare.
But no captivity doesn’t guarantee Yoongi will be an attentive husband; it doesn’t guarantee that he will care for Jungkook, and give him a voice, and want to know him as an equal.
Confronted with this possibility and the countless unknowns, Jungkook waits until Yoongi is out of sight before he walks upstairs, heading for his rooms. Jimin is not inside, which is hardly a surprise. He hadn’t anticipated he’d be keen to stick around on the night of Jungkook’s wedding.
Jungkook peels his sodden clothes off of him slowly, sighing with relief when he discards them, one by one. He picks up the robe in a rumpled heap from his bed from this morning and encases himself in it, pulling it closer for some semblance of comfort when he hears the distant rumble of thunder again. He shivers as his wet hair steadily leaks water droplets onto his bare back.
He is less inclined to watch by the window - not with such a vicious storm in full swing - so he waits on his bed, fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing his legs. The anticipation of what is to come has made his mouth dry.
Finally, there’s a quiet knock on the door, sooner than expected, and Jungkook stiffens. He goes to answer it, swinging the door open slowly, and feels his skin tingle when he sees Yoongi is standing on the other end.
He doesn’t know if it is too bold or too presumptuous to be facing Yoongi with his robe on, tantalisingly slipping off of one shoulder, but he hopes the message is sent, loud and clear. Yoongi confirms it has been when his mouth parts in surprise, and his throat bobs in a swallow.
The satisfaction is immense: for once Yoongi is on the back foot, for once Jungkook is making him feel heady. A lick of heat goes through Jungkook’s body.
“I ran you a bath,” Yoongi says, his voice low and rough. “In, uh, my room.”
That may well be an invitation.
Jungkook just says, “Okay. Lead the way.”
He hopes nobody is around to see him following Yoongi down the hallway in his robe, and he is thankful when they don’t encounter anyone. The house is as quiet as the dead.
He recognises Yoongi’s room from his earlier exploration - a reminder that colours his cheeks - but Yoongi turns into an ensuite, with a similar layout to the bathroom branching off from Jungkook’s rooms. In the centre is a white, ceramic bathtub with a deep, curving bowl, filled to the brim with bubbles.
Jungkook’s heartbeat is deafening in his ears. He reaches to loosen the knot around his robe, but something gives him pause. Yoongi’s eyes are dark, and scorching, fixed on him like there is nothing else to look at.
“Do you … do you want to join me in the bath?”
Yoongi swallows.
“You have no idea how much I want that,” he murmurs. For one, taut, hair-raising moment, Jungkook thinks Yoongi is going to let him; let him take off his robe, step into the bath, beckon Yoongi in, and consummate their wedding night.
But Yoongi’s eyes shutter and the moment vanishes as quickly as it came. He doesn’t take a step back, but he may as well have, because the distance that comes rushing in to meet them is vast, palpable.
“I can’t do this tonight,” Yoongi says. His tone almost sounds pleading, which is strange. Jungkook had estimated that Yoongi was in control of his actions, his thoughts, and will be in control of the pack they are expected to lead together, as a unified front.
But here is Yoongi, refusing him.
Jungkook shouldn’t be surprised. This is an arranged marriage with all the commonality of five days shared together. They know very startlingly little about one another, except Jungkook knows that Yoongi’s pack admire him and think he will be the perfect successor to his father; and Yoongi knows that Jungkook likes to ride and roam free.
Is that enough to base an equal partnership off of? A successful marriage?
A third possibility occurs to Jungkook in horrifying clarity. Not one where he is a valued mate, not one where he is locked up and abandoned. But one where he is able to walk around freely, greet members of his pack, and still be largely ignored by Yoongi, who buries his head in his papers and pack affairs until Jungkook is no more than a mild irritation, a person he has to share space with.
Jungkook’s stomach twists in one violent motion, a knot of anxiety that refuses to unfurl. He can’t reason with himself that this won’t come true, because he knows very little about Yoongi. That’s the scariest notion.
“That’s fine,” Jungkook replies numbly, trying not to give away his train of thought. “That’s not - I wasn’t expecting you to.” I just hoped you would, he silently adds.
Yoongi frowns and his mouth turns down at the corners. He looks disappointed. Upset.
“I want to, Jungkook-ah,” he says gently. “But it’s not the right time. I want to know you better.”
“That makes sense,” Jungkook says, but he says it stiffly, automatically. He’s not presenting an agreeable front because his brain is still snagging on the idea that his fate is to become a shadow in Yoongi’s peripheral vision. “I understand.”
A small growl is ripped from Yoongi’s throat.
He stalks forward, tips Jungkook’s chin up with his hand and out of the blue, kisses him. It’s deep, and passionate, and takes Jungkook’s breath away. Another claiming kiss, with enough heat and ferocity for Jungkook’s knees to go weak.
Yoongi pulls away, licks his lips and says, “Believe me when I say I want to. But you have to allow me to understand who you are, first.”
Still affected by the kiss, Jungkook jerks a nod. Realising Yoongi is waiting for verbal confirmation, he rasps, “That’s fine. It’s a good idea. Acquainting ourselves with one another.”
“I would bend you over the counter and take you here if I could,” Yoongi says as calmly as if he is telling Jungkook what he thinks of the bathroom decor, “but it doesn’t feel right. Give me a couple of weeks, that’s all I ask.”
Two weeks in the grand scheme of Jungkook’s lifetime is very little. And Yoongi seems genuine, beseeching Jungkook in this way. To want to get to know each other is a good request. A positive sign.
So he says, “Two weeks. That’s more than manageable.”
Yoongi’s mouth tips upwards in a smile. As if deciding Jungkook isn’t feeling weak enough, he brushes his lips against Jungkook’s. The motion sears Jungkook.
Yoongi steps back, a little awkwardly, and Jungkook lets him go, determined to respect his request. “Enjoy your bath,” he says. “I used our best smelling salts.”
Once he’s edged himself out of the room, Jungkook lets the robe slip. The sudden change in temperature causes goosebumps to pimple all over his skin. He’s half-hard from Yoongi’s ministrations, and as much as he wants to wrap a hand around himself and jerk himself off furiously, something gives him pause.
He lowers a cautious foot into the water and snatches it back almost immediately with a hiss. It’s scorchingly hot. After a couple of minutes it starts feeling less like a boiling bowl of water, and more like a warm blanket.
Jungkook lowers himself in, catching a whiff of lavender - from the bath salts, he presumes - and relaxes in one exhale.
He’s here, in the Min pack, and he’s married to Min Yoongi. He has done what he previously thought was unachievable. Until the last month or so, the marriage had felt like a distant dream, something to leave on a dusty shelf, discarded and forgotten about. When the day he had to leave rolled around, he didn’t feel prepared, despite knowing it was coming. The journey didn’t alleviate the apprehension. The lack of knowing.
Now Jungkook is here, with welcoming pack members and a marriage ceremony that went off without a hitch, he should be content - or at the very least, his fears should be assuaged. He has an alpha who is considerate enough to take him out of the perimeters of the village and run him a bath to ease his sore muscles. But it doesn’t relax him, because it doesn’t feel right. Like there’s a veneer over everything, disguising insidiousness underneath.
He slips further into the bath, until the water is resting just under his chin. His eyes are open, staring at the ceiling, as his mind works through the events of the last few days. The gates, the guards. Meeting Pack Leader Min. Yoongi flirting with him shamelessly. Gorgeous and attentive, but guarded. The dreams. The nightmares. The scarred wolf, and the prophet, who he has yet to meet.
His instincts are that something is wrong. Something, at the heart of his village, is deeply wrong. And his instincts are rarely off.
There’s another smack of thunder, louder than before, and in it, he thinks he hears a wolf howl. Jungkook draws in a breath, and plunges under the bathwater.
—
The following day - as Yoongi’s official husband - in the spirit of embracing Jungkook into the pack with open arms and teaching him their skillset, he is taught how to fish. Or, to put it more accurately: he is taught how to try to fish. The ponds surrounding the plain are shallow, but the fish that swim in them and the adjoining streams are wickedly fast and whip around before Jungkook can even see where to cast his line.
Namjoon has joined him, Jimin and Hye-in for this outing, and Jungkook is trying to pretend everything is normal for Jimin’s sake, but Jimin keeps casting Namjoon furtive looks when he thinks nobody is looking, and ultimately curiosity wins out.
“How are things with the guard?” Jungkook asks quietly, fiddling with his bait. Both Namjoon and Hye-in are seemingly out of earshot, but he can never be too careful. Some wolves have much sharper senses than others, and in his post, Jungkook wouldn’t be surprised if Namjoon has keen hearing.
“The guard?” Jimin pretends to be confused, which is his way of being subtle. “Oh, you mean Namjoon.”
“I don’t think being coy will get you anywhere,” Jungkook says, successfully skewering the bait onto his hook. But he lingers, wanting to talk with Jimin some more. Under Namjoon’s watchful eye and Hye-in’s observational skills, he has been careful about what he has said. He has told Jimin very little about the night before. How he bathed and went back to his rooms, smelling only faintly of Yoongi. Jimin has not asked, which Jungkook thinks is his way of treading lightly.
“We’ve seen each other a couple of times,” Jimin admits. “But it’s been difficult to find the time. He’s very busy.” He glances in Namjoon’s direction, and then back to Jungkook. “The guards here are hyper-vigilant,” he whispers to Jungkook, who perks up at the implication. “Namjoon is hardly ever not working.”
“Security here is tight,” Jungkook says. “Yoongi told me the gate wasn’t built when he was a child, which I’d assumed it had been.”
“It must be recent,” Jimin says. They briefly fall into silence as they consider this. “Still. There is no sense in scaremongering.”
“No, not when you want to see the guard,” Jungkook jokes, trying not to dwell on the gate yet again, and Jimin jostles him. The movement attracts Namjoon’s attention, who looks over in alarm. Jungkook plasters a smile onto his face, hoping this will pass muster. Namjoon’s attention drifts elsewhere. “Yoongi and I went for a ride yesterday. After the … wedding.”
“Did that go well?” Jimin asks, the picture of politeness.
“He told me I could leave the village when I wanted,” Jungkook says. “But if I went out alone, I’d need to bring a guard.” He pauses, and then plunges on, deciding he is going to share. “He ran me a bath and then left me to my own devices.”
“To your own devices?”
“We didn’t,” Jungkook says abruptly, trying to convey this to Jimin in as few words as possible, flushing furiously. “The marriage. We didn’t consummate the marriage.”
Understanding smooths out the creases in Jimin’s face.
“That’s okay,” Jimin says gently. “You might not have been ready-”
“I was ready,” Jungkook interrupts, having already anticipated this suggestion . “At least, I think I was. But he left, and now I’m wondering what kind of marriage we will have.” He tries not to stare vacantly out into space and wallow in his misery.
“It might take time,” Jimin says. “You hardly know each other.”
“That’s what he said. He wanted to get to know me.”
“That’s good, no?” Jimin gently nudges him. “I didn’t think you wanted some inconsiderate alpha who put his feelings first and yours second.”
“No,” Jungkook says quickly, because this is true. But he’s finding it hard to shake the feeling that Yoongi rejected him because Yoongi isn’t interested in getting to know Jungkook … that way.
He has nothing to base this off of, but the insecurity lurks.
“Jungkook-ah, I don’t know Yoongi very well but he seems like a good person,” Jimin says. “I’d take his word for it, when he says he wants to get to know you.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Logically, Jungkook thinks this is the right course of action. Then it only takes his mind to wander to last night, to Yoongi’s intent expression and the want sparking in the air between the two of them, for him to be confronted with his fear again. A forgotten mate, wandering the plain.
He also doesn’t know how to tell Jimin that what Yoongi is asking of him - the chance to get to know Jungkook better - doesn’t seem fair, when Yoongi is giving so little of himself away. The questions Jungkook has about the village crowd in his mind, shoving for space, each demanding more attention than the other.
Why were the gates built?
What are they afraid of that they won’t tell us?
Why can’t we leave the village alone at night?
Jungkook shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and catches a glimmer of a fish, as it darts down the stream.
“There!” he calls, pointing at the fish. He flails a little as he throws out his line, hoping to throw a tasty morsel of bait in its path. The fish hardly stops as it swims past the bait in a colourful blur.
“Don’t be too discouraged,” Hye-in says warmly. “The fish here are wily. They’ve learned our ways.”
Jungkook returns her smile, although it feels more like robotically pulling his lips back to show his teeth, because he’s awful at fishing.
After about an hour - during which Hye-in tries to demonstrate to Jungkook the proper techniques and catches six fish to Jungkook’s measly one - they call it quits, and trudge back to the village. Jungkook is bone-tired: not just from throwing himself after whip-smart fish all day, but from constantly brooding on questions he has no answer to.
All mulling goes out of the window when he sees Yoongi at the gates, waiting for them. His hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, near the nape of his neck, and he looks older, cutting a smartly dressed, attractive figure.
As Jungkook nears Yoongi’s scent brushes against him, familiar.
“How did it go?” Yoongi asks, addressing Jungkook. Jungkook realises then that the others have fallen back in their step, giving the two of them space. Whether this is deliberate or an unconscious effort, he does not know. But it leaves him face-to-face with Yoongi.
He hasn’t addressed the night before.
“I caught one fish,” Jungkook says, not cheered by the result. “Hye-in-ssi caught six.”
“One fish is better than no fish,” Yoongi says encouragingly. He smells temptingly good. Jungkook feels himself leaning in, wanting to be closer. His inner omega has no qualms about whether Yoongi is keeping secrets; it likes how he smells and sounds and looks. It likes the plushness of his lips and the way he cages Jungkook in. It likes his innate dominance and how leadership comes naturally to him.
“Jungkook-ssi put up a good fight,” Hye-in informs Yoongi from behind. She has the fish hanging from a thin line of rope, their mouths gaping open. “But the fish are slippery.”
“You’ll learn,” Yoongi consoles Jungkook, his tone like warm sunlight on Jungkook’s skin. “That is, if you want to learn how to fish. You don’t have to.”
Jungkook ponders this, the freedom to carve his own place out in the pack being offered to him, and Yoongi smiles at his reaction. He reaches a hand forward and brushes a hair away from Jungkook’s face. Jungkook resists leaning into his touch, but the impulse is there all the same.
His frown from thinking softens. Yoongi finally retracts his hand, as if remembering they are surrounded by others.
“Namjoon-ah, I’ll need a border report when you have a minute,” he says to Namjoon, brisk and business-like. Namjoon gives a nod.
Jungkook bites down on his tongue. He cannot ask what the border report entails. He cannot ask why Yoongi needs a border report.
He tries to convince himself these are the inner machinations of the Min pack; that Yoongi will request things that aren’t always known to Jungkook, but that doesn’t mean they’re nefarious, or cause for concern.
But Jungkook has always been inquisitive, and he is hard-pressed to quash an urge that is innate. Instinctive
So he says - as innocently as he can manage, “Border report?”
Yoongi opens his mouth to respond when Jungkook hears it - the first tread of a footstep, in the distance, behind him. Not one he recognises, or has come to associate with the pack, not when the rest of their number should be safely in the village, behind the walls. Hair on the nape of his neck prickles.
He watches Yoongi stiffen. He throws a look Namjoon’s way and Jungkook catches the grim meaning passed between them: this is not the sound of somebody they recognise, either. His own body grows taut, as he steels himself for whoever, or whatever, is coming.
Jimin shuffles closer to Jungkook. He catches it, just, and pretends he doesn’t edge closer to Jimin in return.
“Hye-in-ah, get inside,” Yoongi orders. “Take Jungkook and Jimin with you. Namjoon, with me.”
Jimin makes a motion to move, but Jungkook remains rooted in his spot. His mind is already made up. Whoever, or whatever is approaching, he will meet them head on. He refuses to cower behind the gates and be of little help. It’s not who he is.
“I’m not going,” he announces. Mostly for Yoongi’s benefit.
Yoongi, who is distracted by the footsteps, who is preparing to confer with Namjoon about what they should do and ready themselves, is caught by surprise.
“What?” he asks, disbelief bleeding into his voice. Jungkook almost flinches from it - but this, he’d been ready for. Yoongi’s bewilderment. His inability to understand Jungkook, because they don’t know one another yet.
Give me a couple of weeks, that’s all I ask, Yoongi had said. Jungkook needs Yoongi to understand him now.
Jungkook gazes at Yoongi, trying to convey his need not to be helpless, powerless, left out in the dark.
“Are you sure?” Yoongi quietly asks. Understanding passes between them. “Okay. Stay close to me.”
Jimin hovers, as Hye-in turns in the direction of the village and crosses the threshold. She looks back, as if to check Jimin is following her.
“I’m staying,” Jimin says, his tone brooking no room for argument. “If Jungkook’s staying, then I’m staying.”
They don’t even know what it is, but Yoongi concedes. He deflates a little, but he lets them stay. Namjoon directs the guards to close the gates behind Hye-in, and then it’s the four of them, staring out at an open plain, waiting tersely. Their breath is collectively caught, interrupted only by the sound of a low, reverberating whistle.
Jungkook smells Yoongi’s spike of distress before he sees it - the figure that rounds over the hill and comes into view. He can just about make him out: a wizened man of around sixty, with a shock of white hair, full beard and grizzled mouth. Around ten other people file in after him.
As he nears and the picture clears, a bolt goes through Jungkook.
He must be leaking fear everywhere, for all of them to smell, because Yoongi curves a protective arm around Jungkook and nudges him in closer. It’s no use - not for Jungkook - because the man has a long, thin scar sliced down his eye.
Much like the wolf in Jungkook’s dreams.
He wants to run, wants to escape or charge them, something - but his feet remain stubbornly planted in the ground. He’s frozen to the spot in fear. He can only watch on, helplessly, as the man approaches.
Jungkook sees that his troupe are half men, half women, some of them visibly alphas and betas, while others have their scent masked.
The man stops around five metres away from Yoongi. Jungkook’s breath hitches.
“Yoongi,” the man says, his voice low and gravelly. He’s visibly the leader, if the way the members of his party halt and turn to him expectantly is any indication. “It’s been too long.”
Jungkook has been too wrapped up in the fact that this is the man - wolf - from his dreams, who’d set on Jungkook with a snarling, bloody maw to have even considered Yoongi’s reaction. But if Yoongi was startled by the man’s arrival, he doesn’t show it now. And Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon are all curved in towards him, mirroring the man in front.
Yoongi is the leader of the pack here, that much is made evident.
Yoongi lowers his head, slightly, and stares at the man coolly. He does not offer a response and from somewhere inside Jungkook he feels a swell of pride as he watches him stand his ground.
The man breaks out in a smile, and releases a chuckle. A visible sigh of relief passes through his party, as if they’d been primed for action. Jungkook doesn’t doubt that they weren’t.
“I didn’t expect a warm welcome,” he says, shaking his head. “But I’d hoped these things could be forgotten between family.”
Family? Jungkook squints at the man, trying to work out the resemblance. His skin is tanned, and leathered, like that of a man who stays out in the sun all day. He has a full head of hair, and an unsmiling face. The scar is where the eye goes first. It is thin, and rakes down his face, like a nail caused it.
Or a claw.
“What do you want?” Yoongi asks, pointedly not entertaining him. “Why have you decided to show up at my door?”
“Your door?” The man’s smile broadens. He finds this amusing. “Last I checked, Pack Leader Min was in charge here, was he not?”
Jungkook fixes his gaze on Yoongi, but Yoongi isn’t looking at him. He’s holding the man’s gaze dead on and a flutter of anxiety passes through Jungkook. Somehow, his non-reaction is worse than a proper reaction. Yoongi is not pleased to see this man, but beyond that, Jungkook is struggling to read him.
Six days married, and this is what he has to show for it. Jungkook rubs his thumb over his ring finger in an attempt to calm himself down, a movement which the man notices.
“Is this your omega?” he asks, cocking his head at Jungkook, who tamps down on the urge to shy away from him. He radiates dominance, but not Yoongi’s soft, gentle kind; something that speaks to brute force and blunt knives and snarling teeth.
Snarling, bloodied teeth.
“Yoongi-yah, you’re married?” the man asks, rocking back on his feet. He seems genuinely shocked. He wasn’t at the wedding, and it’s a fair bet to say he wasn’t invited. “I’m so pleased for you. Come here and embrace me.”
Yoongi remains where he is.
The man shrugs, not wounded by Yoongi’s rejection. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he says. “Your omega is very pretty.”
Those ink-black eyes swivel to Jungkook, who trembles under the intensity of his gaze. It’s nothing like Yoongi’s intensity. There’s no curiosity or kindness or generosity. There’s cruelty and a greedy, grabbing nature that lurks underneath. The kind of man who would clamber on others to reach the top with no regard for their welfare.
“Does the omega speak?” the man asks, with a taunting smile. “Or is he completely mute?”
For all of his fear, Jungkook quietly fumes. He glares at the man with all the force of his dislike, which the man acknowledges.
“Maybe he’s fiercer than he looks,” he says, his tone curious. “Maybe he’s got a nasty bite.”
“Leave him alone,” Yoongi orders, an undercurrent of loathing in his voice. “You’re here for me, not him.” Yoongi tugs Jungkook in closer, which the man notices. His smile sharpens.
“You might be right,” the man allows. “Clearly we should discard with the niceties. Will you let me pass now?”
“No.” Yoongi clenches his jaw, a one-word answer that says all it needs to. But then he adds, “You’re not welcome here, uncle.”
The realisation slams through Jungkook all at once. Uncle.
This man is Yoongi’s family. And he’s come to Yoongi’s door, demanding entrance.
Suddenly, Jungkook no longer wonders what the gates are for. It’s to keep men like him out.
“I would say I can force my way in,” the man drawls, throwing out his arms to gesture at his troupe, who leer at them, “but I don’t think I need to, do I?”
“You can try.”
The man barks a laugh. “Oh, I like your bravado, Yoongi-yah! You’ve grown up since I saw you last. You were just a child then.”
“That was years ago.”
“Time does pass quicker than we like, does it not?”
While they’re talking - snapping at each other - Jungkook sees a woman quietly withdraw a dagger from behind her back, and his blood runs cold. They have every intention of using force to gain access, if necessary. This could very well derail into a gruesome, brutal fight.
But before she can get any further, the gates creak open. Yoongi whirls around, confusion etched into his face, probably thinking who was so stupid to order them open - and it quickly becomes clear who did, when Yoongi’s father steps into the fold.
His head is bowed in contrition, and his hands are clasped in front of him. Where Yoongi was acting every bit the warrior, the defender, it seems his father is here to play the politician, the diplomat, and talk them down.
“Brother,” Yoongi’s father says in quiet acknowledgment.
“Brother,” Yoongi’s uncle echoes. “It’s been too long.”
“And maybe not long enough,” Yoongi’s father says. He does not raise his voice, and his tone does not turn mocking, but the implication is there. He is not welcome. “I trust you had a safe journey?”
“As safe as it can be in, in these parts,” Yoongi’s uncle shrugs. “So you’re here to, what? Welcome me inside?”
He says this as if he’d wanted a fight, his lip curling, sneering.
“I can’t imagine your appearance after twenty-five years is for nothing,” Yoongi’s father says simply. He steps to one side and gestures. “Come inside.”
Yoongi’s uncle seems to accept this at face value, and sends a nonverbal command to his men. He strides past them, and Jungkook holds his breath as he goes. He’s all solid, compact muscle, with thick arms that betray him as a fighter, a killer.
Jungkook doesn’t turn around to watch him enter the village, and ignores the curious stares of Yoongi’s uncle’s pack, as they follow. He imagines a dark, throbbing aura surrounding them, seeping into the village, and infecting every corner.
And he can’t shake the image of the scar. The scar from his dreams.
Chapter 4: Shattered Peace
Summary:
“My uncle has always been a hard man,” Yoongi says, standing next to Jungkook and gazing out over the landscape. His eyes are clouded in memory. “It’s from him we have to thank the reputation of the Mins.”
Jungkook takes a beat to realise what Yoongi is saying.
“You’re aware of the reputation?” he asks, not knowing how else he can phrase it, chewing on the inside of his cheek after it comes out.
Yoongi looks at him then, drily amused.
Notes:
things are finally starting to speed up a bit... I hope you enjoy this chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When the attacks started, the village assumed it was merely a blip. A nasty, horrific blip that those who had stumbled across the bodies, had recounted with haunted expressions - as if they were still processing everything they had seen.
The first body was assumed to be an outlier. And the second, and the third, until Jungkook’s parents could no longer ignore the patterns, screaming out at them: the claw marks shredding down arms and torsos. For a few unlucky souls, missing body parts. Always discarded at the verge of the village, waiting for someone to encounter them. Jungkook never did see what became of these poor people - beyond the hand of his mother’s friend, before he was quickly ferried away - but what pack members spoke about in hushed voices was enough to ignite his imagination.
His parents always scolded him if they caught him, “Come away, Jungkookie, this isn’t for your ears,” but there were times where he went unseen, creeping around the village, and spying on conversations, because he was as morbidly curious as everyone else, tainted with terror, and didn’t want to be left in the dark.
On one such evening, after the fifth body had showed up and people’s fear could be smelled everywhere you walked in the village, pungent and sour, Jungkook flattened himself against the exterior of his parents’ home, just to hear the council meeting they’d called. They were huddled around a fire blazing in the living room, the flickering flames putting in stark contrast their wearied, defeated faces.
There was his mother, his father, Jimin’s parents, and a few others he recognised - there was Jae-beom, one of his father’s oldest and most trusted friends, there was Ye-rin, who led the hunts, and even, Jungkook saw with a swallow of disbelief, old man Lee, presiding over what was obviously a grim matter.
“The attacks are only getting worse,” Jae-beom was saying, his face creased with worry, “and people are talking. We can no longer delay the truth.”
“The truth?” Ye-rin asked, visibly recoiling from him and rearing back. She was incensed, Jungkook could see that. Ye-rin was a fierce, unstoppable hunter and he knew it was eating away at her, to be unable to catch what - or who - was doing this. “What is the truth, exactly?”
“Alright, settle down,” Jungkook’s father cautioned, his hands in a placating gesture. Ye-rin huffed and crossed her arms, but said no more, deferring to his father. He liked Ye-rin. She was capable, and dependable.
Jungkook watched as his parents exchanged an expression that was unknown to him, but it became clear what was behind it when they next spoke.
“We can’t avoid it anymore,” his mother said softly, attracting everybody’s interest. She was not outspoken, and when she did talk, her words counted. “We have to entertain the possibility.”
“About time someone was saying sense!” old man Lee announced, launching himself up from his seat with a cane. Jungkook detested old man Lee. He lived on the outskirts of the village and had taken visceral delight in terrifying Jungkook when he was a pup; jumping out at him from dark corners or regaling him with stories of forest spirits who led young pups astray before they were never seen again. He’d shown no kindness for Jungkook, and Jungkook, in turn, returned the favour now that he was older.
“We cannot keep this at bay any longer,” old man Lee continued, aware that he had the whole room’s attention on him, not intending to waste it. “We must appease the gods.”
“The gods?” Ye-rin barked a harsh laugh. She was secular and had no time for Lee’s raving nonsense as she saw it (and Jungkook privately agreed). “This isn’t the work of the gods. This is the work of a man.”
The pin dropped for Jungkook, who inhaled a sharp breath and whirled around when his father’s eye settled on him through the crack in the door hinges. He registered this revelation with a pounding heartbeat, which had already been quickened by sneaking around and spying on his parents.
He didn’t want to spy, but the village had reached a fervour pitch and he knew they wouldn’t share with him what they would say freely in council meetings. Even so, it chilled him to see his parents speaking so cautiously, choosing their every word, as if they were overly conscious that what they said about the matter could incite panic.
A man.
Was that possible?
The thought had occurred to Jungkook the moment someone had mentioned the deep, gouging claw marks - but he couldn’t imagine anyone in the village capable of such monstrousness, and as such, his mind had dismissed it as a possibility.
But here was Ye-rin, speaking it into being. The attacks weren’t perpetuated by wild animals, but people. And that was why his parents were so afraid.
Animals could be enticed, ensnared. People were far trickier and their motives were muddier.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” Jungkook overheard his father say, “there’s just something I need to attend to.”
He knew Jungkook was here. Jungkook stepped out from his hiding spot as his father exited their home and faced him, ashen-faced, not bothering to keep himself hidden. He was older now, almost seventeen, and could no longer hope to play around as a pup would.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Jungkook protested, but his father held up a hand. A nonverbal command to be quiet. Jungkook fell silent, feeling twitchy.
“This is none of your business,” his father said, his voice sharp. “You are not to be caught sneaking around again. Do you understand?”
Suitably mute, Jungkook nodded, even as he bit back some frustration. He looked down, toeing the soil with the tip of his boot.
When he looked back up, his father’s face had softened. Unexpectedly, he drew Jungkook into a crushing hug, his arms weaving around him pulling him tighter, tighter, tighter.
“You need to stay where I can see you,” his father told him, his voice muffled by where his face was pressed into the top of Jungkook’s head. “I need you to be safe. Do you understand?”
Another nod, though less begrudging than the first.
Jungkook’s father finally released him and Jungkook looked back at him, mystified. He rarely saw such raw displays of emotion from his father, and had certainly never scented the fear that wafted from him in sour, nausea-inducing waves. Deep unease settled under Jungkook’s skin. If his father was terrified, what hope did they have of seeing to this crisis?
That was why the council had gathered, of course. If they couldn’t get to the bottom of the attacks and put people at ease, they were on the precipice of tumbling into all out panic. The kind of panic where people stole supplies and resources and shoved at each other in their desperation to ensure their own survival.
The fifth body, of course, was only the beginning. Many more council meetings would be convened by the time the attacks - with no explanation - stopped. People searched for answers, but were mostly relieved that they weren’t being hunted anymore, and were overly cautious about facing down what they saw as a blessing, nothing short of a miracle.
As soon as the attacks stopped, so did the whispering and the huddling and the wide, roving eyes. But Jungkook never quite forgot the sour tang of fear, and the reminder of how fragile peace in a pack could be.
—
Yoongi’s uncle is greeted with far more amiability than Jungkook would like, but he supposes this is how he is appeased: a great, big hulking warrior like him, reappearing after twenty-five years of silence, demanding to be allowed entrance, is not refused. Not when he brings his entourage of ten people with him. Five men, five women, all with unsmiling faces and sophisticated weaponry that glint in the sun at them, the sinister implication there. They will hurt the Min pack if they have to.
Jungkook wisely gives them a wide berth, even as he watches them filter their way through the centre of the village. He tags behind, too curious and irked to consider not being a part of this. Just as he hid in the corner as a boy to eavesdrop, he refuses now to be kept away from the centre of the action. Yoongi, for his part, says nothing, but he walks closely enough to Jungkook for their shoulders to brush together.
As they trail behind, he says to Yoongi, “Your uncle was missing for twenty-five years?”
Seemingly too distracted with the events of the day, Yoongi takes a moment to respond.
“Not missing,” he says. He doesn’t elaborate.
Jungkook frowns, and bites down on his tongue. If there was ever a time where his contrition was needed, it is now.
But he cannot understand how Pack Leader Min welcomes them so readily. He knows very little about the man whose pack he will inherit in the future, but he doesn’t strike Jungkook as the kind of bowing, stooped man he first presented when he opened the gates and waved them inside.
There was the threat of violence, sure, but even so. Jungkook would rather tangle with them outside the gates than see them tromping through the grass, their heads swivelling as they go, taking in all of the village with a sneer.
There’s one man Jungkook notices who does not sneer, or spit onto the soil. His face is curiously blank, and unscarred. He carries with him a dagger, strapped along his thigh, out of his reach.
But he does not meet Jungkook’s gaze like the rest, so Jungkook tires with trying to glean what little information he can from the kind of people they are. Already, he understands they are unfriendly and trigger-happy, but this is hardly enough to be going off of. And Yoongi walks alongside him, an invisible silence blanketing him, as his face says he does not want to talk.
Jungkook anxiously fiddles with his wedding band, pushing it back and forth on his ring finger. As he does, he catches the attention of one of Yoongi’s uncle’s pack members - one of the men, who’s been especially leer-y and loose with his saliva - who grins at Jungkook in an unsavoury way.
“Cute omega,” he says to Yoongi, correctly assuming that he is Jungkook’s husband. Then, as if blatantly flaunting polite societal rules, he adds, “You knotted him yet?”
Jungkook draws in a sharp breath, anger flaring up inside of him, without bothering to look at Yoongi to see his reaction. How dare this man, this unwanted visitor, bordering on intruder, make such assumptions about Jungkook. Leer at him. Treat him like a prize pig.
He grinds his teeth and steps forward, facing the man down without fear. The man raises an eyebrow, mildly surprised but mostly amused by Jungkook’s response.
“What,” he says, “little omega can’t speak for himself?”
“I’ll happily tell you exactly what I think of you,” Jungkook mutters quietly, “you arrogant, vile, despicable piece of -”
“Why don’t we take a moment to calm down,” Jimin interrupts to say, physically putting space between Jungkook and the man. Jungkook blinks, and some of the red lining his vision subsides. He looks at Jimin, whose look is very plain: Don’t pick a fight with these people. Please.
Jungkook raises his eyebrows, conveying his response back: But I could win.
It is Yoongi who intercedes. “Uncle, if you cannot get your men under control and they insist on acting like unleashed animals, I will see to it they are ejected from the village in due course.”
He has stepped forward and an arm curls protectively around Jungkook, who takes this with a flinch of irritation. He doesn’t need Yoongi to fight his battles. It’s only worsened when the man sneers at Jungkook, seeing the scene for what it is: Jungkook’s husband and brave alpha, come to rescue him.
Jungkook swallows back his frustration, and in that terse moment, reluctantly concedes to Yoongi.
“Hyeon, knock it off,” Yoongi’s uncle says, although there’s more amusement in his voice than order. “So diplomatic, Yoongi-yah. Just like your father.” He does not say it like it is a compliment.
Jungkook has never been able to say he is the kind of omega who swoons at aggressive, possessive, overbearing alphas, who pick fights and assert what is theirs and swagger all over the place. But something about Yoongi’s cool, level response gets under his skin. He’d been prepared to show down one of his uncle’s men, so why can’t Yoongi?
He knows why. Because Yoongi doesn’t pick fights. He’s far more calm and pragmatic than Jungkook, who’d been willing to disrupt the peace all because of one provocative asshole.
He expects the flicker of shame to come, reminding him of his place. But all he can feel is burning rage that only heats up when they resume their march, and the man is allowed to carry on without consequence.
Yoongi speeds up his walking and Jungkook does not keep pace. He deliberately drops back, not wanting to be close to Yoongi right now. He knows this is illogical, but the feelings storm around inside of him all the same.
Jimin catches up with him. “Are you okay, Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook wants to say No, but he restrains himself. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t listen to that guy,” Jimin automatically says. “We don’t even know him. And from what I’ve seen, he has very little to commend himself.”
“Why are they here, hyung?” Jungkook asks, unable to keep the questions at bay any longer. He feels all he’s done since he arrived has been to ask questions, and it’s beginning to wear him down. “Why have they been let inside?”
Jimin momentarily falls silent, thinking.
“We don’t know them,” he says. “They could be here in peace.”
Jungkook scoffs, and even Jimin appears as if he doesn’t believe his own suggestion. “With all that weaponry? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t think so either,” Jimin says. Then adds, “But I think your approach might get us all killed, Jungkook-ah. Just hang back, and trust the Mins. They know what they’re doing.”
Entering the Min house, there is a strained silence that stretches out. A dropped pin could be heard in the unearthly quiet.
Pack Leader Min wordlessly leads them into the dining room, where Jungkook and Yoongi had shared a breakfast, the day before they were due to be married. The mere presence of Yoongi’s uncle’s pack spoils it. They smell earthy, of damp, wet soil that is alien to Jungkook. Like a waterlogged forest.
They take their seats at the table. Pack Leader Min is sitting at the head, and with some presumption, his brother sits opposite. Yoongi sits to the left of his father and next to him, Jungkook. Jimin is left of him, there is an empty chair, and then half of Yoongi’s uncle pack sit down, while the rest remain standing, in various standoffish positions. One stands with her hands clasped in front of her waist, her arms bare, threaded with rippling muscle.
“This is cosy,” Yoongi’s uncle says. “Who knew we’d have so many smiling faces greeting us?”
Nobody rises to the bait.
“Tell us why you’re here,” Yoongi commands. Jungkook is surprised to hear him take the lead on this, but Pack Leader Min hasn’t exactly inspired authority with his behaviour thus far. Jungkook feels treacherous thinking about it, given he has been welcomed into this pack and treated like their own, but the intruders are not at the door, they have been given safe sanction, and he is having a hard time understanding this decision.
For a village that builds towering, inscrutable gates, it opens its arms to the precise kind of people the gates are there to keep out.
A sigh rattles through Yoongi’s uncle at the unwillingness to engage. “Are we to completely do away with small talk?” he says. He is a complete paradox; a man whose body screams hardened warrior, and yet his voice is light, lilting, amused. It only sets Jungkook more on edge, wondering how fierce of a fighter he is, to feel comfortable teasing and making jokes.
Judging by Yoongi and his father’s silence, Jungkook has his answer.
“How have you been, brother?” he addresses this question to Pack Leader Min.
Pack Leader Min’s mouth thins with amusement. Finally, he shows some disregard for these people.
“It’s been twenty-five years,” he reminds his brother. “Twenty-five years since you left.”
“No, brother, you left first,” Yoongi’s uncle says, deadly quiet. One of his men runs their thumb over an open blade. Then he brightens, and the threatening expression vanishes. “Besides, are we to quibble about who did what, when it was so long ago?”
Yoongi doesn’t say a word during this exchange. Jungkook is given the overwhelming sense that this is not Yoongi’s fight; he has nothing to do with what transpired between his father and uncle only a couple of years after he was born. Yoongi was only a boy when it happened. Whatever happened.
“You’ve only shown up when you’ve wanted something,” says Yoongi’s father, direct and curt.
“Maybe I wanted to see my family. My nephew, who’s grown up away from me.” The words are emotive, but the tone is manipulative as Yoongi’s uncle deftly weaves a narrative where he is the aggrieved, outcast family member. Jungkook doesn’t buy it.
“Your sister?” Pack Leader Min asks smoothly.
Jungkook is not following. He looks at Yoongi, but Yoongi is still as a statue, his gaze fixed ahead. He won’t give Jungkook any contextual clues, then.
“My sister, although her judgement is seriously impaired based on who she chose to side with, is free to come and go as she pleases,” Yoongi’s uncle says. This remark, wrapped up as an astute observation, does nothing to surprise him. He is unruffled. “Besides.” He leans back, grinning. “Did she foresee my coming?”
Foresee.
It dawns on Jungkook and he looks between Yoongi’s father and uncle, his father and uncle. The family resemblance is striking, although where Yoongi’s uncle’s appearance speaks to a thousand battles and hard, bloody work, his father is slighter, like that of a statesman.
“I haven’t seen her.”
“You lie.”
“No,” Yoongi says, finally speaking out. “My father hasn’t been to see Min-ji.”
He finally glances over at Jungkook, and his expression is brimming over with sorrow. It strikes Jungkook all at once. There is so much he does not know, so much Yoongi is keeping from him. And for the first time, Yoongi acknowledges how deep he is in the dark.
—
This revelation snuffs out any hope of reconciliation, or kind conversation, although Jungkook seriously doubts that there was a chance of that happening anyway. His entire body is stiff, unmoving, as it settles on him with an unpleasant sensation. A kind of embarrassment that this information had been kept from him, intermingled with shock.
Min-ji is Yoongi’s uncle’s sister. Min-ji is his aunt.
For all he’d painted her as an untrustworthy fortune teller, a relic of a bygone era, she is his family and she is someone Jungkook hasn’t met and Jungkook senses, with a churning stomach, that that was a very deliberate decision on Yoongi’s part.
She was part of the Min pack before my father had left , Yoongi had said. She’s been a part of this village for as long as I can remember, and we respect her beliefs, even if we don’t follow them.
With no mention, of course, that he is related to Min-ji. Better to depict her as a shadowy figure in the recesses of Jungkook’s mind, someone not worth knowing. And she is Yoongi’s family.
His thumb worries at his wedding band before he can realise what he is doing, and he curls his hands into fists, to avoid the temptation, and shoves them under the table.
“Shame,” Yoongi’s uncle sighs, regarding the scene. His eyes linger on Jungkook, before skipping over him. “I’d have hoped for something juicy this time.”
“She’s not well,” Yoongi’s father says fiercely. “It’s not something to joke about.”
Again, news to Jungkook.
Yoongi’s uncle inspects his fingernails, as he’s merely being updated on the weather, or someone’s birthday. “She likes the attention,” he merely says. “She’s always enjoyed that woo-woo stuff.”
A frustrated growl is ripped from Yoongi’s father’s throat at this remark, coolly delivered, and he rises from his seat. “You are impossible,” he says, and he stalks out of the room. Not at all becoming of a pack leader playing statesman, but Jungkook understands. He has been treated to a mere glimpse of what Yoongi’s uncle is like, and he thinks he’d be driven to madness within a week, let alone his entire life.
It is Yoongi who fills in his role while he is gone: “My father will want to see you later,” he says. “Once he’s … cooled off.”
Yoongi’s uncle’s eyes glitter with amusement. He drops an elbow onto the table and props his chin up with a hand. “I always could get under his skin. I know all his weak points. But you, Yoongi-yah…” he trails off, and Jungkook can see the cogs whirring in his head. His eyes flicker to Jungkook and slides to his lily hair clip, who tamps down on the urge to shy away. “I wonder what your weak points are,” he finishes.
“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” Yoongi says drily. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying for the remainder of your trip.”
It goes unspoken that it is not yet defined how long they will be allowed to remain here, but it is something of a victory for Yoongi’s uncle, to continue to enjoy this hospitality. It leaves a sour taste on Jungkook’s tongue.
He can see Yoongi’s uncle thinking Your omega doesn’t like me very much, but he doesn’t voice it, which is a small mercy. He gets up from his seat and silently signals to his pack, who fall into formation. Every one of them a trained warrior.
“Then please, Yoongi-yah, show us the way.”
Jungkook does not join them this time. He’s heard enough. He hangs back in the dining room, and when he’s sure they are out of sight and out of hearing, he leans back against the table and slumps.
Jimin is watching him sympathetically.
“I didn’t know either,” he says softly, the implication of who he’s talking about abundantly clear. “I think…” his voice dies down.
“You think there’s a lot they’re keeping from us?” Jungkook asks, sarcasm creeping into his tone. “Yeah, I’d got that impression too.”
Jimin reaches out a hand. He puts it on Jungkook’s shoulder. “I don’t think he’s doing it to be unkind,” he says. “Clearly, there’s more to what’s going on than we realise.”
“It just would have been nice to know,” Jungkook says. “Like, ‘Hey, just a heads up, the town prophet is my aunt and my uncle is estranged from my father and may show up one day completely insane’,” he says, mimicking Yoongi’s gruff tone. “Would that have been so hard?”
Jimin’s lips press together. He is trying not to laugh at Jungkook’s attempt to mimic Yoongi’s voice.
“Alright,” Jungkook says miserably. “You get my point.”
Jimin’s hand squeezes his shoulder; a reminder that he is not alone. “I do,” Jimin says. “But I think he needs time. This can’t be easy for him.”
Jungkook wants to say it isn’t easy for him either, but then he thought back to how still and stoic Yoongi had been during the meeting, at complete contrast to how relaxed and open he’d been with Jungkook when they’d been riding, and thinks that perhaps this is a greater burden on him than Jungkook is privy to. That Yoongi isn’t deliberately downplaying it, but that he’s dealing with it the best he can.
At this thought, Jungkook feels a pang of commiseration. It must show in his posture, because Jimin’s relaxing slightly too. Knowing Jungkook, he’d probably forecast a more explosive response. He’d almost witnessed one earlier, when Hyeon had thought behaving revolting was a wise decision.
It sobers Jungkook up, reminding him of who now shares space with the Min pack. His pack, by marriage.
“I’m talking to him tomorrow,” Jungkook says, and he says this firmly - his tone brooking no room for argument - because this is as much compromise as he can give.
“Tomorrow,” Jimin agrees.
—
Yoongi’s uncle and his pack are set up in a crop of homes near the outskirts of the village, west of the Min house. It appears the placing is deliberate, and the Min pack want to keep an eye on their unexpected visitors. Jungkook can’t fault this tactic, but it makes him uneasy, to wake up the following morning and see the smoke rising from the homes, to see a couple of pack members already awake, whittling wood. The fluid flash of their knives is more than he wants to see, and he goes to bathe and get dressed.
The searing warmth from the bath causes him to relax and he sinks deeper into the bathwater, dipping his hand in and out, while thinking.
Twenty-five years is a hell of a long time not to see someone, which suggests some kind of serious rift drove the family apart. Pack Leader Min had already let slip to Jungkook that he’d left the pack when he was young, depicting it as boyish arrogance and a mistake, but he hadn’t mentioned that he’d left his brother, and that when he’d returned, his brother hadn’t been there for it.
And somewhere in all of this, Min-ji fits.
Or so Jungkook assumes. He’s operating with bits and pieces, trying to arrange the puzzle pieces in his head so it makes sense. So far he’s struggling, as all of the unanswered questions mean the pieces don’t slot neatly together and bump up against one another instead.
Why did Pack Leader Min leave his brother? His sister?
What caused them to argue so badly he left for good?
Where did his brother go? Why is he back now?
There’s a rap at the door and the tirade in his head dissolves like mist.
“Jungkook.” It’s Jimin, sounding slightly muffled. “Jungkook, Yoongi wants to see you downstairs.”
“Okay,” Jungkook calls back. He dunks his hair under the water, working his fingers through his scalp one final time, before he rises from the bathtub in a loud splash, and gets dressed.
He goes to exit, and hesitates. The lily hair clip rests on the countertop, next to the sink. He’d taken it out of his hair before bathing, careful not to damage it. He grabs it and weaves it into his damp hair.
Jimin is waiting on the other side of the door. There’s nothing in his face or tone that suggests urgency, so Jungkook allows himself to relax.
“Any idea what it’s about?” Jungkook asks. Jimin shakes his head.
“But you two have to work on your communication,” Jimin says, with an unnerving grasp of the situation. “I can’t be your messenger forever.” He says this while a smile plays on his lips, but Jungkook accepts this comment with a small twist of his stomach. Jimin is closer to the matter than he realises. He won’t be here forever, as the interpreter. At some point, Jungkook is going to have to learn how to talk to Yoongi.
Yoongi is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. When he sees Jungkook, he smiles. Jungkook smiles politely back, even if his sleep had been disturbed by images of a scarred wolf, a scarred man, a muscled warrior fighting off an unseen threat, flashes that made no sense. When he’d woken, Jimin had taken him into his arms again, shushing him and running his hands down his back, bringing Jungkook closer into his embrace. He hadn’t said anything this morning about this being Jungkook’s worst nightmare - he’d been wrenched out of sleep sobbing - and Jungkook thinks this is a mercy.
“How did you sleep?” Yoongi asks, unfailingly gentlemanly. Jungkook would find it sweet if it weren’t for the circumstances, and the tense atmosphere that shrouds them.
“I slept fine,” Jungkook says. “How did you sleep?”
“Honestly?” Yoongi says. “Not great.”
He starts walking out of the house and Jungkook falls into step with him. He pointedly does not look in the direction of where his uncle’s pack is staying. Close enough for them to keep their eye on them, but too close to be comfortable.
“Have you seen them this morning?” Jungkook doesn’t have to specify who.
“No,” Yoongi answers. “I sent Namjoon down there with breakfast.”
Jungkook tries to imagine Namjoon, honest, loyal Namjoon, delivering Yoongi’s uncle freshly baked pastries and fruit and hides a smile. He knows Namjoon has been spitting since they arrived, and it’s nice to feel he has an ally in all of this. Even if Namjoon doesn’t divulge with Jungkook the reason for his distaste. It could be he doesn’t like their thuggish demeanour, or it could be something deeper than that.
“Do you plan on seeing them?”
Yoongi exhales slowly. Jungkook glances at him, surprised: a glimmer of the pressure bearing down on him. It reminds Jungkook to give him some space, metaphorically and physically. He subtly edges away from Yoongi while they are walking, but Yoongi eases closer to him.
“The responsibility should fall to my father,” Yoongi says slowly. “But I have an inkling … he won’t be able to see him just yet.”
Because of the unspoken rift.
Before Jungkook can think of what to say next, Yoongi is walking up to the gates and signalling for them to let them through. With a jolt, Jungkook sees the old guard the night of his arrival is there, who had treated him with deep suspicion. The old guard is unsmiling, and if he remembers their first interaction, he does not show it.
“You’ll have to excuse the manners of my guards,” Yoongi says, once they’ve exited the gates and are walking along a well-trodden path. “They’re a little on edge.” The path winds down to the right, the same path they’d taken on the ride of their wedding day, if Jungkook is not mistaken. His intuition is proven correct when the path drops down gently, the same slope as before.
“It didn’t seem like the reception to your uncle was welcome,” Jungkook says, as tactfully as he can, all the while prying for information.
“He’s a divisive figure,” Yoongi says, kicking a small stone off to the left. It skitters across to the left of the path and doesn’t move. “Before my father left, he was due to inherit the pack. My uncle is the younger of the two.”
“Really?” Jungkook’s surprise must show on his face, because Yoongi gives him a wry smile. “He just seems…”
“Older?” Yoongi supplements. “That’s just the way he is. He’s always been power hungry. He resented my father for being in line to take over the pack. He thought he could do a much better job, and they argued constantly.”
“That must have been difficult to have been around,” Jungkook says sympathetically, thinking of his own situation: his parents have always presented a united front, and it is this stability he credits to the more romantic side of him that wants a fierce love affair as much as he wants an equal partnership. He hopes the two can co-exist.
Yoongi shrugs. “I was two or three when my father decided to leave,” he says. “What I know of their disagreement, I’ve learned from people.”
Like Min-ji? Jungkook wants to ask, but doesn’t.
“In a moment of frustration, my father got up and left,” Yoongi continues. “It wasn’t pleasant. He stole away in the middle of the night and told no one, not even his nearest and dearest. His father was distraught. And my uncle took over the pack when their father died, a few years later.”
Retracing their steps is much slower on foot, and Jungkook takes a moment to appreciate the sweeping views of the mountains, their crests splitting through drifting clouds in an otherwise blue, cloudless sky. The sun winks through wafts of cloud at them, and even at nine in the morning, he can feel the heat clambering.
“My uncle has always been a hard man,” Yoongi says, standing next to Jungkook and gazing out over the landscape. His eyes are clouded in memory. “It’s from him we have to thank the reputation of the Mins.”
Jungkook takes a beat to realise what Yoongi is saying.
“You’re aware of the reputation?” he asks, not knowing how else he can phrase it, chewing on the inside of his cheek after it comes out.
Yoongi looks at him then, drily amused. None of the outrage Jungkook had anticipated playing out on Yoongi’s features at even a whisper of their reputation. Yoongi continues to mystify him.
“I’m aware of our reputation,” Yoongi confirms. “He took power by brute force, and didn’t play nicely with other packs. He seized land and made monthly sacrifices to the Moon goddess. They hunted in their wolf forms and were ruthless.”
“What happened?” Jungkook asks, unable to stamp out his curiosity now that Yoongi is talking freely, with a shiver of realisation that these are the stories that are swapped about the Mins, the stories that sent Jungkook to them, braced for danger.
“My father came back,” Yoongi says, his words clipped as he relives the past. “He wrestled back power and ousted my uncle. It wasn’t pretty.”
This, Jungkook gauges from the clipped nature of his words, Yoongi witnessed as a pup. Horror briefly floods him at what it must have been like, at that age, to have seen such violence. And maybe a part of him begins to understand why Yoongi doesn’t resort to it so readily. That there might be strength in his restraint.
“Some people remained, and some left,” Yoongi adds sadly. “Min-ji … my aunt, was one of them. She’s always been closest with my side of the family.” He looks at Jungkook then, aware of what passes between them. Jungkook feels an invisible thread, tugging him closer. It is not for practicality that Yoongi tells Jungkook of his uncle’s past, aware that it could affect Jungkook’s image of him. He doesn’t say he already has a poor estimation of the man. It is for something akin to respect.
“Promise me you won’t go and see her,” he urges Jungkook, showing alarming understanding of Jungkook’s unquenchable curiosity already, when they’ve only been married just over a week. “I know you want to understand more, Jungkook-ah, but it wouldn’t be safe.”
This is an exercise in trust. After Yoongi has trusted him with this information, he can only do the same. He forces a breath out and then says, “Okay. I promise.”
Yoongi gives him a wan smile, and turns to look back across the scene. “For twenty-five years, he’s been gone. For twenty-five years we’ve lived in peace. And now he’s back, and the nightmare begins again.”
Jungkook experiences a jolt at the choice of words. Nightmare. The scarred wolf in his nightmares, now a walking reality. Living among them, eating with them. Using light words with hidden smirks, his motive unclear.
Still, he reaches for Yoongi’s hand and cradles it. Yoongi doesn’t push him away. His fingers slide through Jungkook’s, and holds on tightly.
“This wasn’t my intention for our marriage,” Yoongi admits then.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Yoongi grapples with his words. “I wanted you to feel a part of my pack, closer to it. I wanted to teach you our ways. Hunting, fishing. Living in the mountains.”
“You still can, hyung,” Jungkook points out, but the shadow of his uncle looms large.
“Perhaps,” Yoongi allows, lapsing into thought. Just when Jungkook thinks he has lost him, he says, “Will you walk with me for a while?”
Jungkook nods wordlessly, and they resume their trek back up to the lake, a spot he now knows Yoongi goes to for peace, for respite. At least he knows that much.
—
Jungkook is almost reluctant to relay the information to Jimin, later, of what Yoongi has revealed to him: that the reputation of the Mins were forged by his uncle, cutting a brutish, unforgiving figure, and not from Pack Leader Min and Yoongi. He feels some kind of obligation to Yoongi, to keep this secret, but he hasn’t been explicitly asked. So he tentatively tells Jimin later, in their rooms, if only to have someone to talk to about it.
Jimin is wide-eyed when he takes it in. “That, I didn’t see coming,” he breathes. “But it makes sense. Pack Leader Min and Yoongi have been nothing but kind to us. Your parents trust them.”
The kind of kindness that Jungkook had been wary of, he thinks with a sinking stomach.
“I hate that he’s here,” Jungkook says in an undertone. He doesn’t have to say who. “I hate that we’re … near him.”
Earlier, when he’d returned from his walk with Yoongi and they’d parted ways - Yoongi had excused himself, saying that he needed to speak to his father and Jungkook didn’t press - he’d passed the crop of homes where Yoongi’s uncle and his pack were staying, and saw a couple of them whittling wood into sharp stakes, while others were crowded around. It seemed that was all they did to pass the time, hunkering down in concentration, silently working away.
They’d spotted Jungkook and bared their teeth in a silent threat, but hadn’t paused their whittling. Heart pounding, he’d watched them deftly work at the wood, the blade a nimble instrument in their hands.
Eventually, one of them had called, “Curiosity killed the omega!” And a few others had joined in with their raucous laughter, finding this funnier than it was.
Another added, “No need to be shy! Come and say hi!”
They hadn’t budged from their seats or imposed themselves physically, but Jungkook had shivered from the suggestion all the same, and then resented himself for reacting to their presence, and exposing his unease. He wasn’t a meek, cowering omega, and he didn’t intend to present as such, but his instincts had taken over.
He squared his shoulders and marched on, to their cries and cheers, delighted that Jungkook was putting on this front. He’d been applying scent blockers daily since arriving at the Min pack and had hesitated putting it on the day of the wedding, but was ultimately glad that he did, in hindsight. He hadn’t known who was going to later arrive at their doorstep and ruin the peace.
When he strode through the door of the Min house, he momentarily collapsed against the wall. He gave himself all of thirty seconds before he carried on.
“They’re awful people,” Jungkook says, reliving the memory. He’d told Jimin, who’d treated this with equal parts disgust, and equal parts powerlessness to do anything. “I don’t know what they’re going to do.”
Jimin hums, taking this in. “Something tells me they’re here because they need help.”
This gives Jungkook pause. “Why?”
“Think about it,” Jimin says. “Yoongi’s uncle was gone for, what, twenty-five years? Then just randomly shows up one day?”
“It could be a grab for power,” Jungkook points out.
“Sure, but they’ve had plenty of opportunities. I think if they wanted to, they’d have struck at us already.”
He almost says, Yoongi would stop them but the words die in his throat at the realisation of how deep rooted his faith in Yoongi really is, and the ludicrous implication that one alpha can see the rest of them off. He tries to picture Yoongi, with his gentle, patient nature, fighting another wolf, but struggles with the image.
“Besides, they’re hardly staying in the best circumstances,” Jimin says, in reference to their accommodation. This makes Jungkook smile, feeling a little mean.
“Maybe,” Jungkook allows. “I don’t trust them. Any of them.”
“Nor should you, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says softly.
Jungkook holds onto this conversation over the coming week when he passes by Yoongi’s uncle’s pack. He bites his tongue and ignores their cries and whoops for attention. One of them, the man who smelled like an alpha who’d asked Yoongi, vulgarly, if he’d knotted Jungkook yet, especially likes to say provocative things.
One day, he yells, “No mating mark yet, pretty omega? I’d have seen to that straight away.”
The steady intensity of his black eyes roll over Jungkook with a feeling of revulsion, and he hurries past. In his haste to get away, he almost collides with a member of their pack - distinguishable by the smell of wet, damp earth, unnatural - and pulls himself back only at the last minute.
Jungkook doesn’t say anything; he clams up in the face of this man’s presence. It is the man he noted from before, who didn’t appear nearly as beastly as savage, just curious. A quiet, calm character who seems out of place with Yoongi’s uncle’s pack.
“Sorry about that,” the man says easily. Jungkook’s eyes almost pop out of his head with surprise. Catching his expression, the man says quietly, no trace of irony in his voice, “We’re not all mindless beasts, you know.”
He regards Jungkook levelly. He has intelligent eyes, and an unlined face, betraying his youth. He can be no more than twenty-five, twenty-six.
Of course, this begs the question of why he decided to be part of a pack of beasts, but Jungkook keeps his questions to himself. He doesn’t take his word outright.
The man cocks his head at Jungkook, studying him too intently for Jungkook’s liking. “You really hate us, huh?”
Jungkook has never been much good at disguising his emotions. But he says stiffly, “I don’t know you well enough to make a judgement.”
The man grins. “But you have,” he says. “You think of us as no better than wild animals.”
It lands on the white-hot centre of exactly what Jungkook thinks, and he almost rocks back in surprise, before catching himself.
“I’m Kyung-won, Kim Kyung-won,” he introduces himself. “I gather you’re Jeon Jungkook. Well, Min Jungkook now.”
His new identity. It hits Jungkook with a lash of surprise at hearing his new name for the first time.
Still, he says nothing, wary of this stranger.
As the silence stretches out in front of them, Jungkook’s ears pick up on the faint sound of hooves drumming against the ground, and looks up, beyond the tall gates, to see a herd of deer thundering down the path.
It is a noisy, frantic scene that disturbs the peace Jungkook has come to associate with the Min homestead, and he lets it take his attention, watching speckled deer after speckled deer race up the path and over, until they are all out of sight.
“It’s beautiful here,” Kyung-won says in the lull. “But also claustrophobic. You must feel trapped a lot.”
Jungkook blinks at him. He hasn’t said a word of this to Kyung-won. He hasn’t spoken to Yoongi’s uncle since the fateful day they arrived. The rest of his pack members are nameless, unknown, a dark, blurry mass.
And yet Kyung-won sees right through him. It makes him feel naked.
“Excuse me, I have chores,” Jungkook says, shouldering past him while maintaining a careful distance. He scrubs his clothes in the stream all the while a sensation prickles at the back of his neck. When he returns the plain is dark, and he can see the other pack have lit fires outside, their faces dancing with light. Jungkook meets Kyung-won’s eyes before he darts back inside.
—
For a week, it goes like this: Yoongi is sent as an interpreter, of sorts, for his father, to attempt to communicate with his uncle and understand his reasoning for being there. And each time, without fail, his uncle sends him back and says, “I’d like to speak to my brother,” plainly, simply, refusing to budge.
Pack Leader Min has not been sighted since his brother first arrived and it starts a series of whispers that spread through the pack like wildfire.
Pack Leader Min is unravelling. Pack Leader Min is in dire straits. Pack Leader Min needs our help.
Yoongi appears equally frustrated, and Jungkook can see how it weighs on him. He tries to distract Yoongi with idle chatter, but falls silent when this does nothing to rouse him. In the end, he steals away and spends moments alone, miserably, turning things over in his mind of what he can do to help.
He doesn’t ask Yoongi about the situation, and Yoongi doesn’t offer anything.
Naturally, the pack are concerned and to Jungkook’s utmost fascination, they organise a meeting to discuss what they term “the issue of the other pack”, successfully alienating a group of people they do not trust, do not like, and feel a gaping divide from. It is badged as an “open forum” to understand what they can do to help, and is entirely different from Jungkook’s parents’ pack.
In his parents’ pack there had been council meetings, but there’d always been a select number of people invited, who were considered strong voices of the community and would be able to steer the ship out of crisis. The entire pack had never been invited to share their thoughts before, not on such a grand scale, but seeing the Min pack come together and converge on Hye-in’s house, makes Jungkook think that they should have been doing it for ages already.
Apparently, they have done this a few times before, in the past, with Pack Leader Min’s blessing. Jungkook has learned Hye-in’s home is the epicentre of everything. Hye-in has serious sway in the community, and when a crisis gathers - or an incoming storm rumbles on the horizon - they gather in her home.
Jungkook, curiously, is invited by her.
“We understand it’s a sensitive situation,” she’d said, wringing her hands with worry, “but I want you to feel you have a voice in these matters, too.”
“What about Yoongi?” Jungkook had asked, the implication clear: this feels like sneaking around behind Yoongi’s back if he is to attend and Yoongi is left out.
“Yoongi-ssi is invited,” Hye-in said, the picture of respect: she can’t fathom not inviting their future leader. “But we thought it would be more considerate to allow his father to rest this evening.”
The clear meaning being, Pack Leader Min will sit out of this one, and his son will take his place. They are gathering to discuss him and the state of affairs, and the future of a pack being questioned is never taken lightly.
Jungkook expects tawdry gossip, a few choice words exchanged about Pack Leader Min. The usual kind of quibbling that arises from dissatisfaction and the consensus that a leader may be in trouble.
He even tells Jimin this, marvelling on how different their packs are - and Jimin, with a wistful look loaded with longing sent Namjoon’s way, agrees.
“Present company included, of course,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, delighted for the courtship that has blossomed between Jimin and Namjoon, but not oblivious to the joy of teasing him. Jimin colours and tells him he doesn’t know what he means, affecting a haughty expression that causes Jungkook to laugh.
“I’ll be coming to the meeting,” Jimin says, and then, “with Namjoon-hyung.”
“It’s Namjoon-hyung, now, is it?” Jungkook grins. Jimin jostles at him.
“Mind your manners,” he says snippily. Jungkook throws his head back in a laugh.
That’s how he, Jimin and Namjoon find themselves at Hye-in’s home, queueing to get in, a long winding line of people out of the door as they find their seats.
The affair is dignified, and there’s nothing of the sort in the way of gossip or muttered speculation. Hye-in holds court at the front, introducing herself and those with her - mostly for Jungkook’s benefit, although he appreciates the general way in which she does it - and the rest of them, seated in the wide expansive sitting room, are to stand up and direct their concerns.
There is no sign of Yoongi and Jungkook begins to fret, thinking that he won’t show. Jimin and Namjoon are busy making moony eyes at each other while people take their seats.
But as the first person rises to voice their thoughts - a man in his forties - Yoongi crosses the front door, and an audible hush falls over the audience.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, good naturedly, and scans the room before he sits next to Jungkook.
In the small gap between their seats, Yoongi reaches for Jungkook’s hand and hooks his pinky finger around Jungkook’s. An intimate gesture in such a public space. Jungkook warms, and wills himself to calm down. He and Yoongi aren’t here to flirt, but he burns just to be close to Yoongi, after a week of considerable distance. He pointedly does not look at Jimin, who is likely keen to direct some of that teasing energy back to Jungkook.
The man clears his throat. “With respect, Yoongi-ssi, I worry about the safety of my family. The new … pack are right next door to us, and spend all of their time with their weapons.”
There are murmurs of agreement as this ripples through the room. The man swallows, aware of who he is addressing, and sits back down. Just as he does, another woman shoots up.
“They disturb us at night with their incessant talking,” she says, sounding more riled up than the man before. “And show no regard for the sleep we need, the jobs we have to do.”
“They use up resources and give nothing back!” a man from the back shouts, abandoning the one-by-one system already, stirred up by the complaints. Yoongi takes all of these comments on board, looking thoughtful. Then he stands up, facing all of them.
“What would you have me do?” he asks.
“Throw them out!” someone shouts, in tandem with someone saying, “Kick them out!” It’s a little unruly, but Jungkook can feel it in the air, buzzing among the room, who have opened the floodgates and have no intention of opening them.
“We don’t have to play host to these beasts!” someone cries, their voice charged with emotion. Jungkook sees the precise moment Yoongi goes very, very still.
“I need you to settle down,” he orders the room, an authoritative note in his voice, and as if by magic, they do. “My uncle and his pack are guests, for now. I’m sorry that people feel unsafe in their presence, and I would advise them to steer well clear. But unless they break any rules or laws, they are allowed to remain here. Those are my father’s orders.”
The room absorbs this information. Then,
“Yoongi-ssi we need them gone!” a woman wails. It kickstarts all of them into motion and people are launching out of their seats, shouting and pointing, their voices all overlapping in an unstoppable din.
Hye-in tries to take back control, holding her hands up and speaking in soothing tones, but it’s no use. The hysteria has reached a fever pitch, and the shouts drown her out. Jungkook instinctively huddles closer to Yoongi, whose jaw is clenched and his eyes are flicking around, taking in the state of the room.
The hysteria only banks when a familiar figure steps through the door and his voice booms, “Order!”
Pack Leader Min steps in, his face shadowy, and he grimly tells the room, “My brother and I have reached an agreement. I will meet him in the morning, hear his concerns, and then he will leave within the week. He will not get close to anyone, nor will the rest of his pack. They will keep their distance and speak to no one. You have my word.”
He delivers these words sternly, evenly, with all of the authority and dominance of the pack leader, who’d been missing these last couple of weeks. The room falls silent and people have nothing more to say, after that.
“Thank you, Pack Leader Min,” Hye-in says meekly, looking shocked and embarrassed at his unannounced arrival. “For keeping us safe.”
A murmur resounds through the room as people offer up their gratitude. But it feels disingenuous, forced. If Jungkook were in their position - people who have grown up here, who have made families here - he wouldn’t be offering words and consolation. He wouldn’t have even let them inside in the first place.
And he thinks that is the key differentiator between him and Pack Leader Min. The thought alone feels treacherous.
Pack Leader Min takes their gratitudes unsmilingly. He looks older than he ever has, as if the white hair has lost its colour, and faded to a dull grey. “Thank you for your patience,” he says, before turning and stooping his head to exit.
After that the energy curtails and people exchange quiet conversations - with no doubt of what they’re talking about - before they begin to filter out. Each one of them says goodbye to Hye-in, Jungkook notices, and she clasps a few of their hands, in a comforting gesture.
“Debrief me later,” Jungkook says to Jimin, when he stands up with Namjoon in tow. Jimin throws him a murderous look that softens when Namjoon asks if he is alright, and the two of them leave the house, Jungkook watching them enviably. Jimin seems to have found a home of sorts here faster than Jungkook.
“We should go,” Yoongi says, tearing his attention away. “Hye-in will need her sleep after tonight.” So will you, Jungkook’s internal voice adds.
Jungkook stands up and follows him to the doorway. Hye-in releases a breath when she sees who is standing there.
“I hadn’t banked on this being the night it was,” she says to Yoongi in an apology. “People are just scared.”
“I know,” Yoongi says gently. “If there’s anything I can do, please, let me know. I want them to feel safe.”
Her face flickers with warmth. “I know, Yoongi-ssi. I will. Have a good evening.”
“You, too,” Yoongi returns, but as he leaves he lingers, talking to the people standing around, having intense discussions with them. Jungkook hovers for a few minutes until he feels he might be eavesdropping, but right as he plans to leave, Yoongi breaks off with them and heads over to Jungkook.
“We’re going to be posting a couple of guards near where my uncle is staying,” he informs Jungkook, who hadn’t expected to be privy to the conversation. He doesn’t add if this is a unanimous decision with his father, but based on the events of tonight, Jungkook guesses not.
“That seems sensible,” Jungkook says. “So people can feel safer?”
Yoongi nods. There’s not a trace of laughter, or amusement on his face and Jungkook wants to smooth every crease of worry on his face with his thumb, but he knows he can’t.
“I want them to feel safe,” he says, and he sounds almost anguished at feeling a dereliction of duty. “My father, he could have seen my uncle sooner-” he breaks off, before he betrays the rest of what he was going to say. Jungkook is endlessly curious, but it’s not the right time to ask questions.
“They believe you,” Jungkook tells Yoongi, trying to reassure him any way he can, which is with the truth. “They trust you, hyung.”
“I don’t want to break it,” Yoongi admits quietly. He looks so stricken Jungkook grabs his hand, and cradles it between his.
“You won’t,” he says, injecting confidence into his tone. He believes it.
He follows Yoongi back to the Min house, expecting them to part ways when they enter - but Yoongi unexpectedly slips his hand around Jungkook’s wrist, stopping him, and says, “Will you stay with me tonight?” As if this isn’t clear enough, he adds, “In my room.”
“Oh,” Jungkook says, wide-eyed, already struck with the mental image of what it would be like to be back in Yoongi’s room, where his scent is most intense, most delicious. In his bed, where Yoongi sleeps, naked, curled up, his head fanning his pillow -
“Just sleeping,” Yoongi says hastily. He appears on the back foot. “I don’t, I wouldn’t want you to feel -”
“I’ll stay with you, hyung,” Jungkook interjects, his heart beating a little faster. He wonders if Yoongi can hear it. How quickly his heart beats.
“I would appreciate the comfort,” Yoongi says, releasing Jungkook’s wrist, his words spoken in a stilted, awkward fashion. “But I don’t want to pressure you.”
Jungkook thinks, You could never pressure me. Jungkook thinks, I can’t breathe in your presence and I want you to touch me all the time.
He says, “I’d be happy to stay.”
Yoongi’s throat bobs in a swallow. It’s unfairly attractive. “Okay,” he says. Then, repeating himself in an echo, “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Neither of them make a move. It’s ridiculous.
Eventually Yoongi breaks the impasse, by throwing Jungkook a shy smile that almost cleanly cleaves Jungkook in two, and walking up the stairs. Time slows down to a crawl as Jungkook walks up behind him, noting each step, dragging his feet after Yoongi.
In Yoongi’s room the two of them are awkward around one another. This is what comes from marrying someone you don’t know, and marrying someone keen to know you first before any intimacy. Jungkook can’t fault Yoongi’s approach, but that’s the rational part of him. The animalistic side, the inner omega, howls to be touched by Yoongi.
They get ready in relative silence, and it feels strange to be standing side by side with Yoongi, in his ensuite, their eyes meeting one another in the mirror and then darting away, to look at something safer.
When Yoongi leaves the ensuite, each tread of his feet pounds in Jungkook’s head, in tandem with his heart, as he regards breathlessly what they are about to do.
Yoongi hovers by his bed when Jungkook re-enters. “I have a side,” he says, “usually, but I can move-”
“You don’t have to move,” Jungkook interrupts. He is reminded, unfairly, of knowing what that side is, when his curiosity won out and he went exploring. He wants to wave away the evident nervousness, tangling itself up in the tight lines of Yoongi’s body, but he feels the exact same way. The tension in the air between them is palpable. It coats Jungkook’s tongue and he feels tingly. “I can take the other side.”
Yoongi nods, and hesitantly clambers into bed. In his sleep shirt Jungkook can see glimpses of pale, creamy skin underneath, a hint of muscle. It does nothing to calm his heartbeat, or to keep his stirring arousal at bay. It brushes against the back of Jungkook’s neck, his legs, strokes up his side, whispers to Jungkook, Your alpha wants you as much as you want him. Why not take the opportunity and let him have you?
Jungkook stiffly gets in alongside Yoongi and makes himself lay down robotically. Yoongi’s scent, which hits him all at once, isn’t a salve. It only serves to make him feel more aroused, and with his scent blockers wearing off, he’s sure Yoongi can smell it too.
He burrows his face into the pillow, feeling helpless, wanting. At the first gush of slick out of his hole he chomps down on his tongue, and tears spring to his eyes at how hard he’s bitten himself.
He hears Yoongi’s sharp intake of breath, clocks the precise time where he smells Jungkook’s arousal, and waits, every muscle in his body tensed. He wants Yoongi so much it’s dizzying. Wants him to turn around and claim Jungkook’s mouth with his own; wants Yoongi to take Jungkook’s hair in his hand and tug ; wants him to kiss him until he’s breathless, finger him until he’s wailing Yoongi’s name, and fuck him open until he’s begging for his knot.
Jungkook waits, and he waits. But none of this happens.
Next to him, Yoongi’s figure is lying unnervingly still, and after some time his breaths make way for deep inhale-exhales that suggest he’s fallen asleep, still keeping that careful distance between the two of them. Jungkook, aggravated that he can’t sleep because he’s so turned on, lays rigidly, staring at the ceiling, until his eyelids feel heavy and the drowsiness overtakes him.
He jolts awake, his body alert to the touch before his brain can acknowledge it. Yoongi is curled up against Jungkook’s side and his arm is tossed carelessly over Jungkook’s middle. Yoongi is warm, and solid, and Jungkook wriggles to be closer to him before he can catch up to what he’s doing.
His ass brushes up against a hard outline in Yoongi’s underwear and Jungkook freezes as his beleaguered brain catches up, with a rush, to the fact that Yoongi is sporting an erection in the early hours of the morning.
His treacherous dick stirs, already reacting to Yoongi being hard. Unbidden, the image comes into his mind of Yoongi’s dick, picturing the hard, thick length he feels. It’s outrageous. It’s bold.
And still -
Jungkook nudges back against Yoongi, rolling his hips back experimentally. Yoongi doesn’t make a sound. He can hear the soft huffs of breath escaping Yoongi’s lip.
His husband, who hasn’t mated him yet.
Throbbing, he grinds against him again and then forces himself to stop, as some slick gushes out. He hears Yoongi stir, and the arm around him presses against Jungkook, drawing him in.
“Good morning,” Yoongi rasps into the back of Jungkook’s neck. His hair tickles his bare skin as he pulls Jungkook closer. “How did you sleep?”
“Good,” Jungkook squeaks, trying (and failing) to remain calm.
“Mmhm,” Yoongi says, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Someone’s up.”
Jungkook doesn’t quite catch his meaning, until Yoongi reaches down and skims his hand over Jungkook’s bulge. Jungkook almost chokes on his tongue.
“Did you need me that badly?” Yoongi asks sweetly. It’s not - it’s not at all in character with what Yoongi would say, given that last night they were evading each other’s eyes and awkwardly shuffling around each other, but perhaps this newfound confidence is what Jungkook needs, to be able to express to Yoongi how much he wants to be fucked by him.
But Jungkook doesn’t respond. Undeterred, Yoongi grinds the heel of his palm against Jungkook’s hard cock. Jungkook gasps, the sensation shooting up his spine, and hears Yoongi make an approving sound at how he tenses, and then goes limp.
“Good omega,” Yoongi murmurs, nosing against the nape of Jungkook’s neck. “Good boy.”
Jungkook’s so turned on he feels he might erupt into a thousand stars, being here, in Yoongi’s bed, while Yoongi toys with him. Whether Yoongi’s aware of the effect his hand has, lazily palming against Jungkok’s erection, Jungkook’s not sure. But when he emits his second gasp, a rumble comes out of Yoongi’s throat and he nips at Jungkook’s neck.
Jungkook lets his head loll back, exposing the column of his neck, and lets Yoongi kiss and nip at him while his fingers press against the bulge in Jungkook’s underwear.
“Alpha,” Jungkook keens, not understanding what he’s asking for. He’s awash with excitement and shame at how quickly he surrenders, at how he begs for Yoongi like this. “Alpha, want, need it.”
Yoongi shushes him, and his hands slip into Jungkook’s underwear. He takes Jungkook’s dick in his hand, and it feels like a brand. His palm is soft, warm, sure as he pulls at Jungkook’s dick, expertly tugging him off.
Jungkook whimpers and presses back against Yoongi, as close as he can manage, managing jerky hip thrusts into the circle of Yoongi’s hand, chasing the pleasurable sensation.
“Good boy,” Yoongi is saying, his voice soothing, “good boy, that’s it, just let go for me.”
Let go, Jungkook does. Yoongi keeps stroking him, keeping a steady stream of praise and filthy words that turn Jungkook’s brain into mush, until Jungkook can feel his lower stomach clench and he only just alerts Yoongi to his impending orgasm before it barrels through him.
Yoongi strokes him during it, while Jungkook shakes and spills over his hands, getting come over the bed sheets, but Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered.
Jungkook finishes his orgasm with a whine, and slumps against the bed, spent, his entire body buzzing. He leans back into Yoongi, showing his neck again and says - simply, dumbly, “Alpha. Bite me.”
Yoongi obliges with no disagreement, and as his mouth closes over Jungkook’s neck he feels his dick give a weak twitch at how right it feels. When Yoongi sinks his teeth into his skin, Jungkook cries out, and the entire scene is washed in white, ringing in his ears -
Jungkook jerks awake in the bed, flailing, and his hands find purchase in the bed sheets. He’s gulping in lungfuls of air, confused and disoriented. He blindly throws his gaze around, finding he is in Yoongi’s bed, and Yoongi is next to him, but he’s fast asleep.
Jungkook looks down, the fear creeping in, and sees some of his slick is coating the bed sheets, and it smells strong. He internally curses himself. It was bad enough in his rooms when he was lying next to Jimin at night with Yoongi around the corner, but here? Here Jungkook cannot disguise the dreams that are plaguing him, in which he sobs and shakes and falls apart at Yoongi’s hands.
The next thirty minutes is an operation in sneaking around and daubing at the sheets with a damp cloth he finds in the ensuite. It’s horrid, and it drags on forever, but Jungkook manages to clean all of his slick off before he clambers back into bed, forcing himself to take even breaths to avoid alerting Yoongi to his pounding heartbeat.
He’s breathing like he’s run a marathon, and he finds it impossible to relax. But sleep eventually comes for him again, the darkness swallowing him up. This time, he doesn’t dream.
—
When he wakes again, he’s alone, and there is Yoongi’s scent lingering in the air to suggest he’d been nearby, but he’d left Jungkook. Just as Jungkook is tracing his fingers over the outline of Yoongi’s sleeping body, tracing the rumpled sheets where Yoongi had lain and trying not to think too deeply about the dream he’d had last night, there is a rap on the door.
Jungkook freezes.
There’s another rap, and then a muffled voice says, “Jungkook-ah? Sorry to disturb you.”
It’s Namjoon.
Jungkook slips out of bed and tries in vain to make himself look more presentable by battling with his hair, which flatly refuses to be smoothed down, and readjusts his sleep shirt which has flapped open to expose a sliver of his bare chest.
Once he’s sure he’s properly covered, he goes to answer the door.
Namjoon smiles when he sees him, at complete odds with how he’s been all week, scowling at the other pack and exchanging clipped words with Yoongi’s uncle. Jungkook thinks he likes him just that more for it.
“Jungkook, hi. How’d you sleep?”
“Sleep? Uh-” Jungkook hesitates, and then pushes on from what his answer had instinctively been, because that isn’t proper, “yeah, just fine. How about you?”
“I’m fine,” Namjoon says. “I was up all night.”
“Oh, no, why?”
“Night shift,” Namjoon explains. “We rotate shifts. Anyway, Yoongi just wanted me to let you know that he won’t be able to see you today, he’s very sorry, but he’ll see you tonight, for the banquet.”
“Banquet?”
Namjoon looks as bewildered as he is, but says, as carefully as he can, “Pack Leader Min is throwing his brother a banquet. It seems the discussions they held this morning were fruitful.”
Jungkook twists, to glance back at the empty bed, and the pieces slot into place. That’s where Yoongi has been, overseeing what had to be terse discussions, rife with tension that can be sliced through with a knife.
He turns back around. “Do you need me to help?”
“That’s kind,” Namjoon says. “Uh, I think there are some things you can do. Jimin’s around and helping. I’m going to go and crash, if that’s okay?”
“Of course,” Jungkook urges. “You need your sleep. I’ll see you tonight?”
Namjoon gives him a miniature salute. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says, and then he’s gone, to chase away the purple under-eye shadows adorning his face with some sleep.
The banquet has all the hustle and bustle of those celebrating Jungkook’s arrival, although this time people are more guarded, and don’t smile as freely. A few even look outright dumbfounded at the display they’re having to put on for Yoongi’s uncle. Jungkook can feel it, the confusion, the fear, the hatred, the smell is tangy in the air.
It sets his teeth on edge and causes his shoulders to go tight. But he soldiers on, locating Hye-in and offering his services. She gets him to help with rearranging the benches in the mess hall to make room for one more at the front - for Yoongi’s uncle and his people - and then to set about the task of laying the tables.
The atmosphere is quiet, muted. Uncomfortable. At some point Jungkook, his head buried in his task because it’s all he can manage, for now, bumps into Jimin, who’s helping carry floral arrangements.
“Jungkook! There you are. How’d you sleep?”
Jungkook thinks he spies a coy look on Jimin’s face and some insinuation in his tone, and realises: he must stink of Yoongi, having spent the entire night in his bed. Jungkook colours a little.
“I slept fine,” Jungkook replies, giving Jimin very little, in spite of the flush on his face bearing all the telltale signs of where he’d chosen to sleep. “How did you sleep?”
“I slept great,” Jimin says teasingly, “I had the rooms to myself.”
Jungkook nudges his shoulder against Jimin’s, and Jimin grins.
“I heard Namjoon was on night shift,” Jungkook says, switching the topic.
“Ah, yeah,” Jimin says, adjusting the bouquet in his grasp. “He looked pretty rough this morning.”
“That’s no way to talk about your boyfriend,” Jungkook teases.
“Boyfriend? I don’t think so,” Jimin says, but his words sound forced. Jungkook raises his eyebrows and smiles at him indulgently.
“So we’re having a banquet,” Jungkook announces, keeping his voice low, so as not to be overheard. “Something about the talks going well?”
“Something like that,” Jimin says. “Your guess is as good as mine. But the people aren’t happy.”
“They don’t look it,” Jungkook mutters, watching the people work. There’s an obvious shadow over all of their faces, and his unease grows. “Would you be?”
“No,” Jimin says immediately. “But this isn’t my pack. It’s yours now.”
“I don’t get to overrule Pack Leader Min,” Jungkook whispers, as much as he’s wanted to, the last couple of days or so. “He still has the final say.”
“I know,” Jimin says, “and I know you’d do things differently, too. Be patient, Jungkook-ah. Things may have a way of working out yet.”
He wishes he has Jimin’s boundless optimism, but Jimin is right: this is fundamentally his pack now, which means whatever misfortune befalls them, is part of Jungkook’s responsibility. It’s hard for him to not already feel somewhat responsible already, smelling the tension thick in the air, and people’s unhappiness as they get to putting on a feast in Yoongi’s uncle’s honour.
His pack have hardly done anything to recommend themselves, so fond they are of drinking into the late hours, drunkenly yelling along to old songs, and sharpening their weapons. Their disregard for the pack’s wellbeing is obvious, and it deserves every bit of disdain directed at it.
Every time Jungkook thinks about broaching the topic with Yoongi, he sees Yoongi’s wearied face, his slumped shoulders, and his confidence falters, thinking about the burden Yoongi already bears. Yoongi hasn’t shared much about the discussion, but Jungkook is fairly certain he has assumed the role of mediator between his father and his uncle, who are in no mood to cooperate with one another.
Until this morning, apparently.
It reminds him of what Jimin had said earlier, about Yoongi’s uncle’s sudden and unexpected arrival. A man who was dead-set on tearing down the pack and taking power for himself surely would have seized it, and wouldn’t have tolerated a farcical back and forth between his brother. The more he dwells on it, the more he thinks there’s truth to what Jimin is suggesting; that Yoongi’s uncle is here for another purpose.
Which begs the question of what . What makes a man so desperate that he hangs around in a pack that loathes him and steers well clear? A brother who’d abandoned the leadership only to wrestle it back from him?
Yoongi’s uncle is a warrior, not a politician, but he has decided, for whatever reason, that remaining here is worth his time. And Jungkook highly doubts that his pack are the kind of people who have umpteen patience.
Jungkook is wrenched from his thoughts when somebody calls for him, and he shoots Jimin an apologetic smile.
“If I don’t lay these tables, Hye-in will never forgive me,” he says as a way of an explanation.
“She’ll do more than that,” Jimin says pointedly, and then ushers him away. “Go, go.”
For once, dedicating his mind solely on the task of setting the tables for a pack of two hundred, at least, plus Yoongi’s uncle’s pack, is somewhat calming, and it abates the storm in his mind, at least for a little while. Hye-in is impressed by his steady focus, and grants him a break; which she follows up by a gabbled explanation about how she isn’t telling Jungkook what to do as Yoongi’s husband, she’d never order him around, or anything, she just needs -
“Hye-in,” Jungkook interrupts her panicked flow, which endears him, “it’s fine. I’m happy to help. Really.” He smiles at her to illustrate her point, and watches the relief visibly relax her. Then he adds, “I’ll take my break now, boss,” and she huffs at the teasing.
“Go, go. You’ve earned it,” she says, shooing him away with a smile.
Jungkook ducks out of the mess hall and finds himself wandering towards the Mins’ willow tree without an explanation. He doesn’t know why, but an irresistible pull draws him closer. The willow tree where he got married. The willow tree that bleeds into his dreams, and has featured in both kinds: good and bad.
He reaches out a hand and presses it against its bark. The tree feels solid, immovable. He finds himself gazing up at it, remembering the old saying that circulates among the pack: that the tree flourishes when the Min pack thrive, and weeps when they suffer. Today, it doesn’t appear as if it would ever diminish.
“You’re drawn to the tree.”
Jungkook jerks at the unexpected sound of a voice he doesn’t recognise and tenses, the hair on the nape of his neck prickling, as a dank smell reaches his nostrils. He turns, his body primed for defence, and is met with the wrinkled, papery face of an old woman, silvery hair curling around her face, golden hoops hanging from her ears. Her shoulders are stooped, wrapped in a shawl that trails along the floor.
She has the dark eyes of the Mins, and Jungkook knows immediately who this is. Min-ji.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” she tells Jungkook, even if the intensity in her eyes is doing nothing to alleviate his concern. There’s a whispering quality to her voice, like wind brushing against leaves, or rattling through an empty tunnel. As if multiple voices are speaking at once.
Jungkook remembers with an ice cold feeling skittering down his spine, that this woman is not well.
As if reading Jungkook’s thoughts, she smiles, the corners of her mouth twitching. She lifts a wrinkled hand to brush away a stray strand of hair, and Jungkook catches a flash of a tattoo he cannot make out.
“They told you I was sick,” she guesses. “Well, that lie has proved awfully convenient for them, because it gave them an excuse to lock me up.”
“Lock you up?” Jungkook finds his voice, although it comes out in a whisper. He clears his throat, and straightens his back, thinking that this is just one old woman, and as unnerving as her sudden appearance was, there is nothing to be frightened of. “Why did they lock you up?”
She merely studies him. “You’re a curious one,” she says. “I got that feeling from you the moment you arrived. Of course, your coming was prophesied.”
It should be silly, hearing this from a woman who, despite what she says, is patently not well. But the convergence of overlapping voices into one drives a spike of terror through Jungkook, whose body locks up, whose gaze cannot be torn from Min-ji.
“Town prophets don’t exist anymore,” he says, although he sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. “They died out.”
“The frauds, maybe,” she says, unconcerned. “But you know I’m not a fraud, Jungkook. I dreamed of your arrival, and the prosperity you’ll bring to the pack. The tree…” she momentarily falters, as her eyes glaze over, before clarity snaps her back, “the tree will fade for a time, and people will be scared. Panic will spread. But you’ll save them. You’ll bring them back from the brink.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jungkook says hoarsely. He takes a step back. “You’re not well.”
Her calm demeanour flickers, and underneath Jungkook catches a raging storm, with enough anger and pain to knock his breath away.
“Not well! Not well!” she barks, and the shrill rasp of the voices, as one, sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Jungkook winces. “They all want to say I’m not well. But they don’t want to see the truth. The future. Your coming! I foretold it, before you were even born! But they don’t see. They don’t believe.”
Min-ji takes a sure step forward, swallowing up the distance between them. Jungkook backs up until he bumps against the willow tree, and in the second he turns around to glance at it before looking back, Min-ji is mere inches from him, breathing heavily.
Then, the storm subsides and the wildness in her expression recedes. Jungkook doesn’t dare to breathe.
“You are here for a reason, Jungkook,” she says quietly, her voice unwavering. “You need to make them believe. The scarred wolf, he-”
“Jungkook!” a shout rings out, and with shaky relief, Jungkook realises Yoongi is sprinting towards him, at speed. Yoongi reaches them in no time, deceptively quick, and he comes to a bounding stop, his eyes wide as he throws his gaze from Jungkook, to Min-ji, Min-ji, to Jungkook. “Jungkook, are you okay?”
Even as he asks, he steps forward, and pulls Jungkook into his side, keeping him behind him. Yoongi turns to face Min-ji, whose face is fixed in a placid smile. Somehow, the sight of this, compared with the storm from before, is more chilling.
She cocks her face up at Yoongi and croons, “Yoongi-yah. It’s been so long since I saw you, my beloved nephew. You” - she pauses to cradle his face with her withered hands, and he doesn’t blink - “You’ve become so strong. The strong leader I know you’ll be.”
She’s speaking in one voice now. The overlapping voices have fallen silent.
“How did you get out?” Yoongi asks her, his tone steely. He doesn’t let her answer and Jungkook watches his head lift up, scanning the plain. “I need to speak to the guards, but I’ll take her home first. Do you need me to get Namjoon for you?”
He is speaking to Jungkook, Jungkook realises. He’s not bothering to address Min-ji.
She is watching the exchange between the two of them closely, her eyes narrowed, shrewd, with the same unmoving smile plastered on her face.
“I’m okay,” Jungkook answers, but he does so shakily. “I’m - really, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“What are you doing all the way out here?” Yoongi asks. “You shouldn’t come here alone.”
“The willow tree?” Jungkook questions, confused by this seemingly new and random order. “I didn’t - I’m not sure, it just beckoned me.”
“Beckoned you,” Yoongi repeats, confused. He doesn’t get it, and nor, frankly, does Jungkook.
He’s afraid and he’s edgy and he wants to put as much space between him and Min-ji as he can. He thinks of how close she got to him just now and barely suppresses a shudder.
“It’s a weird day, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says, sympathising. “With the banquet, and my uncle-” he breaks off. “It’s a weird time. I just want you to be safe, okay? Stick close to the pack and don’t wander off. Can you do that for me?”
There’s a barely concealed thread of worry weaving through his words, and it softens Jungkook.
“I can do that, hyung,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“I was terrified when nobody could tell me where you were,” Yoongi admits. Jungkook’s heart clenches. “But then I saw you in the distance.”
“Hey, it’s - I’m okay,” Jungkook says. He reaches out a hand and strokes his fingers against the side of Yoongi’s hand. The angle is awkward, with Yoongi standing in front of him, but he manages it. Yoongi, after a beat, reaches out for him too.
“The perfect couple,” Min-ji comments, reminding the two of them that she is here, surveying this scene. “The strongest bond. You’ll be able to fight this together.”
“I’m going to take her back,” Yoongi says, treating Min-ji’s escape as a mere annoyance. But watching him turn and escort her back, his arm around her, Jungkook can’t shake the feeling that there may be some truth in Min-ji’s crazed gabble, and that something big, something monumental, is about to sweep through the Min pack.
This time, when he leaves, he doesn’t turn back to look at the willow tree. He firmly puts that to the back of his mind.
—
At the banquet Yoongi’s uncle’s pack slam back drinks like it’s a competition and leer at the surrounding members of the Min pack, who keep a careful distance. The benches have been pushed back, indicating not only a physical divide, but a cultural one too. Yoongi’s uncle hardly seems bothered, holding court over his increasingly riotous table, either ignorant or uncaring to the harsh looks his brother sends his way.
At the beginning, Pack Leader Min had stood up, causing a hush to fall over the room, and had said, raising his glass for emphasis, “Tonight we are here to welcome guests in spite of all of the differences we share, to prove to ourselves that no divide is unassailable, no gap is unconquerable.” He’d lifted his drink and drained it one go, a little frantically.
When he’d finished, he’d wiped the back of his mouth with a hand, smacking his lips together and added, “To the Min pack.”
The rest of the pack, in unison, chanted back, “To the Min pack,” and to this particular salute people drank, expressing their approval. It was a clever use of words, because it wasn’t clear to which pack he was referring, as it could have been his or his brother’s - but going by the consensus that rippled through the mess hall, it had definitely been Yoongi’s.
Now that plates have been cleared away and people’s drinks have been refilled, Yoongi’s uncle is overseeing a descent into chaos. He lounges back in his chair as if this is his land, his space to occupy, and Jungkook regards him with undisguised disgust.
When his uncle catches Jungkook’s eye, Jungkook doesn’t retreat. He openly stares back.
Sing-songing with a drink halfway to his mouth, Jimin says, “Jungkook-ah, you’re gonna get us killed.”
“He’s the one acting arrogant!” Jungkook erupts, too loudly for keen ears. Yoongi’s uncle cocks an eyebrow at him, his face blank, but with a signature smile playing on his lips. Jungkook is struck with a looming sense of dread that Yoongi’s uncle might actually like him. Or that he merely finds Jungkook’s antics amusing, because Jungkook is a wedded omega with no power or sway over the decisions of the pack in which he now resides.
That may be true, but it doesn’t cause Jungkook to bite down on his tongue any less lightly. This time, his teeth sink down so hard his tongue almost bleeds. At the risk of causing his mouth to fill with blood and stirring panic in people, he unclamps his teeth. Instead, he holds all the tightness in his jaw, staring down Yoongi’s uncle.
The uncle deigns that this isn’t worth his time and returns his attention to the members of his pack, who have begun a drinking game and are banging their fists on the bench as they chant, “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
If they were difficult before, they are intolerable now.
“I have to go,” Jungkook abruptly announces, pushing his chair back and marching out of the mess hall. He makes no secret of the fact that he is effectively storming out, and hears a few whispers with his name involved as he leaves. He resists the urge to bend his head and stare at the ground, but it doesn’t make his exit any less easier.
Nowhere to go. Forced to remain here.
Jungkook sinks down on a tree stump fashioned into the stool, and gazes miserably at the ground. He’s approximately twelve feet from the mess hall, and can hear the din from within. At least, the din emanating from the uncle’s pack.
He’s alone for a few minutes before the soft tread of footsteps on the grass sends his senses tingling. His head shoots up, and his eyes land on a scar, bobbing out of the gloom and stepping out into the candlelight. He tenses instinctively, readying himself for a fight, as the smell of wet earth seeps into his nostrils.
“You’re quite the fighter,” Yoongi’s uncle notes. “I’d be lucky to have someone like you in my pack, little omega.”
Jungkook almost bares his teeth in a snarl, but thinks even that’s too impulsive, against someone of Yoongi’s uncle’s might. Still, he feels uncomfortable as the uncle nears, standing while Jungkook is sitting, in a vulnerable position.
“I wouldn’t go anywhere near your pack,” he quietly tells Yoongi’s uncle, who accepts this remark with a smirk. It’s irking, but he supposes someone like him won’t ever scare someone like Yoongi’s uncle, a massive, hulking man built for battle who’s tasted it before. Probably faced down far worse than a scowling omega.
“I know,” Yoongi’s uncle says with relish, finally coming to a stop a couple of metres away from Jungkook. “It’s impressive. I thought my brother and my nephew would make you bend the knee, but you continue to defy expectations.” He studies Jungkook, and then adds, “You wouldn’t have let me past those gates, I bet.”
Jungkook doesn’t reply. He doesn’t think his response would be wise.
But Yoongi’s uncle evidently has no issue with talking to himself, as he tucks his thumbs under the waistband of his trousers and begins walking in a circle, sounding contemplative.
“Still. I’d have hoped the run in with my sister earlier would have taught you something. I’d have hoped you learned something valuable.”
“You let her out,” Jungkook realises, with something akin to dread swirling in his stomach. “You let her escape?”
Yoongi’s uncle barks a laugh. “My sister is where she chooses to be. She’s never been made to remain anywhere.”
“You were unhappy she didn’t go with you,” Jungkook says, and sees that this is a mistake, because anger momentarily contorts Yoongi’s uncle’s face, before he schools it back into place. It was only for a second, but Jungkook saw it. The true feeling that lurks beneath the surface.
“She made her decision,” he says airily, waving Jungkook away. “Besides, I’m far more interested in what she told you. So tell me. What did she have to say?”
He spins around and faces Jungkook with barely disguised glee.
Jungkook wants to give him nothing. He wants him to walk away, having gleaned nothing.
But Min-ji’s words, which have been replaying in his head since their encounter earlier, trouble him. And he wonders … he just wonders if her brother would know something about it.
So he says, with an arrogant tilt of his chin, “She told me that she’d seen my coming. My arrival, or whatever.”
“And?”
“That the pack was going to fall on difficult times,” Jungkook remembers, slipping back into memory: the overlapping voices, those dark, black eyes which are reflected back at him now, only interrupted by a thin slit of a scar which haunts his dreams.
“And?”
“That … I’d save the Min pack,” Jungkook finally says quietly. He doesn’t want to, but he raises his eyes to Yoongi’s uncle’s face. “What does it mean?”
“It means we’re in trouble,” he says, chewing on something, his playful demeanour vanished. “It means we’re in serious trouble.”
A chill runs through Jungkook. He pulls his shirt closer.
“That won’t help you,” Yoongi’s uncle says, watching his movement. “You need to do better than that, Jungkook. You need to embrace the wild.”
For a moment, Jungkook thinks he’s kidding. It would match up well with the rest of his behaviour, cracking jokes and treating this arrival as a fun surprise to spring on his family, who plainly didn’t want to see him. But his expression is solemn and he seems to be imparting advice onto Jungkook, who is stunned to receive it.
“Embrace your inner wolf,” Yoongi’s uncle explains. “Run in your wild form, hunt by moonlight. It’s the only way you’ll become a good warrior.”
“I don’t need to be a warrior,” Jungkook says flatly, his tone betraying that he thinks this is a ridiculous suggestion. He hasn’t shifted since he was a teenager, and the process was painful: he remembers almost being blinded by the pain as his skin made way for fur, and his bones stretched, and sleeping soundly after he’d passed out from it. He hasn’t attempted it since. “There’s nothing to fight.”
Yoongi’s uncle watches him for a long moment. Then he says, “There’s always a battle, Jungkook. And you need to be ready for it.”
Jungkook’s day hasn’t been riddled enough with confusing, jumbled advice told in riddles for Jungkook to sift through. Before he can ask what he means by that, Yoongi’s uncle lumbers away, back into the shadow, in the direction of the mess hall.
He’s left sitting on the tree stump, faced with the knowledge that Yoongi’s uncle not only came to talk to him, or solicit information from him, but that he gave him advice.
And that Jimin’s suggestion is no longer looking ludicrous; it looks very real.
Yoongi’s uncle’s pack is here because they want something. Because they are in need of help.
What scares a scarred wolf who’s had a lifetime of bloodshed, Jungkook wonders, with a shiver.
—-
Fortunately the rowdy behaviour of the other pack puts paid to the idea that the banquet - and the ensuing celebrations - go on long late into the night. People disperse gradually at first, and then leave the mess hall in a flood, desperate to get away from the chaos unravelling in front of them.
Jungkook comes across Jimin and Namjoon on their way out, and fortunately Jimin is fairly wrapped up in Namjoon to think too deeply about what Jungkook is doing outside, although he asks Jungkook if he’s okay.
“I’m fine, honestly,” Jungkook tells Jimin, smiling at his concern. “Have a good night.”
Once he’s satisfied the two of them and they eventually move on, Jungkook sneaks back inside and sees Yoongi is engaging in stilted conversation with a pack member, but at Jungkook’s appearance, Yoongi’s attention lapses, and the man excuses himself with a smile, before hurrying for the exit.
“I didn’t go far,” Jungkook tells Yoongi, anticipating his question. “I just needed some air. How are you?”
“As well as can be,” Yoongi responds. “How are you?”
His arm winds around Jungkook, pulling him closer. Jungkook will never not feel dizzy at the sudden assault of Yoongi’s scent and the sure feeling of his hands on his body.
A week into being married. Would they have had a honeymoon? He reflects wistfully. Some semblance of alone time, devoid of disruption?
Would Yoongi have taken this chance to claim him?
The questions flutter around him, futile but insistent. He imagines dismissing them with a wave of his hand, dissolving like mist.
“I’m well,” Jungkook says. “People seem to be leaving.”
Yoongi’s answering sigh says that he’s already noticed.
“Not our best celebration,” he admits, as his eye line slides over to his uncle’s pack, all in various states of drunkenness and undress, “but well enough, given the circumstances.”
“You did your best,” Jungkook quietly agrees. He feels Yoongi’s hand tighten on his waist.
“Do you want to go to bed with me?” Yoongi asks quietly. This time, he doesn’t preface about sleeping, which does a lot for Jungkook’s imagination, able to entertain itself easily.
It’s absurd that Jungkook’s body should react so quickly to him, given the circumstances. But his inner omega is at complete odds with the rational part of his brain. It wants Yoongi’s touch, and it’s hungry for it.
He hasn’t even told Yoongi about the confrontation with his uncle; but he worries it’ll intensify the burden, increasing the pressure on Yoongi, and worry him that much more.
Besides, there was very little his uncle said that Jungkook could make sense of. What information can he relay to Yoongi that won’t come out jumbled, and hard to understand? What does Jungkook actually stand to gain by informing Yoongi?
“I’ll come to bed with you,” Jungkook finally agrees, his mouth dry. He tries to swallow but no saliva comes. “Um, did you mean now, or-”
“Now is good,” Yoongi says, a little more vehemently than Jungkook anticipates. “I’ll just say goodnight to my uncle.”
He stiffly walks over to the bench, exchanges a few words, and for all intents and purposes, they look amicable, although the careful distance says volumes. Yoongi’s uncle raises a flagon in acknowledgement, and knocks it back, alcohol spilling onto his chin. He definitely looks more haggard than fifteen minutes ago, when he’d sought Jungkook out.
Yoongi returns, his face tight with displeasure. “They said they’ll vacate eventually,” he says. “God knows when that will be. But they’re due to leave in the morning, so it’ll be alright.”
“Yes, the talk with your father,” Jungkook begins, as they start treading towards the exit. “Did it go well? Was everything okay?”
“My father hasn’t left his room,” Yoongi says after a long pause. They finally clear the mess hall, and turn towards the winding path to the Min house. “He won’t speak to me.”
It’s evident that this does not spell out anything good.
Just as Jungkook opens his mouth - to reassure Yoongi, or to ply more information from him - a scream sounds into the air, and both he and Yoongi immediately tense.
He watches as Yoongi’s body locks up, and his eyes swing around, searching for the origin of the noise. There’s another scream, and this time Jungkook identifies the source: it’s coming from the gates.
Yoongi takes off into a run and after a beat, so does Jungkook. His feet pound the ground in time with his beating heart, with no knowledge of what to expect, of what sight will greet them, acting completely on instinct.
The two of them tear towards the gates and as Jungkook nears, his body seizes up at a familiar sight.
Sprawled out on the ground, gouged deep with claw marks, is Hye-in.
A woman, who presumably found her, is hyperventilating. She’s dropped to the floor in a crouch and her mouth is open in a silent scream. Her eyes are welling up with tears.
Jungkook sees in the periphery of his gaze, a movement, and he sidesteps away, terrified by the intrusion. He only marginally relaxes when he sees that the figure is Namjoon.
Namjoon steps onto the scene, his face plainly haunted.
“Namjoon, take Hye-in’s body to her home,” Yoongi grimly informs him. He reaches out for the woman and puts a hand on her quivering shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Ji-woo. I promise.”
“I just found her like this,” Ji-woo sobs, her body wracked with the horror of what she has witnessed. Jungkook can’t even look as Namjoon bends down and carefully scoops Hye-in’s body from the floor. Around him, people are gathering, murmuring, and then there’s a wail - a woman sprints forward, her feet slipping about her, and she crashes into Namjoon.
“Hye-in! ” she screams, her voice raw with emotion, her hands shaking as she reaches out for Hye-in’s body. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Come on, Seo-ah,” Namjoon says softly. “Come with me.”
Yoongi catches Jungkook’s eye but doesn’t say anything, as Namjoon carries Hye-in out, with some effort. An arm of Hye-in’s lolls out, decorated with bloody scratches and attracting Jungkook’s attention, and he sees a flash of a faded mating bite on her neck.
Horror assaults him all at once as it sets in. This is Hye-in’s mate.
She might have felt something, when it happened. She might have felt the bond between them snap, like broken bone, and felt fearful at the emptiness that swallowed her up, no longer able to feel Hye-in on the other end. And now Hye-in is dead … Jungkook doesn’t even want to contemplate how it feels for Seo-ah.
“I don’t even know what happened,” Ji-woo gasps out. It’s evident she’s blaming herself for stumbling across Hye-in’s body, and Yoongi makes soothing sounds, trying to comfort her. She raises hollow eyes to Yoongi’s and says, “Who could have done something like this?”
“I know,” a self-assured voice declares. Yoongi’s uncle steps forward, announcing himself, and there are visible whispers of disgust as people recoil from him. If anyone were a prime suspect, it makes complete sense that Yoongi’s uncle is number one. An outsider, a warrior, a stranger. A power-grabbing usurper, here to take the Min pack from himself.
People hiss at him, but he doesn’t appear concerned.
“Uncle, my pack has suffered a terrible loss,” Yoongi tells him, getting to his feet. Jungkook sees in the flash of his eyes that Yoongi is keeping his rage contained, for now. “I am in no mood for your games.”
“These aren’t games, Yoongi-yah,” his uncle says, a touch morosely. He glances at Jungkook before continuing. “We’re at war.”
Notes:
it's all kicking off now! let me know what you thought in the comments below :)
Chapter 5: Designation
Summary:
Jungkook studies him and thinks he sees the first hint of desperation. The creased, wearied face of a man run ragged by a problem he cannot solve. The kind he seeks help for.
“What do you want?” Yoongi asks, direct. “Be straight with me, for once.”
An amused smile twists Yoongi’s uncle’s lips. “So like your father,” he murmurs, looking intently at Yoongi. Before Yoongi can issue a searing retort - Jungkook can see he’s readying himself for it - he adds, “We’re in trouble. The … pack is in trouble.”
Notes:
I was not expecting to update the fic this early, and am pleasantly surprised!
the picture of yoongi's nose scrunch has been living in my head all day rent free. definitely need to find a way to work it into the story.
enjoy!
Chapter Text
What follows after feels surreal.
Almost as if Jungkook is trapped, at the bottom of a lake, peering upwards at blurry shapes and shadows he can’t quite decipher on the surface, wading through water that feels like tar and doesn’t give away. He sees the expressions of the Min Pack, hollow and haunted, far out of Jungkook’s reach, the water rippling over their stunned expressions.
And in the air, the sour tang of fear. Jungkook registers it with a barely-there shudder. He recognises it from when the attacks started in his pack.
He hasn’t even told Yoongi about what he knows.
Yoongi.
At the reminder that Yoongi is here, Jungkook turns towards him, his body instinctively curling in his direction, but Yoongi’s attention is not on him. Instead, his eyes are narrowed in a glare he’s directing at his uncle.
At war.
Yoongi’s uncle’s words echoed through the plain, grating and dissonant, suggesting something that doesn’t quite feel real. The pack had received these words with a kind of muted shock befitting of what they had just witnessed, and couldn’t make sense of. Jungkook understands, because it had been the same for his parents and their closest advisors.
At war.
Jungkook hasn’t even properly processed the sight of Hye-in’s mangled body. Hye-in, the centre of the community. Hye-in, who wove flowers through his hair on his wedding day while asking nothing in return. Hye-in, around whom everybody crowded, bathing in the natural light that radiated from her. Reduced to shreds, a death lacking dignity, on display for some of the village to see before Namjoon took her away.
Namjoon hasn’t returned, which Jungkook assumes is because he’s busy comforting Seo-ah. Jungkook can’t fathom how she must feel, losing a mate, and distantly wonders if he’s better off without Yoongi’s mating bite.
Then Yoongi takes a step forward, the ground crunching under his shoe, with his eyes fixed on his uncle as he orders - quietly but with authority, “Get out.”
Yoongi’s uncle sneers, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty that passes over his face.
As if summoned by a wordless command his pack appears, weaving their way through the crowd that has gathered, their fingers brushing against their weapons. People flinch away from them with barely disguised disgust. The tension is stifling, and Jungkook fears that if they’re not careful, it could break out into physical fighting and clashing.
Amidst it all, Jungkook catches the gaze of Kyung-won, whose resigned expression is at odds with the rest of the pack. He almost looks defeated at the horrifying image Hye-in’s body paints, which raises questions in Jungkook’s head.
He breaks off eye contact and edges himself closer to Yoongi, reaching out with his pinky finger to brush against Yoongi’s hand.
Yoongi doesn’t even deign to look at him, which stings.
So he tries, softly, “Yoongi-hyung.”
“Listen to your omega, Yoongi-yah,” Yoongi’s uncle taunts, seemingly incapable of recognising when a situation is in danger of spilling over into outright animosity. “You don’t want to fight me here.”
His pack bristles, primed for action in case the hostility tips over.
Yoongi snarls, and proves him wrong when he lunges forward, but Jungkook grabs his wrist, in the nick of time, and is unceremoniously jerked forward, Yoongi’s strength knocking the breath out of him.
This, at least, gathers Yoongi’s attention, as he whirls to face Jungkook, his eyes wide and concerned. “What are you doing?” he asks, unable to keep his irritation from edging into his voice. He’s talking in a low rumble, hoping not to be overheard. “This isn’t your fight, Jungkook-ah.”
Fight.
For someone Jungkook previously couldn’t envision wrangling with another alpha, he sees it now: he sees it in the wild, flashing Min eyes that his whole family wear; he sees it in his heaving chest; he sees it in his tense, rigid shoulders; in his hands, which have balled into fists. He sees it in the tightness of Yoongi’s jaw as he clearly has resolved to physically force his uncle out.
As much as Jungkook wanted to see Yoongi’s uncle tossed out on his ass, he can see from the terrified eyes of his pack that they don’t need this altercation, as parents crowd around their children and cling to them. They need assurance from their leader that things are going to be okay. They need someone to rally around, and that can’t be a warrior with no restraint. It’ll remind them too much of Yoongi’s uncle, a man who doesn’t bend the knee and solves problems with violence.
All of this goes without saying that Yoongi is not that kind of person.
Right now, Pack Leader Min is absent and the role of leader falls to Yoongi.
“Not in front of your pack,” Jungkook whispers, trying to keep his tone as even and placating as he can. “Not here, hyung. It’s not the time nor the place.”
At least the mention of his pack causes Yoongi to calm down a little. He stinks of rage, and grief, and bewilderment, a potent mix that invades Jungkook’s nose, but he no longer looks prepared to engage his uncle.
Fortunately, when he turns back around, his uncle doesn’t trade him in taunts.
“We’re not speaking here,” Yoongi says, following Jungkook’s advice. “Follow me.” To the rest of the pack who have witnessed this moment, he calls out, “Go home! Lock your doors! Nobody goes out alone.”
He breaks out in a brisk walk, to the alarm of the onlookers, who begin whispering in hushed, anxious voices, and huddle together, watching Yoongi walk out of sight. Jungkook sticks close to Yoongi, and behind him, Yoongi’s uncle strolls along, unhurried, unconcerned. His pack does not follow.
They’re hardly through the door as it clicks shut when Yoongi turns on his uncle.
“What are you even thinking?” he asks, seething. “Talking of war? Hye-in just died!”
Where Yoongi is uncontrolled emotions, spilling over, a muddle of anger and grief muddling Jungkook’s nostrils, his uncle is the opposite, a still lake to his storm. He watches Yoongi without emotion and then says,
“I meant what I said, Yoongi-yah.”
“Do you even care?” Yoongi spits. “Is everything just a game to you? Is that why you decided to show up, twenty-five years later?” He laughs, hoarsely. “I don’t even know you. You’re a stranger to me.”
Yoongi’s uncle’s gaze slides over to Jungkook, who averts his eyes and finds something interesting on the floor to study. He’s beginning to think he shouldn’t be here, when he takes a step in the opposite direction and Yoongi stops him.
“Please stay,” he implores Jungkook, his eyes pleading. “I need you here, where you’re safe.”
It’s a little illogical, given there’s every reason to believe that his uncle, the very man looming large in the entryway, is behind the attack. But the notion that Yoongi’s uncle is a merciless murder who’d appreciate their hospitality for a week before striking, doesn’t hold water with Jungkook. The more he tries to envision Yoongi’s uncle - stealing away in the night, targeting Hye-in among all the festivities - the muddier the image becomes.
Jungkook gives him a brief nod of assent, and backs up against the wall, where he can mostly be out of sight. Yoongi’s uncle stares at him, before he glances back at Yoongi.
“I suppose your father told you nothing,” he tells Yoongi, “about why I’m here.”
That strikes a sore spot, the suggestion that Yoongi is kept in the dark, and is probably truer than most things his uncle has said. Jungkook almost winces as it lands.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Yoongi asks frostily. “You love the sound of your voice so much.”
“I think your omega has an idea,” Yoongi’s uncle says, his lips curling around a smile. Yoongi doesn’t rise to the bait, as his back remains to Jungkook, who stiffens up at the mention of his name.
“Don’t you dare speak to him,” Yoongi orders. The threat in his voice sends a shiver down Jungkook’s spine.
He’s never quite seen Yoongi like this. In the time he’s known him, Yoongi has been warm, welcoming - if not a little reserved, but it felt like he was in the process of opening up to Jungkook before his uncle had the worst possible timing and arrived unannounced at his doorstep.
In many ways, Jungkook wonders if he and Yoongi would be in the position they are now if they hadn’t been interrupted; staring down his uncle, in the aftermath of a beloved pack member’s death, faced with the impossible task of figuring out who can be trusted. Perhaps they’d be off somewhere in the mountains, picnicking, or exploring. Jungkook could have learned to fish better, more precisely and with less blundering -
Only that sends the memory of fishing with Jimin, Namjoon and Hye-in flooding in, the day after he married Yoongi, which Jungkook is quick to tamp down on. He doesn’t want to think about fishing, or how it was an invitation for Jungkook to learn more of the Min customs. He doesn’t want to think about how Hye-in was alive then, and now is a pale, unfeeling corpse.
In the present, Yoongi’s uncle sighs, an irritated sound rattling through him. He takes a step forward and Yoongi tenses. “Has it occurred to you that I need something from you?”
A long beat passes.
Yoongi barks a laugh, although there’s no warmth to it. “ You need something from me? I’m seriously supposed to believe that?”
“I wouldn’t stay here so long if I didn’t,” Yoongi’s uncle answers plainly, confirming that Jimin is probably the most shrewd person Jungkook knows. He’d been the first to suggest that Yoongi’s uncle’s arrival was no mere accident, and that if he wanted the village and the leadership for himself, he’d have taken it by force.
Jungkook studies him and thinks he sees the first hint of desperation. The creased, wearied face of a man run ragged by a problem he cannot solve. The kind he seeks help for.
“What do you want?” Yoongi asks, direct. “Be straight with me, for once.”
An amused smile twists Yoongi’s uncle’s lips. “So like your father,” he murmurs, looking intently at Yoongi. Before Yoongi can issue a searing retort - Jungkook can see he’s readying himself for it - he adds, “We’re in trouble. The … pack is in trouble.”
This shakes Yoongi, who’d been on steady footing until now.
“Trouble?”
“We were attacked, out of the blue.” His uncle looks uncomfortable, as if it is physically paining him to divulge this information. Jungkook doesn’t quash the satisfaction he feels, seeing Yoongi’s uncle on the back foot. For all his games and taunts and vague responses, here he is, forced to explain himself. “We lost good men and women.”
Of course, all Jungkook thinks about is the intimidating nature of Yoongi’s uncle’s pack, decked out in weaponry, sneering at those in the nearby vicinity, viewing them as unworthy. He believes Yoongi is thinking the same, a disbelieving expression which his uncle catches.
“It started slow at first,” his uncle says. “One or two people went missing. We searched for them, but didn’t find anything. I put my best trackers on it. Then, their bodies turned up a week later. Shredded to pieces.”
His eyes flicker to Jungkook’s. Jungkook’s stomach winds itself up tightly and clenches.
“Before we could even work out what was going on, two more people were taken. Then another two. We were constantly on the move, travelling, but they always found us.”
“Who?” Yoongi’s sharp tone slices through the distant voice of his uncle’s like a knife. He brings the conversation back into sharp focus. “Who attacked you?”
Yoongi’s uncle smiles. It’s a morbid grin that doesn’t meet up with the rest of his face, and shows just a glimmer of vulnerability. “We never found out,” he says. “I had no answers, and my people were terrified. I went to the one place I thought I could trust. Here.”
“Let me be clear,” Yoongi says quietly, “you were being attacked, by some unknown entity, and you brought them here?”
“We’re desperate,” his uncle says, bristling, “we were afraid-”
“You brought this to our door!” Yoongi shouts. His voice reverberates through the Min house, bouncing off the walls, echoing in Jungkook’s ears. The rawness of his voice slams through him. His chest is heaving. “We’ve lost Hye-in. Does that even mean anything to you?”
“Yoongi-yah, I never meant for anyone to die.”
“But she’s dead all the same,” Yoongi says bitterly. It is taking all of his control and his restraint not to physically lash out. Hye-in’s death has sliced him open and he is bleeding grief everywhere. “So get out, before I make you .”
The threat, delivered in his gruff growl, seems very real. Yoongi squares his shoulders and stares his uncle down. For a moment, neither of them moves and Jungkook is trying, wildly, to think about what to do; contemplating putting himself between the two of them when the front door swings open, clattering against the wall, and Jungkook jumps.
Jimin comes barrelling through the door, interrupting them, and lets out a combination of a squawk and a cry when he spots Jungkook in the corner.
He rushes over and sweeps Jungkook up into his arms, encircling him tightly.
“Thank God,” he croaks into Jungkook’s neck. “Thank God you’re okay. I was so scared you’d been hurt. Namjoon saw you leave, but didn't say where -”
He untangles Jungkook from his embrace and pushes him away a little to scrutinise him. “You are okay?”
“I’m fine, hyung,” Jungkook insists, feeling a little exposed with Yoongi and Yoongi’s uncle;s eyes on them. “We were just, uh, talking. Trying to figure out what to do.”
“I was with Namjoon, and we heard this scream, and he just took off,” Jimin recounts. “I assumed something major had happened, and followed him - but he’d gone. Someone told me what happened.” His hand comes up to cup his mouth as his expression does all of the talking. He spins around and looks at Yoongi as he solemnly says, “Yoongi-ssi, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Yoongi returns carefully. The storm in him seems to have subdued, although Jungkook can smell his distress, thick and uncomfortable. “I need to seek counsel from my father. Please excuse me.”
He sweeps out of the room and heads upstairs. There’s the sound of the stairs groaning in the silence as he takes one step at a time, and then he rounds the corner, and is gone.
It’s just Jungkook, Jimin, and Yoongi’s uncle left wide-eyed in the entryway. A long, uncomfortable silence stretches out, and then is promptly broken when Yoongi’s uncle says, “I need to see to my pack,” before he marches out of the door and leaves Jungkook and Jimin.
“What just happened,” Jimin breathes out. Jungkook trades him a long look.
“I think you’re going to need to sit down, for this one.”
—
He recounts to Jimin the earlier events without going into too much detail about how limp Hye-in’s body had been, or how harrowing Seo-ah’s scream had been when she’d found her. He mentions the alarm of the pack members, and Yoongi’s uncle’s declaration of war. He tells the story right up to where Jimin had interrupted, when he’d admitted that he came here because he needed help, because his own pack had been attacked.
Jungkook has been trying all evening not to lose himself to the past, to be reminded of how terrifying it had been for his parents’ pack when the attacks had ripped through them, but one long look from Jimin confirms that he’s thinking exactly that.
“It can’t be the same person,” Jimin says, hushed, his hands cupping a mug of tea. “That’s … your parents never found out who did it, did they?”
“They thought it was a wild animal at first,” Jungkook says. “It was Ye-rin who first suggested it was a man.”
“The council meeting,” Jimin remembers. After Jungkook had been caught by his father, he’d sought Jimin out the next day and told him. They’d been rife with speculation then, but it had taken on more of a boyish, immature gleam, one that didn’t fully recognise the gravity of what the pack was experiencing.
They understand it now.
“Yoongi thinks his uncle is to blame. That he brought the attacks here.”
“If it’s one person…” Jimin trails off, deep in thought. He seems to shake himself from his reverie, gripping tighter at his mug. “It can’t be. It’s got to be someone else, someone very twisted.”
“My parents never figured out who did it, hyung,” Jungkook whispers. He feels fear snake its way around his heart. “What if we make the same mistake?”
“Jungkookie.” Jimin sets his mug down and reaches out for him. His hand cups Jungkook’s cheek. “We don’t even know if someone is to blame for this.”
Jungkook tries saying You didn’t see the claw marks, but he finds the remark becomes lodged in his throat, and he can’t voice it. Foolishly, a part of himself hopes that a wild animal is responsible, when he knows a wild animal can’t deliberately claw at a person in such a precise, ghoulish fashion. Or steal under the cover of night to strike at the heart of a gated community.
He knows someone is responsible, but he doesn’t even know where to begin. All of his questions about the Min pack appear irrelevant now, faded into obscurity, as he thinks deeply about the fact that the attacks have returned.
And, once again, he finds himself at the heart of them.
—
He and Jimin keep talking until they’ve wiled away a couple of hours, trading theories and assurances. He appreciates Jimin’s offered reassurances, although it does very little to calm his sense of skittishness, when all signs point to an unhinged wolf on the loose.
Outside the plain is pitch black, spare a few bobbing torches hung up by the gate, and at the sight of this - the way in which the gloom swallows up the light - Jungkook feels deep unease. He finds himself not wanting to retire to bed just yet, but to linger in Jimin’s company a little while longer.
They drain a couple more mugs of tea before Jungkook begins to feel drowsy.
He’s about to propose going to sleep when the door creaks open, and Yoongi is on the other side. Jungkook just stares at him before his body jerks into action, and he slides off the bed and pads over.
“Are you okay?” he asks, gentling his voice. “Did the talk with your father go okay?”
“He told me everything,” Yoongi says grimly. “My uncle’s speaking the truth. And I told him about Hye-in.”
The truth is perhaps the furthest thing from what they want, but it’s there all the same: Yoongi’s uncle was being honest.
If he wanted to sow discord and spread fear, he could have easily been avoidant about his reason for being there; could have suggested, with a few cleverly crafted sentences, that his pack were responsible. But he hasn’t, and Jungkook thinks that might count for something.
It doesn’t endear him anymore, in Jungkook’s eyes, seeing how Yoongi’s anguish assails him while his uncle manages to smile still, but at least it means they may have one fewer person to worry about.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says, with as much meaning as he can muster. “Hye-in was … well, she was a part of the pack.”
“Namjoon’s with Seo-ah for tonight,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook realises he is addressing this to Jimin. “He sends his apologies. There are ... preparations to be made, for Hye-in.”
Jimin waves him off immediately. “He’s where he needs to be.”
“I’m sorry about tonight.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Jungkook asks, unable to keep the disbelief from tinging his tone. “You’ve suffered a great loss.”
“About my uncle,” Yoongi says. “About the fight.”
“At least it was a verbal fight,” Jungkook points out, trying to keep things light. He thinks he may have succeeded when he sees Yoongi’s mouth twitch.
“I never wanted you to see me like that,” Yoongi says, and he seems to be struggling with something. “I wanted … well, I never wanted you near any of this.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says sincerely. “It’s pack stuff. And I’m part of it now, remember?”
Yoongi’s eyes flick to Jungkook’s wedding band and back. “I remember.”
Jungkook badly wants to tell him everything that he’s keeping back. The words swell up in his throat: My family suffered from these attacks too and I think it might be the same person. Your uncle was the person who let your aunt out and she thinks I’m the key to all of this. I’m terrified. I’ve been having nightmares since I came here and none of them make sense. I want you to hold me and tell me it will all be okay.
Yoongi speaks first. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
With none of the implication from before. This is said gently, doubtfully, seeking intimacy from Jungkook. Jungkook is only too glad to give it.
“Jimin-hyung?” He twists back to look at Jimin.
“Go,” Jimin says. “I’ll be fine, honestly. Just down the hallway.”
“Okay,” Jungkook says, but he hovers.
“Go,” Jimin says, putting emphasis into his voice. This propels Jungkook forward, out of the door, down the corridor, and into Yoongi’s room.
He is wrapped up in Yoongi’s scent and it feels like a welcome blanket. In his periphery, he sees Yoongi come up behind him.
“You can take the same side as before,” Yoongi says, heading towards the bathroom. “If you want.”
The domesticity is at complete odds with the nightmare of the evening, but Jungkook welcomes it, taking every brush of Yoongi’s touch like a starved man.
When they’re finally in bed, Jungkook burrows under the sheets and tries to will his heartbeat to calm. His body refuses to relax, hyper-aware that Yoongi is only half a metre or so away, and Yoongi’s scent shrouds him, sweet and familiar.
“Jungkook?”
“Yes?”
“Can I scent you?”
Jungkook hesitates. In that second Yoongi adds, quickly, “I don’t have to.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” A pause. “Just … hyung, it’s kind of dark. Can you see okay?”
Yoongi huffs a laugh. “Sorry. Bad timing, huh?”
“A little bit,” Jungkook admits. This flash of honesty eases his chest. He hears rustling, as Yoongi turns and edges closer towards him.
He’d been about to twist around to make it easier, but at the first touch of Yoongi’s hand against the nape of his neck, he goes completely still. Yoongi’s fingertips brush the skin there, painstakingly close to Jungkook’s scent gland.
It’s inappropriate, but Jungkook almost wants to whine.
He keeps appropriately still and quiet - a little dumbfounded, at the turn of events - as Yoongi’s hand strokes the tangled strands of hair there, his fingernails scratching against Jungkook’s scalp.
Yoongi leans in, disturbing the sheets, and presses his nose to Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook clamps his tongue between his teeth, determined not to moan.
It’s not - it wouldn’t be right, with everything that’s happened tonight. But Yoongi has kept his distance for so long that Jungkook is revelling in it, the light, reverent touch of his fingers and the press of his nose against Jungkook’s neck. It has all the uncertainty of an encounter with a first boyfriend, the gentle press of skin to skin, and Jungkook is dizzy with it.
He smells Yoongi’s scent sharpen as Yoongi nudges his nose against Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook notices then that Yoongi is hardly breathing.
Yoongi rubs his nose against the back of Jungkook’s neck and pauses at his jawline, a silent request. Jungkook wordlessly tilts his head back to grant Yoongi more access, at which point his dick weakly throbs.
He thinks he can hear Yoongi breathing a little heavier, but it’s hard to hear over the ringing present in his ears.
Jungkook turns, and lays completely on his back as Yoongi noses along his jawline, up towards his scenting gland. His hand, which had been tangled in Jungkook’s hair, carefully cups his chin. His hands are warm and his fingers are long.
“You smell good,” Yoongi murmurs. Jungkook thinks he might have heard him incorrectly, but then Yoongi adds, “Like grass after rain.”
Jungkook’s curiosity is piqued. “That’s what I smell like to you?”
“What do you think you smell like?”
“People have always said the forest,” Jungkook says, a small jump working its way into his voice when Yoongi splays his fingers across Jungkook’s chin and begins the work of scenting him. He is half-hard at this point. “Nothing specific, I guess. Just the forest.”
“You smell like the outdoors to me,” Yoongi says. He’s scenting Jungkook carefully, where a part of Jungkook, his inner omega, wants Yoongi to pin him down and make Jungkook stink of him, proudly proclaiming that Jungkook is his to the rest of the pack.
It’s all instinctive, primal nonsense. But it’s what Jungkook badly wants, at this moment in time.
Yoongi pulls back and Jungkook mewls from the loss without thinking. His body burns at the noise that escapes his lips, but fortunately it’s dark in the bedroom and he can’t see Yoongi’s expression clearly. He can only sense his pause, before Yoongi is dipping down and kissing Jungkook.
He tries to remain calm, but they haven’t kissed since their wedding day and Yoongi moves as if he knows it - pressing down on Jungkook, a touch desperately, who can only keen and rear up to meet Yoongi. As if the events of tonight have brought them closer together, and the intimacy is not worth keeping at bay anymore.
The kiss deepens, as the slide of Yoongi’s mouth against his feels natural. When he swipes his tongue against the seam of Jungkook’s mouth he obediently opens it and Yoongi slips his tongue inside. He strokes it against Jungkook’s tongue as his hand caresses Jungkook’s jawline.
Jungkook reaches out for Yoongi, blindly fumbling in the dark, and finds his solid chest. He grips at it, and feels him shift as he moves closer to Jungkook. It’s then Jungkook feels the hard press of Yoongi’s cock against his leg. He practically melts into the bed and makes a breathless noise that the keener-eared will hear, if they’re nearby.
“I had a dream about you,” Jungkook whispers, before he can think about what he’s saying.
Yoongi’s tongue darts out to lick a stripe under Jungkook’s jaw, his teeth nipping deliciously. “What kind of dream?”
“We were by the tree,” Jungkook says, flushing. “You were … mating me, in the open air."
Yoongi’s answering groan is confirmation, finally, that Jungkook is not imagining the heat between them. It’s there, it’s real, and tonight it’s like a live wire. Jungkook is afraid to touch it for fear of sparking out.
By now he’s soaking through his underwear and he knows Yoongi isn’t oblivious to the smell because of the way his nostrils flare.
“Will you do it, hyung?” Jungkook finds himself asking, his head carefully positioned so he stares at the ceiling, instead of at Yoongi directly, while his hands grasp at his shirt. “Will you mate me?”
Yoongi shudders against him, his hot breath fanning Jungkook’s neck. “I want to do that more than anything, Jungkook-ah,” he replies. “I just didn’t want to rush things. But after tonight, after what happened…” he trails off, leaving Jungkook to fill in the blanks.
Jungkook knows. He understands. Witnessing a loss like that, the haunting image … the desire to keep your loved ones closer flares up that much more.
“You’re not rushing things,” Jungkook says. He makes himself look at Yoongi. “Hyung. Please.”
Yoongi captures his mouth in a kiss and while his tongue slips inside, distracting, his hands wordlessly tuck under the waistband of Jungkook’s underwear, a request to pull them down. Jungkook tilts his hips and gushes more slick when Yoongi pulls them off. There’s a cool breeze as Jungkook’s cock is freed and exposed to the air.
“That smell has been driving me crazy,” Yoongi mutters, his fingers stroking the bare skin of Jungkook’s thighs, splaying across them. “You’ve been driving me crazy.”
Even as Jungkook says it - “Me?” - even as he knows he sounds wide-eyed, innocent, inexperienced, the realisation still floods through him all at once like lazy, cloying warmth that sets his skin tingling and his hairs on their end.
“I smelled you when you slept in my bed,” Yoongi says, a growl edging into his voice. “It stuck with me the whole day.”
His hand creeps up and finally encloses around Jungkook’s cock. Jungkook whimpers, as his legs automatically fall open, granting Yoongi more access.
“You’re so wet,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding awed. “How can you be this wet?”
It’s a stupid question, really, when Yoongi is obviously attractive, but also patient, quietly dominant, a calm, reassuring presence that has made Jungkook want to be bent over and taken. The more Yoongi has been deadset on taking his time with Jungkook, the more, conversely, Jungkook has wanted Yoongi to defy all patience and just fuck him.
The warm, chafing sensation of Yoongi’s hand around Jungkook’s cock makes him mindless with pleasure. When he wriggles under Yoongi, Yoongi reaches out with his spare hand and presses it against Jungkook’s hip bone; a silent request for Jungkook to be still. His inner omega swoons.
It’s a difficult ask, having Yoongi stroke him slowly, mindlessly, and not writhe, but Jungkook tries.
“I can’t believe I get to have you all to myself,” Yoongi murmurs, and as he drags his fingers over Jungkook’s cockhead, thumbing at his slit, he squeezes, and picks up the pace.
Jungkook’s answering moan is embarrassingly loud, shivering with pleasure.
“I wanna hear you,” Yoongi assures, “sounds so pretty, so gorgeous, my omega-” he breaks off, burying his face in Jungkook’s neck, who instinctively tilts his head back, keening, and without thinking, begs,
“Alpha - please, please.”
Maybe it’s been the unexpected intrusion of Yoongi’s uncle and his pack that has caused Jungkook to mourn the marriage he has yet to have, the companionship that seems to have been stolen from him by intimidating wolves with glinting knives and equally sharp, leering smiles. Maybe it’s been the insanity of this evening and the loss of Hye-in for Jungkook to realise the importance of keeping Yoongi close. Maybe it has nothing to do with that entirely and Jungkook is merely surrendering to his baser instincts that have been stirring since he came here -
But as Yoongi closes his teeth around Jungkook’s neck and breaks the skin, mating him finally, Jungkook gasps out a breath and comes, finally, spilling over Yoongi’s hand as his vision momentarily whites out.
Yoongi strokes him through his orgasm, until he becomes oversensitive and automatically twitches away. That doesn’t bode well for Jungkook, because Yoongi’s teeth are buried in his neck and shift with the movement. The pleasure is subsequently fringed with pain, the dull ache kind that Jungkook feels himself respond to.
He feels wet on his neck and assumes he’s bleeding from the spot where Yoongi has marked him. After what feels like a considerable time, Yoongi detaches his teeth and slides out of Jungkook’s neck with care, soothing over the mark with his tongue.
Jungkook still feels lightheaded, so he says very little to Yoongi in the seconds that tick by. Yoongi leans back and inspects his work, and by the frown on his face, he’s not comforted by what he sees.
He licks his finger and smears it over Jungkook’s neck.
“It looks like I bit too deeply,” he says, sounding distressed.
“It’s fine,” Jungkook slurs. He sounds drunk, and he is, a little. He’d heard of the high that passed after a mating bite was passed from one person to another, but it’s one thing to trade the stories in hushed, exhilarated voices, and another to experience it. He feels … floaty. Warm. Comfortable, but not too comfortable to not want to snuggle closer to Yoongi and bask in the warmth available to him there.
Yoongi swipes his thumb over a spot just under the mark, concern worn into his face. “It’s not fine,” he grumbles. “I could have hurt you.”
“It feels good,” Jungkook insists. In his existing state, he doesn’t understand Yoongi’s griping. He wants to pull him closer, burrow into his skin, and return the favour.
Yoongi sighs, sounding aggrieved, and pulls back. Jungkook feels crestfallen. “I need to get you something to clean the wound, Jungkook-ah,” he says gently, sensing his hurt. “I don’t want it to get infected.”
Jungkook whines, the sound low in his throat, and grips at Yoongi, making the message clear: stay. Stay with me.
Yoongi scans his face, searching for signs of discomfort, but finds none.
“I’ll stay,” he relents. “You promise me you’re okay?” When Jungkook nods, Yoongi says, “You have to be honest with me, Jungkook-ah. Otherwise this won’t work.”
“It feels good,” Jungkook says. “I feel … untethered. Good.”
Begrudgingly, Yoongi settles back in. He winds his arms around Jungkook, pulling him closer, and Jungkook presses his face against the crook between Yoongi’s shoulder and neck, inhaling his scent greedily.
He thinks nothing of the dried come until he comes back down from his headspace, about an hour later, and Yoongi sees it in him, the changed behaviour: the slight wariness, the withdrawal.
“You’re okay baby,” he says softly. “I think the mating bite might have had a bit of an effect.”
“A bit, yeah,” Jungkook says, not willing to concede how much. He runs a hand through his tangled hair. “I should go and get cleaned up.”
“You probably should,” Yoongi agrees. “Do you need me to help you?”
Jungkook shakes his head, but before he can depart from the warmth of the sheets and the ever-present scent of Yoongi, Yoongi leans forward and kisses him, and they both lose themselves to it, becoming breathless and squirming.
Jungkook says nothing of the obvious erection Yoongi was sporting earlier, but he feels it a little in the tension in his shoulders, the itch at the nape of his neck. He hasn’t touched Yoongi or made him feel good, but there’s nothing in Yoongi’s mannerisms to suggest this is what he expects.
God, does Jungkook want to touch him. He wants Yoongi to fall apart from the press of his fingertips as much as Jungkook did at his, but he doesn’t know how to broach the subject without sounding huffy or brattish.
His hands wander, all the same, and find purchase in Yoongi’s shirt. Without thinking, he tugs at it, and presumably without thinking as well, Yoongi shrugs it off. Jungkook admires the pale expanse of his skin before skimming his hands over Yoongi, brushing past his nipples. Yoongi’s eyes slide shut and his mouth drops open.
His hands wind themselves through Jungkook’s hair and accidentally dislodge the hair clip. Jungkook’s hand grabs it, and breaks the kiss to set it to one side.
At Yoongi’s querying look he mumbles, “I don’t want to damage it.”
Yoongi nips at his lip, distracting him again and says, “I’ll buy you another one.”
Jungkook smiles. “Not the point.”
Yoongi pulls him down, a touch possessively which Jungkook positively thrills at, and kisses him again.
Daring to, Jungkook’s hands inch downwards and pause at the lacing of Yoongi’s trousers. He hesitates, but Yoongi takes that time to kiss him again, distractingly, and Jungkook goes for it. Needy, heated, he helps Yoongi out of them. Yoongi is warm, warm, warm everywhere.
Yoongi’s cock is already stirring; a hard, heavy length that is much girthier and longer than Jungkook’s. There’s a neat bed of pubic hair at the base.
Jungkook wraps his hand around Yoongi carefully, in case he scalds him. But Yoongi doesn’t respond. He remains leaning back with his hand over his eyes. All Jungkook can see is the tip of his button nose, and the curve of his mouth.
He savours the warm, solid press of Yoongi’s cock under his hand. At the first stroke, he thinks he hears a huff of breath from Yoongi, but he’s quiet. Still. Steady.
It only spurs Jungkook on.
He watches as the skin fits around Yoongi’s uncut cock, strangely mesmerising. His dick is pink and flushed and swells to full hardness during which point Jungkook plays with him.
Not intentionally playing. Exploring, more like.
His tongue pokes out as he thinks about it. What it would be like to taste Yoongi at last. To see how his dick would feel in Jungkook’s mouth.
He strokes him, considering. Would he be able to fit it all?
At this thought, Jungkook feels his own dick strain, having recently come, but undeniably excited all the same.
Before he can think too much about it, he leans down and licks a stripe over Yoongi’s dick. He hears a strangled noise from Yoongi and glances up. Yoongi still has a hand shading his face, but his mouth is dropped open in an unmistakable moan.
Encouraged, Jungkook reaches out with his tongue and swirls it around the tip. Yoongi tastes of skin, and faintly of soap. His scent is thick, dripping in the air around them. It shrouds Jungkook like a welcome blanket.
“Ah, Jungkook,” Yoongi pants, his hips shifting when Jungkook sticks his tongue in a divot under the tip of Yoongi’s cock. “There, fuck, there feels good.”
Jungkook works his tongue over it several more times for good measure, as his hand tugs at Yoongi slowly. His jaw hurts a little from how it stretches to fit around Yoongi, but it’s a minor detail in the grand scheme of things; hearing how Yoongi’s breathing picks up and feeling him shift in the sheets.
Jungkook feels dizzy with the power. He wants to make Yoongi feel mind-numbingly good.
He wraps his lips around Yoongi’s tip and dips his head experimentally, working his tongue over in tandem with his hand. Whenever he discovers a spot that causes Yoongi’s hips to jerk or for him to emit a noose that makes heat pool in Jungkook’s gut, he repeats it. He’s a quick learner.
Sucking Yoongi’s cock is nothing like sucking cock of the betas he’d fooled around with. For one, Yoongi doesn’t buck his hips up and cause Jungkook to choke; he doesn’t call Jungkook dirty, degrading names; he doesn’t thread his fingers through Jungkook’s hair to tug him closer and force him down his cock; and yet, Jungkook wants him to do all of these things.
He lifts his head up to utter, quietly, “Hyung, my hair,” hoping Yoongi gets the message.
“I’ll have to move my hand, baby.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook gets out, practically drooling on Yoongi now, his mouth slick and shiny. “It’s okay, I don’t mind, want your hands in my hair.”
His eyes flick upwards as Yoongi hesitantly peels his hand off and his eyes widen at the sight of Jungkook’s tongue tracing over his cockhead. He can’t imagine what it looks like, but Yoongi looks dazed from it.
With care, Yoongi weaves his fingers through Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook’s eyes temporarily flutter shut from the sensation of his nails scraping against Jungkook’s scalp, and the notion that Yoongi has a hold on him like this. That he can, if he wants, yank Jungkook forward, or back, direct him as he wishes.
Fuck, Jungkook burns thinking about it.
Yoongi is painfully, woefully, gentle with him.
Jungkook sucks Yoongi back into his mouth and by this time is producing enough saliva for it to pour down the length of him. It sounds wet, and sloppy, and obscene.
Jungkook pauses for air. “Hyung, my hair.”
“What do you want?” Yoongi asks. “Tell me what you need.”
“Pull my hair, please,” and Jungkook is diving back down, slurping him back up, and he almost cries around Yoongi’s dick when Yoongi tugs at his hair.
“You really like that,” Yoongi observes. He doesn’t sound shocked, or scandalised. Just curious.
Jungkook makes a noise around him, an mmhm that reverberates through Yoongi. So Yoongi does it again, and this time Jungkook picks up the pace, bobbing his head with enthusiasm, trying to fit as much of Yoongi in his mouth as he can. But Yoongi is still swelling, impossibly growing, and he struggles.
Floundering only makes him run hotter, and provokes the overwhelming urge to impress Yoongi.
Yoongi winds a strand of Jungkook’s hair around his forefinger, says adoringly, “My pretty boy. Looks so pretty, stuffed with my dick.”
Jungkook can only whine around him.
Yoongi is slower to come than Jungkook was, but Jungkook is nothing but persistent. He finds a steady pace that Yoongi likes, and when he feels him tense, hears him pant, “Jungkook, ah, Jungkook, there, there,” he knows he’s close.
Yoongi proves him right when he says, in a tight voice, “Gonna come - you don’t have to - you can pull off, baby, it’s okay-”
Jungkook shows that he resolutely will not as he clamps his mouth down around him, strokes him at the base, and keens when Yoongi finally comes in his mouth - salt bursting on his tongue, filling his mouth up as Yoongi comes for a while. Jungkook drinks him down until he feels Yoongi soften around him, and hears him hiss from oversensitivity.
Then, he pulls off and gazes at Yoongi with wide eyes.
“Fuck,” Yoongi says in a shaky voice. Jungkook agrees. His hand reaches over and caresses Jungkook’s cheek, tender, and at odds with what Jungkook has just done.
He pulls Jungkook in for a kiss, especially filthy with traces of Yoongi’s come in Jungkook’s mouth. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, and nor does Jungkook.
Yoongi brushes a finger over Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook doesn’t have to check to know where his eyes have settled.
“I’m okay,” he reminds him. The dull ache has faded a little. There’s a bit of throbbing, but nothing incapacitating. As if his body knows Yoongi is behind the bite, and it has welcomed it. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”
“Did it hurt a lot when I did it?” Yoongi’s eyes are arresting. They’re wide with concern. His finger traces a circle on Jungkook’s neck, a cautious distance from the bite. “You looked like you were going to pass out.”
“I felt kind of high,” Jungkook says. “But a good high. Like I was floating.”
Yoongi’s finger keeps worrying at the skin of his neck. Jungkook encircles his wrist with a hand, and extracts it.
“No worrying,” he says. “Okay?”
“That’s impossible right now,” Yoongi points out, and as he does, a shadow passes over his face. Jungkook knows who he’s thinking and his stomach twists.
“No worrying about me, then,” he amends.
“I’ll try,” Yoongi says reluctantly. “No promises, though.”
By this point, the room is fairly seedy-smelling, thick with the scent of their sex. Jungkook wanders over to the window and pushes it open, inhaling deeply the crisp night air that rushes in to meet him. The lights at the gate have not dimmed. If anything, they burn a little brighter, as a reminder of the danger that lurks in the dark.
“There’ll be more guards at the gate tonight,” Yoongi says behind him. “I have my best people on watch.”
“Namjoon?”
“He’s got the night off. He’s with Seo-ah until the morning.”
Unconsciously, Jungkook’s hand creeps up to graze the mating bite. It’s a mistake: he feels a stinging pain shoot down him, through his side, and winces.
Would he scream and bawl at the sight of Yoongi, dead? Would his heart clench and cave in on itself?
Or would it be a quieter, stonier reception: would Jungkook’s heart splinter as he stared silently, stoically out?
He shivers. Not from the chill, but from the mental image of his deadened eyes, his hardened acceptance, the yawning loss.
“Your uncle?” he asks, without turning.
“They’ve been granted the chance to stay indefinitely,” Yoongi says. After a pause, he adds, “I didn’t consult my father.”
Jungkook hears the wistful note in his voice, the suggestion that this shames Yoongi. He turns and heads back to the bed, sitting down. Yoongi is watching him.
“How do you feel about that?” Jungkook questions.
“Honestly?” Yoongi’s eyes flash. “I feel like he’s failing as a leader. Somebody is dead, and he put off meeting with his brother for weeks, because of, what? His pride?” Jungkook doesn’t say anything for fear of upsetting Yoongi, but he agrees. “I’m not sure he’s up to the task, Jungkook-ah.”
As this line is delivered there’s the distinct rumble of thunder, and outside the torches are snuffed out by the downpour of rain, setting the guards aflutter. Jungkook gazes out at it despairingly, thinking how apt a metaphor it is for their current situation.
“We’re at war,” Yoongi repeats in a flat voice. “Apparently.”
—
The sound of laughter, echoing in the space. Jungkook is crouched by a lake, but somebody pushes at him, a hidden figure behind, and he topples in.
The icy water shocks him and when he opens his mouth to scream, water rushes in. It’s not the clear, calm water from before; but something darker, and more nefarious. He thrashes, panicked as it fills his lungs, and only just manages to break free from the surface as his chest burns.
He gasps, blinking away his blurry vision from the deprivation of oxygen. As he treads water, he sees it: the scarred wolf, prowling across the plain. Its ashy, matted fur. Its hungry, glinting eyes. It sees Jungkook and it doesn’t snarl, or growl.
This time, it smiles.
Jungkook flings an arm out, and then a second, hoping to swim his way to shore. But the water is like treacle, and resists Jungkook at every turn. His legs weakly flail under the water, as the wolf continues its approach.
It’s coming closer, and closer, and closer -
Until it’s at the edge of the lake, licking its lips. It sits its haunches down, and looks out at Jungkook, unnervingly human.
Jungkook finds his voice: “What do you want?” he asks, as it cracks, betraying his fear. “What do you want from me?”
The wolf grins at him. A breeze, whistling past, whispers: Everything.
It echoes.
Everything, everything, everything …
Before Jungkook can think about what to do, the wolf leaps, and lands in the lake. It begins paddling towards Jungkook without issue, and at this Jungkook thrashes some more, like a fish caught in a net, helpless, hopeless, about to meet the jaws of death, blood-stained and sharp -
Jungkook wakes up as he has many times before, soaked in sweat and wildly assessing his surroundings. When he sees the interior of Yoongi’s room, he settles, just, his heart a wild pitter-patter in his chest.
Sunlight streams in from the windows and as Jungkook turns his head, casts Yoongi’s face in a warm, ethereal glow.
He realises with a jolt: Yoongi is awake. And Yoongi is directly looking at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. There’s a shift in his scent, something Jungkook can’t place -
“You need to be honest with me,” Yoongi says, then, delivered calmly. Jungkook’s heart flips in his chest.
—
“She could know what’s going on, I don’t see the harm–”
“ – There is every harm, every harm that she could do –”
“ – She’s the town prophet, she might be able to help –”
“ – Help, or hurt?” Yoongi snaps. At this the room falls silent. He’s been pacing since the meeting was first convened, a small group of people who have been sworn not to leak the details of their discussion to the pack, for fear of sowing panic, or discourse. Jungkook has learned that the pack is very divided where prophecies and superstition is concerned - some swear by their beliefs, others scoff at it - and since Yoongi has made his feelings about his aunt apparent - that she is a risk and is better off safely stowed away from Jungkook - Jungkook keeps his tongue tight between his teeth, and wisely says nothing.
This morning he’d caved, and told Yoongi about his dreams. The reappearance of the scarred wolf, and the constant sense of danger. He’d told him how the wolf was always, without fail, stalking Jungkook in his dreams and how the dreams had only begun when he’d first arrived here.
Before then, Jungkook’s dreams had been untroubled.
Yoongi had received this with an unreadable expression, which had only served to twist Jungkook’s stomach further up in a knot as his forehead beaded with sweat and he waited, tentatively, for Yoongi’s response.
Yoongi had just said, “I’m calling a meeting. We need to talk about this.”
He’d climbed out of bed, mystifying Jungkook, and had got ready for the day with such swift efficiency that it had made Jungkook’s head spin.
“Talk about this? Why?” Jungkook asked, while Yoongi was dressing.
“Clearly your dreams are troubling you,” Yoongi said. “Maybe there’s something that can be done. Someone we can consult.”
“They’re just dreams, hyung,” Jungkook said, even though he knew as he said it that it wasn’t true. Yoongi paused and gave him a long, hard look.
“You didn’t hear yourself, Jungkook-ah,” he said softly, worry creasing his forehead. “You sounded … terrified.”
“They’re not fun dreams, I grant you that,” Jungkook said. “But … does everyone need to know about it?”
Yoongi sighed. He crossed the room, and sat down on the bed, his leg pressed against Jungkook’s. “What would you have me do?”
“Nothing,” Jungkook said, more stubbornly than he intended it to come out. “There’s nothing that needs to be done. Can’t we forget about it?”
Yoongi’s eyes went to Jungkook’s mating bite and Jungkook knew what he was thinking: they were mated now. There was no turning back. Jungkook’s pain would be Yoongi’s pain; Jungkook’s grief would be Yoongi’s grief.
It was entirely possible that he’d felt it, down the bond that tethered him to Jungkook, how afraid Jungkook had been in his dream.
“It could be a coincidence,” Yoongi allowed, lazily drawing a circle around Jungkook’s knee in a comforting gesture, “but it might not be. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
His eyes seemed to be pleading with Jungkook.
Jungkook slumped. “One meeting,” he said. “But if it comes to nothing –”
“If it comes to nothing I’ll drop it,” Yoongi interjected, his eyes wide and solemn.
Jungkook had nodded, then, and followed suit in getting dressed, although this time with more blundering, fumbling, feeling his way through.
“No telling them the details,” Jungkook said, pulling his socks on.
“You have my word.”
When they were both dressed, Yoongi had walked up to the door, paused at the perimeter and turned on his heel last minute to capture Jungkook’s mouth in a kiss, abrupt and unexpected. His eyes had connected with Jungkook’s, dark and intent, and he’d said, “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. We’ll figure this out.”
Jungkook had been inclined to disagree - but there had been much more that Yoongi had kept from him, that he was sure weighed heavily down on him like an invisible sack, stooping his back, that Jungkook knew, then, that Yoongi was being sincere.
“No more secrets,” he replied, holding Yoongi’s gaze, a resolution to himself as much as to Yoongi. “No more keeping things from each other.”
Yoongi kissed him, his lips a soft, welcome brush against Jungkook’s, lingering in a tantalising manner, and said, “No more secrets. I promise.”
—
Yoongi had called a council meeting and judging by the wary, stunned expressions of those who filtered into the room when it commenced, it was obvious that he’d never done this before without his father.
The absence of Pack Leader Min is one topic they refuse to broach now.
The purpose of these meetings, Jungkook understands, is no different to his parents’: they’re here to talk openly about Jungkook’s dreams, and what can be done. Yoongi had carefully skirted around the topic of Min-ji, but Taehyung, with a stubborn kind of determination, had brought her up.
It seems he has a lot more to say about the value of consulting Min-ji, and he refuses to be cowed.
He is animated in a way Jungkook has not seen before, in his limited interactions with the stablehand. He is positively buzzing with energy, vibrating in his seat, since Yoongi called the meeting this morning and shared the news.
Yoongi has not divulged all the particulars of what Jungkook told him this morning as Jungkook had requested; that his parents’ pack suffered through similar casualties. He has not shared the grievous wounds of the dead that Jungkook saw, or the hysteria that swept through the pack in no time. He has not discussed how he has refused to let Jungkook’s confession overwhelm him, and has instead borne it with the stiff upper lip of a pack leader who see the importance of appearances, and taking action.
Jungkook has been trying to catch Yoongi’s eye all meeting, but Yoongi won’t look at him yet. It’s in stark contrast to the rosy intimacy of last night, the gasps echoed in the bedroom and the feel of skin to skin, intertwined at last -
Jungkook reaches for his mating bite instinctively, which has been aching since Yoongi sunk his teeth into him, and in doing so, attracts the attention of Pack Leader Min’s advisors, who look distinctly uncomfortable: there’s Hong Beom-seok, a close and trusted friend of Pack Leader Min, along with Choi Do-yun, who heads up the guards. From what Jungkook has gathered, this pack has not needed to protect itself in a very long time, helped, in part, by the remote nature of their location.
Then Yoongi’s uncle came crashing in.
There’s also Namjoon, Jimin, Seokjin and Taehyung, who present a divided front. Jimin is not prone to superstition but he has seen firsthand how the nightmares trouble Jungkook and thinks seeing Min-ji might give them the best chance at understanding how to help him; while Namjoon, familiar with “the old witch’s ways” as he termed it, surprisingly brash for him, is against. Seokjin sits on the fence but Jungkook suspects he leans more in favour of Yoongi’s approach, which has ostensibly been working for them so far - and then there’s Taehyung and Yoongi, facing off one another.
Taeyhung, who strikes Jungkook as not particularly outspoken, has lots to say on the merit of town prophets and all they can bring. And the more Yoongi has argued against it, the more Taeyhung has dug in his heels, which in turn, has infuriated Yoongi.
Taehyung crosses his arms and rests his weight firmly back in his chair, his position abundantly clear if it wasn’t already.
“You said this was an open forum,” he says. “So I said what I thought would be a good idea.”
“She’s unpredictable,” Yoongi insists. “We don’t know what she’s capable of.”
At that, Beom-seok and Do-yun stir, ultimately loyal to Pack Leader Min and by virtue, his sister.
“She’s still your aunt, Yoongi-yah,” Do-yun says, his face wearing the forced smile of a diplomat at pains not to offend. “We can’t treat her like a common criminal.”
“I know that,” Yoongi says. “But she’s not well, either. I thought we were in agreement on that?”
At this, the two men exchange glances and concede.
“She’s not been well for a while,” Beom-seok sighs. “I understand your position, Yoongi-yah.”
Jimin catches Jungkook’s eye and he knows what Jimin is thinking: the two of them sorely lack a back bone.
“What some people would call unwell, others would call enlightened,” Taehyung sing-songs, inspecting his nails.
“Enough,” Yoongi says, his voice like thunder. It booms through the room and causes a hush to fall on them. His patience has evidently worn thin. “We are not consulting Min-ji. End of story.”
The note is final.
Seokjin breaks the silence first and says, delicately, “Can you describe your dreams for us, Jungkook? Maybe then they’ll be clearer?”
Jungkook fidgets under the combined weight of their stares. His eyes trail over to Yoongi, who is saying nothing. Probably deferring to Jungkook on this one, given what he’d asked of him.
“I dream of a scarred wolf,” he begins, tangling his fingers together under the table. “A large, grey wolf. In every dream … in every dream, it lunges at me. I wake up before anything happens, but I feel the threat. I’m always terrified.” He’s not willing to disclose much more than that.
“What kind of scar?” Seokjin gently prompts.
“A thin scar over its right eye,” Jungkook says, realising that his dreams have bled more into his waking hour than he cares to admit, with how quickly he can summon that striking image.
There are a few sniffs, and the shuffling of feet. Jungkook thinks he knows what Beom-seok and Do-yun are thinking: Pack Leader Min’s brother has a scar.
He wants to say that he thinks that the connection is most tempting, is not most correct, but that may provoke more questions about how Jungkook perceives Yoongi’s uncle, and he’s not sure how he feels about him, still, so he keeps quiet.
“Hyung, please,” Taehyung says, beseechingly, all of the good humour from before shed. “Min-ji will know how to interpret dreams. She’s a prophet! This comes naturally to her!”
Yoongi heaves a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut, and the sound is brittle. His irritation is like a slow, pulsating thrum throughout the room. Not yet heightened, but on its way there.
“We’re not consulting Min-ji,” he repeats, locking his eyes onto Taehyung, who sags against his seat. “I do think, however, that we should call a Summons.”
At this, everybody sits up in their seats a little straighter.
Do-yun, hesitantly, says, “Yoongi-yah, a Summons hasn’t been sent out since … well, since your father and uncle were at odds.” He doesn’t describe it as warring, or clashing, but by the tight lines of his face, this is implicit. His fixed smile looks morbid.
“I’m aware of when a Summons was last called,” Yoongi says. “And when we are supposed to call it.”
“What’s a Summons?” Jungkook asks. He can see by Jimin’s expression, he’s thinking the same.
But the others regard him with surprise.
“The ten major packs are brought together,” Seokjin explains, “in times of crisis.”
Jungkook resists asking the obvious: we’re in crisis?
He supposes they’re close enough, if Yoongi’s uncle’s bombardment and Hye-in’s murder weren’t clue enough. They may not yet be in outright crisis, but they’re shivering at the edge of a cliff face, gazing at the craggy rocks below.
Jungkook knows this: fear is insidious. Fear creeps. Fear whispers in people’s ears late at night and early in the morning and preys on their insecurities.
Fear doesn’t come all at once, in a sudden flood. It lingers in the back of your consciousness and bides its time.
“We’re agreed, then” Yoongi declares, getting to his feet in a rustle of clothes. “We’ll call a Summons. We’ll ask to meet the others in a week. That should give them enough time.”
The others nod their assent, a couple of them openly stunned at the prospect of this. Yoongi’s eyes sweep to him and hesitantly, Jungkook jerks a nod. His neck aches.
Beom-seok plainly can’t resist asking, “How do you know they’ll come?”
“Because,” Yoongi says simply, aware he has the floor, “what will come for us will come for them eventually, too.”
—
The dull ache of his mating bite persists, even after everyone has trooped out of the room. He thinks Yoongi hasn’t been watching him, but when he gets to his feet, Yoongi steps in front of him, blocking his exit.
“Your bite hurts,” he says. It’s not a question.
Jungkook, recalling what they’d promised one another this morning, manages a nod.
“I’m fine,” he protests. “It only hurts a bit.”
“Let me see.” At the gentle press of Yoongi’s cool fingertips to his neck, Jungkook feels he could weep. The overwhelming rush of emotion bewilders him.
Yoongi tilts his head back and inspects his bite. “It’s healing,” he says. “No signs of infection.”
Yoongi doesn’t pull his hand back. Jungkook’s eyes slip shut and he leans his head, in search of Yoongi’s touch. Instinctively, almost.
He opens his eyes and sees Yoongi is studying him.
“I’m fine,” he tries, but he can’t deny that the ache has calmed, soothed by Yoongi’s close proximity and his cool fingers, which feel like a balm. “It feels better already.”
“You’re not a very good liar,” Yoongi murmurs. He brushes his thumb across a patch of skin just below the circular outline of his teeth, and Jungkook shivers. “You’ve kept enough from me.”
“You kept a lot from me, too,” Jungkook points out, unable to prevent a pulse of irritation at the suggestion that Yoongi is blameless. “You didn’t tell me Min-ji was your aunt.”
Regret flickers across Yoongi’s features. “I thought I was protecting you if you didn’t know,” he says. “She’s been sick a long time, and I was worried she could hurt you.”
“I don’t need to be protected, or shielded from harm,” Jungkook says. “I’m strong enough. I need you to trust me on that.”
“I know you are,” Yoongi murmurs. His eyes pin Jungkook to the spot. He hardly breathes as Yoongi crowds him against the wall and kisses him, just the slick slide of their lips together as they meld into one another naturally. Yoongi has one hand cupping Jungkook’s neck, still, and the other comes to grip at his waist.
Jungkook feels the same dizzying rush as last night which had led him to beg Yoongi to mate him, and clutches at Yoongi’s elbows for balance. Yoongi kisses him so steadily and thoroughly that Jungkook melts into him.
“Will you let me bite you?” Jungkook whispers when they’ve broken apart, his eyes going to Yoongi’s unmarked neck. “I want to feel close to you, too.”
He expects some sort of resistance - it doesn’t come as naturally to Yoongi, the submission, the compliance - but Yoongi merely cranes his head back and wordlessly gives Jungkook access to his pale column of neck.
Jungkook, heart pounding, strokes his fingers over Yoongi’s mating gland and sucks in a breath at Yoongi’s scent sharpening.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Still it must fray at Yoongi’s control, keeping his neck bared for Jungkook when his instincts are screaming for anything but.
He doesn’t waste the opportunity. He leans forward, slots his mouth over Yoongi’s neck, and bites down. After a small amount of resistance, his teeth break the skin and he feels it coarse through him - the claiming of Yoongi, the connection returned. He has an overwhelming urge to rut at Yoongi and have him mount him, but he just about keeps it reined in.
Jungkook retracts his teeth and licks over the mark, just as Yoongi did. Fortunately, it seems cleanly done, but when he pulls away, he sees Yoongi’s eyes are half-lidded.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” Yoongi says immediately. His voice sounds a little rough. He clears his throat. “No, I just wasn’t prepared … for how it felt. Is that how it felt for you?”
Yoongi is half-hard in his trousers, Jungkook realises, and he feels himself grow warm and get wet in response, as if his body is keenly attuned to Yoongi by now. Perhaps the mating bite has a bigger part to play in all of this than he anticipated.
Jungkook feels the first gush of slick, and whines.
“Alpha,” he bleats - pathetically, about to succumb to his basest urges; to fulfil the fantasies looming large in his dreams and have Yoongi bend him over the table and mount him, his face pressed to the wood as Yoongi takes what he wants, Jungkook’s husband and alpha, bearing down on him, knotting him until Jungkook cries out -
There’s a creak coming from behind the door, and they jump apart. The air is charged. Yoongi stares back at Jungkook, who releases a breath, flustered beyond measure.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a voice says - Namjoon’s voice. “They need your help drafting the Summons.”
“I’ll be right out,” Yoongi calls. Jungkook’s mouth waters at the shape of his cock, visibly erect in his pants. He wants to drop to his knees and unhinge his jaw. He wants Yoongi to feed him his cock and come down his throat. He wants all manner of obscene things that aren’t possible. “Can we resume this later?” he asks, trailing his fingers over Jungkook’s jaw.
Jungkook nods, and then rasps, “Yeah. Later.”
Yoongi turns, but Jungkook stops him with a hand. “Hyung? Is there anything I can do?”
Yoongi’s face softens. “No, nothing, Jungkook-ah. Just make sure you’re safe.”
—
The new mating bites have set some people talking, perhaps already swept up in the conspiracy of trying to determine what, exactly, is happening in the Min pack. Jungkook doesn’t know the exact rumours people have landed on, but he can imagine. Angry, vengeful gods. Packs at war. Bad omens.
Yoongi has finally mated his omega at last, amid all this tumult. When Jungkook goes to meet Jimin in the centre of the village and finds him fishing water from the well, he feels the swivelling eyes follow him and hears the loud, harsh whispering. It’s not … unexpected, per se, but it’s not exactly welcome.
“Try to ignore them,” Jimin says as he pulls the bucket upwards, although he grimaces at the gaggle of people, agog at the sight of Jungkook. It’s not as if Jungkook is a brand new visitor worthy of all this attention; he has married Yoongi and spent much more time among them.
But people revert to fascinated children at the confirmation that Yoongi has claimed Jungkook, and are undeterred.
He spots Jimin’s desire to ask, beaten back by his loyalty to Jungkook as a friend and willingness to avoid probing. It warms him and it drives him to say, “He did it last night. Yoongi. I did it this morning.”
Jimin raises his eyebrows. “After the council meeting?” he asks. The whispering is set ablaze when they hear this. “Sorry.”
Jungkook brushes it off. “I felt a bit weird during the meeting, actually. Kind of achey? But it felt better when Yoongi was there.”
“It could be that your mating bite means more than you know,” Jimin muses. “Perhaps you’ll only feel better in his presence.”
“Jimin. Jimin.” Jungkook looks at him plaintively. “I can’t be that dependent. I refuse to be that kind of omega.”
“Jungkook. Jungkook,” Jimin repeats, mimicking him, as he carefully detaches the bucket from its hook, and sets it aside, the water sloshing. “You’re newly married. It’s perfectly natural for you to want to be around him more! If it weren’t for … everything that’s happened, you’d probably be together twenty-four seven.”
Jungkook flushes at the thought that worms into his brain, and quickly shelves it.
“I did think that,” he admits. “But it feels … selfish. To say that my biggest problems are not being able to spend enough time with Yoongi, with … everything that’s happened.”
He knows Jimin picks up on what he doesn’t say. He knows Jimin has been thinking the same as Jungkook since Hye-in turned up dead.
“We’re in good hands,” Jimin says firmly, evidently determined to banish any doubt. “Who knows? Maybe the packs will come when called.”
“You don’t think so?” Jungkook is surprised by the implication in Jimin’s voice. It knocks him.
Jimin looks reluctant to divulge, but he says, “Namjoon said they weren’t on the best of the terms, some of the packs.”
“Why?”
Jimin drops his voice, “The aftermath of the war between Pack Leader Min and his brother affected not just the Min pack, but the surrounding areas. Some packs had their farmland razed. Apparently others had to relocate altogether.”
“Gods,” Jungkook says, shocked. “That’s -”
“Not something to repeat,” Jimin adds hurriedly. “Namjoon-hyung told me it in confidence.”
“You have my word,” Jungkook says. He feels the eyes on him, and it makes him itch. He wants some privacy. “I’m going to write to my parents. Do you want to join me?”
“Later,” Jimin assures him, smiling. “Write to your parents first. I’m sure they’ve been dying to hear from you.”
Dying, perhaps. But Jungkook doesn’t have wholly cheery news to share.
—
Dear mother and father,
I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me in some time. Much has happened since our last correspondence.
Jungkook pauses, pen to paper, and thinks about how to phrase this. He doesn’t want to keep his parents in the dark about recent events, but he doesn’t want to give them cause for concern either. He knows anything they hear through the grapevine will send them reeling, particularly if they haven’t heard it from Jungkook first.
He presses pen to paper and writes, I’m settling in well. The pack is kind. I can already see Yoongi will be a good leader.
His father, I see less of that quality in him. Things have been ailing Pack Leader Min. His brother has arrived, and I gather they’re not on good terms.
He doesn’t want to resort to idle gossip in a letter to home, so he pushes on.
I don’t want to panic you, but Yoongi’s uncle has spoken about his pack being attacked. I have no way of knowing if it is the same curse that struck our pack all those years ago, but I wanted you to be aware. He seems to want the help of the Mins. It remains to be seen what Yoongi will do.
Jungkook realises, with a jolt, that he writes about Yoongi as if he has complete authority over the pack; not his father, but the ink has already dried, and at the risk of scratching it out, he keeps it in and hopes his parents won’t derive too much from Jungkook’s phrasing.
Yoongi and I are mated now. You don’t need to worry; he treats me well and as an equal. I have every faith he’ll be a good husband.
How is home? Do the woods miss me? Are the crops growing tall enough to hide in?
All my love,
Jungkook
He’s just finished setting the pen down when he hears a cry from outside the window, and rushes to look: a group of people are gathering in the centre of the village, aglow in the flame of the torches, and in the middle of them, a woman has fallen to her knees. Jungkook can just about make out her face. Seo-ah.
And crouched down next to her, her wrinkly hand on her shoulder … Min-ji.
She turns, as if sensing Jungkook’s gaze on her, and the settling of her eyes on him sends a bolt of lightning through him. He stiffens, and whirls away from the window, his heart racing.
He rushes outside and finds Namjoon is doing the same.
“What’s going on?” he asks, as they break out into a half-jog, half-walk, to hurry towards the scene.
“I don’t know,” Namjoon answers breathlessly, and it’s plain from his tone of voice that this could be another unwelcome, frightening development. "I don't know how Seo-ah got out without my notice."
Jungkook feels it, in the racing of his pulse under his skin, that this is not ordinary.
They reach the crowd, except this time it has grown, as people jostle and push in to get a better view of Seo-ah and Min-ji. Jimin arrives, his expression searching, and a part of him appears relieved when he finds Jungkook and Namjoon.
He asks the same question: “What’s going on?” Jungkook can only shake his head, and Namjoon curls an arm around Jimin, crowding him into his side.
Seo-ah is wailing, and her curdled cry is horrifying to hear. It turns Jungkook’s blood to ice.
“It’s okay, my child,” Min-ji is crooning, patting at her with her skeletal-like hand. She looks even more aged and withered than before. “Her death wasn’t for nothing.”
“Her death?” Jungkook asks, unwittingly attracting attention to himself. People peel away from him and leave him standing there in full view. “You’re talking about Hye-in?”
Min-ji opens her mouth, but there’s more commotion, more whispering breaks out. The crowd parts and Yoongi is stalking through, a face like thunder.
“I told you,” his voice booms, “ not to bother my pack-”
“Your pack?” Min-ji tosses back, an edge in her voice. “You have yet to fight for this pack! It is yet hard-won, Yoongi!”
The mention of his name on her lips throws Yoongi, Jungkook sees that. He falters, before he resumes striding forward and stops next to Min-ji.
Ignoring her, his eyes go to Seo-ah, who is rocking back and forth and sobbing.
“Seo-ah,” he says gently. “Please, come with me. I can take you back.”
Seo-ah lifts her reddened face, her puffy eyes, and shakes her head. Yoongi blinks.
“I don’t need to go back,” she says, her voice trembling, “Min-ji has given me a gift.”
If the superstition weren’t running rampant already in the pack, it is now. People’s murmuring grows, rising above the din. Someone shouts, “It’s a miracle!”
Yoongi turns to shoot them a glare, but can’t find the source. He turns back. “What gift?” he asks, still very gentle.
But Seo-ah can’t summon words, she shakes her head vigorously and resumes rocking.
“I told her that Hye-in’s death wasn’t for nothing,” Min-ji says. “I told her that her sacrifice was necessary.”
All colour drains from Yoongi’s face. He momentarily recoils from his aunt, before remembering where he is, and leaning back forward: towards Seo-ah, extending a hand.
After a pause, Seo-ah takes it, and Yoongi helps her to her feet. Namjoon appears at that moment, and he hands Seo-ah over to Namjoon, who slides an arm around her shoulder and leads her out of there, with Jimin trailing behind.
“You are not to speak to my pack again,” Yoongi orders, his voice and face hard. “Do you understand?”
Min-ji cackles, like the very idea is absurd. “Do you understand, Yoongi-yah? You have a fight ahead of you!”
He shakes his head, disgusted, but Min-ji shoots forward, quick like lightning, and even as Jungkook jumps forward to help him, she has dragged his arm down and hisses, “Heed my words. The fight is coming. The scarred wolf will walk again.”
Yoongi goes to twist away, but she tightens her grip and Jungkook sees, in the flash across his face, that he is in pain.
Jungkook moves instinctively.
He strides forward, encircles Min-ji’s wrist with his hand, and yanks her off Yoongi, with as much force as he can muster for a frail, elderly woman. But then her vice-like grip is around him, her leathery face turns towards him, and her eyes roll back in her head.
It’s only for a moment, but Jungkook spies the white of her eyes before they resume their normal position in her skull. He has nothing to say. He gawps at her, speechless.
Min-ji seems similarly stunned, having to recollect herself.
“You’re a prophet,” she whispers, scanning Jungkook’s face. Jungkook tries to pull away, but she won’t let him, her claw of a hand tightening around him to the point where it’s beginning to smart. Louder, for the benefit of the crowd, she announces, “We have a new prophet!” She finally drops her hand.
There is no cheering, despite the bravado in her voice. There is only baffled, defeated silence.
And Yoongi.
Yoongi is staring wide-eyed at Jungkook, like he’s only just seeing him.
—
Nothing can break this moment, stretching out, straining. Everything around Jungkook pales in comparison to Yoongi’s eyes on him. The dim reduces to muffled noise. The world shrinks to Yoongi.
Jungkook is sweating, warm and flushed all over, once again finding himself treading water, just about keeping his head up and not drowning, when it isn’t Namjoon who intervenes, but another figure altogether.
Kyung-won. His hands grip at Jungkook’s shoulders, an unfamiliar, alien presence, and he steers him away from Yoongi, away from Min-ji, away from the crowds. They weave through the tight press of people and it’s suffocating, until they’re not.
Kyung-won is leading him towards the willow tree, Jungkook realises.
“What are you doing?” he asks, once he’s found his tongue. “Yoongi –” as he twists back around, he sees Yoongi’s uncle fall into step next to him, hunkering down to his sister, the broad expanse of his back blocking Jungkook’s view.
“Yoongi will be taken by his uncle,” Kyung-won says. “It’s fine.”
There’s no surprise, or lilting in his voice. It sounds pre-planned. Prepared.
Jungkook squints at him. “Who even are you?”
“I told you,” he says simply. “I’m Kyung-won.”
They have arrived at the willow tree, which looks no droopier than normal today. Kyung-won leans against it, regarding it with a dismissive sweep of his eyes, and then crosses his arms, leaning against it.
“What are we doing here?”
“I’m giving you breathing room.”
“Why?”
“You just got declared a prophet to the whole town and you don’t want breathing room?” Kyung-won rakes his gaze over Jungkook. “Maybe you are stronger than you look, omega.”
Jungkook feels his hackles raise. “I’m plenty strong. I also don’t know you. So if it’s all the same, I’m going to go back to my pack right now.”
“You can do that,” Kyung-won allows. “If you want to be bombarded.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to protest, but as he thinks it over - how people’s superstition has reached a fever pitch, how desperation has manifested as prayer and how, for all intents and purposes, the Min pack is a bubbling pot of water ready to spill over and scald him - he realises Kyung-won is right. He might be mobbed.
He didn’t have Yoongi’s pack pinned for zealots, but he supposes there are still some people who believe in town prophets and all they represent. Taehyung, for one.
But he can’t see Taehyung clawing at him desperately, thinking he may be the answer to all their problems.
Jungkook blows out a breath. “This has been one confusing month.”
“We were told we’d find sanctuary here,” Kyung-won says. His statement throws Jungkook off, and he nods at Jungkook’s look. “That’s right. Min Jihoon, the great leader and warrior, swore to us that we’d have a safe place after the attacks.” His expression is briefly unfocused, before it sharpens. “I guess leaders like to promise the impossible.”
Jungkook doesn’t comment on that. It’s not a character profile befitting of his father, and he’s hardly seen Pack Leader Min since he arrived here. It seems he is more content to shut himself away and see out the storm that rages outside, while the rest of them get swept up in its path.
“You came with weapons,” Jungkook says. “You were openly hostile.”
“Were we?”
But the arch raise of Kyung-won’s eyebrow doesn’t do it for Jungkook. They were sharpening their blades, whistling at Jungkook, calling him names.
“You haven’t endeared yourself to people,” he says. “They want you gone.”
“It’s not like we want to be here either,” Kyung-won says, “but we have no choice. The attacks –” but he is cut short, when Yoongi and his uncle emerge, and to his shock, Min-ji in tow.
She’s walking behind them, stooped, as if she didn’t just proclaim Jungkook a prophet with most of the pack in earshot. She looks lucid.
“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says, making a beeline for him. “Are you okay?” As if to imply what okay looks like, he glances over at Kyung-won.
“I was taking him away from the mob,” Kyung-won says, but this joke doesn’t land with Yoongi. He narrows his eyes at him.
“I’m fine,” Jungkook returns. “Are you?”
“I’m fine,” Yoongi says quickly - too quickly. He hasn’t brought up what just happened, but his aunt is here.
“We briefly talked,” Yoongi’s uncle says, and he seems to be referring to Min-ji. “She’s been suffering from visions, like before. They worsened before you arrived, apparently, and at times she wasn’t herself.”
“The curse of a prophet,” Min-ji inputs, with a self-conscious smile that clashes with all of her other expressions; coy, grinning, inquisitive. “I apologise for my behaviour. It’s been … draining, at times.”
She bows her head, and fixes her eyes to the floor.
Jungkook has no clue of what to make of this picture of contrite apology, and looks over at Yoongi helplessly. But Yoongi is as mystified as he is.
“My sister seems to believe a Summons is a good idea,” Yoongi’s uncle adds. “Despite our history with the other packs.”
“You’re not in charge anymore,” Yoongi says coolly. “It isn’t your decision to make.”
Yoongi’s uncle rankles at this, squaring his shoulders and staring Yoongi down. “I may not be the leader of this pack anymore, but I would caution you against your inexperience, Yoongi-yah. Wounds run deep with these packs. They remember.”
“They remember the brute you were,” Yoongi retorts. The air is thick with tension. But it breaks, when Yoongi refocuses on Jungkook. “We’re sending a Summons tomorrow morning. I want you by my side. Will you be there?”
“Of course,” Jungkook says. Without thinking, his thumb rubs over his wedding band. Yoongi’s uncle is watching him carefully. “Whatever you need.”
“I’ll take her back,” Yoongi’s uncle grunts, the detached way in which they refer to Min-ji. Watching her as she is now, Jungkook sees, startlingly, how bony and feeble she is. Without her eyes rolling back or her cackling at Yoongi, she is positively lifeless.
And he wonders what kind of burden a prophet bears, which is followed up by the gut-wrenching memory of what Min-ji had designated him as.
A prophet.
Chapter 6: The Summons
Summary:
“You know why we’re here,” Yoongi announces, addressing them both, cutting straight to business. “We’ve sent a Summons.”
“A Summons of all the packs who want to kill us,” Yoongi’s uncle reminds the room. It goes down as well as can be expected. “Just thought my brother might need the reminder, Yoongi-yah.”
Notes:
this chapter was a labour of love, and took a long time to come together. nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.
I have updated the tags so please be mindful.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They don’t talk about it.
Jungkook tries not to be crushed by the immense weight of disappointment – in the immediate aftermath, he thinks about how there’s been too much loss, already, and chaos succeeding what should have been a happy and content marriage without interruption.
He thinks about how Pack Leader Min has shuttered himself away and has ostensibly refused to come out. He thinks about how Yoongi is now bearing his burden, because as much as the loss and grief and panic pains him, he doesn’t let it suffocate him – he stands proudly and shoulders the burden, because his pack is too important to him to abandon.
He thinks about how adverse Yoongi was already to his aunt’s prophetic skills, explaining that she was sick and urging Jungkook to remain away from her for his own safety.
He thinks about – he doesn’t want to, he’s at pains to, but his mind creeps there – Hye-in and the anguished scream of her mate, Seo-ah. A mating bond snapping like a frayed rope, or a bone.
He thinks about Yoongi’s uncle. A swaggering, scarred soldier, more comfortable on the battlefield than bowing his head in deference and asking for help. Loathing every second of it. Seeking sanctuary. How Yoongi would have well been within his rights to refuse him – to chase him and his detestable pack out of town and shut the gates on them, put those gates to good use – how he would have been understood for even hesitating, but he let them stay anyway.
Jungkook combs through all of these thoughts and feelings until he’s borderline exhausted, until he can no longer be in any doubt that he understands the position Yoongi is in, and yet he feels slighted all the same.
It’s not as if Jungkook came here with the express purpose of marrying Yoongi, exchanging mating bites, and then chose to be designated by Min-ji as a prophet. He doesn’t know if that’s how it works – when Jungkook was a pup, prophets were mere whispers of fairytales, spoken legends, and now he struggles to discern what is myth and what is reality. If Min-ji has the power to recognise and speak into being another prophet, then that effectively is what she has done.
Although she came to him after, wearied and apologetic, a shadow of her former self which had been enlivened by the superstitions of the crowd and their full focus, she never took back what she said.
The curse of a prophet, she’d said with a rueful smile, like she was almost warning Jungkook about what was to come. His dreams have been relentless. The scarred wolf stalks him every night but when he wakes up clammy, soaked in sweat and frenzied, Yoongi is fast asleep next to him and at the sight of this – his husband, his face creaseless of worries – Jungkook can never find it in himself to wake Yoongi up.
He has already recounted to Yoongi the nature of his dreams and what he knows; and Yoongi’s immediate response was to call a council meeting and declare a Summons of ten other known packs. Logical, reasonable, rational, befitting of a future Pack Leader.
It stands to reason that Yoongi wouldn’t dissect Jungkook’s dreams with him, or seek for hidden meaning. Yoongi deals in hard facts and what he can see with his own eyes.
But Jungkook remains feeling uneasy. He wants to talk to Yoongi about what this might mean for the two of them, but it appears Yoongi is in no mood to discuss it with him. He’s sweet, and attentive, but the ever-present shadow of the possibility that Jungkook might be a prophet lingers like an unwelcome shadow in the corner of their vision, never fully visible but forever out of sight.
Bit by bit, though, Yoongi lets him in on the inner workings of the pack. When they hold another council meeting to discuss the Summons, Jungkook is sitting at the head of the table, by Yoongi’s side, and he and the others don’t miss this placement. He asks for Jungkook’s thoughts after; how does he think a pack rankled by the aftermath of the warring between his father and his uncle receive a Summons from the Min pack? Does he think they’d be receptive? Sneer at them? Even deign to show up? Is there anything they can do to lessen the tension?
Jungkook shares his insight, where he can, and Yoongi is always warm and appreciative. He’s not openly affectionate in public – although he always keeps close to Jungkook’s side, perhaps a warning to his uncle and his pack who remain, but who are far more muted these days, and keep to themselves – but in private, he doesn’t keep his hands off Jungkook, and Jungkook thrills at these quiet, reverent touches.
His hands stroking the pulse point of Jungkook’s wrist, trailing his fingertips over Jungkook’s arms, his neck, where he never fails to shiver, his arm circling Jungkook and drawing him closer.
One night by candlelight Yoongi draws Jungkook into his lap while he composes a letter to one of the Pack Leaders with whom he has a more personal relationship, and warrants a private communication, but the subject of Jungkook’s designation hovers in the air between them like an unwanted fly, jarring with its incessant buzzing noise. Jungkook pictures batting it away and turns his attention to the letter Yoongi is carefully drafting.
“How do you know her?” Jungkook asks, bending his head to scan through the letter, loose on the table in front, that bears Yoongi’s unmistakable artful, sloping handwriting. Jungkook almost wants to trace it with a finger, the layout of it is so impeccable. Not a blot of ink.
He’s a little glad he and Yoongi never swapped letters when his parents first arranged the marriage with his consent because Yoongi may have wrinkled his nose at Jungkook’s uncontrollable scrawl.
“Ra-hee?” Yoongi asks, sounding absentminded. He wrenches his gaze from the letter and settles it onto Jungkook. “Her pack used to visit mine all the time. Before the … rift.”
“Your father and your uncle?” Jungkook tests. Although Yoongi has told Jungkook the events as they happened, he has never delved into detail and Jungkook can only imagine the scale of their fighting, the destruction. Yoongi manages a nod. His palm rests on Jungkook’s thigh, a warm, distracting presence.
“We spent a lot of time together as pups,” he says, “she was always deadset on getting me into trouble.”
“Trouble how?”
“Rolling around in the dirt, stealing fruit,” Yoongi replies. “That kind of thing.”
Jungkook feigns shock and with a widening grin, rocks back on Yoongi’s lap to look at him properly. “You, the rebel, hyung? I can’t believe it.”
“Stealing fruit hardly makes me a rebel,” Yoongi argues, but his mouth tips up in a smile. His thumb is rubbing circles on Jungkook’s thigh, bleeding warmth. “It just made me a stupid kid. I’m sure you got up to mischief when you were a pup.”
“Me? Never,” Jungkook says, affecting a wide-eyed gaze. Yoongi snorts, and his whole body jostles from the noise, disturbing Jungkook slightly. “Maybe one or two things,” he hedges. “You can blame Jimin.”
“I highly doubt Jimin was a bad influence,” Yoongi says. His dark eyes are arresting, and Jungkook drinks the sight of Yoongi in.
He’s been deliberating enough in his head about how he might broach the topic – being declared a prophet in front of the entire pack, who bore witness and can’t claim ignorance – but his courage continues to fail him.
No more so at moments like these, where he’s loath to disturb the intimacy of the moment that settles over them like a featherlight blanket.
“Yoongi-hyung,” he murmurs, and Yoongi reaches up with a hand to brush against his cheek.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Yoongi murmurs, the pad of his thumb stroking Jungkook’s left cheek. “And you’re all mine.”
Jungkook suppresses a shiver at what is blatantly possessive language, and tries to attribute it to the mating bite that he’s not adverse to the idea. Being Yoongi’s. Being his equal, but still very much his.
He can see it, in the nebulous future which has not yet taken shape but floats in Jungkook’s mind as blurry shapes: the two of them, ruling the pack together. Feeding Yoongi advice, insight, conferring with the council and the rest of the pack too, because they deserve a voice as much as those charged with making the decisions. Being his right-hand man. His ear. His anchor.
And Yoongi, when the mood takes him, slots his mouth over Jungkook’s faded mating bite and reminds him who he belongs to, fucking him thoroughly enough for Jungkook never to forget, spilling into him and cloaking Jungkook in his scent.
Yoongi’s nostrils flare at what is undoubtedly a spike in Jungkook’s scent from the mental imagery; a sour tang that tells of his arousal.
“We’re all alone,” Yoongi says quietly. His spare hand tightens around the meat of Jungkook’s thigh. “For once, we’re all alone.”
“Makes a change,” Jungkook says, attempting to be casual, although his heartbeat has picked up and he’s fairly certain with their proximity that Yoongi can hear that too: the rapid pitter-patter, the excited beating. “It’s been hard to get you alone.”
This isn’t strictly true, but Yoongi has been preoccupied with pack work. Drafting the Summons took a couple of days, and a couple more passing messages between his father and his uncle. Apparently they have a meeting tomorrow where they must sit down, ahead of the packs arriving in three days. They may not be able to pretend at being a cohesive unit, but they must be civil.
With Yoongi’s father’s obstinate refusal to see his brother and Yoongi’s uncle full to the brim with wisecracking, facetious jokes, they make quite the pair. Jungkook’s sure that they weren’t always this way – that there would have been a time where they grew up together, rolling around in the dirt and plucking apples from the low-hanging boughs of trees – but it’s undeniable that now they chafe against one another when they’re in the same room. As if their very presence to the other is unbearable.
“Have you missed me?” Yoongi’s smile is mostly kind, with an edge of mocking. Jungkook’s heart jumps into his throat at the wolfish nature of it. “Have I been negligent?”
“Not negligent,” Jungkook falters to say, not even knowing where to begin. “I’ve just missed you.”
Yoongi abandons all small talk then, leaning in to kiss Jungkook. He revels in the soft press of their lips together and the ease at which Yoongi curves into him. Yoongi swipes a tongue over Jungkook’s lower lip and he opens his mouth unthinkingly, wanting to soak in the taste of him. Yoongi’s hand clenches around his thigh.
His arousal, a light simmer, kindles into a ferocious burn as he kisses Yoongi, whose pace is patient, a little lazy, and only serves to coax a reaction out of Jungkook, who makes a breathy moan – more of a sigh – and cups at Yoongi’s cheek with his hand, tugging him in closer.
Yoongi kisses him expertly, to the point where Jungkook can’t fail to imagine all of the times Yoongi has done this. Perhaps he’d kissed and fooled around with betas, like Jungkook did when he was embracing his rebellious streak and spurning his parents, or perhaps he’d gone straight for omegas, the kind who’d dropped to their knees at Yoongi’s natural dominance and opened their pretty, pink mouths for his knot to slide in.
Jungkook whimpers against him.
Yoongi breaks away, nosing at the underside of his jaw, his tongue darting out to lap against Jungkook’s mating bite. It’s mostly healed, but a little sore, enough for him to thrill at the slight jolt of pain-edged pleasure that shoots through him.
“Someone’s excited,” Yoongi notes, in a steady, unaffected voice that makes Jungkook just want to loll his head back and go limp, waiting for Yoongi’s bite.
“Is that a problem?” Jungkook returns, splaying his hand against Yoongi’s jaw, his fingertips reaching out to brush against the loose strands at the nape of his neck. Yoongi has his hair half-tied up most days, but today he’s let it tumble free, and it feels like warm, living silk under Jungkook’s fingertips.
“No problem,” Yoongi says, with enough immediacy for Jungkook to smile. He shifts, and feels the hard press of Yoongi’s cock through his trousers. His smile drops, and he feels the first throb of arousal roll through him.
Yoongi is watching him steadily, coyly, to see what Jungkook will do. He thrills in it – the intensity of Yoongi’s attention, the unspoken tension between them that runs its fingers through their hair, pressing its lips to their cheeks.
With his eyes still on Yoongi’s, Jungkook nudges his hips back and carefully grinds his ass against Yoongi’s hard cock. There can be no misunderstanding about Jungkook’s intentions.
Yoongi doesn’t respond, but his eyes don’t move from Jungkook’s face. Jungkook does it again, testing, and is gratified to watch Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut, before he opens them, looking at Jungkook through half-lidded eyes. They’re dark and sinful.
Jungkook rocks back a third time and then releases a whine. He feels slick pooling in his pants, giddy with palpable desire. He’d teased him, but he’s allowing Jungkook to rut against his erection like an unrestrained pup and it’s doing all sorts of things to Jungkook, who feels feverish.
On the fourth roll, a more slow, deliberate grind, Yoongi’s hands fly up to find their purchase against Jungkook’s hips. He grips at him and says, “That’s enough, Jungkook-ah.”
There’s an undercurrent of authority in his voice, but with no real heat behind it. Jungkook leans forward and kisses him, and while he has Yoongi preoccupied, wriggles his ass against Yoongi’s solid, straining dick.
The result is immediate: Yoongi pulls away and nips at Jungkook’s neck, just over the mating bite. Jungkook goes lax, slumping against him, and gives Yoongi access to roam, just like he’d been hoping for, moments ago.
“Not the most obedient omega, are you?” Yoongi asks, squeezing at Jungkook’s hips while his mouth works over Jungkook’s neck. “Can you not take orders from your alpha?”
Jungkook shivers. His alpha.
He wants his alpha to kiss him and undress him and finger him open for long enough that he writhes and begs against the table, but he doesn’t know how to find the words. Instead he gazes at Yoongi and tries to convey what he cannot voice.
Yoongi sucks a hickey into the base of the column of Jungkook’s neck and he mewls, writhing in his grasp at the sharp sting of pain. It’s in a place where anyone can see, just from a mere glance, and the thought makes Jungkook grow hotter.
“Alpha, please,” he gasps, still struggling to articulate what he wants.
“You have to tell me what you want, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi murmurs into his skin, obstinate to the last. It has to be deliberate – he has to be teasing Jungkook by insisting that Jungkook spell out what he wants from Yoongi – but Jungkook is weak to it, the familiar feel of his hands and his clever teeth. “Otherwise I won’t know what you need.”
“Please fuck me,” Jungkook keens, the fire in him raging and all-consuming. “Bend me over this table and fuck me.”
Yoongi drops a kiss to his neck, soothing over it with his tongue. “That wasn’t so hard,” he says, but when his eyes flick upwards, he can see that Jungkook is trembling in his lap, cheeks the colour of a blazing sunset, intermingled with reds and pinks.
“I’ve got you,” he says, consoling, “I’ve got you, baby.”
He eases Jungkook out of his lap and onto the table. The cool press of the wood is a salve to Jungkook’s burning skin, but it only momentarily distracts him before Yoongi unbuttons his shirt and shucks it off.
Jungkook’s mouth goes dry at the vision he makes with miles and miles of pale, solid skin and pink, pert nipples.
“Do you need me to undress you?” Yoongi asks. The question seems to be sincere, but Jungkook can manage just fine.
He pulls his shirt over his head in lieu of an answer and throws it on the floor to meet Yoongi’s discarded shirt in a crumpled pile. When he glances back, he sees Yoongi is drinking him in greedily.
His hands hesitate by the waistband of his trousers, but before he loses the nerve, he tugs them down and the cool air rushes in to caress him. He stands there, leaning against the table, completely naked in front of Yoongi.
“Fuck me,” Yoongi says, poignantly put, and then he’s closing the gap before Jungkook has the opportunity to respond – kissing him with more ferocity, more purpose, his hands roaming Jungkook’s chest.
He takes Jungkook’s cock in his hand while they’re kissing and Jungkook almost falls against him in surprise.
“Is this okay?” Yoongi asks, the rasp of his hand against Jungkook’s dick an already mind-numbing sensation.
“It’s fine,” Jungkook says, and then adds, amending, “it’s good. Great. It’s – hyung, my brain is melting.”
Yoongi laughs, quietly, and strokes Jungkook, sure, slicking his hand with Jungkook’s precome. His dick is weeping with it, and there’s enough of it for Yoongi’s hand to easily coat him. The wet sounds of Jungkook being jerked off are obscene.
“I can smell how turned on you are,” Yoongi mutters against his mouth, “it’s driving me crazy.”
“I can’t smell you,” Jungkook says, a little huffily. “It’s – ah – it’s not fair.”
“Try,” Yoongi whispers, and while Jungkook is pondering how to go about doing that, he drops to his knees and takes Jungkook’s cockhead in his mouth.
It’s counterintuitive, because Jungkook’s brain temporarily blanks as his body becomes awash with pleasure. Yoongi wastes no time in sucking Jungkook down in one, smooth motion, his cheeks hollowed and his jaw stark.
“Alpha,” Jungkook whines, with a punched-out gasp. “Feels – fuck, feels really good.”
Yoongi pulls off him with an audible pop and says in a low timbre, “I want you to feel good,” before he dives back down and swallows Jungkook in one go.
Jungkook is already far too sensitive and worked up to last all that long, but his hands do manage to tentatively weave into Yoongi’s head, who signals his encouragement by dragging his tongue along the underside of Jungkook’s cock.
Yoongi is unlike any other alpha Jungkook knows, on his knees for Jungkook, cock buried in his throat. But there’s something about the anchoring feeling of his hands on Jungkook’s thighs and the surefire way in which he sucks Jungkook’s dick, that Jungkook feels completely helpless to.
Yoongi may be on his knees, but Jungkook is leaning against the table and trembling violently, trying valiantly not to come just yet.
He wants to savour it, all of it. Yoongi’s soft, soft hair in his hands and Yoongi’s soft, soft mouth around him, wet and warm and welcoming, his tongue flicking out to trace a vein in Jungkook’s dick, or a divot that makes Jungkook cry out, but the sensation is quickly overwhelming him. It zeroes down to Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi, and in between Yoongi sloppily sucking him off and being caged in between him and the table, Jungkook comes – quicker than he’d expected.
He’s as unprepared for it as Yoongi is, and it barrels through him in one go, with enough force for Jungkook to suck in a sharp breath, hunch over, and that’s all the warning he gets as he comes in Yoongi’s mouth.
He hears Yoongi’s surprised exhale and feels faintly terrible, but he’s too absorbed in cresting the waves of his orgasm and riding it out, streaking ropes down Yoongi’s throat.
Fortunately Yoongi waits patiently and swallows when Jungkook’s done. He blinks, vision blurred, and makes a pained noise.
“I’m sorry hyung,” he says desperately. “I didn’t – that wasn’t – an accident, I swear.”
“Jungkook-ah, it’s okay,” Yoongi tells him. The gravelly quality of his voice comes as a surprise. “I liked it.”
Jungkook blearily peers at him. “Coming in your mouth?”
“Uh huh,” Yoongi says casually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and getting to his feet. “You taste sweet.”
Jungkook shakes his head, smiling. “There’s no way I taste sweet,” he protests.
“You do,” Yoongi insists, crowding closer. “You wanna try?”
Jungkook hesitates. Then closes the gap and kisses Yoongi, who strokes his tongue against Jungkook’s, who can taste it, the salty aftertaste of his come. It’s filthy, a little degrading, and it makes Jungkook’s spent dick stir.
Jungkook edges back, until he’s sitting on the table, and Yoongi pushes in, trailing his fingers lightly against Jungkook’s inner thigh.
“Can you lean back for me?”
Jungkook complies, unthinkingly, and realises a beat too late why when Yoongi brushes the pad of his finger against his hole, exposed to the air with his legs hitched up.
Yoongi quietly swears. “You’re really wet here,” he says, and it reminds Jungkook that Yoongi hasn’t come yet.
But Yoongi appears in no hurry, the same way he wasn’t when he took Jungkook’s dick in his mouth. Jungkook rests back on his elbows, tries not to blush from the uncompromising position in which Yoongi can see everything, and lets him guide the pace.
“Are you okay, Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook nods.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Just – embarrassing.”
Yoongi’s eyes lock onto him. “Embarassing like this?” he asks, his finger still circling Jungkook’s hole, getting it wet with his slick.
“Mmhm,” Jungkook answers breathlessly. He’s rocking forward, impatiently, wanting Yoongi inside of him.
“In a bad way?” Yoongi inquires.
No. Not in a bad way. That’s the thing – Jungkook is squirming, shivering with it, but he doesn’t want it to stop.
“It’s good,” Jungkook answers, uncertain of how he can phrase it. “I like it. Being embarrassed. It makes me – it turns me on.”
He flushes, but Yoongi doesn’t appear put off by the omission. He finally pushes the first finger inside and there’s very little resistance. Jungkook swallows him up, and when Yoongi nudges in a second finger to join his first, Jungkook is already rocking against him.
Yoongi quietly swears.
“Took my fingers so well, baby,” he says, lightly twisting the two fingers he has buried inside of Jungkook. It’s a good pressure, but it isn’t enough, not nearly enough.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says, imploring him, “hyung, more – want more.”
“I’ve got you,” Yoongi says, as he crooks his fingers inside of Jungkook. He seems to be exploring, until he brushes up against Jungkook’s prostate and Jungkook slumps against the table. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been tensing until the pleasure shocks through him.
Yoongi is in no hurry, and patiently stretches Jungkook with his fingers, flush to the knuckle, soaked in Jungkook’s slick by this point.
As Jungkook feels some of it spill over and dribble down his bare thigh, Yoongi says, “I can see all of you like this, Jungkook-ah. So open for me. All on display.”
Jungkook sinks his teeth into his lower lip to suppress another whimper, and nods. He keeps pushing back against the two fingers Yoongi has inside of him, but he’s already relaxed and the pressure is less intense.
“Would you let me show you off like this?” Yoongi asks, stroking his fingertip over Jungkook’s prostate. Jungkook’s dick twitches. “Would you let me finger you in front of anyone I wanted to?”
“Mmhm,” Jungkook says breathlessly, but it isn’t the confirmation Yoongi wants.
Yoongi’s fingers go still inside of him and he waits. As Jungkook looks at him, he realises what Yoongi is getting at. He wants verbal confirmation.
“I’d let you, hyung,” he says, his whole body warm from the humiliation of voicing it aloud. “I’d let you do this in front of anyone you liked.”
“My perfect omega,” Yoongi tells him, finally adding a third finger. There’s more of a stretch. Jungkook’s toes curl. “Perfect, pretty fucked out boy.”
Jungkook’s teeth release his lower lip as a moan escapes him. Yoongi’s fingers are long and he’s beginning to feel fuller, stretched, in the way he wants so badly it’s dizzying.
It’s becoming uncomfortable, where he’s leaning against the table, his knees hitched in the air while hunched forward, and Yoongi seems to spot this before Jungkook even clocks the faint discomfort.
Yoongi eases his fingers out, dripping with Jungkook’s slick, and before Jungkook can protest – can whine and ask for Yoongi to put them back – Yoongi says, “It’s okay baby. Just flip over for me?”
Jungkook shimmies off the table with his heart in his throat and slowly, deliberately, spins around. Without prompting, he angles himself downward and presses his flushed body to the cool wood of the table, arching his back. Presenting to Yoongi.
Raw and animalistic and just … filthy, Jungkook burns to do it as much as he gushes down his inner thighs and his dick, wedged against the table, throbs.
Yoongi’s hands reach forward and skim the small of his back, the swell of his ass cheek, grazing his fingertips against Jungkook’s hole. Yoongi’s hands settle on his ass and before Jungkook can register it’s happening, his thumbs dig into the skin there and he pulls. He’s spreading Jungkook open, and the cool air that whispers over him causes Jungkook to shudder.
When Jungkook doesn’t pull away or attempt to stop Yoongi, Yoongi coos, “Good boy. So gorgeous, all open for me like this.”
There’s the rustle of fabric, the crinkle of a condom being opened, and that’s all the warning Jungkook gets – limited in his viewing from where his cheek is smushed against the table – before he feels the first press of Yoongi’s tip against his hole.
Jungkook almost cries out in relief. Yoongi’s cockhead snags against his entrance, briefly, but he bottoms out in one, smooth thrust, and Jungkook’s body welcomes it, loose and open, as he’s filled in the way he’s been aching for, for weeks.
It’s better than Jungkook’s dreams. Like this, Jungkook can feel every nerve alive at the sensation of Yoongi’s warm, stiff cock buried inside of him.
Yoongi’s hand rests on Jungkook’s left hip, his thumb stroking the skin there. He’s giving Jungkook time to adjust, Jungkook realises – Yoongi is bigger than what Jungkook is accustomed to, but Jungkook has been wanting this for a long time.
“Hyung, move,” he says, his voice a touch petulant, but his body is pulsating with need.
He feels Yoongi ease back, just slightly, before he thrusts back inside. Jungkook moans brokenly and this time doesn’t bite back the noise. God, Yoongi is so fucking thick.
Yoongi rocks back again and when he drives back inside of Jungkook, slick pools out of Jungkook, and he can feel it, the wet sensation on the back of his thighs, the way in which he sucks Yoongi inside; all signs showing how much he wants Yoongi, needs Yoongi to fuck him like this.
He’s pliant and sprawled across the table as Yoongi starts thrusting into him properly, jostling his body with each movement. He’s practically splitting Jungkook open, who’s powerless to do anything but claw at the table and pant, his mouth hanging open.
“Don’t stop,” Jungkook keens, a neediness threading throughout his voice. “Alpha, don’t stop.”
“I won’t, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says tightly, kicking up into Jungkook. Jungkook clenches around him instinctively and Yoongi curses. “Fuck. So – feels so fucking good. How do you feel so good for me?”
“Don’t stop,” Jungkook repeats in a croak, turning his face the other way, the cool wood caressing his flaming cheeks.
The long, deep strokes of Yoongi’s cock, in and out of him, are nudging Jungkook towards a second orgasm. When Yoongi bumps against his prostate, Jungkook whines and pushes back against him, without thinking, only chasing the sensation.
Yoongi hums, although he sounds out of breath. Jungkook can only imagine what he looks like: rosy all over and dripping with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead and the veins in his hands jumping out from the effort of gripping Jungkook’s hips. The mental image only spurs Jungkook on, who rolls back against Yoongi.
Yoongi makes a noise that sounds partway between a moan and a punched out gasp. It’s gratifying, so Jungkook does it again. And again –
The hand on his hip tightens, putting pressure where Jungkook is pinned against the table. His hole flutters around Yoongi.
“Do you like that?” Yoongi asks, breathlessly. “Do you want your big, bad alpha to hold you down and fuck you dumb?”
Jungkook doesn’t respond, but when Yoongi takes the initiative to skim his hand from Jungkook’s hip to his back and lightly push, Jungkook moans and clenches around Yoongi, betraying himself immediately.
There’s the hint of a grin in Yoongi’s voice when he says, “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fuck you dumb. I’ve got you.”
Then he proves very accurately what, precisely, that means. Keeping his hand pressed flat against Jungkook’s back, Yoongi begins pounding into him at a punishing pace, with the air punctuated by the slick sounds of Yoongi fucking him, and Jungkook’s staccato gasps.
He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t think, while Yoongi does this. Everything in his firm hand and sure thrusts screams of dominance, and Jungkook’s brain just goes blank from it.
Jungkook reaches around with a hand to tug at himself, desperate, but Yoongi sees and says, “No touching.”
He drops his hand like he’s been scalded, but he’s not sure how he can do this – come untouched.
Yoongi, evidently, has other ideas about how this can be achieved, because he keeps at it, the frantic pace, driving deep into Jungkook, with enough authority for Jungkook to feel hot all over, pleasure buzzing at the base of his spine – and it’s when Yoongi hunkers down by him and fits his teeth around the nape of Jungkook’s neck that he finally comes.
Jungkook shouts Yoongi’s name and comes with a sucked in breath, a moan teased from him slowly as he splatters the table with his orgasm.
Yoongi rocks into him once, twice, no doubt relishing how Jungkook has a vice-like grip around him, and then he’s coming after Jungkook, spilling into the condom in a way that Jungkook’s fucked-out brain merely registers as welcome.
Jungkook is practically purring by the end of it, limp and boneless against the table. His muscles are quivering and the parts of his body that bore the brunt of the hard juts of the table, twinge.
“Jungkook-ah? Are you okay?”
Yoongi gingerly lifts him up, and gives Jungkook the chance to turn back around on trembling legs.
“I’m okay,” Jungkook says, because he spies the alarm flitting across Yoongi’s face. “I’m – more than okay. I’m great.”
“Are you sure?”
Yoongi’s concern is sweet, if unwarranted. He’s just fucked Jungkook dumb, like he promised.
Jungkook wets his lips with his tongue and says, “Yeah, hyung, really. I’m just coming down from it.”
Even so – his eyes linger on the vision Yoongi is, sweaty and flushed as he’d pictured earlier. Yoongi’s hair is damp, and dark, and he runs a self-conscious hand through it when he becomes aware that Jungkook is studying him. Jungkook tries not to look for too long at Yoongi’s long, veiny fingers, recalling where they were some time ago.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks.
“Just great,” Yoongi says. He leans forward and Jungkook takes the nonverbal cue, swaying to meet Yoongi in the middle to kiss him.
With the heat of them mostly burnt to a crisp, Jungkook savours the gentle slide of Yoongi’s lips over his own. When Yoongi nips at him, he thinks back to how Yoongi had secured his teeth over the bottom of his neck and he heats up.
“Jungkook-ah, I’m only one man,” Yoongi complains. Jungkook realises, by the telltale twitch of his nostrils, that he has picked up on the change in Jungkook’s scent. It’s only marginal, and subtle – the room more likely reeks of the two of them in the aftermath of having sex – but Yoongi’s senses are acute.
“I’ll give you ten minutes,” Jungkook says, mostly teasing, to see how Yoongi reacts. Yoongi fixes him with a glare that is more theatrical than real, and Jungkook swallows him up with another kiss.
—
The letter to Yoongi’s friend has to be rewritten on fresh, cream stock, and if Seokjin wonders why Yoongi is after more paper, he doesn’t question it. He merely accepts Yoongi’s newly-written letter, once it’s carefully inscribed, and hands it to a messenger to be passed along.
Jungkook smiles at Seokjin, the picture of innocence, even if his mind treacherously returns to that day, Yoongi ploughing into him with reckless abandon, and flushes without fail.
—
Jungkook is invited to sit in on the meeting between Yoongi’s father and his uncle, ostensibly billed as attempting to bridge an unassailable gap between the two of them, which Jungkook figures has more to do with Yoongi lecturing them to behave.
The ten packs have sent back their replies swiftly: all but two of them will meet, which is a good result, all things considered.
“I hadn’t expected them to show up anyway,” Yoongi said, with a dismissive shrug, when he tore the letters open and read them. He didn’t hand them to Jungkook to read, but he caught a glimpse of angrily-scrawled writing where words like treacherous and unbelievable are underlined multiple times, flashing at him. He can only wonder at what they think of Pack Leader Min and his brother, if the wounds are this grievously deep, twenty-five years on.
The meeting is due to take place twenty miles from the Min pack’s plains, on neutral territory. Apparently, these kinds of meetings have only happened twice in the last century, and there’s always quibbling about where to meet. Those of a more suspicious disposition believe that meeting on the host’s land might grant them an unfair advantage, if they plan to pull anything.
“I can’t believe how paranoid they all are,” Jungkook told Jimin after dipping his toes into the water of diplomacy, who’d smiled at him wryly. Neither of them have had ample experience dealing with pack affairs, and for that, Jungkook realised he was fortunate. He was spared all of the antics and faux diplomacy and outpouring of sycophancy that seems to follow it.
Not that he believes Yoongi will cower to these packs, to gain their support. He’ll lay the problem out clearly as presented to him by his uncle, stripping back all of the fear and neediness, leaving them to make their own minds up.
On a Friday morning, the plain softened with the light touch of dawn, Jungkook lowers himself onto a seat in the dining room, next to Yoongi, and stares twitchily at the uncle. Yoongi’s father has yet to arrive and Jungkook makes a point of spending no longer in Yoongi’s uncle’s presence than he has to.
Before, that had everything to do with the fact that his uncle came across fundamentally untrustworthy, with an ulterior motive. Now, it has a lot more to do with the fact that his uncle might know something – might divine something – about Jungkook being declared a prophet by his sister.
This is compounded by the fact that he seems like the kind of person who would only willingly surrender answers in exchange for something; a favour to be returned later, or a secret.
Jungkook has ventured nowhere near Min-ji in search of answers, although the prospect has proved all-too tempting at times.
At the meeting, Yoongi’s uncle smiles serenely at him, as if he can guess at the reasons behind Jungkook’s tension, which is disconcerting.
“I see my beloved brother is late,” he declares, swigging from a goblet. It’s water – not wine. Yoongi made sure of that before they sat down for the meeting. “Is there anything you wish to discuss with me individually, Yoongi-yah?”
“Beyond the fact that you’ve been allowed to remain because of my permission and my permission alone?” Yoongi shoots back snippily. Jungkook can see how these interactions wear him down, already miles different from how he’d been the night before; easy and open with Jungkook.
But Yoongi’s uncle barks a laugh, amused. “That’s what I like about you, Yoongi,” he says, setting his goblet down. “You have spirit.” His eyes flick to Jungkook, who doesn’t shrink away. “And your omega, well – let’s say you two might make quite the formidable team, when you take over.”
“Take over from who?” a voice frostily asks. Jungkook holds his breath.
Because standing by the doorway, looking weary and aged, is Pack Leader Min. He drags himself over to a seat opposite Yoongi, and collapses with a contented sigh. Jungkook doesn’t miss the hunch of his shoulders, or the hands leeched of all colour, grasping at the chair like claws.
“Take over from you, obviously, dear brother,” Yoongi’s uncle says. “Your time must be soon, mustn't it?”
Pack Leader Min shoots him a poisonous glare. Fortunately, on this occasion he does not rise to the bait his brother so temptingly dangles in front of him, and there’s no need to intervene before a brawl breaks out.
“You know why we’re here,” Yoongi announces, addressing them both, cutting straight to business. “We’ve sent a Summons.”
“A Summons of all the packs who want to kill us,” Yoongi’s uncle reminds the room. It goes down as well as can be expected. “Just thought my brother might need the reminder, Yoongi-yah.”
“Two packs have turned down our invitation,” Yoongi says. “The other eight are coming.”
“Which packs?” Pack Leader Min asks warily.
“Geonil’s, and Soon’s,” Yoongi replies. A flicker of recognition crosses Yoongi’s uncle’s face.
“Soon is still around?” he asks, appearing fascinated by the mention of this name.
“Yes, they survived the carnage,” Pack Leader Min says, addressing him finally. The tension in the room swells at the direct eye contact between brothers, coupled with Pack Leader Min’s hostile tone. “No thanks to you, of course.”
“See how he treats me like the villain?” Yoongi’s uncle asks with a shark-like smile, spreading his hands, preaching to the rest of the room. “When I recall both of us fought each other, and both of us inflicted damage.”
“Enough,” Yoongi orders, his tone brooking no argument; as if he’s dealing with naughty pups, and not his father, the leader of the pack, and uncle, the encroacher. “We’re not bickering anymore. There are far more important matters at hand. We need to discuss how we are going to conduct ourselves among the packs and convince them to help.”
“What do you suggest, Yoongi-yah?” his father asks. He appears receptive, which is a positive sign.
“If he had his way, we’d all be out of here,” Yoongi’s uncle retorts.
Yoongi ignores him and says, “We hold a feast. We show that we mean them no harm, only good will among packs. And then we talk to them, individually, about the threat.”
Individually, Yoongi thinks he stands a better chance of getting through to them. He’s already explained this to Jungkook. Together, the hysteria could seize hold of the eight packs and they could just as swiftly turn their backs on the Min pack.
This threat – this invisible, faceless killer who’s sneaking in the shadows and shredding people for reasons unknown to all of them – is being treated as a matter of time: only a matter of time before someone else turns up torn to ribbons, and Yoongi is taking no chances.
He hopes that his seriousness will invoke something in the others. That they’ll realise Yoongi has not called them to play happy families, but to unite against a common enemy.
The tricky part is convincing them to unite without any concrete evidence of who, or what, looms large over them.
Jungkook has devoted a great deal of time and thought to how they can communicate this, and has come up with nothing. Yoongi has assured him, smoothing his hands over Jungkook and kissing the wrinkle in his forehead, that this is not for Jungkook to fret over. But he thinks that’s an impossible ask. What troubles Yoongi troubles Jungkook.
His thumb wears over his wedding band as if to remind him of the significance of what ties them together.
Through the mating bond, he can sense Yoongi’s presence at all times. He hasn’t felt any feedback on the other end – but that could be a question of time, when he’s able to attune to Yoongi’s emotions as and when he feels them.
He has an eerie sense that Yoongi can already feel what he feels.
“Not all of them will listen,” Pack Leader Min says, lost in thought. “But some of them – if we could get even just some of them to band with us, we might stand a chance.”
“And after that we can have tea and play together,” Yoongi’s uncle inputs sardonically, disgust filtering into his voice. “I mean really. Are we blind to who we’re dealing with? Ahra? Chun-hee?”
“Ahra and Chun-hee will be hard to win over, certainly,” Pack Leader Min says, picking his words carefully. Again, Jungkook feels it, that tug of curiosity. But where it had been an irresistible tug when he’d first arrived, now he tries to ignore it. He hopes Yoongi will tell him these stories, in time, when there are less pressing matters.
Yoongi’s uncle rocks back in his seat triumphantly. His reaction says: See? At last we agree on something.
“I have considered this,” Yoongi says. “I believe there are others we could persuade. Jung Hoseok, for one.”
“Jung Hoseok the young king?” Yoongi’s uncle enquires. He seems genuinely interested, until he adds with a sneer, “You must be kidding.”
Jungkook is definitely lost at this point. He looks over at Yoongi, searching for help. “The young king?”
“It’s a nickname,” Yoongi explains. “He took command of his pack at a young age.”
“Seventeen, I think, or was it eighteen?” Yoongi’s uncle says wonderingly. Yoongi ignores him.
“We’ve always had good relations,” he says, to Jungkook. “I think we could rally him to our cause.”
Yoongi’s uncle snorts. “Our cause. You speak as if we were preparing for war, Yoongi-yah.”
Yoongi goes still. He faces his uncle and says icily, “Do you want our help or don’t you?”
Just when Jungkook thinks this is enough to appease Yoongi’s uncle – the reminder that he’d come to their door, had potentially brought to them the danger that had hunted them – he remembers that Yoongi’s uncle is a warrior, and warriors do not yield.
His uncle gets to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
He says, “I’m a strategist, not a dreamer. If this is your plan, keep me out of it.”
He turns, with that enormous back cutting them off, and makes double-quick time exiting the room.
A heavy silence follows.
“He’s right,” Pack Leader Min says, sounding fatigued. “They may very well refuse to help.”
“The wounds run that deep?” Yoongi asks. He’s testing his father, who doesn’t answer initially. He looks decades older.
Yes, Jungkook thinks, watching Pack Leader Min. Yes, they do.
“We’ll do what we can,” Pack Leader Min says finally, standing from his chair. “But I’d keep your loved ones close, Yoongi-yah.”
He gives Yoongi a swift, sympathetic smile, and then he’s gone, his robes whispering against the floor.
They’re temporarily stunned into silence. Jungkook is turning the scenes over in his head, trying to make sense of it. What was first presented as a bloody war between brothers has crept over its confines in the map, to neighbouring territories. The casualties, the lives lost, all of it is murky, like blotted ink to a page, the writing smeared and illegible, that they cannot read.
But it is occurring to Jungkook – and, unnervingly, Yoongi too – that the fight was bigger than what they have been told. And Pack Leader Min and his brother’s joint reticence may speak volumes about the carnage that was inflicted.
He bizarrely feels closer to Yoongi at this moment. For once Yoongi is blindly fumbling in the dark as he has been.
But there’s enough emotion that hovers in the form of paralysing fear. If Yoongi is no less in the know than Jungkook, then they could very well be walking into an ambush of their own making, and surrender themselves to the mercy of the pack.
The thought hits him then: what if the faceless killer is some wronged pack member who sees, in their own twisted way, an opportunity to put things right? What if this is their form of revenge, payback for countless lives lost?
Yoongi had been a pup then, he’d told Jungkook. It’s possible he doesn’t remember what happened. It’s possible he’s even forgotten things, to protect his own memory.
But Jungkook sees, in the worn, ragged expressions of Pack Leader Min and his brother, that they have not forgotten. Their sharing a room is a consequence of circumstances, not deliberate choice. That perhaps they would happily live out the rest of their lives without ever seeing one another again.
“Hyung,” Jungkook begins hesitantly, as his mind continues to whir. “Are you alright?”
Yoongi turns to him, surprise flitting across his face. “I’m fine, Jungkook-ah. Are you?”
“I’m guessing not all meetings go this way,” Jungkook says. Yoongi smiles, although it’s a ghost of its previous self from the night before, radiating warmth.
“Not all meetings go this way, no.”
“Did you know?” Jungkook presses. “About … the fight?”
Yoongi pauses. He’s deep in thought.
“I didn’t, no,” he says. “It appears they’ve kept things from me.”
If Yoongi is hurt, he doesn’t show it. He chooses his words carefully, which unwittingly stings Jungkook, who hasn’t anticipated Yoongi holding him at arms length.
“Maybe there’s something I can do,” he says. “Something to help.”
“There’s nothing I need from you, Jungkook,” Yoongi says. It’s not intended to be wounding. “Having you here with me is enough.”
But that’s not the kind of person Jungkook is, nor has he ever been. He’s not content to sit at the sidelines while the rest of the Min pack battles this unknown threat and tangled web of pack relations. The Min pack isn’t strictly under Yoongi’s jurisdiction, but he’s effectively been acting as Pack Leader since his father curiously retired and has shown little of his face, this past week or so.
He’ll fight at Yoongi’s side, if he needs to. But he doesn’t say this. He knows any illusion to danger will provoke Yoongi’s adamance that Jungkook sit this one out.
Instead he says, “Maybe there’s something that I could divine.”
It’s immediately the wrong phrasing. The wrong word, the wrong meaning, the wrong reference. All of it. It’s intended as a tentative offer, but it comes out clumsily.
Even the word feels foreign in Jungkook’s mouth. Divine. He doesn’t even know if he’s using it correctly; just remembers picking it out from a book on lost arts when he was a pup. Prophecy had been in there, even then.
Yoongi jerks like he’s been slapped, and before he can school his features more neutrally, Jungkook sees it: he sees his horror at the suggestion.
Jungkook’s potential prophetic powers are not a mere annoyance or inconvenience to Yoongi, then. He’s afraid of them.
He does not realise that this only serves to intensify Jungkook’s unease, who has been afraid of his nightmares since they began.
“There’s nothing you need to do,” Yoongi says. He does not use the same word. Divine. “I just need you here with me.”
He reaches out for Jungkook, who lays his cheek in the hollow of Yoongi’s palm. Yoongi’s touch settles him, but not by a long way. His gut churns as his mind replays it, that split second Yoongi had reacted instinctively to the mention of prophecy.
If this is a long-lurking skill inside of Jungkook, he shouldn’t call on it. He knows that now.
—
The night before they’re due to ride out for the Summons, Jungkook pays Moonbeam a visit. Yoongi has assured Jungkook that he’s under the best care in Taehyung’s hands, but his assurances don’t come close to the wash of love and affection that rolls over Jungkook when he leans over Moonbeam’s stall and Moonbeam whickers upon seeing him. He’s spent too much time away from him, and Moonbeam is a part of his old life that he cherishes.
Jungkook is relieved to see that Moonbeam is in good health: his black coat is shiny, glossy, and his mane isn’t tangled. Taehyung must have been combing through it carefully, for which Moonbeam must trust him.
Taehyung is an odd sort. He spends most of his time with horses, not people, and when he does spend time around the pack, seems to clash with Yoongi on his views. He subscribes to all that Yoongi fears: the supernatural and the uncanny and the unknowable.
Taehyung is superstitious and intuitive, where Yoongi deals with hard facts and logic.
Jungkook has wanted to ask Taehyung about prophecy, but the words have stuck to his tongue and slid down his throat every time he’s attempted to do so. He doesn’t know if Taehyung would tell the rest of the pack, who have been set abuzz by the recent incident with Min-ji and Seo-ah. Apparently Seo-ah has been walking around claiming Min-ji is blessed with a supreme gift, and it’s being squandered by locking her up inside.
He’s kept this to himself, only discreetly sharing it with Jimin, who agrees with Jungkook’s conclusion. It’s pack gossip, mostly, and he doesn’t think Yoongi would receive it well when he’s already buried in navigating the tricky customs of hosting eight other packs, some of whom will not be friendly to the Mins.
After all, their reputation – created thanks to Yoongi’s uncle – is enduring. They’re already thought of as wild, untameable wolves who shun civilisation and custom and can’t be trusted. They’re sacrificial, ritualistic. Animalistic.
It’s laughable, now, for Jungkook to think about it, knowing what he knows about Yoongi. It couldn’t be further from the truth. But he hesitated once – he was nervous, once.
The Min pack is also relatively secluded, in where they’re situated, and don’t regularly deal with other packs. They can’t necessarily be begrudged for their opinions, but they can be reformed. This is what Jungkook hopes for. That they see Yoongi – a calm, patient, reasonable leader – and realise that there is weight beyond his words. That the threat he speaks of, although it hasn’t materialised, is worth pausing about, and thinking. Wondering if joining together isn’t the worst idea.
Moonbeam snorts and pushes his muzzle against Jungkook’s open palm, as if sensing the thoughts that plague Jungkook. He almost wishes his biggest issue was what bothered him in the past; what kind of husband Yoongi would turn out to be.
He certainly hasn’t proven to be distant or disappointing or even cold.
“He’s missed you,” Taehyung says, appearing carrying a bucket of water, which he sets down by the entryway to the stables. “He’s been wondering where you are.”
Guilt slithers around his heart and squeezes.
“How can you tell?” Jungkook asks, stroking his hand over Moonbeam’s silky muzzle.
“It’s the feeling I get from him,” Taehyung answers. Jungkook glances at him and thinks: of course. He operates on intuition.
“I know what you think of me,” Taehyung says, lingering.
Jungkook is about to say no, immediately, but he pauses. There’s nothing in Taehyung’s demeanour to suggest he says this in a tense, resentful manner.
Which pushes him to ask, “What do I think of you?”
“You think I’m the village nutjob,” Taehyung says, seizing a hanging towel and wiping his hands down with it.
“I don’t think that,” Jungkook says, flushing. He doesn’t, he’s only observed that Taehyung seems to be on the periphery, looking in.
“But you’re curious about prophecy,” Taehyung says, not brooding on it, crossing his arms and leaning against the entryway. “What do you want to know?”
He says it with such authority, such confidence, that Jungkook falters. His rule to ask no questions and to put it neatly to one side and to never think about it, Min-ji’s declaration, has been challenging. His curiosity is insatiable; and with every passing day he only seems to have more questions.
Also – a small part of him, miniscule – thinks that this is about him. Not Yoongi, not the pack, not its future, but him. Doesn’t he deserve to understand himself better?
Surely to fear a potential power, hidden away, would be to let it control him?
“What do you know about prophecy?” Jungkook asks. He keeps his voice steady and even twists around to fuss at Moonbeam, who is now preoccupied with a salt lick in his stall.
“I know enough,” Taehyung says. Silence, except for the gentle breeze that floats through, caressing Jungkook’s cheek. He shivers.
Just when he’s thinking this is a mistake, and losing his nerve, there’s a movement, and he hears Taehyung’s boot hit the ground as he steps next to Jungkook, gazing ahead.
“I know it’s a power someone is born with,” Taehyung says. Jungkook’s pulse quickens. He doesn’t look at Taehyung. “I know that it’s usually triggered in later life.”
“Like moving?”
Taehyung turns to look at him, but Jungkook won’t, can’t. He stares resolutely ahead. “Like a traumatic event,” he replies, shifting back. “Usually a death, or a loss.”
“I haven’t lost anyone,” Jungkook says, finally surrendering the notion that he’s asking out of mere curiosity.
“You lost your home,” Taehyung says. Oh. Oh. Jungkook sees. Prophecy is as tangled and gnarly as everything else; words aren’t literal, meanings aren’t literal. He said goodbye to his home, in a way, and that triggered –
Could it have triggered it?
“How do you know if you’re a prophet?” Jungkook asks.
Taehyung hums. Like Jungkook is asking him at what season in the year strawberries are ripest, the kind of casual conversation not fitting of what they’re really talking about.
“It manifests in different ways,” he says. “Everyone’s individual. But usually people experience visions.”
Jungkook feels relief swamping over him. He hasn’t experienced visions.
But then Taehyung goes on: “Or dreams… often they’re subconscious visions, filtering their way in.”
Jungkook is promptly gripped with anxiety.
“I’ve had dreams,” he whispers. He’s admitting it. He finally faces Taehyung.
Taehyung’s face doesn’t match his own, grim expression. He merely looks curious.
“Of the scarred wolf?”
Jungkook nods.
A beat passes. The wind passes through the stable again, sounding much more like a howl, setting the lanterns flickering. Moonbeam’s ears prick up and he lifts his head. But there’s nothing there, in the gloom outside, so he lowers it back down.
“Visions aren’t reliable, Jungkook,” Taehyung says. “They’re usually messages, but it’s like looking through them at glass. It distorts them, and they’re never clear.”
“What could something like that mean? Dreaming about a scarred wolf?” Jungkook presses. Now they’re talking, now he’s affirmed this – the dreams could mean something, could really mean something even if he has been loath to acknowledge them, even if he’s felt it, in his gut, the certainty that there was more to it – he needs to know more.
But Taehyung hesitates. He sees it, in Jungkook, his distress, and it gives him pause. Jungkook shrinks back a little – ashamed, but still desperate to know more. Taehyung is also the only person who’s spoken to him about this properly, unashamedly, with none of the furtiveness he’d expect from the others.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Taeyhung says gently. “Clearly, there’s something troubling you. But whether something like that would come to fruition? I don’t know.” He shrugs, at complete odds with how Jungkook feels – terrified and twitchy and unable to tear his eyes away from Taehyung.
“Could I learn how to read them?”
“You could, yes,” Taehyung allows. “But for that, you’d–” he breaks off.
“I’d what? Taehyung, please. I have to know.”
Taehyung chances a look in the direction of the entryway and when he’s satisfied nobody is lurking nearby and eavesdropping, he says, “You’d need the help of another prophet. Somebody who has already been through it before.”
Jungkook registers his words with a sinking stomach.
Because the only person he knows – the only viable person – is Min-ji. And she’s strictly off limits.
The wind moans past Jungkook’s ear, far more anguished and vocal than earlier. Nothing like the gentle breeze. One of the lanterns is snuffed out, and they watch the smoke unfurling itself into the air, tracking a winding trail.
“You should get back, Jungkook,” Taehyung says. “Yoongi-hyung will start to worry.”
He says so calmly, casually, but it’s apparent the message he’s trying to send: Yoongi will start to wonder where you are.
Jungkook doesn’t want to have to field questions or be evasive. He’s not sure he can, where Yoongi is concerned. He doesn’t know how deep the mating bite runs.
Jungkook asks one final question: “How do you know so much about prophecy?”
“My mother,” Taeyhung replies, turning sad, startling eyes to Jungkook. “My mother was a prophet.”
—
Dandelion remains standing placidly on the plain, while Moonbeam snorts and tosses his head and stamps, ever the showman. Jungkook pats him on his neck, trying to ease his nerves, but it’s as if Moonbeam has picked up on the tense energy emanating from the pack, because he refuses to be calmed.
“He knows, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says, adjusting the girth of his saddle while Dandelion doesn’t move a muscle. “He knows something’s going on, he’s not stupid.”
Jungkook looks at Moonbeam, who huffs and swivels his eyes to meet Jungkook’s. They say, Of course I’m not stupid. Who thought that?
Jungkook manages a smile, in spite of everything. All morning the village has been buzzing with activity as people have been preparing themselves for the Summons – most will remain behind, for their own safety, with half of the guards posted for their protection. Jungkook knows little of the Summons process, but he gathers that any opportunity to strike at a pack considered an enemy – to which the Mins would rank highly – people will take it.
Jungkook, Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung will all ride out with Pack Leader Min and the others. Yoongi will lead. Taehyung’s expert handling with the horses is needed; Namjoon will provide protection while travelling; and Seokjin’s expertise in diplomacy needs no introduction.
With them, regrettably, come Yoongi’s uncle and his pack, scowling and bearing their teeth at nearby villagers, who no longer regard them with bewilderment, but something akin to disgust.
The natural conclusion to Hye-in’s death is that one of the outsiders did it, and the village is glad to see them leaving. Jungkook’s only glad that the undimmed hostility hasn’t tipped over into brawling, at least not before they leave.
Yoongi’s uncle is uncharacteristically silent today, fiddling with his weaponry and ordering his pack about. There’s no need to come as decorated as they plan to, but Yoongi hasn’t deigned to ask his uncle to leave his knives and daggers behind. They seem to be an extension of him.
He hasn’t been loaned a horse, either. They only have so many, and of those remaining, have been given to the rest of the guards, over whom Namjoon keeps a watchful eye.
Rounding up their group, Jungkook realises with a jolt, is Min-ji. There’s a litter waiting to take her, as she appears feeble enough standing on her own with a bowed back. Her silvery hair falls in a sweeping curtain over her face, hiding her expression. Jungkook does his best to ignore her, but his eyes keep creeping over to her, overcome with curiosity. She does not lift her head in his direction or acknowledge him.
“All this effort,” Jungkook says to Jimin. “Do you think they’ll listen?”
Eyes trained on Jungkook, Jimin says, “We can only try, Jungkook-ah.”
“That’s a politician’s answer,” Jungkook complains, even if he doesn’t reveal how a shiver skitters down his spine. “Give me an honest one.”
“Honestly?” Jimin’s eyes pin him to the spot. “Honestly, I think if we manage this, it’ll be a miracle.”
Jungkook blinks at the candour. Before he can say anymore, Yoongi walks up, leading Hana by her reins. She regards Moonbeam with a haughty expression. Moonbeam stares back.
“Are you all set?” Yoongi asks, stepping into Jungkook’s space, his hand grazing over the small of Jungkook’s back where it belongs. Quieter, he says, “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook says, playing at being flustered at this unexpected arrival, but he’s secretly pleased Yoongi is checking on him. He doesn’t bat Yoongi’s hand off or nudge him away. “Are you?”
“Me too,” Yoongi murmurs. His eyes drop to Jungkook’s lips, and in full view of the pack, to Jungkook’s surprise, he leans forward and kisses him.
It’s the smallest of pecks – a soft brush – but it leaves Jungkook feeling dizzy, when Yoongi pulls back. His fingers curl into Jungkook’s back, that big, domineering hand, and although Jungkook is already thinking about the darkness of Yoongi’s eyes and the pink of his mouth and what he would do to him here, dropping to his knees in the grass and sucking Yoongi down to the hilt, he steps back, a little flustered, and schools himself.
Fortunately, he took scent blockers this morning that disguise any suggestion of arousal and has kept up the steady stream of heat suppressants. To fall into a heat during this Summons would be unthinkable.
“We’re all set,” he says, although he doesn’t know for whose benefit. Jimin is amused, watching on.
“Great. Let me round up the others.”
While Yoongi darts away to do so – drawing them into a tighter circle, something akin to formation – Jimin says, “It’s okay to feel nervous, Jungkook-ah. This is a big deal, what we’re doing.”
“So everyone tells me,” Jungkook says, suppressing a sigh. He hasn’t told Yoongi properly how he feels – about maybe being a prophet, having powers, and seemingly representing everything Yoongi recoils from – and he hasn’t told Jimin either. It’s starting to wear him down, the unspoken. “I just hope they listen.”
“Me too, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says. He rests a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “No matter what, you have me.”
“And you have me,” Jungkook replies, touched. He squeezes Jimin’s hand.
—
Further down the mountain, the tight, winding rocky paths widen and the surrounding forests thicken. Jungkook has forgotten the beauty of the nature waiting for them below, up there amongst the isolation. Wildflowers bow their heads in the undergrowth, reverent as they ride past, blotches of lemon yellow and fuschia pink and the palest, prettiest of lilacs. Overhead, clouds lazily drift across a cornflower blue sky.
The ride to the agreed upon meeting point is expected to take just under half a day, but there are more interruptions than planned. Min-ji needs to take regular breaks to rest, and the horses seem on edge, twitching their tails and stamping their hooves. They also have to ride leisurely, at a pace which Yoongi’s uncle’s pack can keep up with, marching at the back.
Naturally, there is little sympathy from the rest of Yoongi’s guards, who sit silent and sullen at the front, their faces telling of what they think of the company they share, and they are not at pains to ride slowly.
During their third break, they pause by a calm pool, so the horses can dip their heads and drink. This close to the forest, expansive and leafy, so thick in some places it blots out the sun, Jungkook feels himself come alive. He stands at the periphery and traces his hands over one of the trunks, flattening it against the rough, worn bark.
His soul sings.
He spies a movement and turns his head in time to see Seokjin falling into step with him.
“Yoongi tells me you grew up in a forest,” Seokjin says. “I’m guessing you miss it.”
Jungkook hadn’t thought he’d missed it until he stands at the edge of one and he itches to peel off from the rest of the pack, track a path through the cool, mystical forest, and lay there, on a bed of moss, his face upturned to the glints of sun breaking through the canopy.
“I do miss it,” Jungkook says honestly. “I’d forgotten.”
Seokjin smiles. Then he says, “Will your parents be joining us?”
Jungkook had sent off the letter he’d begun drafting before the outburst, in the end, but he doesn’t know if it reached them.
“I hope so,” he says. “I didn’t receive a response.”
“I know Yoongi wanted them there,” Seokjin says. “I’m sure you miss them very much.”
Seokjin’s honesty – stated plainly like this, with none of the rawness of the emotion Jungkook feels – is almost too much. He feels exposed, stripped open by the presence of the forest and the wound it unwittingly reopened.
“I do,” Jungkook says. “But I hope the Mins can become my family.”
Seokjin glances around, as if to check they won’t be overheard, and then leans in to whisper, “Not the uncle, though, right?”
Jungkook hiccups a laugh – loud, echoing. He sees Yoongi’s head lift upwards, surprised by the abrupt sound, disturbing the silence.
“I thought you were supposed to be our ambassador,” he says, smiling, unable to help himself. “You have to be neutral, no?”
Seokjin pauses, thinking. He picks his words carefully. “An ambassador of sorts,” he says. “But can I help if I naturally pick a side?”
A side. Like in wartime.
Jungkook ignores the shudder of discomfort that rolls through him at this connection and says, “No. As long as you’re on the winning side.”
Seokjin doesn’t respond to that, but his eyes dance in the sunlight, giving Jungkook his answer.
When the horses have drunk their fill and their troupe has rested, Yoongi sidles up to Jungkook on his horse and says, “What did Jin-hyung say to you?”
He had been watching their exchange from afar, then.
“He was asking about the forest,” Jungkook answers. A lump in his throat had formed after they took off, and although they follow a path that cuts directly through the thickets of trees, he experiences the same distance as before. “And my parents.”
“I sent them an invitation,” Yoongi says. “Inviting them to join us. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? Why would I mind? I’d sent them a letter, but I don’t know if it reached them in time.”
Yoongi appears uneasy. He checks their surroundings and says, more quietly, “This may not be the safest meeting of packs, Jungkook-ah. But I thought it was important that you see them.”
Jungkook rocks back in his saddle, taken aback. He’d presumed that the invitation was everything to do with diplomacy, and nothing to do with family.
He sees that Yoongi has swapped the two.
“I don’t mind,” he says, through a thin-lipped smile. He’s already thinking about what he can tell his parents about his time spent with the Mins. He thinks prophecy will be low on the list of what’s worth divulging, along with the uncle’s intrusion, Pack Leader Min’s withdrawal, and the ever-hanging threat of hostility. “You have your family, I have mine.”
“Your uncle isn’t forced to walk along the back of the group, though,” Yoongi quips, sparing him a glance. Jungkook follows his cue and sees his uncle is stiff-backed, his chest thrust forward, and while it’s intended to give the illusion of towering strength, he seems weaker because of it. More afraid.
What worries a warrior? Jungkook wonders.
“I’ve never had an uncle,” Jungkook says. “My parents were only children.”
“You must be lucky,” Yoongi says.
Jungkook manages a shrug. “Sort of,” he says. “I don’t know, my world was very small when I grew up.” Instinctively, his eyes search for Jimin, until he finds him near the front, with Namjoon, chattering away. “Jimin was a big part of it.”
“I see how he cares for you,” Yoongi says. “I’m glad he came with you.”
The lump thickens.
“I’m glad he came with me, too,” Jungkook admits. “But he has to leave at some point. He can’t be with me forever.”
In the distance between Moonbeam and Hana, Yoongi reaches over and grasps his hand. He squeezes it.
Yoongi looks about to say something, his face creased in thought, but it smooths over when he looks ahead and pulls on the reins, bringing Hana to a sudden halt.
Up ahead, perched atop a sloping hill, is a grove. It’s strikingly beautiful: flanked by either side of sprawling forest, there’s only a small, huddling collection of fir trees that seem as stiff-backed and determined as Yoongi’s uncle. Amongst them, are a cluster of buildings, looking worn and ramshackle with age, but seem to function just fine. The grass at their feet is dotted with specks of white that Jungkook realises are clumps of daisies, doing their best to steal snatches of sun that peek out from the thick cover above.
Jungkook doesn’t have to ask if they’re in the right place. Beyond the memorable scenery, are people already milling around, watering their horses and laying out sleeping mats. Some of the packs have already arrived.
—
They ride through the middle, which certainly attracts attention. Yoongi doesn’t call out to those who are organising their things, which makes Jungkook wonder if it is a deliberate decision. Are these the unfriendly packs? Should he be on his guard? Pack Leader Min also remains silent.
As if sensing the tension Yoongi speaks. “Don’t worry, Jungkook-ah. We’ll dispense with the formalities later.”
He dismounts Hana, running his hand over her neck fondly, and ties her reins to a nearby fir tree. The others follow suit. Moonbeam looks less than pleased to be wedged next to Hana, which causes Jungkook to give him an apologetic look, and to offer him a bribe in return for his silence.
“I’ll bring you a sugar cube later,” he promises, brushing his knuckle down Moonbeam’s nose. “If you behave.”
The answering gleam in Moonbeam’s eyes isn’t reassuring, but Jungkook leaves it there and follows Yoongi to the centre of the grove.
Yoongi walks a sure, unwavering line to the centre, the kind that makes Jungkook think he’s been here before. Even his steps tread lightly, careful not to crush any unfaltering daisies. Jungkook doesn’t fare as well. He accidentally stamps on a cluster and wrenches his foot back when he realises, watching as their thin green necks quiver and their faces look at him mournfully.
They unload the supplies in relative silence, which feels heavier than it did during their journey here. Jungkook feels fidgety at the weight of their stares as the other packs hardly bother with discretion. They’re far too curious at the sight of Pack Leader Min and his brother together. Although some of them look too young to have remembered the conflict, its legend, clearly, endures.
Jungkook searches for his parents, but feels despondent when he can’t spot any familiar faces. His letter must not have arrived in time.
Faintly, he feels relief. There’s far too much to explain to his parents and he has no sense of where to start, or what to try and shield them from. There’s also every danger that somebody says something — Seokjin, a guard – and it only invites questions.
Yoongi resolutely ignores the packs gathered around them, although he plainly senses it. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if not to alarm the people around.
“Yoongi-ssi,” someone calls out, promptly abandoning Yoongi’s carefully mapped out plan to go through introductions later. A man strides through the crowd, with waved, auburn hair and a boxy, disarming grin. He’s young and fresh-looking, brimming with energy. He’s wearing leathers and has a weapon strapped to his waist.
“Jung Hoseok, I presume,” Yoongi says, greeting him. Hoseok stops with some distance between them, and they don’t shake hands.
“The young king,” Jungkook remembers, and he involuntarily flushes at this thoughtless blunder, revealing a nickname that appears more of a jab, than a compliment; like Hoseok’s age somehow belies incompetence, and the inability to run a pack.
Then Jungkook thinks of Pack Leader Min, and how withdrawn he’s been of late, despite ostensibly twenty-five years of uninterrupted leadership, and thinks age doesn’t count for everything. He’s in the distance seeing to his sister, and fortunately hasn’t overheard Jungkook’s faux pas.
But Hoseok merely grins at him. “I don’t mind the nickname,” he says. “It’s no secret I took leadership of my pack quite young. But I’ve grown into it, I assure you.”
Jungkook can see Seokjin has edged into the group, and Jimin too. Jimin has done an excellent job in avoiding people’s gaze as he helps to unpack, but he’s as curious as Jungkook in this situation, evidently. Their childhoods and circles were small. They didn’t engage with other packs often.
Hoseok appears friendly, but he holds himself upright, proudly. There’s unspoken strength in his frame; strength in his confidence.
Not just anyone would walk up to Yoongi and introduce themselves among a pack of prying wolves.
“Then if we’re throwing formality out of the window, I assume you’ve heard all the gossip about me,” Yoongi replies.
Hoseok’s grin widens, as if to say, So maybe I have. He doesn’t deny it, Jungkook notices.
“Let me be clear,” Yoongi says, and he raises his voice so the surrounding packs can overhear. “I’ve called this Summons for an important reason. I’m not here to deceive, cheat, or hurt you. If you’ve come here with that intention you’ll find yourself sorely mistaken. I only want cohesion between the packs, and continued peace.”
People rustle and murmur, intrigued. There’s no malice in their tones so far.
“I’m extending the hand of friendship, and I hope you do the same,” Yoongi calls. He turns his attention back to Hoseok. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Hoseok says smoothly. His gaze goes to Jungkook. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Oh, no,” Jungkook says, with none of the poise of Hoseok, or command of Yoongi. “I’m Jungkook. Yoongi’s mate.”
Consciously or not, Hoseok’s eyes flick to his faded mating bite. It’s visible to everyone here, Jungkook realises with a jolt. He’s become so used to it, he forgets what kind of message it sends to everyone, who he is to Yoongi. And who Yoongi is to him.
“I’m happy to meet you,” Hoseok says. “And not unhappy that Yoongi-ssi called a Summons. It’s been good to get out and socialise.”
The way he says it – lightly, cheered – tells Jungkook more than Hoseok can know. His pack hasn’t been afflicted by the attacks, otherwise he wouldn’t be happy to see the packs brought together. The theory that the attacker followed Yoongi’s uncle to the Min pack is looking more likely by the minute.
It’s a chilling thought as Jungkook says, through a tight smile, “I hope we get to know one another well.”
—
Yoongi goes through a few more introductions, as pack leaders take Hoseok’s cue and come up and introduce themselves. Ra-hee makes herself known, with a tight embrace of Yoongi that surprises the onlookers, and even asks Jungkook polite questions, involving him in the conversation. Jungkook likes her already.
As the sun is chased from the sky and the day darkens, the grove fills up with people, coming to life. People start fires, bring out pans to boil water and make tea, and mostly, keep to themselves. A few people start bedding down in one of the buildings, which up close, Jungkook has determined is a barn. But whoever used this building for their livestock is long gone, and the handful of stalls are the only telltale sign that animals used to be kept here.
There are only a few who don’t go up to greet Yoongi, preferring to hang behind and watch on warily. Jungkook can spot them by scent alone: they stink of displeasure, distrust, and nervousness.
“That’s Ahra,” Yoongi’s uncle declares, pausing from slicing up his apple with a knife to jab his thumb in the direction of one woman who’s sitting about twenty feet away, whose face is visible by flickers of fire alone, casting into stark clarity her glower. She sits in the centre of her pack, surrounded. “She’ll be a tough nut to crack. And by tough, I mean impossible.”
“What about the woman on the right of her?” Jungkook asks, directing Yoongi’s uncle’s gaze to where another woman sits, equally shadowed, equally central. “She looks just as happy to be here.”
“That’s Chun-hee,” Yoongi’s uncle says. There’s almost a hint of fondness in his voice, which unsettles Jungkook. He knows that what makes Yoongi’s uncle fond is never a good thing. “I’m surprised she even came.”
Chun-hee’s eyes dart over to Jungkook, who holds her stare, even as his stomach flips from the action. She’s about forty, forty five, with hair braided back from her face that hangs in heavy plaits, and bare shoulders. She wears all leathers and small, curved scars decorate her body like slices of silver, glowing in the moonlight.
“What’s her story?”
“Orphaned young, found by another pack half-starved and half-wild,” Yoongi’s uncle says carelessly, in a manner Jungkook dislikes. “She fought off a contender to take her place as Pack Leader.”
“Fought?” The bewilderment in Jungkook’s expression causes Yoongi’s uncle to laugh. He resumes peeling the skin off his apple.
“How else do you think Pack Leaders get their power? They don’t sit around negotiating. They take it by force.”
“Was that your experience?” Jungkook asks drily, a deliberate jibe and reference to decades-old conflict. To his frustration, Yoongi’s uncle laughs heartily a second time.
“I can see why Yoongi likes you so much,” he says. “You have the same spirit.”
I just don’t like bullies, Jungkook thinks, but he doesn’t bother voicing it. He doesn’t believe Yoongi’s uncle would be much wounded by the suggestion that he’s a bully.
“And Ahra?”
“Ah, different story.” Yoongi’s uncle finishes peeling the skin and flings it to one side with a careless flick of his blade. “She inherited it.”
“So not all is won by force.”
“Not all, but some,” Yoongi’s uncle says. “Most. You’d be surprised.”
He’s sure he would be. No doubt Yoongi’s uncle has the kind of sordid, hair-raising tales that serve to keep him awake at night and second question every person who’s ever been loyal to him. But he’s not interested in entertaining the kind of paranoia that trails after Yoongi’s uncle like a second shadow, so he doesn’t ask any more questions.
Instead, he takes to watching the rest of the packs, who watch him back. Only Hoseok’s group seems remotely comfortable, laughing and chatting away. Jungkook hasn’t got a feel for him just yet. Hoseok’s directness in walking up to Yoongi and addressing him seems positive – in that he isn’t avoiding him, or pretending he doesn’t exist while occupying the same grove, which is what the others have taken to doing.
There’s a man in Chun-hee’s company who unnerves Jungkook, just by his deadened stare and the papery skin stretched over his skull. He wears faded robes that swamp him, and is surveying the scene in front of him. His eyes sweep past Jungkook, smouldering black pits in the glow of the fires around.
“Who is that man?” Jungkook asks Yoongi’s uncle, unable to tamp down his curiosity.
Yoongi’s uncle pauses. He takes a bite out of his apple, his teeth crunching down into the bleached white flesh and with his mouth full, says, “No one worth knowing.”
That certainly catches Jungkook’s attention. Until now, Yoongi’s uncle has been all-too willing to surrender information, in a sort of taunt, like he believes this Summons is doomed from the get go and Yoongi is parading himself around as a fool, vying for peace.
Of course, it stands to reason that the warrior would believe peace was futile. He hungers for war. The story is there, in his hulking hands, his scars, the way he carries himself. How he only seems to come alive when conflict is brewing on the horizon. It’s like a second skin, like breathing to him.
On reflecting this, Jungkook is not overflowing with confidence that Yoongi’s uncle is back in his life.
“He must be someone important,” Jungkook prods, thinking about this. “Who is he to you?”
“To me? I’ve never met him before,” Yoongi’s uncle says. He swallows his bite and it seems to travel down his throat slowly, because he takes time answering. “But everyone has heard of the Great Acolyte.”
Acolyte?
Jungkook sneaks another look. There may be something mystical about the man – or that could be to do with his bald head and arresting eyes. They’re dark, like Yoongi’s, but with none of the warmth. He assesses Jungkook back coolly, hardly a twitch in his smooth, unblemished skin.
“The Great Acolyte,” Jungkook repeats quietly, testing the words in his mouth.
“Kim Hyun-woo,” Yoongi’s uncle says. His apple is half eaten by now, it lolls in his open palm, forgotten in favour of discussing the man. “He’s either seventeen or seventy, if the stories are to be believed.”
Hyun-woo does not blink, and anxiety roils in Jungkook’s stomach at the sight.
“And he’s part of Chun-hee’s pack?”
This makes Yoongi’s uncle laugh, a harsh, bitter noise.
“He’s not part of her pack. He serves her. She’s gullible, and believed having an acolyte of the Moon Goddess on her side would mean luck. So she forced him to join her.”
Jungkook does not ask how. He can see at first glance that Chun-hee is a warrior, and Hyun-woo looks thin, skeletal. He eerily reminds Jungkook of Min-ji. He wouldn’t have put up much of a fight.
Still, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. All this task of seizing power and battling and proving yourself. Jungkook’s pack was never like that growing up. At least, it never felt like that; the constant air of tension, the questions as to whether Jungkook’s father would hold control as Pack Leader, or whether someone would compete for his rule.
But then, Jungkook’s marriage to Yoongi was done for protection. The Jeons are hardly known for their fighting ability.
Before he can ask anymore – Yoongi drops down on the floor next to him, interrupting the conversation. His presence is like being bathed in warm light, chasing away the shadow of Hyun-woo and the weight of old stories.
On a night like tonight, the stories almost seem believable too. The half moon hangs in a cloudless sky like a shining piece of silver, bearing down on the grove, ever-watchful.
“What are you thinking about?” Yoongi asks, watching Jungkook closely. It runs through him like a shiver, the realisation that Yoongi has grown good at reading Jungkook.
“Nothing,” he says.
“Your omega was just curious about the acolyte,” Yoongi’s uncle grunts.
Oh, Jungkook could kill him. He fixes him with a glare, but it’s useless against Yoongi’s uncle. He delights in poking and prodding at people. Jungkook’s consternation is only proof he’s successfully pushed his buttons.
Yoongi’s mouth thins, displeased. “I hope he hasn’t been filling your head with stories,” he says warningly. “He’s only spewing nonsense.”
“No stories,” Jungkook refutes quickly, which is an interesting development, that he’d stick up for his uncle. Yoongi’s uncle smirks at him but there’s a quirk of his eyebrow, like he doesn’t quite know Jungkook’s game. Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s doing either. “He was just giving me the run-down of all the packs.”
Yoongi looses a breath, relieved to have found this isn’t the case. The lie clings to Jungkook’s skin. “It’ll be okay, Jungkook-ah. I can talk them around.”
He sounds so sure of himself that Jungkook is not keen to dispute the fact and quash Yoongi’s optimism. It’s a welcome reprieve, after the last couple of weeks. Instead he pointedly does not look at Hyun-woo for the rest of the evening, focusing instead on drinking down watery soup and ignoring his churning gut.
—
It’s a strange, uneasy peace, to be sleeping among the packs, some of whom mistrust the Mins; but they keep enough distance between them for nobody to be labouring under the illusion that they’re one, happy, cohesive unit. That will come later, if Yoongi’s plan comes to fruition.
Tomorrow, he’ll address the packs one by one. Explain the threat in cool, detached terms while stressing the importance of banding together. Tonight, they rest.
Jungkook rolls out his mat and does not comment on how he wedges it against Yoongi’s. Nor does Yoongi, who tugs Jungkook close to him, a warm press against his back.
Jungkook lays there, the sounds and scents wrapping around him unfamiliar, and overwhelming, to the point that sleep does not come easy. If he does fall unconscious, he’s abruptly wrenched out of it by the sound of a snapping branch, which sounds akin to a forest crashing down in the silence; or somebody whispering, taking care to not be overheard, but their voice carries on the wind.
The wind wails through the grove, much more exposed to the elements. The Min house was hardly better, for how it towered over the plain and bore the brunt of any storm or spell of bad weather, but at least Jungkook was safe behind walls there.
Here, who knows what lurks in the dark? A wild animal – or a killer?
Jungkook shivers and pulls his blanket closer. Yoongi is fast asleep next to him – a scene with which he has witnessed many times before when he’s been abruptly pulled out of nightmares – and his arm is slung over Jungkook’s middle, but it’s no use. Sleeping pushed against his alpha hasn’t comforted him anymore, at least not to the extent that he can be lulled into a constant sleep.
He finally gives up in the early hours of the morning, and carefully extracts himself from Yoongi’s grasp. He keeps his blanket wrapped around his shoulders in some pseudo comfort, and ventures out of the grove and down the hill.
A lone figure is standing on the grass, their hands outstretched and their face tilted up to the moon. Their eyes are closed in a frightening impression of bliss.
It’s Hyun-woo, Jungkook realises. Hyun-woo has trekked out here to worship the moon, even only at half-full.
“You can come closer,” Hyun-woo rasps. His voice breezes through Jungkook like wind, but of an unnatural kind. “I don’t bite.”
He keeps his back to Jungkook, who, in spite of himself, creeps closer. His heart is in his throat and his palms are clammy. It’s pounding painfully and he’s sure the scent blockers have worn off; he probably reeks of fear.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve come out here to witness Her Magnificence,” Hyun-woo answers. His eyes remain closed, but his arms stretch out further, his hands trembling. “I do it every night.”
His eyes snap open and those deep pools of black turn to Jungkook, who takes a step back. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him.
“You don’t observe?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet. It’s reed-thin, and Jungkook has to strain to hear him.
“Observe what?”
“The Moon Goddess,” Hyun-woo says. “It’s for her we have to thank for all our blessings.”
“I wasn’t raised a believer,” Jungkook says, regarding him warily.
Hyun-woo’s nostrils flare, like he’s picked up on Jungkook’s scent, and he smiles.
What am I doing here? Jungkook wonders, every instinct screaming at him to run. He knows why: curiosity. It’ll be the death of him.
“She’s blessed you, Jungkook,” Hyun-woo says.
Jungkook’s body goes rigid, on high alert. “How do you know my name?”
“I know the names of all Her children,” he says. “I can sense it in you. Your power.”
The mention of Jungkook’s alleged prophetic powers is too much; least of all from a religious fanatic like Hyun-woo.
He can see why people of his kind have mostly died out; or at least, he’d been led to believe that people no longer subscribed to religion and prophecy. Hyun-woo is unsettling, not just from his appearance, but because of what he alleges to know. That kind of power is dangerous in the wrong, grasping hands.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jungkook says, deliberately louder, hoping someone might overhear, and investigate the source of the noise. He takes another step back. His feet drag against the floor. “You’re delusional.”
“Your power is nothing to be feared, Jungkook,” Hyun-woo says. Jungkook’s name sounds all wrong on his tongue. Hyun-woo’s tongue darts out to wet his cracked lips. “You should embrace it. She blessed you with it.”
“I don’t have power,” Jungkook says. “Like I said, you’re delusional.”
“I can feel…” Hyun-woo releases a sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Now is the time Jungkook should run. Now is the time to turn tail and sprint away from Hyun-woo and whatever abnormality emanates from him. Now is the time to escape.
But he doesn’t budge.
“I can feel your power,” Hyun-woo says, sounding longing. He opens his eyes and Jungkook freezes, rooted to the spot; much like a predator caught in a trap would be as its hunter neared. “You could be so much more than you currently are.”
“You’re crazy,” Jungkook scoffs, but there isn’t enough conviction in his voice. Hyun-woo cocks his head and studies Jungkook.
“You reject it,” he says. “Then give it to me.”
“What?” Jungkook takes another step back. “What are you talking about?”
“I can take it from you.”
“You’re not taking anything,” Jungkook says. This time, Hyun-woo steps forward. He’s smiling, but it looks unnatural on his face. His cheeks are gaunt.
“It would unburden you,” he whispers. “It would go to one of Her true sons.”
“Get away from me,” Jungkook says – making to leave.
That’s when Hyun-woo lunges.
It’s a slow, clumsy lunge. Jungkook manages to dart away, just in time, and Hyun-woo’s clawing hand grasps at thin air. He turns to Jungkook, his expression frenzied, and he smiles to expose filed teeth, like miniature spikes.
Jungkook runs then. But it must have rained recently, because the ground is soft and yields too easily beneath his feet; they sink into the dirt. Just like reliving one of his nightmares. He has to tug his feet back up with each step, and it slows him down.
He doesn’t account for the patch of missing earth from the side of the hill, and his foot slips into it. He stumbles, and goes flying onto the ground, his hands outstretched to catch his fall.
But it has cost him precious seconds. Pain flares up his arms from the impact. He scrambles to his feet, and Hyun-woo is on him, a horrifying light weight, his bones nudging at Jungkook through his robes. Jungkook curses, and knees him in the chest, but Hyun-woo hardly flinches. He smiles at Jungkook again, and reaches out with a shaking hand to touch him.
Jungkook thrashes, refusing for this to be the last he sees, Hyun-woo’s horrendous face looming over him and his victorious smile, when something tackles Hyun-woo, and he goes tumbling down the hill in a blur.
Not something. Someone.
Jungkook doesn’t know who it is, as they’re in their wolf form. The wolf is a shocking white colour, much like the moon, and they’re sizeable, standing on their haunches. Hyun-woo hesitates, but the wolf bares its sharp, glinting teeth at Hyun-woo, and that’s enough of an insinuation of a threat for Hyun-woo to determine this won’t be a fair fight.
His eyes lock onto Jungkook’s, one last time, before he streaks across the field, tripping and regathering himself, clutching at his robes, until he becomes a speck that is swallowed up by the forest.
He does so across the field, tripping and regathering himself, clutching at his robes, until he becomes a speck that disappears into the forest.
The wolf turns to Jungkook, who is rendered speechless by this display.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. Involuntarily, his quivering hands that betray his fright brush against his mating bite. Immediately he thinks of him: Yoongi.
Jungkook has only witnessed someone shift into wolf form a handful of times, and each time it had appeared painful and frightening enough for Jungkook to decide this was something he never wanted to do; not if it was as agonising as it looked, hearing the crack of bone and the wild, jerky movements.
But the people he’d watched were young, fledgling wolves. The wolf that transforms in front of himself now does so with ease, curling on itself and shrinking, all that mass of fur making way for smooth skin, the claws shrinking back into hands, and all the human-like features – the ears, the nose, the shoulders – reappear. There’s no howl of pain, or convulsive movements.
Jungkook gawps as Kyung-won lifts his head, not knowing what to think. He still feels paralysed with fear, the adrenaline thrumming through his body, which hasn’t yet registered that the danger has gone.
He averts his eyes to the sky, realising that Kyung-won is naked, and thrusts his blanket at him. Kyung-won takes it.
“Thank you,” Kyung-won says, his steady tone sounding the complete inverse of how Jungkook feels, shaky and stumbling.
He has a million questions, and they all tumble over the other in their desperation to be let out.
He finally settles on, “How did you know I was here?”
Jungkook glances back and sees his blanket is about covering the important parts. Kyung-won follows the angle of his gaze and smiles wryly.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I saw him leave about twenty minutes ago, and then you followed. Just had a bad feeling, I guess.”
Kyung-won’s hunch has saved Jungkook’s life. He doesn’t know what to say.
“He said something about my power,” Jungkook says, because he can no longer keep it inside of him, like a shameful secret ballooning past the point of control – he needs to tell someone. “He said he wanted it for himself.”
“He’s a freak,” Kyung-won grumbles. “Chun-hee’s pet.”
That seems like a neat conclusion to an interaction Jungkook doesn’t understand, and it doesn’t sit with him.
“What does he mean, power? What could I have that he possibly could want?”
Kyung-won rakes an eye over Jungkook, assessing, but comes up with nothing. He shrugs and says, “He’s probably half out of his mind. I wouldn’t listen to him.”
A shrill scream pierces the air and Jungkook almost jumps out of his skin. He jerks, his head going in the direction of the noise, and Kyung-won does the same, tensing up.
There’s a flurry of movement from the grove, as people come spilling out, panicked. Jungkook doesn’t think – he only runs.
He tears up that hill, Kyung-won not far behind him, thinking – praying – please, god, please let it not be Yoongi.
Jungkook comes to a staggering stop by the barn, and his eyes catch onto Yoongi, who’s accompanied by Namjoon, and is staring blankly ahead. He tears over to him, not thinking, and croaks, “Hyung. Hyung, I thought you were –”
“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says, “fuck, you’re okay. Thank fuck. I was about to send a search party out.”
His hands go to Jungkook’s face, cupping his cheeks, fingers splaying over his chin. It’s a sweet, intimate gesture in complete contrast to Jungkook’s evening, and it sends unexpected tears springing into his arms. Yoongi’s face flickers with alarm.
“Jungkook-ah,” he says, “what is it? What’s wrong, baby?”
Jungkook doesn’t know where to explain, where to begin. Then he catches Namjoon’s grim expression and stops himself. Because the pack had been spilling out in all directions after his run-in with Hyun-woo, which means they don’t know what’s just happened. What’s happened here has nothing to do with it.
Which compels him to ask, “What happened?”
“It’s Min-ji,” Yoongi says, his expression shuttering. “She’s missing.”
“She’s not missing,” someone says. They all turn. It’s Pack Leader Min, stepping out into the moonlight, his expression hollow and haunting. “I’ve found her. She’s –” he breaks off, sounding physically pained. “Come and see her, Yoongi-yah. Before she goes.”
Notes:
let me know what you thought! comments are a huge boost and keep me going!